{"product_id":"code-name-serendipity-isbn-9780593204917","title":"Code Name: Serendipity","description":"\u003cb\u003eFans of Katherine Applegate, Holly Goldberg Sloan, and Lynda Mullaly Hunt will love \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Amber Smith’s heartwarming middle grade debut about family, friendship, and the magic connection between a girl and her dog.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEleven-year-old Sadie’s school year is off to an awful start. Her best (and only) friend has moved away, her older brother is a jerk (as always), and her beloved Gramps is having more and more trouble keeping his memories straight. But when she comes across a stray dog, she discovers something wonderful and magical—she and the dog, Dewey, are able to communicate telepathically. Sadie knows that Dewey is destined to be her friend.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dewey is quickly captured and sent to a shelter. And Sadie’s moms say Dewey is dangerous, a bite risk, and that Sadie, whose mind is always wandering with a larger than life imagination, needs to prove she’s more responsible before she can adopt any pets. But Sadie is running out of time—Dewey lets Sadie know that her days at the shelter are numbered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The only solution: break Dewey out of doggie jail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In this reaffirming, magical, and uplifting story of friendship, family, and believing in yourself, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author Amber Smith assures readers: it’s okay to think big and act with your whole heart.“A touching tale of dogged determination and the magic in unexpected connections.“ \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"A warm, appealing novel about a girl who learns that even though it might seem like everything is going wrong, a bad day—or year—can always change for the better.\" \u003cb\u003e— \u003ci\u003eBookpage\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Smith creates three-dimensional characters and a warm family dynamic, sensitively portraying learning differences and a beloved grandparent with dementia, and exploring difficult feelings without offering easy answers. Sadie’s struggles with friendship and being taken seriously ring true, as do her sympathetic voice and heartfelt love of dogs.” \u003cb\u003e– \u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"A thoughtful exploration of interpersonal relationships and what it means to do right by others and ourselves. A quiet winner for animal lovers and fans of realistic fiction.\" \u003cb\u003e— \u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Charming and touching.” \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e–School Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Tender-hearted and triumphant, this uplifting story shows the many kinds of ways to be lost and found. I couldn't put it down.” \u003cb\u003e— Gillian McDunn, acclaimed author of \u003ci\u003eCaterpillar Summer\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Queen Bee and Me\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“For anyone who doesn’t already know that dogs are magic, this book will make you a believer. Amber Smith crafts a heartwarming story that will have you cheering for the power of a bond between a girl and her dog. Simply perfect.” \u003cb\u003e—Megan Shepherd, NYT bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Secret Horses of Briar Hill\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Smith hews closely to the perspective of her eleven-year-old protagonist, tenderly portraying her challenges—the shame of having an IEP, possibly losing a friend to a move, and witnessing her grandfather struggle with dementia—as well as her solutions: rescuing and hiding a dog. \u003ci\u003eCode Name: Serendipity\u003c\/i\u003e is a heartwarming story about the friendships found in unexpected places, family relationships deepened by trials, and animals who ‘speak’ to us.” \u003cb\u003e—Jenn Bishop, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Distance to Home\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWhere We Used to Roam\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Smith's debut MG novel is a gentle and generous look at how change, even when it's uncomfortable or painful, can lead to good if we let it. With a sweet dog, a mischievous grandpa, and a new friend, our heroine learns to balance following the rules versus following her heart, and that honesty really is the best policy when it comes to the people we love.” \u003cb\u003e—Rebecca Petruck, author of \u003ci\u003eSteering Toward Normal\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eBoy Bites Bug\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eAmber Smith is the author of the young adult novels\u003ci\u003e Something Like Gravity\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Last to Let Go\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Way I Used to Be\u003c\/i\u003e, which was a \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestseller. This is her first novel for middle grade readers. She grew up in Buffalo, New York, and now lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her wife and their ever-growing family of rescued dogs and cats.\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTHINGS THAT DON’T SUCK,  LIKE FRENCH TOAST  AND WEEKENDS\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m always the first one to wake up on Sundays because it is my favorite day, and I never want to lose any time on the weekend by spending it asleep. Weekends mean no school. No math. No waiting, friendless, at the bus stop morning after morning. Weekends mean I get to video chat with my best friend, Jude, who just moved to Utah, and I get to help my moms make a big Sunday-morning breakfast. Weekends mean I can pretend things are still easy, the way they were before I turned eleven a few months ago.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eToday is no different.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI hop out of bed and stick my feet into my frog slippers—which ribbit if I step hard enough on the little buttons inside the stuffing-filled frog heads—and make my way downstairs to the kitchen. My slippers echo \u003ci\u003eribbitribbit, ribbitribbit\u003c\/i\u003e with each step.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI start getting out all the pans and mixing bowls and ingredients we will need, lining them up on the kitchen counter: bread from the old wooden bread box; eggs, milk, and real butter—not the healthy fake butter that Mom hates but Mama always tries to get us to use instead—from the fridge; vanilla extract and cinnamon and powdered sugar from the cupboard where we keep the spices; and Mama’s vegetarian sausage patties from the freezer, because that is one food she won’t negotiate on.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSunday-morning breakfast is a family tradition. The best part is dipping the bread into the egg batter and then slapping it onto the hot skillet and listening to it sizzle. French toast is my favorite food of all time. I would eat it for every meal of every day if my moms would let me. But they won’t. I’ve asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis is when Catniss Everdeen—my older brother Noah’s cat—comes wandering into the kitchen sniffing around to see if she can steal anything. He named her after his favorite book character. I thought we should name her Purrmione Granger, but Moms said it was Noah’sdecision. Catniss is very good at creeping in and sneaking food when you’re not looking. Once she walked off with a whole package of “faken,” which is what Noahcalls Mama’s veggie bacon, and no one even noticed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy moms usually come downstairs and start making their morning coffee by the time Catniss makes her way to the kitchen. So I sit on one of the stools at the counter and wait.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd I wait.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatniss loses interest when she sees that no cooking is happening, and she curls up into a tiny cat-ball inside of the square of sunlight that shines through the window onto the kitchen floor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eStill no Moms.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy slippers \u003ci\u003eribbitribbit\u003c\/i\u003e as I make my way back up the stairs, with Catniss leaping alongside me, swatting at my feet every few steps. I open my moms’ bedroom door, expecting to find them sleeping in, only to discover the bed already made and my moms nowhere in sight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Moms?” I call out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo answer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI look everywhere—in the bathroom, behind the shower curtain, even in the closet—but the whole house is quiet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eToo quiet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy heart starts to race as my mind scrolls through all of the terrible things that could have happened to my family: Abducted by aliens. Swallowed by a sinkhole. Trapped inan alternate universe that sucked in everyone in the world except for Catniss and me. Or maybe \u003ci\u003eI’m\u003c\/i\u003e the one who’s stuck in an alternate universe!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Moms!” I scream this time, struggling to breathe normally.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI hear Noah’s bedroom door creak open in the hallway.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sadie, stop yelling,” he says, with his eyes sleep-squinty and his big curly hair mushed up on one side of his head, flattened on the other. Catniss darts from Moms’ bed and pounces on my left frog slipper, making it croak out a smal l\u003ci\u003eribbit\u003c\/i\u003e, before she leaps inside Noah’s room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI let out the breath I’ve been holding, relieved to see him, because at least that rules out the whole alternate-universe thing. But I don’t tell him that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eInstead, I ask, “Where are Moms?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Grandpa Ed’s,” he mumbles, and starts to go back to his room. “That means I’m in charge, and I say stop yelling and let me go back to sleep.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But it’s Sunday,” I say. “And why didn’t they ask if \u003ci\u003eI\u003c\/i\u003e wanted to come?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI love when we visit Gramps. We always go to the park that’s across the street from his apartment building and feed the pigeons and play checkers on this special table that’s made out of two different colors of stone. Gramps likes to talk to everyone we see because he says they all have stories inside them. He even sees stories in me, and he always listens as I tell him all about the graphic novel I’ve been working on: \u003ci\u003eThe Interstellar Adventures of S.Hawkins, Special Agent\u003c\/i\u003e. And he never forgets to ask about the progress of the fairy fortress—not fairy \u003ci\u003egarden\u003c\/i\u003e—that Jude and I created in the backyard way back when we were in second grade.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Am I \u003ci\u003eMom\u003c\/i\u003e?” Noah snaps at me, in that grumpy way he’s been snapping at everyone lately. “How would I know?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNoah just turned fourteen, which means he’s in ninth grade this year. Now that he goes to a different school and takes a different bus than me, and has a girlfriend (even though he always says, “She’s \u003ci\u003ea girl\u003c\/i\u003e who’s my \u003ci\u003efriend—\u003c\/i\u003enot my \u003ci\u003egirlfriend\u003c\/i\u003e”), it’s like he’s decided to start acting like he’s too cool to hang out with me. Or even be nice to me anymore. Which basically means he’s turned into a total butthead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But what about breakfast?” I say, crossing my arms. “I already started getting everything set up.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So?” he says with a shrug, pretending he doesn’t know full well that Sunday-morning breakfast is a family tradition. “Just have cereal.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Cereal?” I groan. “Cereal is for school days!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“This is me caring.” He rolls his eyes and closes his door in my face.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs if everything else wasn’t already sucky enough, I’m really beginning to despise being the younger sibling. I used to love being the youngest. It made me feel special.But now that we’re older it just feels like an excuse for  everyone in my family to not take me seriously. I generally don’t believe people should go around having archenemies and things like that, but if I had one, it would definitely be Noah.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo I knock as loud and hard as I can, pounding both of my fists against the door, and I don’t stop until he opens it again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Leave me alone,” he grumbles.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis time I walk away from him, saying loud enough to catch his attention, “I’m calling Moms!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t call them, Sadie,” he says as he follows me down the stairs. “I’m serious; they’re busy, and they don’t need you annoying them right now!” I reach for the phone in the kitchen and start dialing, when Noah takes it away from me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hey, butthead!” I yell at him. “Give that back to me. I’m telling Moms you’re being mean.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t be such a \u003ci\u003etoddler\u003c\/i\u003e!” That’s his favorite thing to call me lately. “Moms didn’t want me to tell you this because you’re such a baby, but Grandpa Ed is—” He stops in the middle of his sentence.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Gramps is what?” I ask.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Gramps is . . . old, okay? Get a clue, buttmunch, they’re not going for fun. They’re going because he can’t live alone anymore.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Why not?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNoah sighs and looks down. “The people at his apartment building called Mom because something happened in the middle of the night with Gramps being confused. He was wandering around the halls, or something weird like that.” Noah pauses, and now even he looks a little worried, and he never seems worried about anything. “So Moms went there today to bring him back here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Maybe he was just sleepwalking?” I offer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He wasn’t sleepwalking. He couldn’t remember which apartment was his. Mom says he can’t live alone anymore.” He pulls down the boxes of cereal from the pantry, and I sit at the table. “I think he might have to go to a—” But he stops talking.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“To a what?” I ask when he doesn’t finish. “Where does he have to go?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Never mind. Just don’t tell Moms I told you about Gramps, okay?” he says, a little bit nicer—more like the way he used to talk to me—even if there is something he’s not telling me. “They want to explain it all to you later.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNoah takes his bowl of cereal into the living room and turns on the TV.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSuddenly, the air in the kitchen feels strange and sticky and weird. Not at all like what a Sunday is supposed to feel like. I spoon my lumpy, soggy cereal to my mouth, but I’m not hungry anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Razorbill","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300011790565,"sku":"NP9780593204917","price":17.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593204917.jpg?v=1767723879","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/code-name-serendipity-isbn-9780593204917","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}