The merry-go-round was still circling.

Scarlett looked behind her one last time, but Max was definitely gone. So Scarlett and Chelsea crossed the street to join the group.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For someone who spends most of her work time alone at a desk mumbling to herself, I seem to have many, many people to thank now that this book is finished. Even in making this list, I worry that I am leaving off dozens of people who do me everyday kindnesses that allow me to go on living.

My first thanks must always go to my agent, Kate Schafer Testerman (often known to the world as Daphne Unfeasible of Unfeasible Enterprises). Also, to my editor, Abby McAden, and everyone at Scholastic. These are the people who made this book happen.

More thanks to:

Justine Larbalestier and Scott Westerfeld, who not only read the book and provided critical notes, they also provide total life-support services in general.1

John and Hank Green, for being awesome, and always being such big supporters of me and my books. Best wishes.

The daily writing gang: Libba Bray, Cassandra Clare, Robin Wasserman, Scott Westerfeld (again), and Lauren McLaughlin.

Everyone at Springfield Castle who put up with me while I was working on the revision and running from the peacocks: Sarah Cross, Ally Carter, Carrie Ryan, Sarah Rees Brennan, Jennifer Lynn Barnes, Diana Peterfreund, Robin Wasserman, Cassandra Clare, and Holly Black. (And a special thanks to Holly for reading the book between midnight and three in the morning, and then talking with me until dawn about it.)

My consultant on getting hit and falling down: Steve Copeland, formerly of Ringling Brothers Circus. My Gang of Four: Rebecca Leach, Tobias Huisman, Jordan Cwierz, and Chelsea Hunt. Alan Lastufka, for all of his technical help and support of Scarlett. Jason Keeley and Paula Gross, for feeding me. And to Hamish Young, who is an English person.

To everyone who participated in the BEDA project. There are about 500 of you, and it took all of you to make it work. A special thanks to Alex Day and Charlie McDonnell. Once you guys started doing it, then I had no choice but to continue or else I would be shamed on the Internet.

And to Dick Wolf. He knows why. Call me, Dick.2

1 When they are in NYC, that is. Sometimes they retreat to their sky-palace in Sydney, and then I survive entirely by eating clumps of dust and burning my prize collection of antique telephone books for warmth.

2 I mean, “You, Dick, call me on the phone or some other telephonic device.” Not, “Please now refer to me as Dick.” There are a lot of reasons for this, not the least of which is that I am female. Also, that would make my name Dick Johnson. I would never stoop so low as to make a joke like that. I have standards, you know.

ALSO BY MAUREEN JOHNSON

Suite Scarlett

Girl at Sea

Devilish

13 Little Blue Envelopes

The Bermudez Triangle