Spotlight on On The Hook (Francisco X. Stork), Excerpt, Plus Giveaway! ~ (US Only)

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Today we're excited to spotlight On The Hook by Francisco X Stork.

 Read on for more about Francisco and his book, an excerpt, plus an giveaway! 

 

 

 

Meet Francisco X Stork!

Francisco X. Stork emigrated from Mexico at the age of nine with his mother and his adoptive father. He is the author of nine novels including: Marcelo in the Real World, recipient of the Schneider Family Book Award, The Last Summer of the Death Warriors, which received the Elizabeth Walden Award, The Memory of Light, recipient of the Tomás Rivera Award, Disappeared, which received the Young Adult Award from the Texas Institute of Letters and was a Walter Dean Myers Award Honor Book and Illegal, recipient of the In the Margins Award and the Young Adult Award from the Texas Institute of Letters. On the Hook published in May of 2021 received starred reviews from Booklist, Kirkus Reviews and Publishers Weekly.

 

Website * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon Author Page

 


 

 

Meet On The Hook!

        

"You know I'm coming. You're dead already."

Hector has always minded his own business, working hard to make his way to a better life someday. He's the chess team champion, helps the family with his job at the grocery, and teaches his little sister to shoot hoops overhand.

Until Joey singles him out. Joey, whose older brother, Chavo, is head of the Discípulos gang, tells Hector that he's going to kill him: maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday. And Hector, frozen with fear, does nothing. From that day forward, Hector's death is hanging over his head every time he leaves the house. He tries to fade into the shadows -- to drop off Joey's radar -- to become no one.

But when a fight between Chavo and Hector's brother Fili escalates, Hector is left with no choice but to take a stand.

The violent confrontation will take Hector places he never expected, including a reform school where he has to live side-by-side with his enemy, Joey. It's up to Hector to choose whether he's going to lose himself to revenge or get back to the hard work of living.

 

 

Amazon * B & N * Indiebound

 

 

 

 

~ Excerpt ~

 

 

It was still light at seven when Hector walked to the back of the grocery store. Besides stacking and pricing, one of Hector’s jobs was folding cardboard boxes and tossing them in the recycling bin. It was an easy job that allowed him to think about other things. That evening he was thinking about his brother, Fili. There was something different about him lately. He was coming home earlier than usual, and he did not reek of alcohol when he tumbled into bed.

Could it be that Fili was finally pulling out of the depres- sion he had fallen into after Papá died?

Hector froze when he heard the roar from a car behind him. He turned quickly, but there was no blue Impala. It was just a delivery van in need of a new muffler. The whole thing with Joey had him rattled. I’ll be looking for you? It seemed like a very specific thing to say. Specific words specifically directed at him. Hector remembered how Chavo had tossed a beer can in the back of Fili’s truck the week before. It wasn’t just a careless toss; there was anger in the way he threw the can. Hector later went out and picked up the can before Fili could see it. His brother was very protective of his truck, and if he’d seen the can, he’d have known it was Chavo and his friends who’d tossed it there. Fili was not afraid of anyone. He’d go up to Chavo and say a few choice words to him, or worse.

Hector heard footsteps behind him. A tremor ran through him. He knew, even before he turned around, that the foot- steps were Joey’s.

Maybe Joey needed a few empty boxes for the drug busi- ness. Frank, Hector’s boss, had a rule that all empty box requests had to go through him, but Hector decided, right then and there, that if Joey wanted boxes, he could take as many as he wanted.

Hector scanned the loading docks for another Piggly Wiggly employee, but there was no one. The recycling containers were in a far corner of the lot, where the trucks could have enough room to back in and pull out. No one driving by on the street would see the containers. Hector reminded himself that the word in the projects was that Chavo could be violent for no reason, but there were no such rumors about Joey.

Joey had gotten into fights at school with kids who had disrespected him somehow. And what had Hector ever done or said to Joey? Nothing. There was no reason to be afraid. Except, Hector thought as he turned around, for the cold look on Joey’s face, and the slow, purposeful way he was walking, like he meant to kill.

“What’s up?” Hector said, trying to sound casual. Joey moved in closer than was needed for a normal conversation. Hector hugged an empty box of baby food against his chest.

“You think you the big mierda?” Joey asked. Joey’s tone was different than when he’d called Hector a pendejo ear- lier. There was less insult in his voice. It was as if Joey had casually asked Hector for the time. There was a slight slur to his words, and Hector thought maybe Joey was drunk. He looked for other signs of inebriation, signs Hector was famil- iar with, but he didn’t see any.

“I’m asking you. You think you the big mierda?”

The question jolted Hector. He had assumed from Joey’s round, shaved head and tattooed neck that the kid was com‐ pletely checked out. So why would Joey ask that? Had he heard about how he was the best chess player at school?

Realizing he owed Joey a response, Hector said hastily, “What? No. I don’t think that. What are you talking about?”

Joey slapped the box from Hector’s hands. Hector stepped back and tripped on the boxes he had yet to fold. Joey grabbed Hector’s T‐shirt and lifted him off his toes with the same ease with which Hector had been picking up empty boxes. Joey’s face was so close to him that he could smell cinnamon on his breath.

“Look at me!” Joey ordered.

Hector forced himself to stare into Joey’s eyes. The dark circles floated as if unhinged, but when they finally came to rest, Hector saw hatred there. Not the kind that blazed up with momentary anger but one that had been smoldering for a long time. But why? What had he ever done to Joey? This was not making any sense.

Hector stuck his right hand in his pocket to keep it from trembling. “What do you want?” he asked. He had to look away from Joey’s steady stare.

Joey jerked Hector’s hand out of the pocket. Then, pinning Hector against the dumpster, he dug into Hector’s pocket and pulled out a box cutter. He slid the small blade out and held it in front of Hector’s face. “You gonna use this?”

Hector shook his head. “Let me go,” he said weakly. What was it that Fili had once said to him about not showing fear? But it was useless to pretend he wasn’t afraid or to try to manufacture courage he knew he didn’t have.

Joey moved the blade in front of Hector’s eyes as if trying to hypnotize him. “You and your pinche brother are nothing but pieces of stinking cagada.”

“Okay.”
“You’re a coward.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? You’re a coward?”
“I guess so.”
“Say it.”
“I’m . . . a coward.”
“That chavita you were walking with earlier—what’s her name?”
Hector shook his head.
Joey put his hands around Hector’s neck, softly at first, and then he began to squeeze.
“What’s her name?”
“Azarakhsh Pourmohammadi,” Hector said between gasps.

“What?”
“It’s . . . her . . . name.” Hector tried to pull Joey’s arm away. “Where’s she from? Las Cruces?” Joey roared with laughter. There was a joke in there somewhere, but only Joey knew where.

Hector stood on his toes to relieve the pressure, but Joey’s grip gradually increased until all air coming into Hector’s lungs was cut off. Then, just as Hector was about to lose consciousness, Joey let him go. Hector sank to his knees, coughing and gagging. As soon as he could breathe, Joey pulled Hector’s hair until Hector was on his feet again.

“Listen to me, culero.” Joey grabbed Hector’s face and held it until Hector’s eyes were focused. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Please! No!”

“Cállate. I’m talking. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna slice you up. Not now. Soon. I want you to think about it. Every pinche minute of your pinche vida you be thinking about it. Be waiting for it. And this is so you don’t forget you’re a gusano. A mierda, a cobarde.” Joey stuck his forearm in Hector’s neck and pushed his head hard against the recycling container. He lifted Hector’s T‐shirt and slowly carved a C in the left side of Hector’s chest, above his heart.

 

 

 



 

 

 

On The Hook

By: Francisco X. Stork

Publisher: Scholastic Press

Release Date: May 18th, 2021

 

 

 

 

*GIVEAWAY DETAILS*

Two winners will receive a copy of On The Hook (Francisco X. Stork) ~ (US Only)

 

 

*Click the Rafflecopter link below to enter the giveaway*  

 

 

 

 

 

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Today we're excited to spotlight The Great Godden by Meg Rosoff.

 Read on for more about Meg and her book, an excerpt, plus an giveaway! 

 

 

 

Meet Meg Rosoff!

Meg Rosoff is the author of How I Live Now, winner of the Michael L. Printz Award. She is a recipient of the Carnegie Medal and the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award and was named a National Book Award Finalist for her novel Picture Me Gone. Meg Rosoff also completed Mal Peet’s unfinished novel Beck, a promise she made him before he died. She lives in London.

 

Visit her website for more info! 

 


 

 

Meet The Great Godden!

       

This is the story of one family during one dreamy summer—the summer when everything changes. In an eccentric, turreted vacation house by the sea, our watchful narrator sees everything, including many things that shouldn’t be seen, while brothers and sisters, parents and theatrical older cousins fill the hot days with wine and tennis and sailing and planning a wedding. Enter two brothers, the sons of a fading film actress—irresistibly charming, languidly sexy Kit and surly, silent Hugo. Suddenly there’s a serpent in this paradise, and the consequences will be devastating. In a propulsive narrative carrying intrigue and a growing sense of unease, Meg Rosoff, best-selling author of the iconic How I Live Now, offers a summer tale of innocence lost that will find its place among the classics of young adult literature.

From National Book Award Finalist Meg Rosoff comes a lyrical, compulsively readable coming-of-age tale that is heady, irresistible, and timeless.

 

 

Amazon * B & N * Indiebound

 

 

 

 

~ Excerpt ~

1

Everyone talks about falling in love like it’s the most miraculous, life-changing thing in the world. Something happens, they say, and you know. You look into the eyes of your beloved and see not only the person you’ve always dreamed you’d meet, but the you you’ve always secretly believed in, the you that inspires longing and delight, the you no one else really noticed before.

That’s what happened when I met Kit Godden. I looked into his eyes and I knew.

Only, everyone else knew too. Everyone else felt exactly the same way.

 

Every year when school ends we jam the car full of indispensable junk and head to the beach. By the time six people have crammed their bare essentials into the car, Dad says he can’t see out the windows and there’s no room for any of us, so half of everything is removed but it doesn’t seem to help; I always end up sitting on a tennis racket or a bag of shoes. By the time we set off, everyone’s in a foul mood.

The drive is a nightmare of shoving and arguing and Mum shouting that if we don’t all pipe down she’s going to have a breakdown and once a year Dad actually pulls

over to the side of the road and says he’ll just sit there till everyone shuts the **** up.

We’ve been coming to the beach since we were born, and on the theory that life existed even before that, Dad’s been coming since he was a child, and Mum since she met Dad and gave birth to us four.

The drive takes hours but eventually we come off the motorway and that’s when the mood changes. The familiarity of the route does something to our brains and we start to whine silently, like dogs approaching a park. It’s half an hour precisely from the roundabout to the house and we know every inch of landscape on the way. Bonus points are earned for deer or horses glimpsed from car windows or an owl sitting on a fence post or Harry the Hare hopping down the road. Harry frequently appears in the middle of the road on the day we arrive and then again on the day we leave — incontrovertible proof that our world is a sophisticated computer simulation.

There’s no such thing as a casual arrival. We pull

into the grass drive, scramble out of the car, and then shout and shove our way into the house, which smells of ancient upholstery, salt, and musty stale air till we open all the windows and let the sea breeze pour through in waves

 

 

The first conversation always goes the same way:

 

MUM (dreamy): I miss this place so much. KIDS: So do we!

DAD: If only it were a little closer. KIDS: And had heat.

MUM (stern voice): Well, it’s not. And it doesn’t. So stop dreaming.

 

No one bothers to mention that she’s the one who brings the subject up every time.

Mum’s already got out the dustpan and is sweeping dead flies off the windowsills while Dad puts food away and makes tea. I run upstairs, open the drawer under my bed, and pull on last summer’s faded sweatshirt. It smells of old house and beach and now so do I.

Alex is checking bat-box cameras on his laptop and Tamsin’s unpacking at superhuman speed because Mum says she can’t go down to see her horse until everything’s put away. The horse doesn’t belong to her but she leases him for the summer and would save him in a fire hours before she’d save any of us.

Mattie, who’s recently gone from too-big features and no tits to looking like a sixteen-year-old sex goddess, has changed into sundress and wellies and is drifting

 

 

around on the beach because she sees her life as one long Instagram post. At the moment, she imagines she looks romantic and gorgeous, which unfortunately she does.

There’s a sudden excited clamor as Malcolm and Hope arrive downstairs to welcome us to the beach. Gomez, Mal’s very large, very mournful basset hound, bays at the top of his lungs. Tamsin and Alex will be kissing him all over, so really you can’t blame him.

Mal clutches two bottles of cold white wine and while everyone is hugging and kissing, Dad mutters, “It’s about time,” abandons the tea, and goes to find a corkscrew. Tam hurls herself at Mal, who sweeps her up in his arms and swings her around like she’s still a little girl.

Hope makes us stand in order of age: me, Mattie, Tamsin, and Alex. She steps back to admire us all, saying how much we’ve grown and how gorgeous we all are, though it’s obvious she’s mainly talking about Mattie. I’m used to being included in the gorgeous- Mattie narrative, which people do out of politeness. Tam snorts and breaks rank, followed by Alex. It’s not like we don’t see them in London, but between school and work, and what with living in completely different parts of town, it happens less than you might think.

 

 

“There’s supper when you’re ready,” Hope calls after them.

Dad wipes the wineglasses with a tea towel, fills them, and distributes the first glass of the summer to the over-eighteens, with reduced rations for Mattie, Tamsin, and me. Alex reappears and strikes like a rat snake when Hope leaves her glass to help Mum with a suitcase. He downs it in two gulps and slithers away into the under- brush. Hope peers at the empty glass with a frown but Dad just fills it again.

Everyone smiles and laughs and radiates optimism. This year is going to be the best ever — the best weather, the best food, the best fun.

The actors assembled, the summer begins.

 

Our house is picturesque and annoying in equal measure. For one thing it’s smaller than it looks, which is funny because most houses are the opposite. My great-great-grandfather built it for his wife as a wedding present in 1913, constructed in what Mum calls Post- Victorian-Mad-Wife-in-the-Attic style. It stayed in the family till the 1930s, when my ancestor had to sell it to pay off gambling debts. His son (my great-grandfather) bought it back twenty years later, restored the original periwinkle blue, and thereafter everyone refrained from mentioning the time it left the family. He also built a

house down the beach for family overflow, which is now owned by Hope. Since Mal came on the scene, we think of it as their house, even though technically it’s not.

Our house was built as a summer place, a kind of folly, not to be lived in year-round, so we don’t. It’s drafty, has no insulation, and the pipes freeze if you don’t drain them and fill the toilets with antifreeze in November, but we love every tower and turret and odd- shaped window and even the short staircase that ends in a cupboard. My great-great-grandfather must have had a great-great sense of humor because everything in the house is pointlessly idiosyncratic. But you can see the sea from nearly every window.

My bedroom is the watchtower. Most people wouldn’t want it because it’s ridiculously small, no room to swing a rat. Someone tall enough could touch all four walls at once by lying flat with arms and legs out- stretched. The tower comes with a built-in captain’s bed and a ladder, and the ladder goes up to a tiny widow’s walk, so named because women needed a place to walk while gazing out to sea through the telescope, waiting for their husbands to come back. Or not. Hence widow. I am the possessor of the brass telescope that belonged to my great-grandfather. He was in the navy and in his later years spent a lot of time doing what

 

 

I do — standing in the square tower with his tele- scope trained outward. I have no idea what he saw — probably the same things I do: boats, Jupiter, owls, hares, foxes, and the occasional naked swimmer. It’s kind of an unwritten rule that the telescope goes with the room. No one takes a vote; it just gets handed to the right per- son. Theoretically, the telescope and the room might have gone to Mattie, Tamsin, or Alex, but it didn’t.

There are lots of traditions in my family, like the passing down of this house and the passing down of the telescope. On the other hand, we’re distinctly lack- ing in the kind of traditions grand families have, like naming every oldest son Alfred or being feebleminded, and there’s no sign of the gambling gene reemerging, so that’s kind of a relief. But, wobble aside, when it comes to keeping property in the family from one generation to the next we’re practically on a par with the Queen.

On the other side of the house is a turret. Before we four were born, Mum and Dad used the turret as a bedroom, which was romantic but impractical as it threatens to blow away from the house altogether in a high wind. About five years ago they moved down a floor to a room-shaped room over the kitchen. Mum makes costumes for the National Opera, so the turret became her summer workroom. Alex’s room is across

 

 

the hall and everyone calls it the cutthroat. I used to think that was because of some murky historical murder, but Dad says it’s because it’s so small it makes you want to cut your throat. On the plus side, it has a hexagonal window and feels snug as the berth of a boat. Mattie and Tamsin shared a room for ages, but once Mattie hit twelve they had to be separated to prevent bloodshed. Even Mum and Dad realized that no one on earth could live with Mattie, so she ended up sole proprietor of the little guest house in the garden, which makes her feel exactly as special as she imagines she is.

Tamsin has the room all to herself now, which suits everyone, as it smells powerfully of horse.

Between the bedrooms is a long landing with a built-in window seat where you can stretch out and read or meet to play cards or look out the big window to the sea. The cotton cover on the window seat is so faded it’s hard to tell what color it once was. When we were little we used to call this area the playroom, but it’s actually just a corridor.

Outside, the house is decorated with Victorian curlicue gables and brackets, so even the fishermen stop to take pictures on their phones. It doesn’t help that it’s painted periwinkle blue. When I asked Dad why we couldn’t paint it a slightly less conspicuous color, he

 

 

shrugged and said, “It’s always been periwinkle blue,” which is the sort of thing you get a lot in my family. Mindless eccentricity.

Hope is Dad’s much younger cousin; Dad was twenty-two when Hope was born. Since they got together, Mal and Hope started staying at the little house every summer. It’s only a hundred meters down the beach from ours and it’s built of wood and glass, very modern for its time, with big wooden decks where everyone can sit and eat and look out at the sea.

Malcolm met Hope at drama school. No one thought the relationship would last because she seemed far too sensible to settle down with an actor. But they’ve been together for twelve years and we refer to them as Malanhope like they’re a single entity. Where’s Malanhope? Are Malanhope coming for dinner?

“I hope Malcolm doesn’t lose Hope,” Dad says at least once a week, though in fact the joke is particu- larly stupid given how devoted Hope is to Malcolm. We are too — he’s insanely handsome and an indefatigable player of board games.

Mal and Hope are both in their early thirties and far more interesting than our parents. They’re ringleaders in all things summery — drunkenness, indiscreet conver- sations, all-night poker. They both started out as actors,

 

 

but Hope decided one day that she hated auditions and hated being poor, so now she teaches drama at a univer- sity in Essex. Occasionally she does voice-overs because she’s a brilliant mimic, unlike Mal. All Mal’s accents sound Irish and his attempts to speak with an American accent are pitiful. None of us has ever said it out loud, but it should probably be Hope earning a living as an actor and Mal teaching drama.

I saw Hope onstage once, playing Nora in A Doll’s House. I was only thirteen but you had to be blind not to see how good she was. I’d never seen anyone do so little and express so much, and I never forgot it. When Malcolm acts, he throws his whole heart and soul around the stage like a rubber chicken.

We adore Mal. He teaches us stuff like sword fight- ing and how to laugh convincingly onstage. Mattie flirts with him, but she flirts with all forms of human life, so it’s barely notable. Malcolm flirts back so as not to hurt her feelings. Mattie isn’t stupid, but sometimes I think she’s the most trivial person I know. She says she wants to be a doctor but her brain seems mostly filled with sex and shoes.

Mattie’s just wandered back up from the water. No one there to admire her but the fish. She shouts to no



 

one in particular that she’s going down the beach to help Hope with supper.

I can hear Tamsin arguing with Dad about giving her a ride to the barn. There’s a sort of policy that Tam is allowed to have Duke for the summer but doesn’t get a lift up every time she has a whim to go and see him. She’s right that it takes five minutes to drive and twenty to cycle, but if you add up all the five minutes she’ll require in the course of a summer, Dad’s right to nip it in the bud.

Mum ends the discussion and for a few blissful moments there’s peace.







T H E   G R E A T

G O D D E N


MEG ROSOFF






This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

 

Copyright © 2020 by Meg Rosoff

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

 

First US edition 2021

First published by Bloomsbury (UK) 2020

 

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending ISBN 978-1-5362-1585-4

 

21 22 23 24 25 26 LBM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

 

Printed in Melrose Park, IL, USA

 

This book was typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro.

 

Candlewick Press 99 Dover Street

Somerville, Massachusetts 02144 www.candlewick.com

 



 

 

 

The Great Godden

By: Meg Rosoff

Publisher: Candlewick Press

Release Date: April 12th, 2021

 

 

 

 

*GIVEAWAY DETAILS*

Five winners will receive a copy of The Great Godden (Meg Rosoff) ~ (US Only)

 

 

*Click the Rafflecopter link below to enter the giveaway*  

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

 

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Comments 3

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Danielle Hammelef on Saturday, 05 June 2021 14:34

The cover is dark and matches the dark and emotional synopsis.

0
The cover is dark and matches the dark and emotional synopsis.
Penny Olson on Tuesday, 08 June 2021 23:10

The cover is dark and tense and the synopsis sounds emotional.

0
The cover is dark and tense and the synopsis sounds emotional.
novak dj on Tuesday, 15 June 2021 23:51

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Am here to testify what this great spell caster done for me. i never believe in spell casting, until when i was was tempted to try it. i and my wife have been having a lot of problem living together, she will always not make me happy because she have fallen in love with another man outside our relationship, i tried my best to make sure that my wife leave this woman but the more i talk to her the more she makes me fell sad, so my marriage is now leading to divorce because she no longer gives me attention. so with all this pain and agony, i decided to contact this spell caster to see if things can work out between me and my wife again. this spell caster who was a man told me that my wife is really under a great spell that she have been charm by some magic, so he told me that he was going to make all things normal back. he did the spell on my wife and after 5 days my wife changed completely she even apologize with the way she treated me that she was not her self, i really thank this man his name is Dr ose he have bring back my wife back to me i want you all to contact him who are having any problem related to marriage issue and relationship problem he will solve it for you. his email is oseremenspelltemple@gmail.com  he is a man and his  great. wish you good time. He cast spells for different purposes like (1) If you want your ex back. (2) if you always have bad dream (3) You want to be promoted in your office. (4) You want women/men to run after you. (5) If you want a child. (6) You want to be rich. (7) You want to tie your husband/wife to be yours forever. (8) If you need financial assistance. (9) HIV/AIDS CURE (10) is the only answer to that your problem of winning the lottery Contact him today on oseremenspelltemple@gmail.com or whatsapp him on +2348136482342.  https://www.facebook.com/Dr-odion-spell-temple

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In this sequel to The Kinder Poison—which People magazine proclaimed...

Latest Member Reviews

The Neighborhood Surprise
 
4.0
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Jet the Cat (Is Not a Cat)
 
5.0
"JET THE CAT (IS NOT A CAT) is a charming picture book about a cat who does not quite fit..."
My High School Valentine Boyfriend
 
4.5
"My High School Valentine Boyfriend is a swoony, sweet teen romance. Shay and Finn are matched to work together on..."
Rolling Warrior: The Incredible, Sometimes Awkward, True Story of a Rebel Girl on Wheels Who Helped Spark a Revolution
 
4.7
"Born in 1947, Heumann had polio at a very young age, leaving her legs and arms very weak. She was..."
Clique Here: A Wish Novel
 
5.0
"Lily has decided she really needs to leave her private school after an embarrassing incident with mean girl Courtenay, so..."
Ghosts Unveiled! (Creepy and True #2)
 
5.0
"Ghosts are something that middle school students still think might be real; we have a lot of conversations about this..."
I Can See Clearly
 
3.3
"Luc Ponti comes from a strong Italian family, and his father (an NCAA point guard, Princeton grad, Special Forces and..."
Fire with Fire
 
4.7
"Dani Rivera may excel at every part of her dragon slaying training, but she would rather focus on being normal..."
A Time of Fear: America in the Era of Red Scares and Cold War
 
4.3
"Starting with Vladimir Lenin's evolution in the early 1900s, Marrin gives a really complete overview of Communism and the reaction..."
Better Together
 
5.0
"BETTER TOGETHER is a delightful and charming YA contemporary read about sisterhood, family, and healing. Siri lives with her mother..."
El Deafo: Superpowered Edition
 
5.0
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The Unexplainable Disappearance of Mars Patel
 
4.0
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Get a Clue: A Bookish Boyfriends #4
 
4.3
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Llama Llama Meets the Babysitter
 
4.0
"LLAMA LLAMA MEETS THE BABYSITTER is an overall fun new installment in the Llama Llama series. Following the usual format..."
City (Wheels at Work)
 
4.0
"WHEELS AT WORK: CITY is a simple but fun lift-the-flap book about vehicles little ones will see around the city...."
The Fault In Our Stars
 
5.0
"I had enjoyed this book to great extent. I loved the relationship connection between the two characters and how the..."
A Season of Flowers
 
4.3
"A SEASON OF FLOWERS is a lovely board book told from the perspective of flowers that appear from the spring..."
You Are Fantastic!
 
5.0
"YOU ARE FANTASTIC! is a brightly colored and cheerful read celebrating YOU! The book walks through some metaphorical compliments, such..."
Early One Morning
 
3.5
"EARLY ONE MORNING is a picture book walk around a farm. A little boy heads out to find a couple..."
Little Sap: The Magical Story of a Little Forest Family
 
4.5
"LITTLE SAP is a beautifully illustrated story about growing up, seasons, and forests. Little Sap can't wait to be a..."