{"product_id":"tell-me-isbn-9780147513144","title":"Tell Me","description":"\u003cb\u003eAward-winning author Joan Bauer latest novel is full of warmth, humor, hope, and a healthy dose of suspense\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe unofficial town motto is \"Nothing bad ever happens in Rosemont\" where  twelve-year-old Anna has come to stay with her grandmother, Mim, hoping to forget her worries about her parents' troubled marriage.  She'll be busy with the town's annual Flower Festival, a celebration with floats and bands that requires weeks of preparations.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut before long, Anna finds herself involved in a very big problem. When she observes a girl her own age who seems to be being held against her will, Anna can't forget the girl's frightened eyes and she is determined to investigate. \"When you see something, say something\" she's been told—but what good does it do to speak if no one will listen? Luckily, a take-charge girl like Anna is not going to give up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTold with Joan Bauer's trademark mixture of humor and heart, \u003ci\u003eTell Me\u003c\/i\u003e will enthrall her many fans and win her new ones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bauer establishes a multi-faceted plot combining crime drama with a modern coming-of-age story.”—School Library Journal\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Skillfully weaves subplots together as Rosemont citizens (and Anna’s parents) rise to the challenge of solving the mystery.”—Publishers Weekly\"Humor and hope are balanced throughout.\"--\u003ci\u003eVOYA\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Intriguing.\"--\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Bauer (A\u003ci\u003elmost Home\u003c\/i\u003e) skillfully weaves subplots together as Rosemont citizens (and Anna's parent) rise to the challenge of solving hte mystery.\"--\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Bauer establishes a multi-faceted plot combining crime drama with a modern coming of age story.\"--S\u003ci\u003echool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e — \u003cb\u003evarious\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eTell Me\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Bauer establishes a multi-faceted plot combining crime drama with a modern coming of age story. Anna’s voice rings clear through first-person narration, allowing readers to sing, cry, and smell the flowers along with the protagonist. Short chapters and smart  dialogue keep the pace moving. Ultimately, Bauer twists the widespread divorce issue into a lesson on empathy, inviting readers to keep their minds and eyes alert to worlds other than their own.\" —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"In this novel filled with comedy and drama. . . Bauer skillfully weaves subplots together as Rosemont citizens (and Anna's parents) rise to the challenge of solving the mystery.\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"There are numerous, valuable messages for readers here: pay attention, trust your instincts, and speak up; sometimes being brave is about small, uncertain steps that we take; and helping others helps us, too. Humor and hope are balanced throughout, making this a good recommendation for those who prefer a serious topic treated with a less heavy hand and a happy ending.\" —\u003ci\u003eVOYA\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Bauer manages the difficult feat of folding the topic of human trafficking into a middle-grade novel about daily-life family and peer struggles; in fact, Anna’s conviction that the missing girl matters is part and parcel of her character throughout, as she similarly commits whole-heartedly to her acting efforts and beloved friends. . . Readers will appreciate the story for Bauer’s classic and relatable heroine who pursues her goal through adversity.\" —\u003ci\u003eBCCB\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eClose to Famous\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e Winner of the ALA Schneider Family Book Award, Christopher Award, Judy Lopez Memorial Prize, An Amazon Top Ten Middle Grade Book, a YALSA\/ALA Best Fiction for Young Adults pick; \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eHope Was Here\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e Newbery Honor Book, Christopher Award, ALA Notable Book; \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eRules of the Road\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e Los Angeles Times Book Prize, Golden Kite Award, ALA Notable Book, Best Book for Young Adults.\u003cb\u003eJoan Bauer\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of eleven previous novels for young readers, among them the Newbery Honor Book, \u003ci\u003eHope Was Here\u003c\/i\u003e, and the Los Angeles Times Prize winner,\u003ci\u003e Rules of the Road.\u003c\/i\u003e  She has also twice received the Christopher Award, as well as the Schneider Family Book Award and the Golden Kite Award. Joan Bauer lives in Brooklyn, New York.\u003cb\u003eOne\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cp\u003eI am in the mall dressed like a cranberry, feeling the emotion of the moment.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat do I want to leave them with?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’ve been seriously trained to ask this question.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI sit here thinking, and sitting isn’t easy because of the outfit I’m wearing. Every time I move, it puffs up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We’re ready, Anna.” That’s Lorenzo Lu, my best friend and acting partner.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll be right there. . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat do I want to leave them with?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSometimes I think in big, fat letters.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI study myself in the scratched mirror. My face is covered with red makeup, and my lips shine with ruby lipstick. I smooth out my round, red costume, adjust my red gloves, scratch my red tights. I think I’m allergic to these tights. I look at the pile of 20 percent off coupons from the Wide World of Cranberries store and feel a major surge of energy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI want them to be happy they came.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI want them to know that this cranberry cares.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo is wearing jeans, a red and white striped shirt, red socks, white shoes, and a big button that reads, I’M WITH THE CRANBERRY.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wiggle my hips, aim my voice to the corner of the room. “Do I look fat in this?” My voice echoes back. Very few kids can do this trick.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo laughs. “You look fat, Anna, because you are packed with antioxidants.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAntioxidants are major players in the cranberry world.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo sighs. His dad is Chinese and his mother is Italian; he’s got the best blend in his face. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI know.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOut in the mall, the music starts playing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI can hear Mr. Dimsdale shout into his microphone, “And now, are you ready for the big fun?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Of course they are.” I scratch my tights again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I might have to go to the bathroom,” Lorenzo mentions.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shake my head at him. The rule of performers everywhere in the galaxy is, The Show Must Go On.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Heeeere she is!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo and I run out into the mall to wild applause.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA little girl shrieks, “Hi, Miss Berry!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo and I move to the beat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe music makes you want to dance.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwo . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThree . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFour . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI raise my hand and do a twirl; Lorenzo gets down and does a breakdance move.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe crowd loves this.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI do a shimmy as Lorenzo takes the mic from Mr. Dimsdale and declares, “For years, the cranberry was taken for granted. . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI slump and look sad.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“For years the cranberry’s nutritional contents were known to only a few. . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI look pathetically unappreciated. People laugh.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But, the truth is now known. . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI jump up and make a noise.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Cranberries are among the world’s healthiest foods!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI spin around at this news.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So healthy that an entire store has been dedicated to cranberries in every form.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTa da!!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI point to the Wide World of Cranberries store and clap my hands.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen Lorenzo goes off script. “Cranberries,” he shouts. “They’re not just for UTIs anymore.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWomen laugh hard. Fred Dimsdale looks nervous.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What’s a UTI?” a little boy asks his mother.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Urinary tract infection,” the mother says quietly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo has three older sisters and knows about these things. “This,” he declares, “is the sale of the century!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eActually, the store has only been open since April, but you get the idea. I run into the shop and people follow me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI look at the anti-aging supplement display, bounce my voice there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Let’s hit it!” I say and my voice echoes back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA little boy yells, “How did you do that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYears of practice, child. That’s the short answer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI dance with kids. I do the slide. I say, “We’re so glad you’re shopping with us today!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen someone buys something, I have to shout, “Antioxidants rule!” It’s not an easy line.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut I know how to deliver.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFred Dimsdale, the owner of the cranberry store, saw me perform one of my most heartbreaking roles as a radish at the Children’s Drama Workshop—a lonely, rejected radish singing my heart out—and he was deeply moved.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Can you play other produce, kid? Something cheerier? I felt your pain with the radish, but . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe song I sang as a radish was written by Charlie Chaplin, a famous mime who made a fortune by saying absolutely nothing, but he wrote a song about how you’ve got to smile no matter what.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I can play other produce,” I assured him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe cranberry is a non-singing part, which is fine by me. I’ve had some issues singing—my mouth gets dry. I get hoarse and nervous.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut that moment as a singing radish—I sang like I always hoped I could.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo and I have been doing four shows a day every weekend since the store opened. Fred Dimsdale offered to extend us through the summer, but I’m not going to be in town.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’ve got to go stay with my grandmother in Virginia because of all the things happening in my family.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mom and dad’s marriage isn’t doing so well.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Puffy hug!” I shout, and little kids run up and hug my padding.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI added the hug move last week. Mr. Dez, my drama coach, always says, “Use a part of what you need in the role you’re playing.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMore and more these days, I really need a good hug.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFred Dimsdale hands me my check. “You brought the heart of a cranberry to every performance, kid. I’m going to miss you. It won’t be the same.” He looks over at Jeremy Pearlmutter, who is going to play the cranberry after me. Jeremy is here to observe me doing the act, but so far all he’s done is yawn and scratch his neck. He hasn’t asked me one question about the experience. I don’t think Jeremy will lose himself in the role.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thanks for giving me a job, Mr. Dimsdale.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Call me when you get back, kid. First thing.” He sounds desperate.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I will.” I shake his hand.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI walk to the back of the store, into the little office, and change out of the costume. Usually I wear it home—when a cranberry is walking down the street, people want to know more.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI put the costume on a hanger, use makeup remover to get the red off my face.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn real life, I look nothing like a cranberry.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m medium height. I have curly auburn hair that falls in my face. People say I’m pretty. I’ve got dark brown eyes like my dad.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI used to be closer to my dad than I am now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo and I walk to the escalator.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tell me again why you’re leaving,” he says.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI sigh. “I know it’s a bad time for me to go.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo throws back his head. “There would never be a good time for you to go. I’m going to have to work in my uncle’s drug store this summer, Anna—three days a week—totally exposed to sick people. I mean, if some major viral strain breaks out . . .” Lorenzo squirts antiseptic cleaner on his hands. “And we’re going to have to talk about our future! Eighth grade isn’t looking good!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI know that, too. The high school has an after-school drama program, but we’re not in high school yet. The middle school has nothing. We’re too old for the Children’s Drama Workshop. They kick you out on your twelfth birthday into the big, cold world.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe head down the escalator.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wonder what’s going to happen with my parents while I’m away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wonder if staying with Mim, my grandmother, is the right thing—maybe my parents need me around and they just don’t know it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo puts his hand on my shoulder. “Just remember, Anna, cranberries are the bravest fruit.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI square my shoulders to prove he’s right.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe walk to the entrance of the mall. I feel all the mess twisting me up inside. It’s easy to pretend everything is fine when you’re in a cranberry suit—you can hide from the world because no one can see the real you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen it’s just you and your face and heart out there, it’s so much harder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eTwo\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI walk into my house and try not to look at the table. I told Mom we should have a sheet over it or something.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI do look at it though—our dining room table, on its side, broken.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEverything else in our dining room has been picked up. Everything but the memories.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI try to remember the good times we had in this room—the holidays, my birthday parties, the time Dad and I decorated the dining room like Hawaii for Mom’s birthday, with paper palm trees and huge flowers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne stupid moment can change everything.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt happened eight days ago when Dad picked me up at the mall after my cranberry gig. Driving with Dad isn’t easy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was driving too fast, like he always does, when a man in a black sports car cut him off. Dad takes these things personally.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dad, remember you’re not supposed to—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe sped after the guy, shouting out the window.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dad! It was, tops, an SDM.” That stands for Small Dumb Move. Lorenzo and I created anger management phrases to help my father get a grip. They don’t always work.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe guy in the black car made The Ultimate Bad Gesture. My father went radioactive.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“JDT!” I hollered (Jerks Do This).\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut the anger was driving Dad and wouldn’t let go. He got too close to the guy’s car.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dad, pull over!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe guy in the black car almost hit us. Dad leaned on the horn. The guy pulled over; Dad did, too. The man in the black car got out, screaming. He stormed over to us, glared at me, and hollered, “What are you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was still in the fruit suit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t yell at my daughter!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m a cranberry!” I screamed. “A helpless cranberry. I’m just trying to get home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe guy stared at me. At the Children’s Drama Workshop, one of the things we learned was, Use the pain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shrieked, “And I have to go to the bathroom!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA police car drove up. “What’s going on?” the cop demanded.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI raised my hand. “Permission to get out of the car, officer.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe cop nodded. I got out, waddled over, and gave the man and the policeman a 20 percent off coupon.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI mentioned the bathroom again, told them to stop by the store, waddled back to the car.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe angry man snarled, “Where do you think you’re going, ace?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe cop pocketed his coupon. “The cranberry has to go to the bathroom.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m still trying to decide if I bribed a policeman.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDad pulled out; his eyes were fierce. “Nobody does that to me, Anna. Nobody!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was like opening a dam. All the water came rushing out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBack home, Mom didn’t let Dad cool down. She got right in his face. “What happened?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBig mistake. That made him madder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo mad, he turned over the dining room table. Dishes broke. The vase of flowers crashed to the floor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom screamed, “Brian, what is the matter with you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat was the Big Question we’d been asking all year.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDad left.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLeft Mom standing there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLeft me trying to get out of my cranberry suit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLeft Peanut, my dog, shaking in the corner.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom started crying. “Enough. It’s enough.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe next day Mom and I went to see Jen, our family therapist. Mom announced, “Your dad and I . . . well, we’re going to be separated for awhile.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’d been expecting this, but the news still hit like a baseball smashing a window.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And, Anna, I’m thinking about . . . well, not just thinking, I’ve made the decision to stay with Uncle Barry for a while.” Barry is her brother. He lives in New Jersey. His wife collects miniature eggs with little forest animals peeking out of them. They’re all over the house. Mom hates it there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI looked at my hands. “Where am I going to be?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI felt this rumble in my chest like a monster was in there. I had to bend over, even though I was sitting. I put my head between my legs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom said, “Breathe, honey,” like I was sitting there with my head between my legs holding my breath.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Slow in, slow out,” Jen added.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI got the rhythm of that. I sat up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen we talked about me staying with my grandmother for “awhile.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNobody defined “awhile.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Anna, the flower festival is in a few weeks,” Mom mentioned.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMim lives in Rosemont, this tiny town in Virginia that lives and breathes flowers. The whole town turns out for the flower festival. Tourists come from all over.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI said nothing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Honey, your dad needs to get hold of his anger, and while he does that I think he needs for us not to be around. Okay?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMim is Dad’s mother, but she and Mom are amazingly close. And it’s not that I didn’t love my grandmother, but why did my parents want to live someplace without me?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom leaned forward. She looked so pale. “This is colossally hard on everybody. I want you to be in a place that’s peaceful. I need, honestly, some space to work this through. Okay?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shook my head. None of this was okay.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Certainly, Anna, if you don’t want to do this—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know what I want! I just heard that my parents are splitting up.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Separating, Anna. . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI pulled out my phone, went to the dictionary. “Separate,” I announced. “To divide, to disunite, to become disconnected or severed.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJen stepped in. “It’s good to define a word, Anna, but sometimes that can label a thing too harshly. Separation can be a step toward divorce, but not always.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom leaned forward. “Anna, do you want to stay with me at Barry’s?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shook my head no, but at least she offered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe sat there not talking.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen I asked. I had to.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do you love him, Mom?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe shifted in her chair. “Your dad and I have been married for nineteen years.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do you love him?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer shoulders sagged. “Honestly, I don’t know.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat was my week.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stand in the dining room. My suitcase is packed and by the door. Peanut, my dachshund, isn’t sure about anything.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s okay, girl.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePeanut knows this is a deep lie.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“All right, it’s not exactly okay, but we’re going to handle this.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePeanut looks at my suitcase.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t think I’ll be gone too long.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe looks at me. Peanut has been my dog for eight years—it’s hard to put anything over on her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I hope I won’t be gone too long.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI see a piece of broken glass on the floor. I pick it up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrian, what is the matter with you?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wonder how anger got so popular—people screaming on TV, ranting on the news, politicians yelling at each other. None of it seems to do much good.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI throw the broken glass into the trash, sit on the floor, and let Peanut crawl in my lap. “I got a card,” I tell her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe sniffs the envelope.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Does it smell like Lorenzo?” I open the envelope Lorenzo gave me, take out the yellow card. “Yellow is our favorite color, right?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHAVE AN AMAZING ADVENTURE, ANNA!\u003cbr\u003eCOME BACK SOON OR I’M GOING TO BE IRRITATED!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI smile. Lorenzo is the best friend ever. Inside he wrote:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* pea in a pod\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* irritated gerbil\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* top of totem pole\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* Health Week monkey\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* beloved oak tree\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThese are some of the roles I’ve played over the years. Lorenzo says every role an actor plays stays with them and makes them stronger.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* comic cupcake\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* angry worm\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* amazing dancing cranberry\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* the lead in Cinderella, the Early Years\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e* lonely radish\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRight now I’m feeling mostly like a lonely radish.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI could sing the “Smile” song, but I don’t want to.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom comes down the stairs stiffly. “Well, honey, are you ready?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt won’t do any good to mention that I’m not.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe lug my stuff out to the car.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe drop Peanut next door with Mr. Vincenzo, who balances a dog biscuit on his nose, and Peanut hops up to get it. This is their big trick.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI give her a hug. “You be a good dog.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat gets a tail wag.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom and I fold our arms across our chests exactly the same way, then we thank Mr. Vincenzo and head out the door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“’Bye, Peanut.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well . . .” Mom doesn’t finish the thought. We walk to our car, get in.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom sighs, starts the Malibu, and drives down Pine Street toward the Schuykill Expressway.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHAVE AN AMAZING ADVENTURE, ANNA!\u003cbr\u003eCOME BACK SOON OR I’M GOING TO BE IRRITATED!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’m not sure about this being an amazing adventure.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI am sure that I need a vacation from my life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot a forever vacation, though. A couple of weeks should give my parents enough time to fix things.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI watch the road signs leading us out of Philadelphia to I-76.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI slump in my seat. It’s official—the cranberry has left the city.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThree\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe’ve been driving for two hours. Mom is getting emotional.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I need to say this, Anna. I’m just so sad about all that’s happened, and you know that your dad and I are going to be seeing Jen regularly while you’re gone.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI know that. Uncle Barry’s house is an hour from Philadelphia.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And I’m hoping you won’t worry, honey, because I know how worry can wear you down.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI bite my thumbnail, not that there’s much nail left.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom says if I stop biting my nails, she and I can go get a manicure.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMe, I’m not the manicure type.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And I’ve been thinking,” Mom adds. “If you feel dizzy . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll sit down, Mom. Unless, I’m walking across a busy street, or I’m running away from evil.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tell you what. Avoid evil, honey. Got it?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGot it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo worry allowed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo evil allowed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf I feel dizzy, sit down,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut not in the street.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Anna, are you listening to me?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I just want to make sure—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mom, I want to talk, but could we do it a little later?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe takes a big breath and nods. “We’re making good time.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe’re in Baltimore; an hour later, D.C.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlready I miss my life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI can hear Mr. Dez at the Children’s Drama Workshop asking, “So, what are you about?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou have to know this when you’re an actor, because if you don’t know that, you can’t pull from who you are. You won’t make your mark.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo matter what size role you get—and I’ve had some dinky parts, believe me—you’ve got to hang onto this:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere’s something that only I can bring to this part, and I’m going for it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLorenzo and I were the only four-year-olds enrolled in the Children’s Drama Workshop, but we didn’t coast through on adorableness alone. We practiced hard, we learned our lines, and we worked our way up from playing two peas in a pod (in the world premier of Jonathan, Eat Your Vegetables), to almost starring roles.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mom and dad came to every performance. Dad always laughed in the perfect places. He has the best laugh of any father.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eExcept for this past year. He’s not been laughing much.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI feel a rumble in my chest. I roll down the window and suck in as much fresh air as I can. I didn’t used to have trouble breathing. I got checked for asthma, but I don’t have that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen dad started changing, it got to me—I was closer to him than to my mom, but anger separates people. It’s a wall that goes up. I kept trying to do things that would make him feel better, like making cookies and asking him if he wanted to watch a funny movie. Neither one did much for his mood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI feel a little dizzy, put my head down. This is a dead giveaway.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Anna, are you okay?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mostly.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI know I don’t seem all that strong right now, but I am strong!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI get things done. I don’t give up.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Puffin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303825821925,"sku":"NP9780147513144","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780147513144.jpg?v=1767737880","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/tell-me-isbn-9780147513144","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}