Pages: 256 pages
Publisher: Soho Teen (August 12, 2014)
National Book Award-finalist Adele Griffin tells the fully illustrated story of a brilliant young artist, her mysterious death, and the fandom that won’t let her go.
From the moment she stepped foot in NYC, Addison Stone’s subversive street art made her someone to watch, and her violent drowning left her fans and critics craving to know more. I conducted interviews with those who knew her best—including close friends, family, teachers, mentors, art dealers, boyfriends, and critics—and retraced the tumultuous path of Addison’s life. I hope I can shed new light on what really happened the night of July 28.
Today’s post will be slightly different! Those of us participating in this blog tour were asked to create (whether it be write, draw, paint, etc.) something as an homage to Addison Stone as if we knew her. I am choosing to write a tribute, not as a character from the book, but as someone of my own creation.
I only ever met Addison once. Once, though, is all it takes for someone to become engrained into your subconscious, especially when you’re talking about someone as potent as Addison Stone. I was in the City visiting my cousin, Marie-Claire, following Christmas into the New Year; I’d always dreaded these visits because really, who can actually stand to be around MC? Biggest gossip, if there ever was one. And I mean, look, MC buries it deep that I’m not rich and famous like her. She always introduces me to people under a different name, as someone who’s not related to her.
I was forced off to this huge New Years’ Eve bash with her. I wanted to claw some eyes out that night, that’s for sure. The group of people MC hangs with is so far from my comfort zone, like throwing yourself into a lion’s den. But you can’t tell her that; mainly because she’s just like these people. I tried hiding at a table in the back while MC did her thing and some DJ spun into oblivion.
So when this skinny girl dressed in tin foil walks in, balancing haughtily in her platforms that were at least eight inches tall, making her tower over everyone in room, I felt this unexpected draw. It was clear I wasn’t the only one. Everyone stopped when this girl walked in, like she was some sort of goddess to them. Hell if I know anything about the art scene but I knew instantaneously that she was famous, at least to them.
MC just yanked me out of the booth and dragged me all the way up to the girl, introducing her as Addison Stone. Oh,, I thought. MC talked a whole lot about Addison a whole lot of the time. She introduced me as Ginny this time, and something must have flashed in my expression, because my cousin had barely finished speaking when Addison interrupted her. “Cut the bullshit, Marie-Claire,” she said. Her tone was syrupy-sweet, unlike her words. “What’s your real name?”
MC was pretty mad but I was chuffed. I told her and she kept asking questions for several minutes following, like what’s my age, where was I from, what I was interested in.
The whole time, I had this feeling she was drinking me in, desperately trying to grasp parts of me I wasn’t sure existed. At the same time, it was like a piece of her began to slowly attach itself to me. Long after the night ended, long after I went back home and returned to school and my routine, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that Addison Stone was a permanent fixture in my life now.
Even now, after she’s gone, I can still feel her. I only ever met Addison Stone once. How does it only take one time for a person to become engrained into your subconscious?