{"product_id":"beneath-a-meth-moon-isbn-9780399252501","title":"Beneath a Meth Moon","description":"Laurel Daneau has moved on to a new life, in a new town, but inside she's still reeling from the loss of her beloved mother and grandmother after Hurricane Katrina washed away their home. Laurel's new life is going well, with a new best friend, a place on the cheerleading squad and T-Boom, co-captain of the basketball team, for a boyfriend. Yet Laurel is haunted by voices and memories from her past. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen T-Boom introduces Laurel to meth, she immediately falls under its spell, loving the way it erases, even if only briefly, her past. But as she becomes alienated from her friends and family, she becomes a shell of her former self, and longs to be whole again. With help from an artist named Moses and her friend Kaylee, she's able to begin to rewrite her story and start to move on from her addiction. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIncorporating Laurel's bittersweet memories of life before and during the hurricane, this is a stunning novel by one of our finest writers. Jacqueline Woodson's haunting - but ultimately hopeful - story is beautifully told and one readers will not want to miss.\u003cb\u003e*\u003c\/b\u003e \"Woodson crafts a story of powerful emotional intensity through her poignant portrayal of a young woman lost and in pain. The depiction of small-town life, with its Dollar Store, Wal-Mart and limited economic opportunities adds texture and authenticity. This is beautifully written, with clear prose that honors the story it tells. . . . Most of all, it is populated with fully realized characters who struggle to make sense of tragedy. . . . A moving, honest and hopeful story.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e*\u003c\/b\u003e \"Dreamlike story . . . peppered with the voices of expertly sketched characters and rich with writerly observations. . . . Woodson maintains tension throughout, making it abundantly clear how easy it is to succumb to meth and how difficult it is to recover from it.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e*\u003c\/b\u003e \"Powerful, stripped-down novel. . . . Full of rich, sensory images . . . giving the story a dreamlike quality. . . . A natural choice for fans of \u003ci\u003eGo Ask Alice\u003c\/i\u003e or Ellen Hopkins’s \u003ci\u003eCrank\u003c\/i\u003e. An outstanding novel that succeeds on every level.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Woodson takes us on the dark journey of addiction, mimicking the slow, hazy spell of drug use with the lull of her poetic prose. . . . Laurel's descent is brutally honest. . . . An intimate and compelling story of survival.\"—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Horn Book\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"As accurate as it is heartbreaking; readers will be deeply moved . . . they'll sympathize with [Laurel's] desire to find some way to feel better. . . . Readers looking to understand the attraction of a destructive substance will get a glimmer of understanding.\"—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Will not disappoint readers. . . . Ends on a hopeful note: perhaps it is possible to write pain 'into the past and leave some of it there,' and reimagine a future.\"—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBooklist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eJacqueline Woodson\u003c\/b\u003e (www.jacquelinewoodson.com) is the recipient of a 2023 Guggenheim Foundation Fellowship, a 2020 MacArthur Fellowship, the 2020 Hans Christian Andersen Award, the 2018 Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award, and the 2018 Children’s Literature Legacy Award. She was the 2018–2019 National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature, and in 2015, she was named the Young People’s Poet Laureate by the Poetry Foundation. She received the 2014 National Book Award for her \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling memoir \u003ci\u003eBrown Girl Dreaming\u003c\/i\u003e, which was also a recipient of the Coretta Scott King Award, a Newbery Honor, the NAACP Image Award, and a Sibert Honor. She wrote the adult books \u003ci\u003eRed at the Bone\u003c\/i\u003e, a \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller, and \u003ci\u003eAnother Brooklyn\u003c\/i\u003e, a 2016 National Book Award finalist. Born in Columbus, Ohio, Jacqueline grew up in Greenville, South Carolina, and Brooklyn, New York, and graduated from college with a B.A. in English. She is the author of dozens of award-winning books for young adults, middle graders, and children; among her many accolades, she is a four-time Newbery Honor winner, a four-time National Book Award finalist, and a three-time Coretta Scott King Award winner. Her books include Coretta Scott King Award winner \u003ci\u003eBefore the Ever After; New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestsellers \u003ci\u003eThe Day You Begin\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eHarbor Me\u003c\/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003eThe Other Side\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eEach Kindness\u003c\/i\u003e, Caldecott Honor book \u003ci\u003eComing On Home Soon\u003c\/i\u003e; Newbery Honor winners \u003ci\u003eFeathers\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eShow Way\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eAfter Tupac and D Foster\u003c\/i\u003e; and \u003ci\u003eMiracle's Boys\u003c\/i\u003e, which received the \u003ci\u003eLA Times\u003c\/i\u003e Book Prize and the Coretta Scott King Award. Jacqueline is also a recipient of the Margaret A. Edwards Award for lifetime achievement for her contributions to young adult literature and a two-time winner of the Jane Addams Children's Book Award. She lives with her family in Brooklyn, New York.\u003cp\u003eI tried to run but the hurting was back, and the cold was like a wall pushing against me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLaurel!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stopped—my breath coming heavy—and turned, ready to tell M’Lady and Mama to go to Jackson. \u003ci\u003eIt’s dry in Jackson\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLaurel, is that you?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSlowly, Mama faded, and M’Lady turned into my friend Kaylee, shivering on her front porch. I looked around—how had I gotten on her street when Donnersville was in the other direction?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe stared at each other a long time. I could tell she was looking me over, taking in my ragged coat and bloody lips.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLaurel\u003c\/i\u003e, she said, \u003ci\u003elook at you. Look at yourself! Who did you turn into?!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eALSO BY JACQUELINE WOODSON\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLast Summer with Maizon\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Dear One\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMaizon at Blue Hill\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBetween Madison and Palmetto\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI Hadn’t Meant to Tell You This\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eFrom the Notebooks of Melanin Sun\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe House You Pass on the Way\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eIf You Come Softly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLena\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMiracle’s Boys\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHush\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLocomotion\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBehind You\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eFeathers\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAfter Tupac and D Foster\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003ePeace, Locomotion\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBrown Girl Dreaming\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eCaught in the grip\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAlso By Jacqueline Woodson\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTitle Page\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eCopyright\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eDedication\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eEpigraph\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003ePrologue\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe house\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eother houses\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epass christian, mississippi\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethis storm coming\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egalilee sunrise\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edaddy: part one\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewater rising up\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egalilee\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edaddy: part two\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003et-boom\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elaurel\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egalilee moon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehappiness\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emaking the moon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estop, look and listen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethunderation\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003econfrontation\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ekaylee after\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eafter t-boom\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eelsewhere\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eleaving galilee\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebeneath a meth moon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eerase me\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe second coming of moses\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edaneau’s girl\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe missing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enew sunrise\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elord, do remember me\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elaughter\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emoses and rosalie\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edream\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edonnersville moon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eanother second chance\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eelegy for mama and m’lady\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edaddy\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eelegy\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eJacqueline Woodson Discusses\u003c\/i\u003e Beneath a Meth Moon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eQuestions for Discussion\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAn Excerpt from\u003c\/i\u003e Brown Girl Dreaming\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAn Excerpt from\u003c\/i\u003e If You Come Softly\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBefore I traveled my road, I was my road . . . \u003c\/i\u003e—Antonio Porchia\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThis road . . .  \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eIT’S ALMOST WINTER AGAIN\u003c\/b\u003e and the cold moves through this town like water washing over us. My coat is a gift from my father, white and filled with feathers. My hair is healthy again and the wind whips the white-blond strands of it over my face and into my eyes so that from far away, I must look like some pale ghost standing at the corner of Holland and Ankeny, right where the railroad track moves through Galilee, then on to bigger towns. My hands pressing the small black notebook to my chest, my head back, eyes closed against the wind and early falling snow. This is me now. This is me on this new road . . . Later, I’ll write this down—how early the snow came, how surprising, how the flakes drifted white and perfect around me. I’ll write, “The moon was finally out of me, and maybe because of this, everything felt new and clean and good . . .”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eIn the distance, I hear a train whistle blowing—coming from far off. But fast-moving . . . toward me.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn days like this, with so much beauty circling me, it’s hard not to feel a hundred years old. Hard not to let the past come raining down. Hard not to think about not deserving this kind of beauty, this kind of cold. This . . . this clarity. But Moses and Kaylee keep telling me that fifteen is just another beginning, like the poet with the two roads and his own choice about which one he’d be taking.\u003c\/i\u003e You got a whole lot of roads, \u003ci\u003eKaylee says to me. And some days, I believe her. As I walk down this one . . . I believe her.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eKaylee says, \u003c\/i\u003eWrite an elegy to the past . . . and move on. \u003ci\u003eShe says it’s all about moving on.\u003c\/i\u003e I’ve read about it, Laurel. You write all the time. You can do this.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSo I’ll begin it this way—It’s almost winter again . . . Soon, Moses will join me here. He’ll walk along these tracks with his bag slapping against the side of him. He’ll see me in my white coat and smile. He’ll see me here—living. Something neither one of us can hardly believe.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTogether we’ll sit by the edge of the tracks and talk real quiet about moving forward—over that crazy year. I’ll put my head on his shoulder and tell him again about my life in Pass Christian, the house we lived in there, my mama, about Jesse Jr. being born fast in the night. About M’lady.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAnd Moses, my brother-friend . . . Moses, my anchor and my shore, will lift the collar of my coat higher up around my ears, pull my hat from my pocket and make me put it on.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m painting over those snowflakes, \u003ci\u003eMoses will say.\u003c\/i\u003e One by one, they’re slowly fading out of here.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAs I begin this story, I believe him.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTHE FIRST TIME MOSES\u003c\/b\u003e dropped a dollar in my cup, I didn’t even know his name. I looked up at him, glad for the dollar. Maybe I said thanks, but it’s blurry sometimes, my memory is. One moment clear as water, then another moment, and it’s like somebody’s erasing bits and pieces of it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat I’m seeing as I write this down are the shadows, brown and black and some kind of blue that maybe was the jacket he was wearing, a can of spray paint in one hand, a brush in his other. Maybe it was night. Maybe I asked him his name, because he said, \u003ci\u003eI’m Moses.\u003c\/i\u003e And I said, \u003ci\u003eThen this must be the promised land.\u003c\/i\u003e The Bible comes to me that way—quick and sharp like a pain. I had just turned fifteen, and with it came a new way of talking and smiling to get what I wanted. Maybe I was thinking I could get another two dollars out of his pockets.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut Moses just looked at me like he was looking at someone familiar and strange at the same time. Most kids just passed me by, laughing, sometimes throwing whatever they’re carrying at me—half a candy bar, an empty potato chip bag, a soda can. But Moses stopped, looked at me, put that dollar in my cup, said, \u003ci\u003eDid you know Ben? I’m painting that wall for his mom.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe I knew right then he was different.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo,\u003c\/i\u003e I said. \u003ci\u003eI don’t know anybody by that name.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eShe wants it to say “Ben, 1995–2009. We’ll always wonder about the man you could’ve been,”\u003c\/i\u003e Moses said\u003ci\u003e. Then she wants me to put “We love you forever” at the bottom. In small letters. Like she’s whispering it to him. That’s what she said—“Like I’m whispering it.”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou can hardly see it with the sun almost down.\u003c\/i\u003e Moses pointed at the wall. \u003ci\u003eBeauty wasted,\u003c\/i\u003e he said. \u003ci\u003eLook at him.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe I squinted across where the painting was getting started. Maybe I saw a pale outline—the beginning of the ending of Ben. It didn’t mean anything to me, though.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI asked Moses if he played ball, because he looked real tall standing there, and I figured he might have seen me cheering. I was hard to miss on the court. At least that’s what people said, but I saw the way his smile went away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eWe don’t\u003c\/i\u003e all \u003ci\u003eplay ball,\u003c\/i\u003e he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI would have asked him about this \u003ci\u003ewe all\u003c\/i\u003e thing. But other people started passing by, and I needed to make some money. \u003ci\u003eYou stay blessed, Moses,\u003c\/i\u003e I said, by way of saying “good-bye, now,” but trying not to be rude because he had dollars he was sharing with strangers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe I smiled, because he looked at me again for a quick second, and I think that was because of where T-Boom chipped my tooth when we were still together. T-Boom’s got the whole tooth missing, and after we knocked out each other’s teeth, I guess we figured there wasn’t anything left to do, so we stopped going out. But of course I still saw him—sometimes two or three times a day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMoses had his girl with him. She looked down at me like I didn’t even have a right to be living, but I just gave the look right back to her. She took her phone out of her pocket and dialed a number, said \u003ci\u003eHey, baby,\u003c\/i\u003e then turned away from us, talking real quiet into it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou must have some people somewhere,\u003c\/i\u003e Moses said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI pulled my top lip down over the chipped tooth, looked away from him and shook my head. I hadn’t felt any shame about that tooth before and didn’t know why I was feeling it now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMy people are gone.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGone dead,\u003c\/i\u003e Moses asked, \u003ci\u003eor gone gone?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBoth.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe nodded, squinting at me like he was trying to put some puzzle together.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe girl put the phone in her bag and turned back around, pulling at his arm, saying they were gonna be late. She talked like she’d been schooled in the real right way to say things: “We’re. Going. To. Be. Late. Moses.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’ll be back around to work on that wall tomorrow,\u003c\/i\u003e he said to me, then let his girl pull him out of my line of vision.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd I guess I forgot about him, because it was getting real cold and I was thinking about getting to the House before T-Boom went home to his own mama and ate her dinner, then watched some of his mama’s TV and went to bed in the room he grew up in. And once the House closed, you couldn’t go looking for T-Boom at his mama’s because she didn’t know anything about where his money was coming from, so I let myself shiver until a few more quarters and dollars fell into my hat and then I put my sign away in my bag, blew my nose on my bandanna and packed up shop for the night. I got up and shook my legs to get the blood running back through them. The fuzz went away from my mind. A lady and man were walking toward me, and for a quick minute I smiled, thinking, \u003ci\u003eHere comes my daddy. Coming to take me home.\u003c\/i\u003e But then the man just patted his pockets and gave me one of those \u003ci\u003eI’m sorry\u003c\/i\u003e looks. The woman didn’t look at me at all. I stood there watching them move quick past where I was standing. Something got hard and heavy inside of me, and I knew real deep that my daddy wasn’t coming here to get me. Not this time. Not anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTHE HOUSE WAS DARK\u003c\/b\u003e by the time I hitched and walked the four miles to it. Another four miles past it and I’d be at my own house—where maybe my daddy and Jesse Jr. were sitting down in front of the television, eating spaghetti with sauce from a jar. No green vegetables to speak of, like how it would be if I was still living with them. It had been weeks, maybe even months since I’d last seen them, and a part of me wanted to keep walking until I got to our door, opened it up and said, \u003ci\u003eHey, Daddy, your baby girl is home.\u003c\/i\u003e But it’d been a long time since I’d been his baby girl. A long time since I’d helped Jesse Jr. hold the garlic press up high, letting the juice drip down over a bowl of hot spaghetti till the whole house smelled like the promise of something good coming.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI felt myself starting to shake and kicked at the broken-down door on the House, hollering loud for T-Boom to open it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was smoke coming out of the chimney, so I knew he was inside. The old gray boards nailed to the windows flapped where wind pushed up underneath them, and even from way off there was the smell of something bitter burning.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI kicked at the door again, calling T-Boom’s name so loud my throat hurt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou lost your mind, girl? You want the police all over me?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe’d gotten skinnier over the months, and his hair was long, coming almost to his shoulders. The plaid shirt he was wearing had a hole in the arm. I used to love the way he looked in that shirt, the red and black squares of it, the way he’d pull the collar up when he was cold. Now I just stared hard at the hole, trying to find somewhere besides him to put my eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou heard me calling you the first time. I know you did.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe held out his hand, and I put the money in it. Mostly quarters but some dollar bills, too. My stomach hurt from missing lunch, but I knew the moon would fill that hunger up quick.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eT-Boom shivered, shaking a little as he counted the money.\u003ci\u003e You still out by Donnersville?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Nancy Paulsen Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299768946917,"sku":"NP9780399252501","price":16.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399252501.jpg?v=1767722423","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/beneath-a-meth-moon-isbn-9780399252501","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}