Where We Used to Roam (Libro en Inglés)

$ 462.00
ISBN: 9781534457300
por Aladdin
ISBN: 9781534457300
Editorial: Aladdin
Autor: Bishop, Jenn
Año de edición: 2022
N° Paginas: 368
Tipo de pasta: Pasta blanda
Descripción: “Sensitively told and heartfelt…will open up many difficult, but important conversations.” —Jasmine Warga, Newbery Honor–winning author of Other Words for HomeIn this powerful middle grade novel from the acclaimed author of Things You Can’t Say, a young girl struggles to find her place while her older brother fights to overcome opioid addiction—perfect for fans of The Seventh Wish and Violets Are Blue.When Emma starts sixth grade, things finally begin to change. She may still be in the shadow of her older brother, Austin, the popular high school quarterback, but she’s made artsy new friends who get her way more than her bookish best friend, Becca.But things are changing for Austin, too. After undergoing surgery for a football injury, Austin has become addicted to opioid painkillers. By the end of the school year, everything blows up with Austin—and Becca. When their parents decide to send Austin to rehab and Emma to stay with family friends in Wyoming for the summer, Emma seizes the chance to get away.Wyoming turns out to be a perfect fresh start, especially after Emma makes friends with Tyler, a kindred spirit who doesn’t judge her—then again, he doesn’t know what she did to Becca. Still, Emma can’t hide forever…or go back to the way things were with Austin or with Becca. But can she find a way to confront the truth and move forward?About the AuthorJenn Bishop is the author of the middle grade novels Things You Can’t Say, 14 Hollow Road, The Distance to Home, and Where We Used to Roam. She grew up in Massachusetts and as a college student spent one incredible summer in Wyoming. She has been obsessed with bison ever since. After working as a children’s librarian, she received her MFA in writing for children and young adults from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. Jenn currently calls Cincinnati, Ohio, home. Visit her online at JennBishop.com.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Chapter OneCHAPTER ONEMaybe everything could have been different if Ms. Patel—sorry, Nisha—had never approached me in art class. Not that any of what happened after is her fault. It’s just that something—someone—had to be the first domino to fall. The one that sent all the others toppling. And if I think back, it was that moment that set it all into motion.At least as far as Becca was concerned.It was seventh period, the last class of the day before Thanksgiving break. But you wouldn’t have been able to tell from peeking into the art room on that gray day. Ms. Patel always had music playing in her room—a mix of her own CDs and student iPhones plugged into her speaker system.We’d rotated into art only a few weeks earlier with the start of second quarter, so I still didn’t know her that well, but already I liked her a whole lot more than Mr. Morris, who we’d had for health last quarter. Seemed like his job was mostly to scare us away from trying drugs.I was half listening to the music, some kind of punk mix that my brother would probably be into, while I worked on my portrait drawing. Instead of randomly pairing us with other students in the class—the definition of awkward—Ms. Patel asked us to bring in a photograph of a family member or a loved one. “No celebrities,” she’d said when Teagan Washington tried to pass off a picture of Timothée Chalamet as a “distant cousin.”The one I’d been bringing to life the past few classes was a photo of my brother. A snapshot Dad had taken at one of Austin’s football practices this summer. Austin and his teammates were goofing off on the sidelines. It was one of those rare pictures that truly looks like the person. Every time I look at a photo of myself, it never quite matches up to the me I see in the mirror. The me I’m used to. And maybe mirror me isn’t real me after all. But still.I was shading in the laugh lines around Austin’s eyes when Ms. Patel stopped behind me. Her curly black hair was always up in a messy bun, and she had the kind of funky
  • Idioma: Inglés
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