“What are you going to say?” Nic asks me from the front of MiMi’s car.
I shrug at her through her sideview mirror and Nic smirks at me.
“Come on, like you really didn’t practice what you were going to say in the mirror?”
“Ugh, naw. What kind of clown do you think I am?” I ask. Truth is, though, I practiced with Riley. Everything down to the length of the first hug. If they were even going to allow us to hug.
“How about you just play it by ear?” Riley asked me, my arms still wrapped around her lower back. “If the hug feels right, keep going. If not, pull away and try to smile.”
“What if I can’t smile?” I rested my chin on top of Riley’s head. Her ponytail tickled the tip of my nose. “What if my cheeks freeze up on me and she can tell?”
“I think she’ll just be happy to see you.” Riley rubbed my back, reassured me. “You guys have a lot to catch up on. You’re editor of the lit mag, you did well on your SATs. You have an amazing girlfriend who roleplays with you for hours and hours on end.” She pulled away from me and smiled.
“Speaking of which . . .” I laced my fingers through hers. “Let’s practice that hug again.” We held each other until it was time for Riley to get home. I made sure she got there five minutes before her curfew. I definitely did not want to get on the Reverend’s bad side. He was this close to inviting me to their home for Christmas Eve dinner. Maybe I’d get MiMi to show me how to make her banana pudding for bonus points.
“Well . . . we’re here.” MiMi parks her car in the parking lot of Spotsylvania State Prison. My mom’s home for the past few years. Her home for the next few years to come.
I reach to unbuckle my seat belt but my hands won’t stop shaking. What did she even look like now? Would I see that the prison has eaten away at her? Would her eyes look different—hardened from years of being cooped in a six-by-eight-foot cell? What if she forgot what it felt like to even be a mom? That’s probably my biggest fear. Going in to see her, and she stares back at me like I’m a stranger.
I feel Nic’s hand cover my trembling one.
“Hey.” She leans back to me. “Me and you against the world, right?”
I squeeze her hand back and nod along to my heartbeat:
Thump, thump, thump.
Acknowledgments
Wow, I’ve always wanted to get a chance to write my own acknowledgments page as a published author. I hope I get this right!
First, I have to thank Sarah LaPolla—who always managed to believe in me and keep me motivated during this roller-coaster ride called publishing. Thanks for seeing my potential in the slush pile—I wouldn’t be here without you.
To the incredible Natalie Lakosil—thanks for taking me on as a client and helping me navigate the world as a debut author. You’ve asked questions about my writing that truly helps me get to the soul of my story.
To the amazing team at Alloy: Viana Siniscalchi, Josh Bank, and Sara Shandler, thanks for making this girl’s dreams come true. You have given me a voice throughout this process and allowed me to put so much of, well, me into this story. I’ll never forget my trip to New York to start this journey with you—and I still covet that whiteboard wall.
To Andrew Eliopulos, my wonderful editor, it’s taken us a few years but I’m so grateful that I finally get to work with you. You knew exactly the type of story I wanted to tell and stretched me so much as a writer that I’m still recovering. But seriously, it has been an honor receiving your insight for this novel.
To all those lovely hands that contributed to the final creation and promotion of this book: Rosemary Brosnan, Bria Ragin, David DeWitt, Shona McCarthy, Lana Barnes, Valerie Wong, and Aubrey Churchward—thank you times infinity. This book wouldn’t be what it is without your talents. If I left anyone out, please blame it on my head and not my heart.
To my wonderful cover artist, Shane Ramos, thanks for translating my ideas into a powerful image. You brought Jay and Nic alive for me.
Now, on a personal note, thank you to my parents—Tammy and Shelton. I was a strange kid (probably still am), but that never bothered you. Thanks for reading to me, buying me Lisa Frank notebooks, and pocket thesauruses to expand my vocabulary. I won the lottery with parents like you.
To my son, Easton—I started this book with you in my belly and am now ending it with your little sister in my belly! Thanks for being so patient with Mama when she had to sneak away to finish up revisions. Everything I do is for you.
To my cousin/sister/roommate/best friend and godmother to my children, Marquita Hockaday—you are a superhero. Thanks for picking up the slack when I’ve been too busy, too sick, or too much in general. I honestly wouldn’t know how to change a light bulb if it wasn’t for you. Thanks for always having my back. I can’t wait for the rest of the world to read your beautiful words.
To my cousin, Patricia Hockaday—you were my first role model. I’ll always remember those nights when you, Quita, and I would stay up late writing stories in our notebooks and reading them aloud to each other. You helped to ignite my love for reading and writing.
To my aunt, Pamela Hockaday, AKA PaPam, you’ve always been one of my biggest cheerleaders. You’re the best second mom a girl could ask for.
To my grandmother, Margaret “Peggy” Hunt (formerly Murphy). You were a huge inspiration behind MiMi. Thanks for watching over me. Rest in Power.
To my sister from another mister, Racquel Henry. I admire your creativity, your diligence, and your resilience. Thanks for being an incredible writing partner—and an even better friend.
Finally, to all the kids from Bad News. I got you. I see you. I am you.
About the Author
PHOTO BY HELEN ODERISI
PAMELA N. HARRIS was born and somewhat raised in Newport News, Virginia—also affectionately known as “Bad News.” A former school counselor by day, she received her BA in English and her master’s in school counseling at Old Dominion University, her MFA in creative writing at Fairleigh Dickinson University, and a PhD in counselor education and supervision at William & Mary. When she isn’t writing, Pam is rewatching Leonardo DiCaprio movies, chasing after her toddler son, and pretending to enjoy exercising. When You Look Like Us is her debut novel. She lives in Williamsburg, Virginia.
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Quill Tree Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
WHEN YOU LOOK LIKE US. Copyright © 2021 by Alloy Entertainment, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.