Shortly after Wave was released, it was nominated for the 2005 New Jersey Notable Book Award. The NJNBA is given out intermittently by the New Jersey Center for the Book, which is an affiliate of the Library of Congress. Their stated mission is to “…celebrate books, reading, libraries, and the diverse literary heritage of New Jersey.” Needless to say, simply having Wave nominated was a thrill—the odds of making the final cut were slim at best, and I knew that. I was told the winners (twenty in total) would be announced in November, so I crossed my fingers, kept my expectations within the boundaries of reality, and waited. November came and went, and I didn’t hear from anyone. Not even a polite note explaining that Wave had been “…carefully considered…certainly merited an award…but in the end…etc., etc.” I was disappointed to be sure, but I rationalized it by thinking, “Well, at least it was nominated. That’s something.” And I went back to my life. A few months later, I received an email from a librarian friend. The subject line had just one character—an exclamation point. And while the message was similarly brief, its content had the impact of slug to the face— ”I just received the posters from the Center for the Book. Why didn’t you tell us Wave was one of the winners???” My immediate reaction, of course, was complete bewilderment. I wondered if my librarian friend was having a bit of fun at my expense. Then I thought, no, she’s not that type of person. She’s a terrific individual, and not one given to such cruelty (even for recreational purposes). So I called her. I asked about the posters (the Center promised to distribute posters in libraries and bookstores throughout the state to celebrate the winners), which she described in detail. I said, “And Wave is on there?” Yes, she replied. Are you sure? I asked. Yes, she said again. Then there was a pause while I tried to puzzle out this freshly minted mystery. She must’ve sensed this, because her next comment was, “You don’t know anything about this, do you?” It was more of a statement than a question, and very accurate. No, I told her, I had no idea. No one had contacted me, via phone, email, snail mail, carrier pigeon, smoke signals, whatever. Not a word. A horrifying scenario entered my mind—back in November, there was some ceremony somewhere, and the attendees included 1) nineteen other authors, 2) every member of the New Jersey Center for the Book, and 3) a few dozen librarians. And when my name was announced, nothing happened. No one stood up, walked to the podium, and gave an acceptance speech. There were no handshakes, no pats on the back, no kind words. Just silence—icy, awkward silence. Crickets chirped, and people moved about uncomfortably in their seats. Then the NJCB director, red-faced and smiling, hurried to the microphone to issue an excuse that was obviously made up. And the moment she returned to her seat in the front row, with hundreds of eyes focused into the back of her neck, she began to plot my death. Something slow, something painful. Something justified. Maybe I’d be forced to watch soap operas until my eyes started bleeding. Perhaps I’d be dropped into a vat of lanolin so I could soften to death. Or I’d have to play for the Cincinnati Bengals. Shoving these fears aside, I called her and apologized profusely. I essentially threw myself at her mercy, ready to accept whatever punishment she was ready to hand down. As it turned out, my worries were unfounded—Renee Swartz, whose actual title at the NJCB is Chair and Coordinator, was terrific about everything. I had determined by this time that the reason I was never told about the award was because of a communication snafu at Wave’s publisher, and Renee found this fairly amusing. Then she had an idea—to make up for the missed ceremony, I was invited to attend another—the reading of select essays written by New Jersey students, held at the Governor’s Mansion in Princeton. I readily agreed, of course. It turned out to be a watercolor-perfect afternoon, the kids and their essays were magnificent, and I was able to read a brief statement. Oh, and I got a poster, too.