{"title":"Teen \u0026 Young Adult","description":"","products":[{"product_id":"einsteins-compass-a-ya-time-traveler-adventure-9780998830889","title":"Einstein's Compass: A YA Time Traveler Adventure","description":"\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"...a riveting fantasy about soul-searching and growth which will keep young adult readers engrossed to the end.\"\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Diane Donovan, Senior Editor, Midwest Book Review\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eHow did Albert Einstein come up with his wondrous theories of light and time? \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eIn \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eEinstein's Compass: A YA Time Traveler Adventure\u003c\/em\u003e, a young Albert is gifted a supernatural compass that allows him to travel through time and space. He finds wisdom in other dimensions, like the lost city of Atlantis, but evil forces seek the power of the compass, including a monstrous, shape-shifting dragon from a different age. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eCan the compass protect Albert from such villainy?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSCROLL FOR SAMPLE!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e2020 Texas Indie Best Book Award Winner – YA Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e2020 Royal Dragonfly Book Award 1st Place \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e– Historical Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e2020 Royal Dragonfly Book Award 2nd Place \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e– YA Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e2020 Royal Dragonfly Book Award Honorable Mention \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e– Sci-Fi\/Fantasy\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e2020 RONE Cover Award 1sr Runner-Up – Fantasy\/Sci-Fi\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e2019 Readers’ Favorite Book Award Winner\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e2019 eLit Award Winner – Juvenile\/YA Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e2019 National Indie Excellence Award Finalist – YA Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e2019 International Book Awards Finalist – YA Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“5 Stars...an intriguing plot that…comes together with a fantastic swell of energy towards the end and builds to a startling and brilliant conclusion…\u003cem\u003eEinstein’s Compass\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eis a highly recommended story for those readers who enjoy an involved plot with plenty of amazing scenery, details and clever connections.”\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e—K.C. Finn for Readers’ Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“…there’s plenty of world-building and enough character intrigue to keep readers turning the pages. A fun fantasy adventure.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Historical Novel Society\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e“Einstein's Compass\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eexhibits a solid writing style and dutifully hits Einstein's developmental and educational milestones while weaving in an imaginative backstory and unique antagonists' perspectives. The\u003cem\u003e what if\u003c\/em\u003e of Albert Einstein developing his landmark scientific theories through the aid of spiritualism and time travel, all the while battling an immortal dragon-person from Atlantis, is certainly a unique concept.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—BookLife Magazine, a division of Publisher's Weekly\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“…a glorious romp through a fantastical world of dragons and god-like light healers who are entrusted with protecting mankind from the realms of evil–wrapped around the historically-accurate adventures of the incomparable Albert Einstein…Although it is intended for a Young Adult audience, it is well suited to adults who enjoy fictionalized history with a wide-ranging epic theme and a Harry Potter-esque plot…This is highly recommended for those who enjoy a saga of good vs. evil that spans tens of thousands of years, for readers who devour novels that blend history and fantasy, and for anyone who is simply looking for a unique story that they will not want to put down.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Jacqui Murray, Author,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003eAsk a Tech Teacher\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“The story is original and entertaining, not only as the Young Adult genre it is geared toward, but also for those adults who wonder about answers to so many questions on the spiritual and mystical plains… I found this story to be entertaining, enlightening, and a must read for those who believe that time travel has possibilities. It is a well-crafted novel with complexities and depth that many will find a fascinating read. I highly recommend this to any adult young or older. A fascinating perspective you won’t want to put down. I hope there is another book along the same lines in my future.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Rox Burkey, Author,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003eThe Enigma Series\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“This is an amazing story…I was impressed with how the authors managed to incorporate the known information on the lost continent of Atlantis, Light Workers, souls, reincarnation, time travel and the early years of Albert Einstein before he became famous, into a mesmerizing work of fiction readers will have difficulty putting down.\"\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Doug Simpson, Author of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003eWe Lived In Atlantis\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“A complex YA time-traveling adventure,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eEinstein’s Compass\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ecombines various mythologies, religions, and science in a good vs. evil battle that takes the famous scientist and gives him a greater calling. Featuring actual events from Einstein’s life, the plot steadily progresses and shows Albert’s growth and increased understanding, which is neatly intertwined with the supernatural light vs. evil plot line…the combination of science with the supernatural is a winner, and the good vs. evil fight is interesting, making this a good book for YA readers.” \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eSarah E. Bradley,\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eInD'Tale Magazine\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e“Einstein’s Compass\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003ehas a real vibrancy…clearly this is a work of genuine passion from Blair and Bright and it shines in every drip of ink on the page.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Sebastian J. Brook, Doctor Who Online Reviews\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“A great book for the YA audience. I liked how the book shows us the world of good and evil through the magical compass. I enjoyed this book a lot. I liked the fact that time travel, history, and fantasy were combined to tell an interesting story. A well written book.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Ben Franklin 2020 Awards Judge \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“\u003c\/strong\u003e…extremely unique and just downright entertaining! Such a fantastic tale! I highly recommend!”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e★★★★★\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eNetGalley Review\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“In [this] young adult fantasy novel \u003cem\u003eEinstein’s Compass\u003c\/em\u003e, a boy struggles with supernatural forces of light and darkness, hoping to find his place within it all…Both supernatural and scientific, \u003cem\u003eEinstein’s Compass\u003c\/em\u003e is a young adult adventure that focuses on spiritual enlightenment and cosmic destinies.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Vivian Turnbull, Clarion ForeWord Reviews\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFeatured in\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eBookLife’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eFirst Lines: September 2019,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003ea “roundup of some of the best opening lines from titles by BookLife authors.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eGrace Blair is an award-winning self-help and motivational author, and podcast host, who has assisted thousands to find their spiritual wisdom to solve everyday challenges. Throughout her adult life, Grace became a serious student of the spiritual. She found that, often, psychological principles and practices were incomplete, but could be filled out by adding the missing spiritual component. Her approach was always to see practical applications for what she uncovered in the mystical. It was through immersing herself in this field of study and experience that she came up with her idea for her book, \u003ci\u003eEinstein's Compass\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in Lubbock, Texas, with her husband, Dr. John Blair.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBook Excerpt:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cu\u003ePrologue\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eCirca 10,400 BCE – The Islands of Poseidon\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eT\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cem\u003ehe earth tremor stopped Raka in his tracks. The Atlantean healer priest raised his right hand over his violet eyes and searched the landscape for signs of disturbance. He shrugged when he discovered nothing amiss, then continued his way toward the council meeting. What Raka did not understand was that the jolt he felt was not an earthly shudder, but a spiritual one. He had started walking toward the darkness that was the Sons of Belial, and with his first step, the door of the inner Temple of Light had slammed shut to him. So, began his journey as a fallen Angel of Light.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: center;\"\u003e***\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA brisk summer afternoon sea breeze from the east puffed out Raka’s shoulder-length blond hair. At more than six feet tall, the bronzed man of twenty-five was handsome, and he knew it. He smiled as he swept a hand through his hair, then patted a hidden pocket in his cloak to check the vial of DNA he had stolen from the Temple of Healing. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe feel of the vial triggered memories that he found less than pleasant. His hands curled into fists as he felt a strange rage build in the pit of his stomach.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eAll I do is run around as an errand boy for Uncle Thoth and my brother Arka,\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ehe thought angrily.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eWhy won’t Uncle Thoth show me how the fire crystal works? He never includes me in the critical discussions. Until I can control my “impulses,” they won’t let me be privy to the more buried secrets of Light.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHis lips curled into a snarl at the thought.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMy grandfather was the mighty god Atlas! Admittedly, I am meant for greatness, like him.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka had been entertaining thoughts like these for months until they had finally consumed him. His Consciousness of Light had constricted as the negativity grew. Eventually, his anger and frustration had built to the point that they overshadowed his judgment and propelled him to action. Thus, the dispirited Prince of Light was on the island of Aryan to meet with the Council of the Sons of Belial. He hoped to be placed in an elevated position in their council in exchange for betraying his Atlantean brethren. But if he wasn’t received in the way he deserved, he had a plan B.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAryan was a military complex and the promised land of power, pomp, and ceremony. The Temple of Darkness was established by former Angels of Light who, like Raka, had become jealous of the energy in the Temple of Light that they could not access. They had rejected the discipline of the Light of God. The veils of Light that once surrounded the Angels of Light dimmed and the angels became as asleep to the Spirit within. The gross heaviness of fear descended around their bodies. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThroughout years, those attracted to the Temple of Darkness increased in number. Their separation from the Light created trepidation among the people of the world. As their following grew, the Council of the Sons of Belial and its army sought to insulate the five islands of Poseidon from outside invaders. The Atlanteans, following the inner spiritual Light, left the struggles for worldly power to the Council of the Sons of Belial and its warriors. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAtlantis, with The Temple of Light, was a garden of God’s loving and a sanctuary from worldly stresses, a flourishing place of divine innocence and healing. People from the surrounding islands and the world at large came to refresh and restore themselves in body, mind, and spirit. The Sons of Belial knew the real driving force was the Spirit of life that lay on Atlantis. The invisible emanation of the Firestone crystal was the energy source of the planet. Thanks to it, the circling satellites in space recharged the temples and cities around the world. The Council of Five of the Sons of Belial had their own ideas about what could be done with the planet’s most potent energy source and lusted after the fire crystal. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eGeneral Tora-Fuliar was the leader of Aryan Island. Seven feet tall, blond and blue-eyed, the fortyish man was typical of his race. He and his cohort of four colonels had agreed to meet with the priest-scientist cum spy Raka, ostensibly to discuss his joining them. But their real purpose was to use his knowledge to wrest control of the Firestone crystal from the Atlanteans, whom they considered weak and inferior. The secret meeting would take place in Belial, the cliff fortress with towering walls that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eArriving at the fortress, Raka was met at its massive twin gates by four Aryan soldiers who had been told to expect him. As they beckoned him inside, the priest of Light saw carcasses of wild boar strewn across an enormous marble altar and recognized what they meant. He held his breath as the stink of foul, stale blood and dark purpose filled the air. The blond, blue-eyed warriors checked Raka for weapons, and he smirked as his precious vial eluded their search. The guards escorted Raka through a second gate inside the fortress to the southern tower. He was led into a vast, foreboding, windowless chamber that had been carved out of the island’s living rock. His eyes narrowed at the pentagram painted in blood in the middle of the torch-lit room. The dark energy of the animal sacrifice held during the full moon of the previous night lingered in it. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAt the far end of the war room, the symbol of the Black Sun hung behind the general’s massive desk, which was hewn from dark obsidian that had been formed in a volcanic cataclysm eons ago. Covering the fifteen-foot-high walls to the right of the writing table hung maps of the world. The general and his colonels were seated on severe, straight-backed ebony chairs around a polished black marble table. Dressed in black linen trousers and tan shirts with the Black Sun symbol on each collar and black alligator boots, the five somehow managed to appear casual despite their rigidity.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka strode up to the black table to greet the ruling council of the Sons of Belial. Taking in the scene, he thought to himself that while the five appeared relaxed, there was a tension in the room. To Raka, they resembled nothing more than a pack of wolves ready to leap. He straightened his golden silk garment and smiled, nodding to the general. “I am honored that you agreed to meet with me, General.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs the general stood, he sniffed as if taking in Raka’s scent, then inclined his head. “Welcome. We have been looking forward to this meeting.” He motioned to Raka to sit down across from them. Raka’s eyes scanned the room as he settled warily into his chair. The dark and barbarous energy of the council made him uncomfortable. The general forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and began. “We understand you want to\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ehelp\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eus.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka inhaled profoundly and adjusted his energy field to withstand the negative force emanating from those present. Nodding, he replied, “If you recall, at the Temple of Healing I used energy healing stones to alleviate your pain a few months ago. You had sustained a back injury in a rather unfortunate incident.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe general frowned but grunted in agreement.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You stayed with us on Atlantis for several days to recuperate, and each time I came to treat you, you questioned me about the Firestone energy crystal.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe general nodded. “I did.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Its value is obvious, but tell me what your interest in it is.” \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe general was not about to reveal his real intention to an untested outsider, so he said, “The firestone crystal is possibly one of the most important artifacts on the planet. You Atlanteans are focused on research and your sciences and arts. You are ill-prepared to defend the Firestone from those who would use it for their own gain.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka nodded in understanding as the general continued. “We Aryans are strong. The Firestone should be guarded by our soldiers. After all, it is the energy source for all of the planet.” The general leaned in as if to thrust his argument forward. “The council and the Sons of Belial are best suited to protect the crystal and you healers of Atlantis. We know that unless we are taught the mysteries of the crystal, disaster could be imminent.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka saw the energy around the general’s body turn dark with flares of red, and he recognized the lust for power. He was also aware the general was not telling him everything. No surprise there. The healer was not some ignorant novice; he knew the warrior wanted to use the firestone crystal to enhance the Aryan’s military might—and his own power. He was aware that with the Firestone, they could be invincible. And that they could and most likely would use this power to attempt to control the Atlanteans and take dominance over the entire planet. Despite his hopes for forming an alliance with the Sons of Belial, Raka now accepted that it would be a long time before these people trusted him—if they ever would. He wondered if he would even survive after he delivered what they wanted. He sighed inwardly, conceding to himself that this was not going to go the way he had hoped.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eStill, he would play along for a while. Looking the general in the eye, he said, “General, I believe I could assist you in gaining access to the firestone crystal.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe general and his colonels nodded with interest as Raka continued. “But there are other things I might do for you. I noticed the beasts you have sacrificed to absorb their power. What if you could have even greater physical power than that you leech from the boars you kill?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe colonels murmured, and the general’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at his minions, who could barely conceal their grins as each entertained his own twisted fantasy of power.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka continued with a sly smile, “Yes, I assumed you would be interested.” He leaned back, appearing casual and said, “Of course, if I were to assist you, then I would want something in return.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe general leaned forward. “Of course. What do you want?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka pulled the vial from his pocket and held it up as he said with a sneer, “I wanted to be a part of you. But how can I trust any of you when you lie to my face? I am not about to turn over the power of the crystal to someone who would deceive me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe general’s face darkened, but before he or the council could react, Raka pulled off the vial’s stopper and downed the contents in one gulp.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIn truth, Raka was not sure what to expect. The vial had been received from a planet in the Draconian constellation with which Atlantis had become allied. As part of their treaty, the Draconian had been supplying the healers of Atlantis with a solution of their DNA. Mere drops mixed with herbs could regenerate a limb or restore the nearly depleted life force of an injured or sick patient. The amount Raka had just swallowed had never been tried before.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe instant the liquid touched his tongue, Raka’s body began to change. The five Sons of Belial were frozen in place as Raka’s body began writhing and twisting.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA scream tore from deep within Raka’s throat, and with a shudder, the healer of Light’s form began to shift. His soft human feet started to swell and extrude wicked-looking claws. His skin became rough and toughened. The thick leather straps of his sandals burst with a snap. His legs contracted and bent into a reptilian shape, even as his torso elongated and a tail sinuously extended from the base of his spine. His pink flesh turned a greyish green, then scales emerged from his chest, arms, and neck. His supple lips thinned, and a long serpentine tongue darted out from between them. He tasted the air with his new senses. As he transformed, his airways and throat opened wide. Raka collapsed to the ground, shuddering in ecstatic agony as the pain of bone, sinew, and flesh reconfiguring itself consumed him.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFinally breaking free of their horrific fascination, the council reacted, and the war room erupted into pandemonium. Drawn by the shouts, a score of soldiers bearing spear and shields rushed into the chamber. It was a credit to their intensive training that the scene that greeted their eyes caused them but a moment’s pause. With crisp precision the soldiers spaced themselves around the writhing reptile and thrust their spears forward, their points forming a 360-degree-barrier.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBut they were already too late; Raka’s vulnerability had passed. His transformation into a twelve-foot dragon was complete. He was fully awake and ready to take control. The former Healer of Light felt intoxicated with raw power and luxuriated in it. Almost casually, he stretched out the reptilian claws at the end of his fingers and with a flick of his arm sliced open one of the warriors from chin to belt. His long, slithery tongue sensed the blood and offal much more thoroughly than before. With his reptile vision, the dim light in the room became bright. Awed beyond belief, Raka began to realize what his quest for power had wrought. He threw his head back and laughed as the guards’ spears bounced harmlessly off his thick, scaly hide.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe air was electric with his power. He glanced disdainfully at his attackers. Sneering at their puniness, he walked toward the warriors. With a swipe of his tail, he knocked the legs out from under several of them, sending them crashing to the floor. As the others slowed to avoid tripping over their fallen comrades, Raka inhaled, then spewed a blast of fire that blackened and crisped the skin of the soldiers remaining at the front of the charge. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDespite his momentary victory, Raka knew more troops would soon descend upon the chamber. Enough of them, and he might be subdued. With bursts of fire blazing from his mouth, he cleared a path for himself. His eye sought the general and his colonels and found them huddled behind the stone table, which they had upended. “Now you see the power of Raka!” he exulted. “I will be back to claim my seat at the head of the council once you realize you have no choice but to kneel at my feet.” Letting loose a final blast of fire that was absorbed by the thick marble tabletop, Raka ran from the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka fled through the rock hallways of the fortress until he came to the far wall that rose out of the eastern edge of the island. He gazed over the edge and found himself looking into the angry breakers crashing into the jagged rocks more than a hundred feet below. There was nowhere else to go. Cursing himself for not studying the island better, he prepared to defend himself. As the soldiers started pounding toward the parapet where he stood, Raka saw he had no choice. Exhaling a last massive blast of flame to buy another few seconds, Raka jumped up on the low wall and flung himself off into the air. He appeared to hover there for a moment before plummeting down and out of sight.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA cheer broke from the soldiers’ throats but was quickly stifled as the irate general stormed out among them. “Where is he?” The soldiers feared the general’s reaction, but one finally pointed to the far ledge.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShaking his head in disapproval at the soldiers’ incompetence, he strode to the parapet and stared down at the rocks below, hoping to see the ruined remains of the dragon’s body. But he saw no trace of Raka’s remains. He turned and screamed for the soldiers to get down to the rocks and find the dragon’s body.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSometime later, an exhausted captain of the guard hesitantly approached the general. “We’ve searched every nook and cranny below the cliffs, sir.” The general raised his eyebrows in question. The guard captain shook his head and looked at his feet. “Nothing.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe general snorted but did not appear too surprised. Heartened by the lack of response, the captain frowned and said, “I thought we brought a priest in to see you, sir. Where did the dragon come from?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe general’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not the question, Captain. What you should be asking is, where did it go?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: center;\"\u003e***\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSwimming furiously under the water, Raka tried to process what had taken place. His jump from the cliff had been a risk, but it had paid off. After just a moment of unconsciousness after the impact, his body had quickly restored itself enough for him to escape into the sea. Now he found himself barely bruised. He was shaken from his meeting with the Sons of Belial and wanted nothing more than to sequester himself for a while and consider his new body. He also needed to plan his next moves. The remote caves of Aryan Island would suit that purpose, he decided.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWith his new strength and supernatural speed, he quickly arrived at his destination; an underground cavern near the shore where he and his brother, Arka, had camped when they were children hunting for crystals. Dragging himself to a pool of water fed by a natural spring, Raka stared at his image. The once handsome, blue-eyed priest\/scientist with shoulder-length golden hair was now a twelve-foot-long, flesh-eating changeling. His beady red eyes widened as he shook his head in disbelief. He snorted at his grotesque body. Unsure of what to expect, he gently touched the black four-inch horns on the top of his head. Spongy, he thought. He gazed with some approval, though, at his massive arms.  \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHe turned to find short, black, spiny wings on his back and a long tail protruding from the base of his spine. With his razor-sharp alligator talons, he jabbed and pinched his armored dark-greenish skin. No tenderness, no marks or blood surfaced. He opened his mouth to examine his long, rough, but slimy reptilian tongue and the wickedly sharp bony ridge behind his lips, more like a raptor’s beak than anything else. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHis quick self-inspection complete, Raka found himself both horrified and fascinated. He now had so much raw physical power, but... At what cost? His mind reeling, the dragon paced. “Can I fix this and return to normal?” He considered everything he knew about the Draconian DNA, which had been used for healing and even regeneration of organs and limbs. In every case he had studied or been involved with, there had never been a report of reversal of the effects it produced. As the consequences of his rash actions finally dawned on him, Raka collapsed onto the cavern’s sandy floor and sobbed. When his frustration and grief finally dissipated late into the night, he succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: center;\"\u003e***\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eRaka sat in his grotto on a battered wooden armchair that had washed up on the shore of his hideaway cove. For the last day or so he had done little but experiment with his new form and new powers. He had begun to develop a healthy respect for his strength and the seeming indestructibility of his body. He had come to grips with the realization that there was no going back. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTruth be told, he was beginning to think he wouldn’t have wanted to go back even if it were possible. He had not been appreciated. Neither his uncle Thoth nor his twin, Arka, had ever recognized his promise. “If only Arka had let me practice the mystical arts with him, I would have shown him what I could do. Fool! It’s his fault I am here,” Raka muttered to himself.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe day before his meeting with the Council, reflecting further, Raka remembered his quarrel with Arka. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eArka pointed to the container on the counter. “Where were you today? You were supposed to take the ruby crystals to the Temple of Healing. We had to cancel the treatments when they did not arrive.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eRaka petulantly stared at the ground. “Something important came up.” Then he looked up at Arka defiantly. “But I told Prensa to take the crystals to the temple. It’s his fault the treatments were canceled, not mine.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eArka frowned. “Prensa? He is our cook, not your servant.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eArka shook his head as if to disperse Raka’s weak excuse, then changed course. “The temple guard said he saw you walking with a female member of the Belial Brotherhood near the gardens. What were you doing there with her?”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e“She wanted to know what we did in the Temple of Healing,” Raka lied. “I showed her around the temple grounds.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003eThat wasn’t all I showed her,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eRaka thought to himself with a lascivious smirk.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eArka could only shake his head in resignation.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe memory aroused Raka’s anger, which brought him crashing back to the present. “I am meant to do important things, not just be an errand boy!” he shouted at the rock walls of the cavern.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWith thoughts of revenge seething in his mind, he snatched at a rat that had the misfortune to scurry past. It was the first sustenance he’d had since the transformation—he hadn’t really been hungry. He angrily tore a leg off and took a bite, the first food he’d had since changing form. As he swallowed, he felt something a transformation begins—short, gray hairs started to replace the scales on his arm. Raka stopped chewing and watched the shift. He was a changeling, he realized, but the transformation didn’t end with his dragon form. Tossing the still squirming rat aside, he plucked a beetle off the cave wall and bit down on it with a sickening crunch. A moment later, his skin began hardening into a chitinous shell. Concentrating, he found he was able to control, or even halt, the changes to his structure.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe thought of changing into other forms intrigued him. His mind flooded with information he had learned in his healing energy classes. Raka felt something else as he sorted through what was happening. It was a sort of knowing, an intuition. Could this be from the dragon DNA he had ingested? He thought back over his transformation.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHe discovered that his eyes were now acutely sensitive. He could see in total darkness and normal light. His memory, too, had sharpened. He could repeat his entire meeting with the council verbatim. His memories were much more vivid. He recalled his rage at his uncle and brother and felt it with new intensity. In fact, he could muster no feelings of compassion or love at all. Glancing at the writhing rat whose leg he had bitten off, he studied its suffering. This excited his killing instinct. It took an effort not to inflict further pain on the creature. He craved more of the rat’s blood, and he speculated that human blood and organs would be a delicacy. A burst of intuition revealed that eating an entire human body and drinking its blood would transform him into a doppelganger of that person. He would have to test out how long this would last, but he suspected it would hold until he decided to take on another form. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs he discovered more of the strengths his new form provided, Raka reveled in the thought that he had nothing to fear. Then, an ancestral memory—perhaps connected to his dragon DNA—flared in his mind. He saw many of his fellow reptiles trapped in a burning structure, writhing in agony. Fear welled up in him at this vivid memory. He had at least one vulnerability: fire. Raka tore himself away from the vision and shakily drew in a deep breath to calm his trembling body. “Enough wasting time on what I fear. Now it’s time to plan for the future and my revenge on Arka and his ilk.” That is the task worthy of my new, transformed self, he thought.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716157579434,"sku":"9780998830889","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_4a488884-6b96-4111-a160-723fcae8bc6a.jpg?v=1636991207"},{"product_id":"breathe-deep-swim-9781647043131","title":"Breathe Deep \u0026 Swim","description":"\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“A fast-paced and timely exploration of brotherly love in the midst of family and political turmoil. Great for fans of Gayle Forman’s \u003cem\u003eIf I Stay\u003c\/em\u003e [and] Jandy Nelson’s \u003cem\u003eThe Sky is Everywhere.\u003c\/em\u003e” —\u003cem\u003eBookLife\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePerfect for fans of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eWe Are Okay\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eand\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Thing about Jellyfish,\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethis witty and achingly beautiful coming of age story will tackle what it means to be alive, loved, and trusting in a world gone mad... \u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAll 14-year-old Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Thomas wants is normalcy. But a global pandemic prevents him from having anything close to a typical teenager's life. When Wolfgang discovers his father dead in bed from the coronavirus, his world is thrust into even more turmoil and chaos. Wolfgang and his 16-year-old brother, Van Gogh, know that they must do everything they can to stay together and avoid foster care. In a cross-country road trip, they hit the road in their father's Pontiac to find their only hope: the mother who abandoned them a decade ago. As they journey for answers to their mother's whereabouts, they uncover devastating mysteries about her that they never could have imagined. Just as they near their destination, tragedy strikes once more. Wolfgang is drowning in fear and pain, but he must pull it together or lose his family for good. Can this broken adolescent find the strength and courage to\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eBreathe Deep \u0026amp; Swim? \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eSCROLL FOR SAMPLE!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“I loved \u003cem\u003eBreathe Deep \u0026amp; Swim\u003c\/em\u003e by Jenna Marcus and want to share it with the world. This book speaks of hope, innocence, and challenges from the perspectives of teenagers. Highly recommended.”\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e —\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eVernita Naylor for\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e Readers' Favorite\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e“...compelling...memorable...An often moving portrait of brotherly love.” \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Kirkus\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e”Jenna Marcus’ incredible story captures the depths of brotherly love and the determination of a spirit faced with insurmountable odds.” \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Manhattan Book Review\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“\u003cmeta charset=\"UTF-8\"\u003eCrossing over genre lines between thriller, suspense, and coming of age, \u003cem\u003eBreathe Deep \u0026amp; Swim\u003c\/em\u003e is a beautiful story that portrays the unconditional love and trust shared between two brothers.” \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e—\u003c\/em\u003eAmy Powers for\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e Readers' Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJenna Marcus\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eis an academic leader and published author of the YA novel,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eMy Unusual Talent.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe has a fervent passion for leveraging her decade of expertise to robustly enhance and redefine the quality of teaching and learning. As an avid reader, she believes that every child should find a book to love. In addition to her profession experience, she holds a MS. ED in Educational Leadership, a MS. ED in Middle Childhood \u0026amp; Adolescent English Education and a BA in Literature; she is also certified in School Building Leadership and ELA. Currently, she lives in New Rochelle, NY.\u003c\/span\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBook Excerpt:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cu\u003eChapter 1: Not Midnight\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIt felt like a phantom clock was striking midnight.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI thought I heard twelve chimes, but maybe they were ringing somewhere off in the distance. Maybe I was just imagining it because the sound of midnight—that finite clang—would have fittingly stamped this moment. But even without hearing the distinctive ringing of a midnight bell, even without confirmation of the time, I’d always remember this moment. At some point in the night, Dad had died, and we’d been left to figure out the rest of our lives, or at least the next few hours.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI’d never seen a corpse before, not in its organic form, before being preserved in a coffin—only after being coiffed and cleaned to a perfection that never replicated the actual living person I once knew.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAt Uncle Earl’s funeral, he’d worn an intensely black suit with a matching tie, but he’d once said he would rather die than wear one. Well, I guess the suit was fitting then, because if he’d taken one look at that Windsor knot, he would have dropped dead on the spot.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eLying in that shiny coffin, Uncle Earl had been like a wax statue, a pristine, unnatural representation, not the Uncle Earl we knew. That wax figure wouldn’t ruffle my hair while saying, “When are you going to cut that thing? Are you looking to grow a pet?” It’d always driven me crazy when he said that, but he was being true to who he was; he was his authentic self. In that coffin, any semblance of authenticity he’d once had dissipated, leaving a body in a proper suit. I supposed he’d been prepared and preserved to look like that for an audience, to appear “more palatable.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThis was different though, and not because the dead man lying in the bed was my dad. This was different because my dad still looked like himself. He wasn’t made up for anyone; his life had just faded away. His lily-pad-green eyes were dull and staring at nothing on the ceiling. His jaw was slack. He looked like he was waiting to sleep, but his soul had left his body instead.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe most potent difference was the absence of living movements. He was missing those subtle movements, like adjusting himself under the bedspread, or twitching his nose from time to time. He was missing his stare, when he would focus on a particular point as if to turn it over in his mind before slightly shaking his head to refocus his eyes. His dark-brown hair somehow had lost its sheen, which seemed impossible since it had grown oily from not showering for days on end.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIt was his stillness that filled the room. His severe lack of movement connected him to all other corpses, but because he wasn’t in the standard coffin, in the standard funeral home, I couldn’t shake the expectation of seeing him move. It was almost like I was taking for granted that people could move. Even if you were a quadriplegic, your eyes could move back and forth, and your chest would rise and fall with every breath you took.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIt was impossible to mistake a dead man for what he was, and however I felt about this situation, I\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eknew\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethat he was dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Wolfgang, why is this door open?” Van Gogh called from the hall. His footsteps began to slow to a stop as he hesitated to enter the room. We both knew this room was off-limits, and we both knew why.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eNormally I followed the rules, especially ones set by Van Gogh, but I’d felt compelled to go into our dad’s room, almost as if…as if I knew that I would find my dead dad lying in his own filth. As I mentioned, it had been a while since he’d showered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Wolfgang, why are you in here? You know you shouldn’t—holy shit!” Van Gogh shouted, stopping a few feet away from the bed.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough my brother’s eyes were usually a mirror image of our dad’s lily-pad-green ones, his naturally seemed livelier. In fact, they seemed to be expanding and retracting, if that was even possible.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI had no idea how to respond, other than to say what we both knew was a lie.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know what happened. He just … died.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eHe just died\u003c\/em\u003e. Yes, he had, that was obviously true, but we both knew what happened, we both knew the cause.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh ran his fingers through his short dark-brown hair, staring down at the body.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Shit, shit,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eshit\u003c\/em\u003e.” My brother didn’t always know what to say in uncomfortable situations, but that was probably because he was rarely uncomfortable. Even when he got into verbal boxing matches with Dad, he didn’t seem uncomfortable, just angry and disgusted. But now, as he continued to run his fingers through his hair, it was obvious that he was severely uncomfortable.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I know. I don’t know what happened. I just found him here,” I repeated. Normally, I was very verbose. It probably came from the fact that I was a bona fide bookworm, at least that’s what my teachers told me. That was one of the reasons I did so well on my compositions, especially in English class. I usually knew how to sew together sentences that sounded articulate, but not obnoxiously so. Dad always said I was too smart for my own good, and that he couldn’t understand a word I was saying—but that was because he wasn’t really listening. He never really tried to understand.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What are you even doing in here? You know you shouldn’t be in here without a mask!” Van Gogh exclaimed, adjusting his white N95 mask.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I mean, does it really matter anymore? He’s dead,” I said, reaching for the mask tucked in my back pocket.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Wolfgang, we don’t know if he’s still contagious!” Van Gogh cried as he pulled a pair of gloves out of a pocket in his tattered Levi’s. He handed them to me before helping me adjust my mask. “There, that’s better.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWe simultaneously looked down at the stiffening body. I didn’t feel his skin, but I knew my dad’s body was getting colder and that rigor mortis would set in at some point; it was only a matter of time. However, how much time we had, who knew? I couldn’t tell you what time it was.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIt was at that point that I asked the obvious yet complex question I knew was on both of our minds. “Now what?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh took a deep breath, so deep that I could feel him holding it for some time—as if he needed the oxygen, any oxygen, even if it were contaminated. He slowly exhaled as he looked over our dad’s body.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Now? We need to get out of this room,” he said, taking hold of my hand and walking me into the hall. My brother hadn’t held my hand since I was eight years old and he was ten. Even though Dad had never instructed Van Gogh to do so, he’d always taken hold of my hand as we walked across the street.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough it was six years later, and I knew that as a high school freshman I was a little too old to walk hand in hand with my older brother, I was reluctant to let go. Van Gogh had always been my life raft. I knew I needed him, and I also knew I could always rely on him.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough my brother’s plans weren’t always fully thought through, I knew he would have one. I knew he would do everything in his power to get us safely across that street.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen we were in the hall, Van Gogh released my hand and walked over to the couch, but he didn’t sit down. Instead, he just walked around it, circling it like a vulture waiting for the right moment to land.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI pulled off my mask and tucked both the mask and the gloves into my back pocket. I couldn’t help but watch my brother as he continued to circle the couch, looking down at the brown carpet.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What should we do?” I just needed to ask this question. Van Gogh always knew what to do, even if he acted on a whim, which he usually did. Me, on the other hand … it took me forever to construct a plan. I had to think it through too much; I’d always anticipate the worst-case scenario and would end up scrapping fully formed plans. But not Van Gogh. No, he would just go with it and whatever happened, happened.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlso, my brother would take full responsibility for his actions, but he never seemed to regret them. For example, when he’d been caught tagging a wall when he was into graffiti art, he said that if Keith Haring could do it, why couldn’t he? Granted, I’m sure Haring’s younger brother didn’t have to use his lawn mowing money to bail his brother out of jail, like I did. Even though our dad had yelled at him for a good hour about getting arrested and focusing more on his art than anything else, Van Gogh didn’t seem remorseful. Although he never apologized to Dad for his actions, he did apologize to me because he knew that it had taken me a while to earn what became his bail money.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe following week, I’d found my money paid back with interest on my dresser. It was only later that I learned that my brother pawned some of his new art supplies to pay me back. I didn’t even attempt to get them back because I knew that if I did, it would hurt his pride. We never spoke of the incident again because there was no need to; we were brothers. We would do anything for one another. That was just a fact.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFor this reason, whatever decision Van Gogh made would affect the both of us, and he knew it. He normally worked well under pressure because he never let it get to him, but this was different. We both knew whatever decision he made would determine our fate. Nevertheless, he would figure out what to do. I didn’t need to worry because whatever he decided, that was what we were going to do. Even if it wasn’t the perfect plan, he would make sure it all worked out in the end. He always did.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI knew not to disturb my brother while he was thinking, so I calmly took a seat in the chair adjacent to the couch. I was tempted to pick up the book I’d left under the coffee table, not to read it but just to feel it in my hands. There was just something about holding a book, any book, that just put me at ease.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI eyed the spine, a cracked white crease severing the dull orange spine that read:\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Catcher in the Rye\u003c\/em\u003e, by J.D Salinger. You only needed to read the book once to know why the publisher chose to emphasize the words “catcher” and “rye” in the title, but I chose to read it about a dozen times, to the point where the annotations I jotted in the margins could be time stamped by the evolution of my penmanship. I really liked it when even the publisher would provide readers with a subtle hint about the book’s deeper meaning. It was as if even those binding the book recognized its potential greatness.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs I was just about to lean forward to pick up Salinger’s coming of-age tale, Van Gogh stopped in his tracks. He turned toward me but didn’t really see me. He seemed to be looking off in the distance, at an indiscriminate part of the wall. It could only mean one thing: Van Gogh had come up with a plan.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Pack,” he commanded. “Empty out our backpacks and pack everything we can carry,” he said, marching toward our bedroom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003ePack\u003c\/em\u003e? Following him into the bedroom, I watched him riffle through his canvas backpack, pulling out every textbook and notebook that he could find until the backpack was completely empty. I don’t even think that he left a single pencil in there.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Pack? Pack for what?” I questioned.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“We’re leaving,” Van Gogh stated, opening up his dresser drawer and pulling out a few pairs of socks and some of his boxers.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“We’re leaving?” I sounded like an echo, mirroring his statements but recreating them into queries. “Why?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“We have to,” he stated, not looking up while continuing to shove his clothes into the backpack, trying to fashion it into a makeshift suitcase. “Damn, this may not be big enough.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“We have to?” Van Gogh didn’t even bother to address that echo. He just walked over to my side of the room and emptied out my backpack.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I know you’re going to want to take some books, but don’t take too many,” my brother warned. “We’re probably going to have to carry these backpacks for a while and if they’re too heavy, we won’t make it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“We won’t make it? Make it where?” Getting tired of my own questions, I shook my head, as if to reconfigure my brain, trying to prevent myself from being a parrot. “Van Gogh, where are we going? Why do we have to leave? What is the plan?” My questions came flooding out, a waterfall of inquiries that just seemed to spill out of me. I felt like I was talking a mile a minute, but I couldn’t help it, my mouth was trying to catch up to my brain.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Just pack first, ask questions later,” he stated, punching down his clothes. “We need to make a list of essentials. What we\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eabsolutely\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eneed, not what we would like to have, okay?” Before Van Gogh could move toward our closet, I grabbed his wrist, giving it a firm hold.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAt the touch of my hand, he finally looked into my eyes. His were a steady wash of green, with slightly dilated pupils, all nestled under a furrowed brow.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Van Gogh, please, I need to know what’s going on. Why are we packing?” I pleaded. “I’m not going to fight you on this, I never would, but I need to know what we are doing.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh nodded, knowing me too well.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough I would follow any plan my brother would put into motion, I needed to know the intricacies of the plan. This applied to anything, really. I had a habit of resisting something unless I knew\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eexactly\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ewhat was happening. For example, when I was little, I would scream when the dentist began to work on me because he had never explained what he was going to do before he stuck his instruments into my mouth. Apparently, I was screaming so much that the dentist was afraid to continue unless my dad agreed to having the dental assistants hold me down and give me a sedative. Although my dad agreed to this, Van Gogh yelled at the dentist when he heard the plan. Unfortunately, since Van Gogh was a kid himself, the adults won in the end.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMaybe it was that instance that caused me to hate doctors. I knew that we needed doctors to survive, especially now that we were in the midst of a global pandemic, but I just couldn’t get over this underlying hatred. Well, actually, it wasn’t not that I hated them, but that I didn’t trust them. I would always trust Van Gogh, though. I trusted him more than anyone else, so whatever we had to do, we were going to do it, but I just needed to know what exactly we were doing. I needed to make sense of it first.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh took a deep breath and placed my now empty backpack on my bed.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Wolfgang, we can’t stay here. Pretty soon, the state will discover that Dad died. As far as I know, he is our only living relative in this state. Uncle Earl was his only brother, who never had any kids, and Dad’s parents died a long time ago, so it’s just you and me. So, since there is no one who can take us in, we are now wards of the state, which means that we will be placed in foster care. I’m sixteen, so in the state of Florida, I am still a minor—if I were eighteen, it would be a different story, but I’m not. So, it’s inevitable that we will go into foster care and then we will be separated. I know that you don’t want that to happen, and neither do I, so our only choice is to run away.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh’s tone was so calm, but more than calm, it was steady. His tone was a stark contrast to my mind, which was still racing with questions and trying to process what he was telling me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWords like “foster care” and “separated” kept flipping over and over in my mind. Was he right? Would we wind up in foster care? Would we be separated? He spoke as if he was speaking from experience. Even though I knew he’d never been in foster care, we did go to school with a few classmates who were not only in foster care, but who seemed to jump from home to home. Actually, to call the places where they lived a “home” was entirely inaccurate. They were more like temporary landing bases until they found a home—\u003cem\u003eif\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethey ever found a home. I did have one friend, Sophie, who’d found a permanent home with her foster family. Sophie said that she looked so much like her foster parents because they all wore the same black-framed glasses, and like her, her foster mom also had asthma. Although Sophie was adopted by a family that she loved, they’d adopted her when she was a lot younger than us, and she was not adopted with a sibling.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh was right. Who was going to adopt two teenage brothers? It was a possibility, but we both knew that it was too slim. Van Gogh was right—we couldn’t take that chance, we needed to leave. However, he still hadn’t answered all my questions.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Okay, but where are we running to? We have to be going somewhere, right?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh looked down at my hand, which was still gripping his wrist. When I let go, he placed both of his hands on my shoulders, and continued to look me right in the eyes. His gaze was even steadier than before, but his pupils seemed to retract a bit, so he looked more like his normal self.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“There’s only one living relative I know about … our mom. I know that she ran away when we were both very young, but I remember Dad once mentioning that she lived in New York when they first met. It’s a long trip but we have to make it. It’s our only chance to stay together.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs I looked up into Van Gogh’s eyes, I nodded, still processing the plan. Van Gogh always had a few inches on me. For this reason, although we were both pretty lanky, his hand-me-downs were always too long for me. I knew that if our dad was still alive, the blue T-shirt and matching jeans that Van Gogh was wearing would be passed down to me in a few months—but now who knew what would be passed down. Our dad was no longer alive to make those decisions, or any decisions at all. So now, we sought a new decision maker. Our mom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eOur mom\u003c\/em\u003e. I had not heard that phrase in a long time. She left when I was three and Van Gogh was five years old. Dad never spoke about her and didn’t keep any pictures of her in the house. I barely knew anything about her, except that she ran away and that she was the one who named us. I think that’s why Dad felt the need to shorten our names to “Wolf ” and “Van.” He couldn’t stand any memory of her in his house, and our names—\u003cem\u003eour existence\u003c\/em\u003e—were constant reminders of her imprint on his life.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“How are we going to get there?” I quickly pulled out my phone and did a search. “It’s nearly 1,200 miles away, and we don’t even know which part of New York she lived in,” I stated, tucking my phone back into my front pocket.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI could feel Van Gogh’s grip tightening a bit before he took his hands away from my shoulders and turned back to my empty backpack.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“The Bronx,” Van Gogh stated, picking up my empty backpack and handing it to me. “She used to live on Pelham Parkway in the Bronx. So, that’s where we’re going—the Bronx, New York. Now, pack.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“How do you know that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh shrugged as he looked at my backpack. “I just do.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“How are we going to get there?” I asked, feeling the weightlessness of my empty backpack.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I have an idea. First, I need you to pack. We are wasting too much time,” he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs he started pulling a couple of T-shirts and light sweaters off hangers, I took a look around our room.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI tried to relive that ubiquitous scenario when your house is on fire and you need to grab everything that is important to you. But I was coming up short.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh didn’t have to tell me that we would never return—that was a given.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs I scanned the room, I saw cracking white walls that really needed spackling. Aside from the cracks, the walls were dull and bare. In fact, essentially everything was bare. It was almost as if we lived a utilitarian lifestyle. The unmade beds and the clothes in both of our dressers and in the closet were the only signs that the room was lived in, but aside from my books and Van Gogh’s art supplies, you would never know that we lived in this room.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBefore packing any clothes, I decided to put on a few of the bulkier items so I could fit more books in my backpack. As we were nearing autumn, with the temperature cooling, I decided to pull on a sweater and wear my jean jacket over it. I was already wearing a pair of jeans, and my sneakers, so I thought I was wearing enough layers to be warm. Even though it was the middle of the night, I never bothered to change for bed. It was only at night that I could read my books in peace, without hearing Dad’s cough reverberating throughout the house, or hearing him calling to Van Gogh to bring him something. With my dad’s death, the house had become eerily silent, but I knew that even in this silence, I could never read here again. Van Gogh and I could never stand still here; we needed to keep moving.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI sized up my backpack and determined that I could take about ten paperback books, a few shirts, pants, socks and underwear. After I riffled through my dresser drawer and closet, I picked out my clothes and smooshed them down into the backpack.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs I scanned the bookcase, I noticed how engorged it was from years of hoarding books. Between the school letting us keep our paperbacks, birthday gifts from Van Gogh, and the library’s weekly bookfairs, I genuinely had an abundance of books.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Not too many,” Van Gogh warned as he walked out of our bedroom. “I’m going to see what cash we have lying around.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlone with my books, I determined that, like with my clothes, I could only take the essentials. But how do you determine which books are\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eessential\u003c\/em\u003e? They were all important to me, every single one, whether they were assigned or I’d chosen them myself. Each book carried a memory for me. I could tell you exactly when I read and reread each of the texts. Only a few were annotated, though. These were irreplaceable, so these would be the ones I needed to take.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI narrowed my selection down to seven essentials: S.E. Hinton’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Outsiders\u003c\/em\u003e; Ray Bradbury’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eFahrenheit 451\u003c\/em\u003e; Chinua Achebe’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eThings Fall Apart\u003c\/em\u003e; John Knowles’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eA Separate Peace\u003c\/em\u003e; Amy Tan’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Joy Luck Club\u003c\/em\u003e; Khaled Hosseini’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Kite Runner\u003c\/em\u003e; and Jean-Paul Sartre’s play,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eNo Exit\u003c\/em\u003e. Every single one of these texts had Post-its hanging out the sides and annotations in the margins.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAfter I put each book in my backpack, I zipped it up and swung it over my shoulder. Although it had more heft now, I could still fit a few extra items in there.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI quickly found J.D. Salinger’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Catcher in the Rye\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eunderneath the coffee table, unzipped my backpack, and added this to the collection.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eI can fit a couple more books in here\u003c\/em\u003e, I thought as I turned back to our bedroom. But before I could take another good look at the bookcase, I heard my brother calling for me down the hall, from Dad’s bedroom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Van Gogh?” I questioned, as I inched into the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m in the closet!” he yelled. I could see his feet sticking out of the open closet door as he was kneeling on the rug.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI diverted my eyes from looking at our dad’s corpse, trying not to imagine it slowly deteriorating.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh moved over so that we were both kneeling, looking into the closet.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“So, I was trying to find some money, and I think we hit the motherload,” he said as he held a huge wad of cash in front of me. “There has to be over $1,000 here, easy. I’m sure there is more back here, we just need to look.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI nodded, still trying to process seeing that huge bundle of money. It was wrapped in a dingy, white rubber band, so Dad must have had that money for a while now.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I checked his wallet too, but there was only about $20 in there. He had a few credit cards, but those are useless to us,” Van Gogh said, as he sifted through a few pairs of shoes and pushed aside our dad’s toolbox.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Why is that useless? Do you think that they are maxed out?” If they were, that wouldn’t surprise either one of us. Between paying the bills and our dad’s growing bar tab, he had maxed out his cards a few times.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh shrugged. “Maybe, but they are traceable. Once someone discovers his body, he will be in the system. If we were to use the credit card of a dead man, the card would be considered stolen, and the police would find us. At least if we use cash, the police can’t trace us,” Van Gogh reasoned.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Well, they could trace the serial numbers,” I noted.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh smirked and shook his head. “You read too many detective stories. Hey, what’s that?” he asked, pulling out a small, wooden box, buried deep in the closet. Before I could look at the box, I noticed that hidden behind the box was a stack of papers and two paperback books.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe papers seemed delicate and a little crumpled. In the middle of the papers, there was a photograph of a woman holding a swaddled baby. Before I could inspect the photo, my brother said, “This box is locked.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What? Locked?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yeah.” He pointed out the small brass padlock dangling from the middle of the box. “I didn’t see a key, though, did you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“No, but it doesn’t look like you open it with a key,” I said, pointing at the four small, metal loops jutting out from the bottom of the lock. Each loop had a set of numbers, zero through nine, etched into the metal. “It looks like a combination lock, but I’ve never seen one like this, have you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh shook his head as he inspected the lock. “Maybe there’s a slip of paper with the combination on it. Did you find anything like that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“No, but I did find this,” I said, showing him the photo.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs my brother inspected the photo, he smiled. “Mom and you. Wow, I almost forgot what she looked like.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI’d completely forgotten what Mom looked like, as I stared at her shoulder-length, wavy light-brown hair and light-blue eyes. She was smiling down at the baby, who was apparently me. I couldn’t have been older than a few weeks, maybe a few months.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOur dad never displayed any photos, let alone kept any of them, especially of our mom. It was almost as if he was trying to erase her existence from our lives because she left us. However, to our dad, she really left\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ehim\u003c\/em\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I also found these,” I said as I handed Van Gogh the papers. He placed the box next to him as he carefully, but quickly, unfolded the papers. Once again, he smirked.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You know what these are? These are our birth certificates.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI inched over to him to take a closer look. As we inspected the birth certificates, there was no surprising information. Granted, now I knew what the Mayor, Commissioner of Health, and the City Registrar’s signatures looked like, but aside from this, the time of birth and the hospital in Florida were unsurprising. Mother:\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eAnn\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMiller\u003c\/em\u003e. Father:\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eBenjamin Stephen Thomas\u003c\/em\u003e. It all seemed pretty standard.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMy gaze lingered on our full names though:\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eVan Gogh Vincent Thomas. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Thomas.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eI couldn’t help but wonder why Mom chose those names. Clearly, Van Gogh’s name matched him perfectly. Although he never expressed a particular interest in post-impressionist art or the need to replicate\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eStarry Night\u003c\/em\u003e, he was unquestionably an artist. Maybe that’s why “Van Gogh” was his first name. Mom had known that his artistic talents would emerge sooner or later. Maybe that’s why she chose “Mozart” as one of my middle names. Perhaps she was questioning whether or not I would be a prodigal musician, like my namesake. By making “Mozart” my second—not even my\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003efirst\u003c\/em\u003e—middle name, it was almost as if she were planting the seed of musical genius, but she still doubted whether or not it would emerge. Perhaps she had been right in doing so because I couldn’t play any instruments, and I enjoyed reading much more than I enjoyed trying to learn how to play music.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’ll put the certificates in my bag. We may need these,” Van Gogh said, as he pulled out his backpack and placed both the wooden box and our birth certificates inside. “Do you see anything else?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Just these books,” I said, holding up the two paperbacks. One was too thin to be a novel. I inspected the orange cover with a black border, and what looked like an upside-down building with white smoke or clouds bleaching the orange cover and a tiny white airplane shooting out as if it was flying into the lower right border. I read the title to myself,\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eAll My Sons\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eby Arthur Miller. “I wonder if he was related to Mom?” I muttered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What?” Van Gogh asked as he stood up.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if Mom was related to Arthur Miller. I mean, they both have the same last name, but maybe that’s a coincidence.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know. In any case, we need to leave soon. I’m going to see if I can find anything else. Meet me by the front door in a few minutes, okay?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI nodded as Van Gogh left, leaving me to scan the other book cover. A lonely woman, who looked like she was from the Victorian age based on her attire, stared out at the reader with an expression of boredom. The title,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eMadame Bovary\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eby Gustave Flaubert, hung over her head. Although I had heard of Arthur Miller, I had never read anything by Gustave Flaubert. As I tucked the books under my arm, and stood up, I couldn’t help wondering why these books were in the back of our dad’s closet—a man who rarely read. Despite not knowing who owned these books, I decided that these were the last two books that I would take with me. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cu\u003eChapter 2: Stealing a Dead Man’s Car\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What now?” I asked Van Gogh, standing outside of our house. It was practically pitch-black, and it felt like the temperature had dropped quite a bit. Wearing layers was definitely the right choice.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI looked back at the house, as if trying to etch it into my memory. I don’t remember living anywhere else other than the house our dad inherited from his parents. Uncle Earl already had a house, so when their parents died, they left their faded blue home to my dad and his new family. Maybe it was a home to them, but it never really felt like a home to me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOddly enough, I didn’t feel a sense of attachment to the one-story, pale-green house. For the past fourteen years, I’d slept in the same room, read on the same dingy couch, and mowed the same patchy lawn. But it’d never really seemed like a\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ehome\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eto me; it was more like a building where I could rest, read, and refuel. I once read a poem that began with the verse, “People are made of places.” Perhaps this was the case for that poet, but I have to disagree. Maybe\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003esome\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003epeople are made up of places, but it was difficult for me to believe that this house was a part of my identity.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMaybe that’s why I did not feel an ounce of sadness as I stood in front of the closed front door. This “place” wasn’t a part of who I was. This was never my home. Van Gogh and I were each other’s home. Nevertheless, we could not live on brotherhood alone.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh dug into his front pocket and pulled out a set of keys.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Now, we drive,” he declared, walking toward the driveway.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Drive?” I asked as he approached our dad’s 1995 Pontiac Bonneville— another “inheritance” from his parents. The sea-green car was caked with grime and dirt from years of shunning car washes. When Van Gogh opened up the driver’s side, you could see the tears in the beige interior from miles away.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Get in,” Van Gogh commanded as he pulled off his mask, flung his backpack on the backseat, and eased into the driver’s seat. Following suit, I slid into the front passenger’s side, placed my N95 mask next to me, and tossed my backpack next to Van Gogh’s, praying that the car would start.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Do you really think this is a good idea?” I asked, as he fought to turn over the engine.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAfter a few more tries, Van Gogh muttered that he would give the car a minute. Then he gave it one more attempt, and as if sensing Van Gogh’s determination, the car obeyed with the prompt rumble of the engine.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh smiled as he shifted the gear into reverse and looked back at the dark, empty street as we backed out of the driveway.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWe sat in silence for a beat before Van Gogh said anything.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Did you bring your charger?” Van Gogh questioned as he gripped the beige steering wheel.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eCharger! Damn!\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eI’d known that I was going to forget something.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Sorry, I forgot,” I admitted.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“That’s okay, I brought mine, but it’s in my backpack. Can you pull up Google Maps?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs I was scrolling through my apps, I repeated the question, “Do you really think this is a good idea?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs my brother eased the car to a stop at a red light, he turned to me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“We need to get to New York, right? As you said, it’s around 1,200 miles away. I can’t think of a better way to get there, can you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough I felt there was probably an alternative to this plan, which did not involve us stealing our dad’s car, I just nodded.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Just take a deep breath and relax. Everything will work out,” Van Gogh assured me, hitting the accelerator as soon as the light turned green.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eBreathe deep and swim\u003c\/em\u003e, I said to myself, as I closed my eyes and inhaled all of the oxygen that I could take in. I may not have remembered our mom’s appearance, but I clearly remember that that was her phrase. Her voice was like honey pouring into my ears. “Breathe deep and swim,” she’d advised. Although I clearly remember this statement, I don’t remember being near a body of water. The setting is fuzzy and frayed, but I distinctly remember a lack of swim gear. No water, no inflatable, neon water wings, no swim trunks. I don’t even remember being wet or preparing for this eventuality. However, that phrase had stirred a sense of comfort and assurance in me, especially in that moment. Maybe it was because she was the one who said it, or because there was something about that moment that I couldn’t recall where that phrase would make sense—I didn’t know. All I knew for certain was that she’d said this phrase directly to me, and that this was my only memory of her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eBreathe deep and swim\u003c\/em\u003e. Perhaps, when we found her, I could ask her what she’d meant when she said those words. Of course, I had a million questions to ask our mom, like, “Why did you leave? Why did you leave us with Dad? Did you leave\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eus,\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eDad, or\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eboth?”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003eThe list was endless. However, one of my first questions would inevitably be, “What does ‘breathe deep and swim’ mean?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWithout knowing her intention, I had to apply my own meaning to the phrase. Whether or not it was “correct,” there was no way to tell, but I always said this to myself in order to prepare for a challenging task. First, you take a deep breath to build your confidence, as if you are breathing\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ein the world to absorb its strength. Then, you just\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ego.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003eYou apply yourself to the task and do not stop. You just need to swim. You have to trust in the proverbial water and your own intuition to take you to where you need to go. So, you navigate the watery depths to make your way to your destination. Maybe that’s what Van Gogh did every time he took a deep breath. Maybe I was not the only one who ever received this advice. I could’ve just asked Van Gogh, but I didn’t. I liked to think Mom gave me—just\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eme\u003c\/em\u003e—one thing that she didn’t give both of us. Even if that wasn’t true, it could be my own personal truth.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What do you remember about Mom?” I asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough I might’ve been the only one who was told to “breathe deep and swim,” I knew that Van Gogh knew more about Mom overall—after all, he had two years more with her than I did.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMy brother stared at the road as if he were lost in thought.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“In 100 feet, turn right on Cleveland Avenue and then keep left to continue onto US-41 North,” the feminine, robotic voice instructed. Although I was the one who’d plugged our destination into Google Maps, the sound of “her” voice still made me jump.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know,” Van Gogh admitted, gripping the wheel, preparing for the turn. “She looked exactly the way she did in the picture you found. You know, you look a lot like her, actually. Same wavy, light-brown hair and light-blue eyes. I also remember her reading to us each night. I mean, that is until she left. Maybe that’s where you get it from. I had never seen her reading any books to herself, but I can’t recall a night when she wasn’t reading to us. She mostly read us the Golden Books. I’m not sure what happened to them. Anyway, that’s pretty much what I remember,” Van Gogh concluded, and we took a slight left onto US-41 North.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Continue on US-41 North for 17 miles,” the female voice instructed.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I don’t really remember anything,” I admitted. “That picture didn’t even trigger a memory.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Well, you were only a baby in that picture. Plus, Mom left when you were really young. It stands to reason that you don’t remember her.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I wish I did though,” I confessed. “It’s like a part of us is missing, you know?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh nodded as he concentrated on the road. “Yeah, I get what you mean—but hey, we are headed there now, so she can fill in the missing pieces,” he said encouragingly.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Maybe,” I responded, playing with the strings of my N95 mask, wishing that I had more than one for the trip.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI hesitated before asking my next question. I knew my brother wouldn’t know the answer, but I was compelled to pose it anyway. I knew it was a question that he must have asked himself. However, I could’ve been wrong. Sometimes, my brother was easy to read. He didn’t believe in keeping secrets, especially from me. He was very upfront with his intentions and beliefs, especially with Dad, which was why they had such a turbulent relationship. However, every once in a while, Van Gogh seemed inaccessible. I didn’t know if this was deliberate or instinctual, but there were moments when he was pensive and withdrawn. Although these were rare moments, they felt isolating. I never admitted this to him—that I needed him to be accessible and open, that I needed to know that I could rely on someone, and that person would always be him for me. If not Van Gogh, then who? Our mom abandoned us. And to our dad, I was just a nuisance that he didn’t really understand. In any case, he was gone now, so it didn’t really matter. Whether or not we found our mom, Van Gogh would still be that person because, unlike our parents, he was always there. Even in those rare moments when he seemed to be living inside his head, I knew that eventually he would snap out of it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Why do you think Mom left?” I asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eVan Gogh’s knuckles began to turn white as he gripped the wheel a little tighter. Even though we were moving, everything felt very still as I waited for his response. It felt like a good minute before he said anything.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I wish I knew what to say,” he admitted. “I don’t know, Wolfgang. I just don’t know. She must’ve had her reasons, but they were always a mystery to me. I’d like to think she left a note, explaining why she chose to leave. It just never made any sense to me. But the fact of the matter is that she left, and if she\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003edid\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eleave a note, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have changed anything. She still chose to leave. What’s worse is that she chose to leave us with\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eDad\u003c\/em\u003e.” Van Gogh paused to take a deep breath. “But, in spite of all that, she’s our only chance.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI nodded, knowing he was right about everything, especially about the fact that Mom not only left us, but that she left us with\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eDad\u003c\/em\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlthough we both loved Dad, it felt like an obligatory love. This may seem harsh, but I doubted either of us would associate with Dad if he weren’t related to us. Yes, he was our father, but to say that he raised us would be a lie. Van Gogh raised me and himself. Our dad provided us with a dwelling, food, and clothing—but that was pretty much it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSome might argue that that was enough. He was a provider, even if what he provided wasn’t consistent. Although he was supposed to provide money for groceries, there were days when our refrigerator was bare. Even though he was supposed to pay the electric and gas bills, there were nights when Van Gogh and I huddled together underneath a blanket, when he held up a flashlight to a book that I was reading so that I could finish the chapter. Since we didn’t have a mortgage, we never feared losing our house, but I remember a few times when Dad almost forgot to pay the property taxes.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eNone of these actions were done out of spite. I just think Dad envisioned a life for himself where his wife took care of these tasks. I would’ve never said this to him, but I firmly believed that he wasn’t prepared to be a responsible adult, let alone a single father to two sons. But even though I would never criticize Dad to his face, Van Gogh was much more confrontational and open about his feelings. In fact, my brother had even told Dad that he was an unfit father.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIt happened pretty recently after we first suspected Dad had COVID-19. His cough was so dry and persistent, we couldn’t help but wonder if it was from our dad’s irrational insistence on smoking one pack of cigarettes a day, or from something else. However, when his frequent coughing fits left him lightheaded and out of breath, Van Gogh and I began to suspect that he had the coronavirus.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDespite our suspicions, Dad had continued to go to his job at the construction site—until he was too tired to move, at least. At that point, Van Gogh called in sick for him. That was only a couple of days ago.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDad never admitted that he was sick. Even before he got sick, he never wore a mask or socially distanced himself from others. Once it became impossible for Dad to take care of himself, my brother ensured he remained in his bedroom. It became a makeshift hospital room, without a ventilator or any monitoring system. It was the best we could do since neither of us could carry him to the car, and any time we even attempted to call 911, Dad forced all his energy into yelling at us, screaming to get off the phone. By the time he could no longer scream—or speak, for that matter—he was too far gone. Near the end, Van Gogh and I knew there was no point in taking him to the hospital.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHowever, before this point, Van Gogh had one final confrontation with our dad. It was essentially the last conversation they ever had.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Face it, you have COVID-19!” Van Gogh had exclaimed as Dad doubled over from his latest coughing fit. “You need to go to the hospital.” Dad cleared his throat and leaned against the wall, trying to balance himself. “Look, Van, it’s just a damn cough,” Dad asserted, wiping the beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Mind your own business.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Mind my own business! Are you kidding me?” Van Gogh had screamed, clenching his fists while taking a step away from our dad, trying to keep his distance. “This is\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003emy business!\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eWe”—Van Gogh pointed to him and me—“are in this house with you! You are putting us in danger!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You don’t know what—” Dad was cut off by another coughing fit. He pressed his palm against the wall as he coughed into his fist, which barely covered his mouth. I slid deeper into the couch and raised the book I was reading up to my face, as though I could shield myself from his illness through the sheer force of literature.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ewhat\u003c\/em\u003e, Dad? I don’t know that you can’t get out a damn sentence because you are coughing up a lung!” Van Gogh raked his fingers through his hair as he scowled out our dad, who continued to cough. “I don’t know that you are endangering the guys on the site! I don’t know that you are endangering everyone in that damn bar who refuses to wear a mask! What don’t I understand, Dad?!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAfter his coughing fit, Dad stared directly into Van Gogh’s matching lily-pad-green eyes. They were both so piercing, and so stubborn—firmly believing in their own opinions, deeming the other one as an adversary. But maybe that was appropriate. These fights had come to define their relationship. If they weren’t fighting, they weren’t interacting. They merely coexisted in this house; their relationship was marred by their refusal to try to understand one another.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDad didn’t understand me either, but unlike Van Gogh, I never confronted him about his beliefs or conjectures. I just stayed out of his way, resigned to the fact that he would never try to understand me, so why bother to fight with him? Why waste my energy? While this attitude came naturally to me, Van Gogh had a hard time letting anything go. Unlike me, he was a fighter, but so was Dad.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen you put two fighters in a ring and do not expect a fight to break out, you are just a fool.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You don’t know\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eanything\u003c\/em\u003e!” Dad had growled. “Just stay out of it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Unbelievable\u003cem\u003e! Stay out of it\u003c\/em\u003e!” Van Gogh’s veins were prominently bulging from his neck as he continued. “You go on about how COVID-19 is\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003enothing\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eand talk about how\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e‘fake news’\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003esensationalizes this pandemic! But even when you catch it, you don’t believe in it! To you, it’s none of my business, but it is my damn business because you can give it to me–to Wolfgang! Don’t you care? Don’t you give a damn about yourself, about us?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTo that, Dad said nothing. He just continued to look Van Gogh straight in the eyes. I don’t know what he was trying to accomplish in doing so, but Van Gogh played the game and stared back. I don’t even know if he was waiting for an answer to his question, but Dad’s silence said it all.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You know what?” Van Gogh scoffed, “You don’t. I mean, how could you? You’ve never been a damn father. You’re only related to us biologically, but you don’t have it in you to be a father.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBy this time, Dad was fuming. His face was as purplish red as a beet, which was caused by a mixture of coughing and rage.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Get out,” Dad had growled.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBefore he could say anything else, Van Gogh picked up his sketchpad and pencils from the coffee table and marched out of the house. As the door slammed shut, a flood of regret had poured over me.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eWhy didn’t I go with you, Van Gogh? What if you don’t return? Why didn’t I follow you?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs I sat next to Van Gogh in the car now—looking down at Google Maps, watching us inch closer and closer to New York—I knew I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. I knew I would follow Van Gogh wherever he led. It was the only way that we could survive.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Jenna%20Marcus*\" target=\"_blank\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eShop all Jenna Marcus books\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716161249450,"sku":"9781647043131","price":13.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_d4783850-2d67-4c8e-8bbd-5d0ae3b53489.jpg?v=1636991282"},{"product_id":"in-the-heart-of-a-mustang-9781946229670","title":"In the Heart of a Mustang","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e \"...a joy to read!\" \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\n\u003cem\u003e—Readers' Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"In the Heart of a Mustang\u003c\/em\u003e is one of the finest books ever written for teens and preteens.\" \u003cem\u003e—Literary Classics\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHunter was told that his father was a brave soldier and virtuous man. Someone that Hunter needed to emulate. The only problem is that the whole story was a lie, all of it. The truth is that his father has spent the entirety of Hunter’s life in jail, paying his sorry debt to society. Angry and hurt, Hunter gets into some serious trouble and is sent to Promise Ranch, a home for troubled teenage boys. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA wild mustang mare and her herd are rescued from certain starvation by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). In a sandy corral at Promise Ranch, Hunter and the mare meet. It takes a weathered, old cowboy to bring them together—a mentor for one, a trainer for the other. The bond that forms between boy and horse becomes one that saves the lives of both.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAwards:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e2016 Literary Classics Gold Medalist \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e2016 Nautilus Book Awards Silver Medalist \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e2017 Readers' Favorite International Book Award Silver Medalist \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e2017 Equus Film Festival Gold Medalist\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eM.J. Evans is the multi-award winning author of middle-grade and young adult fantasies and novels. She is best known for her horse stories such as \u003cem\u003eIn the Heart of a Mustang \u003c\/em\u003eand\u003cem\u003e PINTO!, \u003c\/em\u003eas well as her fantasies, \u003cem\u003eThe Mist Trilogy \u003c\/em\u003eand\u003cem\u003e The Centaur Chronicles. \u003c\/em\u003eMrs. Evans is a life-long equestrian, a former teacher of middle-grade and high school students, and the proud mother of five grown children. She loves to ride her horses in the Colorado mountains.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716164952234,"sku":"9781946229670","price":12.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_e6c030e9-95bb-4a77-8138-73169a6bdc27.jpg?v=1636991366"},{"product_id":"the-illusion-queen-9781948543101","title":"The Illusion Queen","description":"\u003cp\u003eAleja is the most celebrated young woman on Corazon, an ancient and mystical island where laws and traditions are carved in stone. For one cycle of the moon Corazon's leaders will give Aleja extravagant gifts, hold feasts in her honor, and when the new moon rises they will take her life.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Aleja is a Daughter, a woman raised from childhood to serve the goddess Queen that rules Corazon. 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It's up to Alicia, her sister Clara, and their Chumash friend Nina to shoulder the responsibility of caring for the Ortega home and business.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen Alicia's oldest sister is sent to finishing school in Texas for protection and refinement, the remaining younger sisters must run the rancho alone. Dangers on all sides begin to descend as the sisters are pursued by Yankee immigrant merchants and sailors hoping to cash in on rich lands and access to Pacific ports.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlicia is trying her best to keep her family's home and business afloat and thankfully, her companion, Nina is there to help. But as an indigenous girl, Nina is valuable to traders, trappers, and surveyors for her knowledge of the Californian terrain and her network of tribal relations. However, she won't always be there to help Alicia's family, especially since she has problems of her own. The Franciscan Mission is pressuring her family to convert to Catholicism, a charming trader is courting her, and, worst of all, their tribal territory and tribal ways are vanishing.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe girls struggle to protect the Ortega family's land and black market dock from conniving suitors, but tough family secrets are threatening everything, and Alicia doesn't know if they'll be able to survive until her parents return.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003eDr. Perez Ferguson is a cross-cultural educator and consultant. Her fiction brings to life the voices of California inhabitants living 200 years ago. Her non-fiction promotes the voices of under-represented communities in the twenty-first century. 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On a quest to find adventure, the clever young Spaniard battles the demons of his past and religious uncertainty on an epic expedition to the New World.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDetermined to make the best out of their challenging circumstances, they aspire to claw their way out of poverty. Sal and Blas discover more than they ever imagined as they witness the fragmented cultures of California's native people. Tangling with corrupted padres and escaping from ruthless pirates, they realize that all that glitters is not gold. Sal and Blas must quickly learn the rules of the sea and the new western frontier-or die trying. Can Sal handle his own twisted secrets and rise from the depths of his past while discovering his own purpose in life?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003eDr. Perez Ferguson is a cross-cultural educator and consultant. Her fiction brings to life the voices of California inhabitants living 200 years ago. Her non-fiction promotes the voices of under-represented communities in the twenty-first century. This earned her the 2014 Lacayo Lifetime Achievement Award from the United States Hispanic Leadership Institute. She is an Advisor and Former Chair for the InterAmerican Foundation and a Visiting Lecturer for the Council for Independent Colleges. She enjoys living and writing on the Pacific coast.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/cl5dzgd0ksvack7n-44036260000.shopifypreview.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=%22mission+bells+series%22\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShop the Mission Bells Series\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Luz Publications","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":42765337067690,"sku":"9780967330020","price":10.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_8a34c340-c7d7-4eb9-b351-a4b34b44caac.jpg?v=1648738509"},{"product_id":"heartstruck-at-dawn-9786072928794","title":"Heartstruck at Dawn","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBillie Murphy's swoon worthy adventures in New York City continue in \u003cem\u003eHeartstruck at Dawn\u003c\/em\u003e, the second book in the Moonstruck series. \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the wake of her disastrous, and not to mention dangerous, breakup with Thomas, Billie Murphy is once again trying to settle into her busy New York City life. Yes, she's still got some romantic threads to unravel-including her tricky relationship with her longtime bodyguard Caleb and her on-again-off-again flirtation with her handsome Swedish neighbor William-but with Thomas behind her, she's ready to move on just as someone completely unexpected enters her orbit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThough things may seem to be finally falling into place, Billie can't help but escape the feeling that the people she loves are keeping secrets. Caught between being the little girl everyone wants to protect, and the bold, young woman she knows she is, Billie begins to learn that the danger she thought was behind her may be closer than she thinks. And this time, the stakes could be unimaginably high.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAndrade, Alejandra:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e - Alejandra lives in Mérida, Yucatán, México with her husband and son. She's a music lover, a geek at heart, and a fan of all things Christopher Nolan, Star Wars, LOTR, GOT, et cetera.Moonstruck at Midnight is her debut novel and Book One of the Moonstruck Series. You can find her on social media on Facebook \u0026amp; Instagram as long as her 30-minute social media app limit hasn't elapsed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Alejandra Andrade","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":42836323696810,"sku":"9786072928794","price":15.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_241fa690-0644-4fcd-8fc0-115ba58e8691.jpg?v=1649962810"},{"product_id":"moonstruck-at-midnight-9786072926646","title":"Moonstruck at Midnight","description":"\u003cp\u003e★★★★★ \"It caught my attention from the start, I was drawn into Billie's world. Every word, every emotion I felt it. Couldn't stop reading and wishing it wouldn't end. (Goodreads Review)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBillie Murphy's life is about to change.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt's her 20th birthday and her \u003cstrong\u003efinal days in Paris\u003c\/strong\u003e after years of living abroad with her father, a top US diplomat, and Billie is feeling all the feelings-saddened to leave her friends and abuzz with anticipation about what comes next. A night of dancing, wine, and \u003cstrong\u003ea chance encounter\u003c\/strong\u003e with a handsome Princeton athlete, is a near-perfect send-off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen Billie's dad gifts her the keys to her own NYC apartment, she embraces the chance for \u003cstrong\u003ea fresh start in a new city\u003c\/strong\u003e, even if she has to remain under the watchful eyes of her caretaker and bodyguards, including Caleb, who may be more than just a protector and friend.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWithin days of her arrival, \u003cstrong\u003eBillie senses a change in Caleb\u003c\/strong\u003e, who's suddenly apprehensive about her rekindled relationship with Thomas-the handsome American, her wealthy new friends, and the beguiling (and not to mention gorgeous) Swedish family upstairs. He's been over-protective of her since the \u003cstrong\u003emysterious death of her mother years ago\u003c\/strong\u003e, but lately, he's been acting like there's more at stake than ever before. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs Billie steps into an eye-opening world of wealth and secrets-where everyone may not be who they seem-she'll have to navigate her volatile new relationships and the mysteries of her past \u003cstrong\u003eto find her path forward\u003c\/strong\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e★★★★★ \"The author has a very unique way of developing characters who will make you fall in love with them.\" (Goodreads Review)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e★★★★★ \"I just love the way Alejandra writes. She literally makes you feel like you're there. And the unexpected twists will make your heart explode!\" (Goodreads Review)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e★★★★★ \"Couldn't stop reading, love every part of it! Can't wait for book 2!\" (Goodreads Review)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAndrade, Alejandra:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e - Alejandra lives in Mérida, Yucatán, México with her husband and son. She's a music lover, a geek at heart, and a fan of all things Christopher Nolan, Star Wars, LOTR, GOT, et cetera. Moonstruck at Midnight is her debut novel of the Moonstruck Series. You can find her on social media on Facebook \u0026amp; Instagram as long as her 30-minute social media app limit hasn't elapsed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Alejandra Andrade","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":42836324319402,"sku":"9786072926646","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_ae79af9f-6e5e-45e1-bdd6-7a70d2d457fc.jpg?v=1649962829"},{"product_id":"bardo-by-the-sea-9780985716585","title":"Bardo by the Sea","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"A fun mystery with a clever heroine that offers sharp, surprising takes on big issues.\" \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cem\u003e—Kirkus, “Best Books of 2022”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen Izzy Brown, an anxiety-ridden sixteen-year-old, receives a scholarship to the prestigious Bardo Academy, she leaves the trailer park for a seaside villa in Florida’s most exclusive and secretive community. With a new address, new school, and cute new boyfriend, life is good—for once.\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBut then dreams of becoming a journalist prompt Izzy to join the school newspaper. With the help of Elton Jones-Davies, a gentle giant with autism and secrets of his own, she delves into the murder of a former Bardo Academy football star.\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eTogether, Izzy and Elton uncover forbidden romance, shady business deals, and political corruption reaching the State Capitol. The case heats up just as Izzy’s life falls apart, but she presses on, risking everything to bring the killer to justice.\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSet in 2008, at the precipice of the housing market crash and the height of Florida’s prescription opioid epidemic, \u003cem\u003eBardo by the Sea\u003c\/em\u003e is the first book of the Izzy and Elton Mystery Series.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eChad Alan Gibbs is the award-winning author of \u003cem\u003eTwo Like Me and You, The Rome of Fall, \u003c\/em\u003eand the Izzy and Elton Mystery Series. He lives in Alabama with his wife and two sons.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Izzy%20and%20Elton%20Mystery%20Series*\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eShop the Izzy and Elton Mystery Series\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Borne Back Books","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":43061583151274,"sku":"9780985716585","price":14.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_2ac04041-ac1b-488e-ad34-53537eb972a5.jpg?v=1655312203"},{"product_id":"eventually-they-all-fall-9781647044978","title":"Eventually, They All Fall","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold\"\u003e“[F]antasy fans will relish this enticing, attention-grabbing read.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e —BookLife\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003eDomino Garrison knows that he is the king of all that is weird, but he would rather abdicate that throne. He would rather be a normal teenager who just goes to school and works at a bookstore—and for all intents and purposes—that's exactly how he appears to his peers; however, aside from his best friend, Griswold, no one knows Domino's secret, or his secrets. His father abandoned him and his only family—his mom—when he was 5 years old, and his mom is a drug addict who has a parade of men coming in and out of their home. Oh, and Domino has the ability to see into other people's fantasies. He thinks this ability is pretty useless; however, little does he know that his ability is more powerful and expansive than he thinks.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhen extraordinary circumstances begin to occur, like massive earthquakes hitting the East coast, exotic animals wandering around zoos that they had not escaped from, and black sludge eviscerating everything in its path, Domino soon discovers that not only can he see fantasies, but he can also pull these fantasies into reality; however, doing so causes horrendous pain and mental anguish as Domino is concerned that the power he has could corrupt his mind.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHowever, he knows that it is up to him—with the support of his friends Griswold and Lucy, and his boss Miles—to put a stop to the unnatural occurrences plaguing the earth before it is too late.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold\"\u003e“…an excellent work of fantasy that uses the trappings of superpowers and fantastical threats to our world to tell a quintessential coming-of-age story about a troubled young man.” \u003cstrong\u003e—\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\" class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eReaders' Favorite\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"Marcus offers a YA novel about a superpowered high schooler and his pals who go on a mission to save the world from an earth-shaking threat.\"\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e \u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\" class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e—Kirkus\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold\"\u003e“\u003cmeta charset=\"UTF-8\"\u003eReaders of all ages will love this story…. This book reminded me of a cross between \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eHarry Potter\u003c\/em\u003e and \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eStranger Things \u003c\/em\u003ebecause the main characters were all kids who go on danger-filled adventures.” \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e—San Francisco Book Review\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJenna Marcus is an academic leader and published author of the YA novel, \u003cem\u003eMy Unusual Talent\u003c\/em\u003e. She has a fervent passion for leveraging her decade of expertise to robustly enhance and redefine the quality of teaching and learning. As an avid reader, she believes that every child should find a book to love. In addition to her profession experience, she holds a MS. ED in Educational Leadership, a MS. ED in Middle Childhood \u0026amp; Adolescent English Education and a BA in Literature; she is also certified in School Building Leadership and ELA. Currently, she lives in New Rochelle, NY.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Jenna%20Marcus*\" target=\"_blank\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eShop all Jenna Marcus books\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":43061583413418,"sku":"9781647044978","price":13.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_363098ba-9106-4f98-a260-af577b52c231.jpg?v=1655312215"},{"product_id":"the-de-coding-of-jo-keys-to-eternity-9781647045920","title":"The De-Coding of Jo: Keys to Eternity","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eA Phantom Cult\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eA Shattering Deception \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eA Powerful Prophecy \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLust, greed, destruction. Humanity has fallen into an inverted matrix. Menacing energy vampires are hunting Jo's best friends and siphoning the souls of StarSeeds. To save everyone she loves from extinction, Jo must collapse the false Phantom timeline using Stargate portals and time hops into the ancient Age of Lemuria. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJo and Alicia reunite with Roma and legendary mythical Warriors. They trek through the enchanted Luminary Realms to fulfill the violet flame prophecy of the seven Eternal Archive Spheres. As the Plague of Chaos descends on innocence, the chosen Master Alchemist must embody Metatron's organic keys to resurrect the modern timeline.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":43945843916970,"sku":"9781647045920","price":14.44,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_6445a25b-a379-49be-9127-0667706bd4d4.jpg?v=1667931717"},{"product_id":"the-moonstone-girls-9781737006442","title":"The MoonStone Girls","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eKIRKUS STARRED REVIEW: \"\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003eA moving and romantic coming-out story and a triumphant celebration of lesbian liberation.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eGOLD MEDAL IPPY Award-\u003c\/strong\u003eYoung Adult Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eGOLD MEDAL READERS FAVORITE Award\u003c\/strong\u003e-Young Adult Coming of Age\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTracy should have been a boy. Even her older brother Spencer says so, though he wouldn't finish the thought with, \"And I should have been a girl.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThough both feel awkward in their own skin, they have to face who they are-queers in the late 60s.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen both are caught with gay partners, their lives and futures are endangered by their homophobic father as their mother struggles to defend them.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhile the Vietnam War threatens to take Spencer away, Tracy and her father wage a war of their own, each trying to save the sweet, talented pianist.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt seventeen, Tracy dresses as a boy and leaves her parents in turmoil, with only the slimmest hope of finding peace within herself. She journeys to a girl with a guitar, calling to her from a photo, \"Come to Alaska. We'd be great friends.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe even The MoonStone Girls.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e","brand":"Skipstone Learning","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":43945861185706,"sku":"9781737006442","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_856857d1-9d92-446c-8ff8-9eff2d9cce50.jpg?v=1667931755"},{"product_id":"the-wise-one-9781777331702","title":"The Wise One","description":"\u003cp\u003eMckenna's never thought much of her nightmares, but on her seventeenth birthday, a vivid dream of burning at the stake awakens her dormant abilities, thrusting her into a world where faeries are real, spirits hold a grudge, and a High Priestess obsessed with a 16th-century prophecy is tracking her every move.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow, her overprotective dads, Se n and Andre, are forced to tell her the truth-they know who her birth mother is, and her life is not the surrogate story she's always been told. Abigail, Mckenna's mom, is some sort of mystic, and Mckenna a Wise One.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhatever the hell that means.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith the help of a persistent little wren and company of a newfound friend, Mckenna journeys to Ireland in search of her mother and real answers. Along the way, she learns to harness her innate magic and trust her intuition, as best she can anyway-Cillian, a kind and passionate delegate who crosses her path, is proving much harder to read.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnly her mother could truly help her halt her ill fate and prepare her for what's to come . . . before she gives in to the darkness she knows is buried deep within.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Kat Biggie Press","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":44156290891946,"sku":"9781777331702","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_521c2604-0cee-460d-926e-de04eb3798fb.jpg?v=1671046800"},{"product_id":"graves-upon-bones-9798985675702","title":"Graves upon Bones","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"UTF-8\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“Gibbs is a clever and engaging writer, and he has hit gold with gutsy Izzy and her partner, Elton…. An entertaining, witty, and well-plotted murder tale.” \u003cem\u003e—Kirkus\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAfter solving a decades-old cold case murder, Izzy Brown learns no good deed goes unpunished. Arrested, expelled, and back in the sad Florida trailer park where she’s spent most of her life, Izzy’s world has spiraled out of control. But then, the opportunity of a lifetime…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIzzy accepts an invitation to move to England with her best friend, Elton Jones-Davies, and live with his mother in her flat in Graves upon Bones, London’s poshest neighborhood. At her exclusive new private school, Izzy begins seeing a therapist for her anxiety, and life is good—for a minute.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBut then Izzy and Elton open an investigation into the unsolved bombing of a local pub and soon uncover illicit affairs, ties to organized crime, and even terrorist plots. Desperate not to squander her second chance, Izzy promised her mother she’d not go looking for trouble. But trouble has found her, and now Izzy must decide whether to press on in her search for the killer, knowing it could cost her everything.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSet in 2009 during the Great Recession and the first wave of the opioid epidemic, Graves upon Bones is the second book in the Izzy and Elton Mystery Series.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eChad Alan Gibbs is the award-winning author of \u003cem\u003eTwo Like Me and You, The Rome of Fall, \u003c\/em\u003eand the Izzy and Elton Mystery Series. He lives in Alabama with his wife and two sons.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Izzy%20and%20Elton%20Mystery%20Series*\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eShop the Izzy and Elton Mystery Series\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Borne Back Books","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":44156293152938,"sku":"9798985675702","price":15.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_038bb32f-9cd1-47b4-8994-90fe15b6de3f.jpg?v=1671046853"},{"product_id":"my-unusual-talent-9781647040772","title":"My Unusual Talent","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“\u003c\/strong\u003e…\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eMy Unusual Talent\u003c\/em\u003e is perfect for teen readers who enjoy a fast-paced read that spans several genres and generations.” —\u003cmeta charset=\"UTF-8\"\u003eAmy Powers for \u003cem\u003eReaders' Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCooper O'Neil, a high school senior from the small town Parkway, strives for a normal teenage existence. One of Cooper’s greatest fears is that everyone will discover that he has telekinetic abilities, and inevitably turn him into a science experiment. Only his parents and his sister, Amber, know about his incredible abilities. Cooper keeps his abilities a secret, especially from the love of life because he worries that she would no longer love him if she discovered his secret. However, soon Cooper has more to worry about once the townspeople of Parkway begin to disappear. Once Cooper discovers his late grandfather’s journal in his attic, he realizes that history is repeating itself, and just like over forty years ago, the townspeople are being kidnapped. In order to solve the mystery of the recent kidnappings, he must find out how his grandfather died, and the connection between the kidnappings from over forty years and the present day before it is too late.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I would highly recommend \u003cem\u003eMy Unusual Talent\u003c\/em\u003e for fans of heartfelt coming-of-age stories with a wonderful science fiction twist and relatable heroes with some very inventive gifts.” \u003cstrong\u003e—K.C. Finn for \u003cem\u003eReaders' Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e”My Unusual Talent\u003c\/em\u003e by Jenna Marcus is an exciting young adult novel packed with intrigue and suspense. It is an engaging story with appealing characters, a fascinating plot, and a dramatic storyline. Starting with a thrilling prologue, the story's pace and intensity build as the story develops, escalating to a splendid conclusion. It is a sensational paranormal novel filled with drama, mystery, excitement, and teenage angst that promises to satisfy those who enjoy adventures with adolescent protagonists.” \u003cstrong\u003e—Susan Sewell for \u003cem\u003eReaders' Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJenna Marcus is an academic leader and published author of the YA novel, \u003cem\u003eMy Unusual Talent\u003c\/em\u003e. She has a fervent passion for leveraging her decade of expertise to robustly enhance and redefine the quality of teaching and learning. As an avid reader, she believes that every child should find a book to love. In addition to her profession experience, she holds a MS. ED in Educational Leadership, a MS. ED in Middle Childhood \u0026amp; Adolescent English Education and a BA in Literature; she is also certified in School Building Leadership and ELA. Currently, she lives in New Rochelle, NY.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Jenna%20Marcus*\" target=\"_blank\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eShop all Jenna Marcus books\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":44173406372010,"sku":"9781647040772","price":13.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_df5f59b5-7f85-44b8-926f-01004e53e421.jpg?v=1671466601"},{"product_id":"the-de-coding-of-jo-hall-of-ignorance-9781647041564","title":"The De-Coding of Jo: Hall of Ignorance","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"Spellbinding.\" - Halo Scot, author of \u003cem\u003eEdge of the Breach\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"Captivating and smart... I found myself wanting more \" - Ash Knight, author of \u003cem\u003eStay\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"Unputdownable... a must read.\" - Evan Knapp, Founding Member of \u003cem\u003eQueer Indie\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"Love's story stands out in its originality, with themes of science and spirituality, and a conflict that is strongly and intelligently articulated.\" - Readers Favorite\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"This book is like no other, the story will linger with you long after you've turned the last page...\" - Medea Kalantar, author of the \u003cem\u003eHoneycake\u003c\/em\u003e children's book series\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eWhat would you do if you accidentally discovered a holographic portal into the cosmos, in the basement of your high school's library? Would you take the leap of faith?\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEver since the fatal night her mother was taken hostage by a homicidal maniac, sixteen-year-old Jo has been plagued by debilitating nightmares. As she tries to unravel her bleak reality while attending Forest Hill Academy, a preppy co-ed private school, Jo and her friends discover a mysterious gateway into a Black Hole. Accidentally, evil is released from the portal as demonic parasites spread throughout the school. One by one they turn her classmates into an army of sleepwalkers, serving the Lord of Darkness in a sinister plot for universal domination.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen Jo is activated by the Council of Light, she discovers her mission and confronts her celestial identity, revealing the mystery of existence. With the help of her best friends and a Galactic Compass, Jo unleashes the cosmic powers of creation to prevent the Darkness from enslaving all of humanity into obscurity. Will she be able to decode the artificial system in time to save her friends and the sacred Light?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs the first book in the \u003cem\u003eAscending Angel Academy\u003c\/em\u003e series, \u003cem\u003eThe De-Coding of Jo\u003c\/em\u003e is a beautiful melding of fantasy, paranormal and science fiction with a diverse, gender inclusive cast that young adult readers can fully immerse themselves in.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":44173406863530,"sku":"9781647041564","price":21.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_7e052adf-8868-4aa4-82a1-93cd84f30a97.jpg?v=1671466603"},{"product_id":"the-de-coding-of-jo-blade-of-truth-9781737299813","title":"The De-Coding of Jo: Blade of Truth","description":"\u003cp\u003eA Hypnotic StarSeed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA Mysterious Island\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA Cosmic Reboot\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGaia is perishing. 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Will the balance between light and dark finally shift?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLove, Lali A.:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e - Lali A. Love is an award-winning author and Amazon bestseller of dark fantasy, science fiction, paranormal thriller, and metaphysical poetry. She has received a Global e-Book Gold Award, the Elite Choice Gold Award, the Book of Excellence Award, the Queer Indie Lit Youth Gold Award, and the International Reader's Favorite Bronze Award for quality and powerful storytelling. Her mission is to empower, enlighten, and entertain her readers by bridging the concepts of spirituality with gripping visionary fiction. Lali aspires to write stimulating, inclusive, thought-provoking, and relevant character-based novels that relate to modern-day issues and invoke an emotional response in her readers. She has studied epistemology and metaphysics to further her understanding of the Universal Laws of Energy. As an intuitive, alchemist, and energy healer, Lali intends to help elevate levels of consciousness by shining the light on sensitive subject matter to assist individuals in their healing journeys. She is an advocate for self-love, self-actualization, voicing authentic truths, equality, diversity, unity, women, and children. 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I could almost see her growing up, finding unexpected allies, and using her mama's native skills as she faced the political firestorm of the 1840s in California.\" —Stephanie Foster, author of \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eTake Action\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eIn 1844, fifteen-year-old Sparrow fears what dilemmas her grown-up life will encounter. Sparrow's mother is from the Chumash nation whose territory borders the Pacific. Her father is an American trapper and trader sent by his government to explore the rich California land owned by Mexico.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSparrow's difficulties are compounded when she learns her father also has an American wife and daughter. Then, she overhears him making plans to overthrow the Mexican Governor of Alta California and acquire the Mexican lands for the United States.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSparrow's tribal family and indigenous customs are threatened. She must decide if she will keep her father's secret and lose her homeland, or warn her mother and the Mexican authorities but suffer the loss of her father's love.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003eDr. Perez Ferguson is a cross-cultural educator and consultant. Her fiction brings to life the voices of California inhabitants living 200 years ago. Her non-fiction promotes the voices of under-represented communities in the twenty-first century. 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She enjoys living and writing on the Pacific coast.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/cl5dzgd0ksvack7n-44036260000.shopifypreview.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=%22mission+bells+series%22\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eShop the Mission Bells Series\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Luz Publications","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":44427364303018,"sku":"9780967330082","price":10.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/BrokenPromises_ebook_cover_10506_350x534_565f9114-231e-44b9-a573-c8efdd834077.jpg?v=1677103212"},{"product_id":"dear-inmate-9781736607732","title":"Dear Inmate","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eTheir silent disgust failed to affect me anymore. But this was not silent. This was loud and forceful and violent. I could not ignore it. \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMassachusetts, 1854. \u003c\/strong\u003eThe anti-foreigner American Party, better known as the \"Know-Nothings,\" take power throughout the state. The city of Lowell elects Leonard Ward, a member of the party, as its mayor. Suddenly the \"Know-Nothings\" are everywhere. And they're going after the Irish.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRosaleen is ready to fight back. Emboldened by strange conspiracies about the Catholic Church, violent mobs and corrupt government officials are making life nearly unbearable for her people. Lowell's newly formed police department is committed to ridding the streets of \"Irish filth,\" beating and arresting anyone who crosses them. When Rosaleen uncovers a horrific truth, it will test her in ways she could never have imagined.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTargeted by dangerous opposition, she needs help. But are her friends as loyal as she believes?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBoyle, Lisa:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e - Lisa Boyle has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. Born and raised in Finksburg, Maryland, Lisa received bachelor's degrees in journalism and international affairs from Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts. As part of her college program, Lisa traveled the Middle East and spent two months reporting on political and human-interest stories. She has been published in various online publications and magazines, and has held many different jobs over the years from cheesemonger, to educator at the U.S.S. Constitution Museum. Lisa and her husband Tim live in North Carolina with their daughter and a goofy-looking mutt named Lloyd.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Lisa Boyle Writes, LLC","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":44565599256746,"sku":"9781736607732","price":17.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_6a6174a8-655b-467c-9ef7-d8ea5edda010.jpg?v=1680456198"},{"product_id":"wizards-key-9780692824009","title":"Wizard's Key","description":"\u003cb\u003eFinding a magical key was easy. Staying alive, however...\u003c\/b\u003eThe dirt-encrusted key didn't look like much, but when bullied teen Geoff inadvertently activates it, he is suddenly thrust into a strange and beautiful world. It doesn't help that he's accompanied by Sawyer, his chief tormentor at school, but there is a silver lining in that intelligent, compassionate Jane is also with them. Soon the three teenagers encounter evil orcs, majestic unicorns, dangerous trolls, and a mysterious elven druid who doesn't care for humans.Together, they must make their way back home before the new world they find themselves in erupts in war. Along the way, they'll be tested to the limits of their endurance-and discover hidden powers deep within. But will those powers be enough to stop the ravenous werewolf that is stalking them?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMitch grew up in the central Piedmont region of North Carolina and is currently a Business Analyst for an international software firm. An avid animal lover, he enjoys hiking, tennis, classic movies, and, of course, reading \u0026amp; writing. He lives with his faithful coonhound, Murphy, who doubles as a proofreader - when he isn't sleeping or digging in the backyard. Wizard's Key is the first book of The Darkwolf Saga series. To learn more about the series, please visit www.mitchreinahrdt.com\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Mitch Reinhardt","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":44865396932778,"sku":"9780692824009","price":13.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_e3beef31-6200-4c60-ba10-a55922d90d7f.jpg?v=1686166618"}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/collections\/Teen_Young_Adult.png?v=1648563534","url":"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/collections\/teen-young-adult\/pub202510.oembed","provider":"Bublish-Books","version":"1.0","type":"link"}