E. Lockhart

“E. Lockhart takes this deep, philosophical theory and uses it as a wonderfully inventive device… such a fantastic concept… devastatingly beautiful…Again Again is more than a young adult romance novel. It’s a portrait of complex emotion and the lasting effects of being consumed by love, grief, anger, and forgiveness, and the frightening and exhilarating range of possibilities that life can give us.”
— Booktopia (AU)

“Lockhart takes her penchant for plot twists to a new level, with a narrative that explores the idea of the multiverse, those infinite worlds loosed by paths taken and not taken. Key scenes are imagined and then reimagined, laying out an iterative feast of ideas about art, possibility, and the creative process for readers hungry for big concepts. Others will simply luxuriate in the storytelling: Adelaide’s ups and downs, the sweetly individual personalities of the dogs she walks, and the dreamy atmosphere of the nearly deserted summertime campus.”
— Publishers Weekly, top YA summer reads

"Accessible, intriguing, and original…E. Lockhart has done it again with the deceptively simple story that allows the reader to ruminate on the nature of life, love, art, and connection."
— YALSA

“The author of the cult favorite We Were Liars returns with a touching and absorbing drama of the many differing forms that love can take. Featuring a warm and relatable protagonist and a narrative full of welcome surprises, Again Again is the perfect summer read for young and old readers alike.”
— Waterstones

“Moving, high-concept…wonderfully illuminating.”
— Booklist, starred review

“The intertextual references, another hallmark of a Lockhart novel, remind us not to worry so much about which timeline is ‘real’ … but what is ‘true’…Ultimately it impacts on both heart and head.”
— Irish Times

“Lockhart captures the complexity of teenage life in richly layered and sometimes darkly thrilling novels — but this has a poignancy that pierces the heart…Moving and witty.”
— Daily Mail

“Funny, incredibly sad, and extremely thought-provoking.”
— Lamont Books

“Surprising and charming.”
— Shelf Awareness

“In every universe, [Adelaide] is big sister to Toby, a relapsed addict. If Adelaide can heal that relationship, the pieces of her complicated love life just might fall into place. An offbeat, philosophical, multiverse love story.”
— The Horn Book, top ten YA summer reads

“Lockhart’s latest book highlights her creativity in both writing and format… Adelaide is a delightful character who makes the plot completely believable in all the worlds in which she exists. Verdict: A lyrical read that’s also fun as it addresses myriad truths.”
— School Library Journal, starred review

“Cleverly constructed…It’s a complicated concept, but it unfolds with surprising grace and ease, and the alternatives are as deftly characterized as the main narrative, illustrating how many plausible ways we could all react in any situation and what a difference it makes.”
— The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books, starred review 

“A thoughtfully subversive exploration of the diverging pathways of the human heart."
— Kirkus Reviews

“A twisty, inventive, philosophical and romantic story about finding, losing and understanding love.”
— Gayle Forman, author of If I Stay and I Have Lost My Way

“Hilarious, poignant, brimming with realistic, lovable characters (and dogs) in multiple universes. I loved it.”
— Jaclyn Moriarty, author of Gravity is the Thing and A Corner of White

Excerpt from Again Again

He picked up a tennis ball that was lying in the sand. “Birthday! Come here, boy.”

“She’s a girl,” Adelaide said.
“Come here, girl.”
B-Cake ignored him.
“She doesn’t fetch,” Adelaide told him. “I know that dog.” The boy laughed. “Okay. I don’t need to throw if she’s not into it.” He sat down next to her. “I’m just taking her this week- end while the owner’s out of town. Are all of these yours?” He was talking about EllaBella, Rabbit, and the rest.

“I just walk them.”

He reached down to pet EllaBella, who was lying at Ad- elaide’s feet. “This dog is my favorite,” he said. “She has an ex- cellent beard.” EllaBella was a bushy black mutt, nearly fifteen years old.

“She’s my favorite too,” Adelaide whispered. “But don’t tell the others.”

EllaBella was owned by Derrick Byrd, a single teacher of history. He’d come to Alabaster last year. He still had unpacked boxes in his house, which was two doors down from her dad’s.

“I never tell secrets,” said the boy. She liked the way his mouth moved when he spoke. He had blue paint underneath his nails.

“What did you paint?” she asked.

“I have access to the art studio for the summer. I’m painting abstract shapes, I guess you’d call them. Things that look like other things but aren’t those things.”

“Like what?”
“This one I’m doing—don’t laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“Well, you can laugh. It’s kind of a hippopotamus and it’s kind of a car. And also, it’s kind of a church. The meaning is what the viewer sees in it.”

“Hm.”

“I’m not getting the effect I want,” he said. “A lot of them look like blobs, not church hippos or whatever. It’s just the start of an idea.”

“What year are you?” she asked.
“Rising senior.”
“I’ve never seen you. On campus.”
He told her he had just transferred in. “My mother died six months ago.” She’d had leukemia. He and his father had relocated from Spain four weeks ago. His dad used to teach at Alabaster and was now going to head the Modern Languages department.

“I’m so sorry,” Adelaide said. “About your mother.”

“Yeah, well. Thanks.” Lord Voldemort came up and wagged his stubby tail. “How come you walk so many dogs?”

“The teachers go away on summer travel. My father teaches English, but this summer he’s working in Admissions for extra money. I got the idea to collect people’s dogs and take them out, morning and evening. I feed them, too.”

“I’m gonna get Birthday to fetch,” he said. “Watch me.”

He chased after B-Cake, showing her the tennis ball. “You know you want it. Look at it, so yellow. Covered with awesome dog slime. Watch it, watch it!”

   B-Cake ignored him. Finally, Pretzel leaped up and grabbed the tennis ball from the boy’s hand, then took it off to a corner to enjoy.

Adelaide smiled for the first time since Mikey had broken up with her.

“What are their names?” the boy asked.

“The big black one is EllaBella. The small hairy one who took the tennis ball is Pretzel. The pit bull is Rabbit.”

“Aren’t pit bulls vicious?”

“They have a strong bite, but nah. If they’re treated well, they have good personalities.”

“Wait, isn’t this one a pit bull too?” He pointed. “Nuh-uh. The Great God Pan is a French bulldog.” “And that one?”
“Lord Voldemort is a bull terrier.”

He shrugged. “Variations on a theme. Same basic thing.”

“You said something similar when we met at the rooftop party.”

He shook his head, not remembering.

“You said,” explained Adelaide, “that all the roof parties were variations on a theme. You said the parties echoed each other. Warm summer nights, drinks in plastic washtubs and people in shorts. The same songs playing.”

Remember me, she willed him.
Remember the party.
Remember what you said. Then remember what I said.
“That dog is trying to jump the fence,” the boy announced. Adelaide looked.
Rabbit the pit bull was crouched, waggling her back end like a cat about to spring.

“She can’t go over,” Adelaide said.
“She’s trying. Look at her try.”
And Rabbit jumped.
Rabbit was burly and dark gray, with a white chest and white paws. Her mouth was that wide, pit-bull mouth that looks like a smile, and her legs were short and stocky. Her neck was so thick it could not properly be called a neck at all.

She cleared the fence.

In a hot second she was followed by B-Cake. It defied the laws of physics.

Adelaide took a run at the fence and jumped herself over. The boy came out through the gate and held out the leash. “Birthday! Come here, Birthday!” he called.

B-Cake and Rabbit were tumbling on the lawn, running in manic circles.

“She goes by B-Cake,” Adelaide informed him, stopping to rest.

“Not Birthday. She won’t even know Birthday is her name.”

“Why wouldn’t Kaspian-Lee tell me that?” the boy moaned.

Sunny Kaspian-Lee was Adelaide’s teacher. She taught De- sign for the Theater, which was a class on costumes, props, and lighting. And Set Design. Adelaide had taken them both. When they ran into each other on campus, Kaspian-Lee al- ways said “Hello, Adelaide Buchwald,” and Adelaide always said “Hello, Ms. Kaspian-Lee.”

The teacher wore sculptural clothes and had short bangs that stopped midway down her forehead. In cold weather, she’d be wrapped in a burgundy trench coat, with a black-watch cap, walking B-Cake to and from the Arts Center. She often carried unwieldy bags full of poster boards, long wooden dowels, and once, feathers. She would hold them against her torso with both arms, with B-Cake’s leash hooked around one wrist.

Now, as the dogs raced and tumbled over each other, Adelaide chased Rabbit. The boy threw himself across the grass to tackle B-Cake. He missed her, thrugh, and she ran past him.

“She’ll murder me if I lose her dog,” he said, scrambling to his feet.