Some people from the debut group reach out to me to apologize. Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, none of them is Jenna. My closest buddy Jenna has remained staunchly silent. She took down the tweets she’d made about me, along with the screenshots of my private conversations, and based on that, I assume she’s seen my op-ed and decided it’s best for her to stay the hell out of this mess. Lisa, Yuna, and Felicity are the ones who reach out. Felicity is the most apologetic of them all, which is ironic.
Fern, she says over Twitter DM,I am so, so sorry for everything that Haven has put you through. I was bullied too back in high school, and reading that op-ed you wrote made me cry. My heart breaks for what you’ve been through. That journal entry about the hissing cockroaches? That ... it’s pure evil. I’m not saying you were justified in cutting Haven’s electricity cables, but ... I get it. When I was bullied, I often fantasized doing the most messed up shit to my bullies. I imagined running over them with my car! Of course I never did anything to harm them, but I just want to say I understand and I am so sorry that you lost your book deal over this. It’s so unfair. The debut group misses you very much and if you ever want to come back into the Slack, you are always welcome to. Haven is blocked from there so it’s a safe space for you.
I reply:Thank you so much, Felicity! I really appreciate your kind words. It means the world to me that people know the truth and understand where I’m coming from. I totally agree that what I did was despicable, and I am so ashamed of myself for doing it. I will never be able to make up for what I did. Thank you for inviting me back to the Slack, but given the inexcusable things I’ve done and also the fact that I’m no longer a debut author, I don’t think I should come back there. I miss you guys very much, but we can chat over DMs! Please give my regards to everyone in the Slack group and tell them I wish everyone the best with their books.
I don’t tell Felicity that the truth is, I’ve had enough of debut groups for now. Especially one that turned its back on me so swiftly. One where the friends I’d made plastered our private chats all over the internet. No, from now on, no more debut groups for me. Not that I have a choice, since I don’t even have a book to debut with.
Haven has completely disappeared from social media. She’s deleted her Twitter and Instagram. Completely wiped from the internet. Part of me, the old part that clings to bad habits, is tempted to take a drive down to her house to see what’s going on with her. But it’s a small part. Like I said, I’m healing, and seeing the words “@HavenMLee: This user does not exist” propels me onward in my healing journey. I stare at the screen for a long time, reveling in the delicious joy that these words bring me. She’s gone. She had a business as an influencer, and she deleted it. That’s huge. Earth shattering. And all because the world now knows the truth about her.
A week after the op-ed comes out, Haven’s publisher releases a statement.
We are canceling the publication of Haven M. Lee’s book,She asked for it, due to improper conduct by the author. Wallace Books has a firm stance on bullying, and does not condone the actions of Haven M. Lee.
When I read it, I actually gasp out loud so hard that Mom pops her head through the doorway. These days, I’ve started leaving my bedroom door open to signal to my parents that I’m up for a chat. It’s part of my journey to recovery. I think they’ve sensed the change in me, because the suffocating tension that existed between us has eased up a little, and they’re no longer as jumpy around me. They pop by my room once in a while, and each time, they will have a gift for me—a plate of freshly sliced apple, or my clothes, fresh out of the dryer, folded neatly. And I realize that for Mom and Dad, their love language may not be what I wanted, but it’s been there all along. They show me their care and concern in myriad tiny gestures, like giving me the biggest piece of chicken at dinner, or switching from penne to linguini because they know I prefer it. They’re still awkward most times, and they still speak in an overly formal way, but I remind myself to focus on the good stuff, and I think that overall, we’re doing well.
But right now, Mom says, “Are you okay? What happened?” and when she says this, I see the old concern creeping back over her face.
“Oh, just some publishing drama.” I hesitate, then I decide that actually, I would like my parents to know what just happened. I want to see my mother’s face when she realizes that Haven isn’t perfect. “You remember Haven from school?”
“Of course. She was here not long ago. The day that you, ah, fell.”
“Yes. She has a book deal too. Well, she had. Her publisher just announced that they’re canceling it.” I’m careful not to sound too smug about this. I deliver the news in as neutral a voice as possible.
Now it’s Mom’s turn to gasp. “What? Why?”
“They said it’s because of improper conduct.”
Mom’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my. What sort of improper conduct?”
“I don’t ...” I was about to say I don’t know, but I don’t want to lie to my parents. And anyway, they might find out about it; my op-ed is still being shared online. It’s only a matter of time before one of their friends sees it and links it to them. “Bullying,” I say. “But I don’t wantto get into it right now. Sorry.” In my mind, Aliyah goes, “Good job setting boundaries, Fern.”
Mom huffs and shakes her head in wonderment. “My goodness. Bullying. Who would’ve thought.”
It takes everything inside me to not say “I would.” I shrug, and Mom leaves the room, muttering to herself. I go back to Twitter and look up Haven’s agent, and sure enough, there’s a statement from her as well.
With sadness, I am announcing that Haven Lee and I have parted ways. Rest assured, I am reading and listening to all of your messages and I am learning from them. We at Reed Literary cannot support any authors who take part in bullying or harassment of any kind.
“Wow,” I whisper under my breath. The seven-figure book deal is no more. Without a doubt, all the different territories will also follow suit now that the US publisher has dropped Haven’s book. How much would she have to return to them? Part of me recoils in horror as I make a quick calculation of how much Haven would owe them. Close to a million altogether, if not more. How much has she spent? Haven has always liked beautiful things. I’m sure she bought herself nice things as soon as she got the first check. Despite myself, I feel rather bad for Haven. This could spell the beginning of financial ruin for her, and though she’s a horrible person, it never feels good to see anyone fall so hard.
My phone beeps with yet another new email. I’ve been getting so many. Most of them are from people reaching out to tell me their personal experience with bullies, and some have been from other news sites, asking me if I’d be interested in writing an op-ed for them. They’re all emails I have loved receiving, so every time I hear the beep of anemail, I get a little shot of endorphins. But now, the shot of endorphins is much bigger than the usual one. Because the email is from Haven’s ex-agent.
Dear Fern,
Let me introduce myself. I’m Rachel. I used to represent Haven Lee. Since your op-ed came out, I have parted ways with Haven. I have been in long discussions with my colleagues. What you wrote was incredibly powerful. I really admire your courage in sharing your story as well as your unflinching honesty. You didn’t hold back. You showed us everything, warts and all, and I think that’s why the piece was so successful. You have a gift, and that gift is writing the truth. This op-ed deserves to be a book. It is going to change many lives, and that is not an exaggeration. Everyone has been treated badly at some point in their lives. Many people are currently going through abuse like this. This topic is timely and relevant and I have no doubt that your book will find a good home. You have an amazing voice for writing nonfiction, and I would love to be your champion who will take your book to publishers and negotiate the best possible deal on your behalf. Let’s set up a Zoom call to chat. I look forward to hearing from you.
Warmest regards,
Rachel
For a while, the email leaves me speechless. Or rather, thought-less? I merely sit there and try to digest what I’ve just read. I go back to“Dear Fern” and start over. Oh my god. Is this real? Did Rachel Reed just offer to represent me?TheRachel Reed? The Rachel Reed whose client list includes actual celebrities and authors whose books have been on theNew York Timesbestseller list for years? I log on to Publishers Marketplace and look her up, and yep, she’s made eleven deals this year alone, and not a single one was below six figures. In fact, only two of them are below “significant,” and out of the remaining nine, four were for “major deals.” In the previous year, she made fifteen deals, and again, they are all above six figures. This agent is nothing like Poppy. Rachel Reed is in the big leagues. And she wants to represent me.
I start drafting a reply immediately, though it takes me over an hour to settle on a message with what I deem the appropriate tone. As I delete and rewrite my message over and over again, I find myself thinking: I should go to the private chat and ask Lisa and Jenna to help me draft it! Then I remember that I am no longer in the Slack group. Oh well.
Dear Rachel,
Thank you so much for your email! I really appreciate your kind words. It means a lot to me that you understand where I’m coming from. I would love to talk to you over Zoom. Please let me know when you are available.
Best wishes,
