I Wish You All the Best - Mason Deaver

“Heartfelt, romantic, and quietly groundbreaking. This book will save lives.” —Becky Albertalli, New York Times bestselling author of Simon vs. The Homo Sapiens Agenda

“Tender and bursting with humanity, I Wish You All the Best tells a heartwarming queer love story without compromise.” —Meredith Russo, Stonewall Award–winning author of If I Was Your Girl

“A beacon of hope in a broken world. We all need this book.” —Nic Stone, New York Times bestselling author of Dear Martin

“Emotional and heartfelt … This is the sort of novel that goes beyond being important; it has the potential to save and change lives.” —Kheryn Callender, Stonewall Award–winning author of Hurricane Child and This is Kind of an Epic Love Story

“A truly unique and beautiful debut.” —Adi Alsaid, author of Let’s Get Lost

“Profoundly poignant and often swoon-worthy … a stunning gift to the world.” —Jay Coles, author of Tyler Johnson Was Here

“An important and inspiring debut about identity, acceptance, friendship, familial relationships, and the people who become your family.” —Sabina Khan, author of The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali

“A soft, sweet, and incredibly important story about a nonbinary teen finding their voice. This book is going to be so important to so many people.” —Alice Oseman, author of Radio Silence

“A welcome addition to the growing body of LGBTQIAP+ literature.” —Booklist

For Robin, who was there from the beginning


Praise for I Wish You All the Best

Title Page


























Epilogue: Three Months Later

Author’s Note


About the Author

“Ben, honey, are you feeling well?”

Mom plucks the plate from in front of me, with most of my dinner still on it, untouched. I’d taken maybe one or two bites before it fell into my stomach like a rock and what little appetite I’d had to begin with was gone.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell her. Always easier to just tell her that. It’s better than having her pull out the thermometer and every bottle of medication we have in the cabinet. “Just a lot on my mind.”

There. Not a total lie.

“School?” Dad asks.

I nod.

“You aren’t falling behind, are you?”

“No, just a lot going on.” Again, not a total lie. Is it really even a lie if I’m just withholding certain information?

“Well,” Mom starts. “As long as you’re keeping your grades up. When does your report card come in?”

“Next week.” It’ll be all As, except in English, which will probably earn me a “We’re not angry, just disappointed.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You know these temperature changes have always gotten to you.” Mom walks back over to me and brushes the hair away from my forehead. “You do feel a little warm.”

“I’m fine.” I shake her hand away. “I promise, just tired.”

And I think that’s enough for her because she gives me this little smile.

“All right.” She’s still staring at me as she walks away. “We should schedule you a haircut, it’s getting too long in the back.”

“Okay.” I sip some water to give myself something to do. “Did I tell y’all that Gabby Daniels had to drop out as Art Club president?”

“No, did something happen?” Mom asks.

“I think it was just too much for her, she’s in like every other club at school. But that means that I get to take over for her!”

“Oh, honey, that’s great!” Mom says from the sink, washing off the plates before she slides them into the dishwasher. “Are you going to have to do anything extra for the club?”

“It’s mostly organizing events and trips. I was already covering for Gabby most meetings, so it won’t be much different.”

“You sure that won’t interfere with studying?” Dad chimes in, a grimace on his face. “Remember our agreement: If your grades slip, you have to quit.”

“Yes, sir.” I can feel that light pressure in my brain, like something’s getting tighter against my skull. I look at Mom, hoping she might say something, but she doesn’t. She just stares at the floor like she normally does when Dad gets like this. “I know.”

Dad sighs and walks into the den, while I grab the last of the dishes on the table and take them over to the counter, before pulling out the Tupperware to pack the leftovers.

“Thanks, honey.” Mom doesn’t look up from the dishes.

“No problem,” I tell her. “How was work?”

“Oh, you know.” She shrugs. “Dr. Jameson keeps handing off his paperwork to me instead of doing it himself.”

“Doing his own paperwork?” I tease. “What a concept.”

“Right?” Mom chuckles and gives me this wide-eyed look. “One day I swear I’m going to tell him off.”

“Don’t you tell me to never burn bridges?”

“Yes, that’s