{"product_id":"hello-from-renn-lake-isbn-9781984896322","title":"Hello from Renn Lake","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe environmental activism of \u003ci\u003eHoot\u003c\/i\u003e meets the summer friendship of \u003ci\u003eLemons\u003c\/i\u003e in this heartfelt story about community, conservation, and standing up for the things you love.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnnalise Oliver's family has owned and run lakeside cabins in Renn Lake, Wisconsin, for generations. This summer, she gets to help out while her younger sister focuses on being an actress and her best friend is babysitting rambunctious twin boys. It's the perfect opportunity for Annalise to work and spend more time by her beloved lake. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen she was three years old, Annalise discovered that she could sense what Renn Lake was thinking and feeling. Now, at twelve, she still turns to Renn for comfort. But when a small patch of algae quickly becomes a harmful bloom, Annalise can no longer hear Renn, and the lake is closed. She and her friends must find a way to save the lake. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWriting from the perspectives of both the lake and Annalise, acclaimed author Michele Weber Hurwitz tells a sensitive and heartfelt story about community, activism, and fighting for the things you love.Winner of the Nature Generation Green Earth Book Award for Children's Fiction\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An earnest and disarming tale of human and environmental caring.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A pleasant story touching on a variety of social issues, including adoption, gender identity, religious identity, families, and water ecology. A solid addition to middle grade collections.” —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Intertwined with Renn’s unique narration and a meaningful human-nature connection, Hurwitz’s book intersperses scientific facts about algae blooms and pollution with a story of activism and nature appreciation.\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A meaningful and endearing story in this time when our planet needs us the most. A must-read.” —Graham Salisbury, author of \u003ci\u003eBanjo\u003c\/i\u003e and the award-winning \u003ci\u003eUnder the Blood-Red Sun\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “With great poignancy and a gentle hand, \u003ci\u003eHello from Renn Lake\u003c\/i\u003e illuminates the deep connection between people and nature. Michele Weber Hurwitz’s message is both tender and bold: Kids possess the initiative, courage and pluck to combat the impacts of global warming and take care of the natural world.” —Ami Polonsky, author of \u003ci\u003eGracefully Grayson\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThreads\u003c\/i\u003eMichele Weber Hurwitz is the author of four other middle-grade novels, which have been on many state award lists and received several honors. She has lived in the Midwest for her entire life and has always loved spending time at Wisconsin's lakes. Sometimes she even hears one. Find Michele online at micheleweberhurwitz.com.\u003cp\u003eChapter One\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnnalise \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Jess! We have to get to the cabins. Come on!” As I open the screen door that leads to the porch, there’s a muffled reply from my sister, somewhere upstairs. I bend over and reach underneath the wicker armchair to grab my flip-flops, then slip them on and go down the steps. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJess is gesturing dramatically in front of her bedroom window. She pauses when she spots me, then opens it and yells down, “I’m in the middle of a scene, Annalise!” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hurry up and finish. Mom and Dad need our help.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe crosses her arms and stomps her foot. I can’t quite see it, but I know. Always the right foot. With all the stomping Jess does, I don’t know how her right leg isn’t shorter than the left one by now. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Why do we have to get there so early!” she shouts. “It’s the first day of summer vacation!” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m about to remind her how much there is to do with all the guests checking in when I hear her thundering down the stairs. Jess says acting is her thing, not helping out with our family’s rental cabins on the lake. But she’s never tried out for anything--not at school or the community theater. Jess lets the screen door slam behind her. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.” She’s wearing a gold-sequined tank top; a flouncy, satiny white skirt; and wedge sandals. She’s also drawn major cat eyes with black liner and painted her fingernails neon green. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI tilt my head. “Why are you dressed like that?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe twirls, then almost falls as she jumps over the steps. “Because I’m going to walk the red carpet.” She skips around a puddle, then parades to the sidewalk while doing a little wave. I smile and catch up to her. So Jess. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe looks exactly like Mom did when she was little, with feathery hair, so light it’s practically white, and skin that’s almost transparent. I’m short, generously curvy, and have hazel eyes and pounds of dark ringlets. I don’t look like anyone in my family. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI step over a fallen branch. “Did you hear the storm last night?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Uh-uh. I fell asleep with my headphones on.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It was scary. I thought a window might break or something.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Whoa. I’m glad I slept through it.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe stops and poses with a hand on her hip, one leg crossed in front of the other. “Oh, you’re too kind. Yes, I’m wearing a new designer. From Paris. Chloe Jeanette Le Grand.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Is that really a designer?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe laughs. “No.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe turn onto Sage Street. I’ve always wondered who named the streets in Renn Lake. There’s Main, Church, and Park, but no other spice-related roads. Sage is a mystery. Like me. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe take Sage all the way to RL Middle. When we pass the building, it looks lonely, like it misses the kids. I’ll be back there next year for seventh grade. Jess is going into fifth and has one more year at RL Elementary. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe stops her red-carpet walk and nudges me. “What’s that boy doing?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere’s a tall, skinny boy I don’t recognize standing in the center of the athletic field. He doesn’t have a soccer ball or a baseball or anything. He’s holding a book close up to his face.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know,” I say. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He looks kind of weird.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI glance at him again. “Interesting place to read.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yeah, really.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe keep walking, Jess wiggling her fingers and pointing to her neck. “Oh, my jewels? They’re from a very expensive, very exclusive boutique. All the celebs go there.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI grin. “You’re not just an actor, now you’re a celeb?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Why not?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen we reach Main Street, the large wooden sign proudly announces: welcome to renn lake, wisconsin’s best kept secret. Located halfway between Madison and the Illinois state line, Renn Lake is the town, and Renn Lake is the lake. They’re symbiotic, like we learned about in science. They need each other.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJess turns to me and makes a heart with her hands. “I forgot to tell you. Happy found day.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thanks.” I catch a glimpse of Alden’s at the end of Main across from the lake, innocent looking, like it’s an ordinary store. I shiver a little, even though it’s warm out. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwelve years ago today. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJess fixes her skirt, which has twisted around. “Another special dinner tonight. So yay, more cupcakes!” She sighs. “Honestly, the best part about you getting two celebrations is that I love cupcakes.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Really?” I huff a little. Jess would say that. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe elbows me. “You know I’m only kidding.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe celebrate my birthday on June 2, the day the doctors determined I was born, and my found day on June 4. Mom and Dad started calling it that when I was five and they told me I was an abandoned baby. They would tickle my feet and sing a silly made-up song with rhymes for found day, like “homeward-bound day” and “astounding day” and “sounds like we love you day.” They stopped tickling when I got older, but they still sing the song. Every year.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEven so, every year on this day, there’s a hollow space in my chest that Mom and Dad’s song can’t quite fill. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI point to the sidewalk in front of the Main Street stores, wet and shiny from last night’s rain. “It almost looks like an enchanted secret passageway, doesn’t it? The way the sun is reflecting off the pavement.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJess doesn’t reply. She pauses in front of the movie theater and waves. To no one. “It’s an honor just to be nominated,” she gushes, giggling. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI smile. “You know you have to actually act in something before you’re nominated?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I will!” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Like you played the guitar and cooked with all those fancy utensils Mom and Dad bought you? What were they? A garlic press, right? And a lemon zester?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t make fun of me!” She zooms ahead. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI walk by Castaway, the secondhand shop, its white flag with the blue anchor waving lazily above the door, then the hardware and candy stores. Thick curls of ivy climb the front of the candy store, clinging tightly except for one long vine that lost its grip and is arching away from the building. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stop just before the last store--Alden’s Gift Emporium: Flora, Fauna, and Whatnot. I suppose I was Whatnot? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFaded reddish brick. The wood door with a stained-glass cutout. A water bowl on the ground for thirsty dogs. A striped awning. So normal. Nothing that would signify what happened here four thousand, three hundred, and eighty days ago. I’ve never gone inside. Mom or Dad might’ve taken me when I was little, but by myself? No. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shade my eyes and scan the window. There are some plants, a gazing ball on a stand, and a kid-sized rocking chair, but . . . Mrs. Alden. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJess pokes my arm. “What’re you doing? I thought you said we had to hurry.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt hits me fresh. Mrs. Alden’s gone. She died a month ago. Mr. Alden closed the store for a while and went to stay with one of his sons. But now, under the “Whatnot,” it says: come in! we’re open! \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEvery morning on found day, when I’d pass the store on the way to the cabins, Mrs. Alden would be in the window, like she was waiting for me. Did she know? Did she remember? She must have. She always gave me a soft smile, a nod. And I nodded back. A little thing. A big thing. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMrs. Alden was the one who found me. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Are you okay?” Jess asks. It feels like she’s far away, and I’m inside a tunnel. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA tear escapes down my cheek, drips off my chin, and blends into the wet sidewalk. I’ve thought about it before, many times, but without Mrs. Alden in the window, it’s like the view is clearer. My eyes are pulled into the store, to the back door, wide open to the garden. I picture a shadow carrying newborn me and then letting go. Putting me down. The shadow takes one step back. Then another. Then disappears. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt isn’t just the why, which is bad enough, but there’s the how--how did he, or she, lay me in the bassinet? Carefully? Angrily? In a rush? Did he, or she, look back? Worry that I might cry? Or did the person simply slip away without a concern, vanishing into the night? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWisconsin’s Best Kept Secret isn’t Renn Lake. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJess gently takes my hand. “C’mon, Annalise.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shake off her hand and run across the street. I have to get to Renn. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt the edge, the water curls over my toes and I sort of melt down, my legs trembling, my whole body unsteady. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShhh. You’re okay. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy quick puffs of breath fade into the glassy blue surface. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt’s just wood, brick, glass. It can’t hurt you. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe water is warm, more like end-of-summer water. A few specks of green, the color of Jess’s nail polish, catch in the sun. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLap, lap, lap. A soothing rhythm circles around my legs, as if the lake is holding me. My breath starts to slow. The trembling fades.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou’re safe. You’re always safe here. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI don’t actually hear Renn’s words. I sense them. Feel them. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI have since I was three.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003eChapter Two\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRenn\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Annalise?” Her sister is standing near. “How come you took off?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe wipes her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m all right now. Go on. Tell Mom and Dad I’ll be there in a minute.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay.” Her sister skips toward the row of cabins. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA baby linden leaf drifts toward Annalise and she leans forward, cups her hand, and carries it out. Some of them don’t get to grow up. She places the leaf on her open palm and smooths it from edge to edge. A few geese fly overhead, flapping and squawking. The long reeds bend in the breeze and graze my surface. I hear laughter; two teenage boys are playing on my shore. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wait. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe geese are long gone, black smudges far off in the sky, when Annalise says, “Why?” Her voice cracks, like a branch splitting from a tree. “Why, Renn? Why did someone abandon me?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’s asked before. On her found days. After a ragged puppy was discovered wandering alone by my shore. Sometimes, strangely, on moonless nights. I always send soft, calming ripples but I never have an answer. After all this time, there is much I don’t understand about people. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnnalise returns the leaf to my surface and I guide it gently on its way. We spend a few minutes in silence. A cloud moves across the sun, and she and I share the shade. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mrs. Alden’s gone now,” she whispers. “I can’t talk to her, if I ever wanted to. She’s the only one who might’ve seen. . . .” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy old heart aches. I dig through my treasures--there are many that have sunk to the bottom--keys, sunglasses, fossils, lots of canoe paddles. Things that were accidentally dropped into my wide-open arms, never to be seen again. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI can’t offer her something special like my distant relatives Pacific and Atlantic. They could give her a whole peachy-white conch shell or a pointy shark’s tooth. But I give her what I have. I bubble up an arrowhead and deposit it right by her knees. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer face brightens as she picks it up. “Wow!” she says. “Look at this!” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI flow in delight. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe leaps up and runs toward the cabins. I watch as she flings open the door to the office and shows the arrowhead to her parents. Her dad whistles, her mom oohs and aahs, then taps her finger on the tip. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Let me see,” Jess says, leaning in. “Cool, but I’m sure there’s tons of arrowheads out there.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot true. That was my only one. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnnalise’s mom envelopes her in a hug. I imagine their two hearts pressing together, each hearing the other’s. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTru and I have had many discussions about hearts. We have a simple one, directly in the deepest center, requiring only sunlight and oxygen to keep it going. People, I know, have a more complex heart. Ventricles, atriums, interconnected valves and muscles. And four separate chambers. Four, like the seasons, the winds, and the wings on a bumblebee. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’ve thought long and hard about those four heart chambers. A brilliant design. If one should break, as it must have for Annalise when she was first told about being abandoned, there are still three others to rely on. But what about me and Tru, with our simple heart? What if it breaks? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tru?” I call softly. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo answer. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tru? Can you hear me?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTru is sluggish and steamy today. My cousin’s a moody river, impulsive, changing course without warning. If Tru doesn’t feel like talking, there’s a quiet, empty space between us. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLately, I’ve been feeling warm too. The rain was heavy last night. An angry storm, sending debris and branches into my waters, ripping them into sharp fragments of driftwood. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen people are too warm, they jump in from the pier, wanting me to cool their reddened skin. But I’ve wondered, what will cool me if I stay this warm? \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe days are getting longer now. The pines are shedding their brittle needles and the lindens are caring for their young saplings. Soon, people will fill up my shore from end to end. I rustle my ancient, watery bones. Time to get ready for summer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Three\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnnalise \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom’s holding me so tight, my nose is smooshed against her T-shirt. “Happy found day, sweetheart,” she says. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thanks.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe lets go but puts her hands on the sides of my shoulders and sniffles a little. “Twelve. I still can’t believe it. How did that happen?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It happened because you can’t stop it from happening,” Jess answers, spinning, making her skirt flare out. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDad hugs me too; then they glance at each other and launch into their found day rhyming song, with Jess humming along, pretending she’s holding a microphone. I let them go, until they finish on a long, drawn-out note and round of applause. They beam at me and I try to smile back. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI slide the arrowhead into my shorts pocket. It feels smooth and flat against the fabric. When I take out my hand, I realize it’s shaking. Walking by Alden’s, I always felt kind of uncomfortable, a little tragic and wounded, but I never saw that shadow inside. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom studies my face. “What’s wrong? Are you getting too old for this now that you’re almost a teenager?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI clasp my hands to steady them. “No, no.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Even if you are,” Dad says, “we’re going to keep singing and embarrassing you.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJess laughs. “Even when she’s, like, ninety?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Even then,” Dad replies. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHow could I ever tell them to stop? Mom and Dad tried for years to have a baby. Then I appeared. A miracle, they said. Jess was a surprise. Mom got pregnant one year later.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Wendy Lamb Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302414569701,"sku":"NP9781984896322","price":16.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781984896322.jpg?v=1767728902","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/hello-from-renn-lake-isbn-9781984896322","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}