Chapter 26
Over the next few days, I bury my head in work.
After the mess I’ve gone through online, even though most people are on my side, I don’t take the risk of announcing that I’m now represented by Rachel Reed.
It hurts. I want so much to be able to scream about it, but people love an underdog, and I think I should stay the underdog for a while longer.
Instead, I focus all my attention on coming up with a chapter outline.
Just four days later, I send it off to Rachel, and she reads it and marks it up with comments that are both insightfully critical and yet supportive.
I take a couple more days to make the changes she suggested and then send the revised version back to her.
Again, she replies on the very same day, and this time, she only has minor tweaks to make.
Her email says: Fantastic job! I think once you’ve made these minor changes, this will be good to go.
I’ll send it off to publishers first thing tomorrow morning.
And just like that, I am on submission, this time with a nonfiction book based on my life.
How insane, how mind blowing, is that? And because she is the Rachel Reed, unlike my submission journey with Poppy, where weeks and weeks went by without a peep from publishers, with the rejections limping in after over a month, this time, we get answers just one day after the pitch is sent out.
One day. Less than twenty-four hours. Rachel forwards the emails to me, and I tremble with joy as I read them.
. . . brilliant voice, we are putting together an offer . . .
. . . read this on BuzzFeed when it came out and was actually going to reach out to her myself so I’m glad this landed in my inbox . . .
. . . our next acquisitions meeting is on Thursday and I will be bringing this . . .
“Oh my god,” I say to Rachel when she calls. “Are we headed into an auction?”
She laughs. “Fern! We are at auction. The first offer just came in. It’s from Salt Books, and it’s for a hundred twenty, so obviously we’re not taking that. But since we now officially have an offer, I have called for an auction.”
I struggle to understand what she’s saying. “Sorry, um, a hundred twenty? Like, a hundred and twenty dollars?”
“No, Fern!” Rachel laughs again. “A hundred and twenty thousand dollars!”
I feel my legs buckle, and I lower myself onto my bed. “Um. A hundred and twenty thousand? Wait, and we’re turning it down?”
“Yes. And Salt Books knows it’s a low offer. I have half a mind to tell them off, to be honest with you.”
What world have I landed in that $120,000 is considered “low”? But I don’t say it out loud. I merely nod and stay quiet as Rachel continues talking.
“They’re one of the biggest publishers out there—they know that I know they have deep pockets. So. Don’t worry, I have it all under control. Four other publishers have responded and said they will be taking part in the auction.”
My mind is still reeling. I’m on auction? Holy shit. I’m on auction. When we end the call, I stare stupidly at the wall. My deal with Harvest had been for—what was it—$8,000? And I had cried with joy then. And now here I am, turning down an offer for $120,000. What is this life I have landed in?
The auction is surprisingly swift. By the next morning, all participating publishers—eight of them—have made their official first offer.
Salt Books, upon learning there is an actual auction, has put in a new offer.
Rachel puts together all the offers into a list and sends it to me, and I nearly have a heart attack.
The lowest number on there is $250,000—a significant deal—and the highest number is $400,000.
When she calls me, I say, “So I guess we’ll go with the highest bidder? ”
Rachel gives me a quizzical look, then laughs again. “Oh! No! Auction’s not over yet.”
“It’s not?” I breathe. My eyes must be perfect circles now, I’m so surprised by her answer.
“Nowhere near over. I’ve sent an email to them with rules for round two.”
“Rules?” I knew, of course, that literary agents negotiate deals for authors, but I never knew the amount of tactics and strategy involved in these negotiations.
“Well, a good rule would be to set a floor bid—that means anyone who can’t meet the floor bid will automatically drop out.
I think four hundred is good for a floor.
And the other rule is that the lowest two bidders will be cut from the auction.
So we’re lighting a fire under their butts. ” Rachel grins.
Who’s ever heard of lighting a fire under a publisher’s butt?
I have never been in this position before.
I’ve always been the one sitting on the fire, not the other way around.
What if the publishers call our bluff and tell Rachel she’s asking for too much?
What if they’re offended by the ridiculously high floor bid?
A floor bid of $400,000? Who would’ve thought that was even possible?
“Don’t worry, Fern,” Rachel says, as though she’s read my mind. “I know a good book when I see it, and this is it. And they know it, too, otherwise they wouldn’t be publishers. I’ll speak to you soon!”
I don’t sleep the entire night. I lie in bed, facing one side, then the other.
I check my email about fourteen times. I check my settings six times to make sure my phone isn’t on silent mode, even though I know Rachel isn’t going to email me at two in the morning.
I open Twitter and look at the comments on tweets about my op-ed.
They’re still overwhelmingly positive. The number of likes has slowed down, but we are now at over one hundred thousand likes, and I can live with that.
Eventually, I doze off, only to be jerked awake by a call at eight in the morning.
“Good morning!” Rachel says.
“Good morning,” I say, rubbing my eyes.
“Did you see my email? Second-round bids are in.”
“They are?” Belatedly, I remember that New York is three hours ahead of us, so it’s nearly lunchtime there.
“I’ll wait while you check,” Rachel says with a coy smile in her voice.
I hurriedly open her email, and I almost drop the phone when I see the numbers. Five publishers now remain, with the lowest bid at four hundred fifty and the highest at—
“Is this real?” I say, blinking hard, trying to wake up fully. “Six hundred thousand?”
“Yes!” Rachel squeals. “And since we still have five houses in the running, I have called for one final round. A best-bids round.”
“What?” I whisper. We’re at $600,000, and the auction still isn’t over? I can’t process this.
“The deadline is four p.m. today, so by the end of the workday, you’ll have a new publisher. How does that sound?”
I can only nod.
Rachel laughs again and says, “All right, I’ll let you get back to sleep, and I’ll speak to you in a few hours.”
Like there’s any chance in hell that I might get back to sleep after that.
I get up and go about my morning routine.
I try to speak normally to Mom and Dad because of course I haven’t let them know about any of this for fear of jinxing it.
Now that I have actually experienced the exquisite pain of having my book canceled, I am extremely paranoid about doing everything correctly so I don’t mess this second chance up.
And what a second chance it is. I know that it’s the kind of chance that comes by less than once in a lifetime.
Maybe not even once in several lifetimes. And I would do anything to protect it.
The day crawls by excruciatingly slowly. The slightest noise makes me pounce at my phone.
“Are you expecting a call from someone?” Dad says when I check my phone for the third time during lunch.
“Oh, yeah, just an old friend who wanted to catch up.”
Mom and Dad exchange a glance, and I feel the old tension rising up between us, an old, grizzled beast raising its head slowly.
“Sorry,” I say, “I can’t tell you right now, but I will. I want to. Soon. I promise.”
The tension eases a little. The beast goes back to sleep. The phone rings then, and I jump up so fast my chair falls backward. “Sorry!” I don’t bother picking the chair up before running out to the backyard. “Hi!” I say as soon as the call connects.
“Hellooo!” Rachel crows. “Are you ready for the final bid numbers?”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly.
“Okay.” Rachel pauses dramatically, and I try my best not to scream at her to hurry.
She’s taking her time, enjoying this moment.
“Let’s start with the smallest bid. So, coming in at fifth place is Landmark with five hundred.
Fourth place is Juniper Farr Books at five hundred and seventy-five. Third place—you listening?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, just checking I haven’t lost you,” she jokes.
“Third is Sadie Small at seven hundred. Second place is Shields and Carey at seven hundred fifty, and at first place—drumroll please—we have Salt Books at eight hundred and thirty thousand dollars. Kind of a weird number, but we’re not mad about it! ”
Eight hundred and thirty thousand dollars? My mind short-circuits trying to envision this sum. This impossibly large sum. Life-changing money. Money that I could live off for the rest of my life.
“Fern? You okay?”
I blink. “Yes, I’m okay. I just—oh my god.” And I burst into tears.
“Awww, sweetheart. You deserve this. You did this, don’t forget that. You were so brave, and you wrote the raw truth for everyone to see. You faced down your bully in the most amazing way possible, and you deserve this.”
I nod and blubber my thanks to her.
“So, shall I tell Salt Books that we’re happy to accept their offer?”
“Yes. Yes!” I cry, laughing through my tears.
“Amazing. See, I told you they have deep pockets. They know I would never have accepted that first offer, but can’t blame them for trying.”
“You are amazing. Thank you,” I say.