{"product_id":"the-bionic-boy-isbn-9780593111376","title":"The Bionic Boy","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe moving story of a superhero-loving boy born without hands who finds the hero inside himself\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBenji feels like he's had more than his fair share of good luck—so it's frustrating that his disability tends to make people think the opposite. Adopted from an overseas orphanage when he was four, he’s grown up surrounded by the love of his dads and little sister. But it seems like the only thing people notice about him is that he was born without hands. He wishes that it didn't bother him so much when people stare at him and that he could be as confident as the superheroes he’s obsessed with. Then Benji meets a real-life hero and begins to dream about new possibilities. Staff Sergeant Snyder is a quadruple war amputee whose comfort in his own skin inspires Benji. Plus, Staff Sergeant has fun with his prosthetic limbs, making Benji wonder if it’s time \u003ci\u003ehe\u003c\/i\u003e becomes bionic. It takes a near disaster in the neighborhood with their pet cat to show Benji that bionic or not, he already has all the courage it takes to be a hero. After all, heroes walk among us every day, and if he just remembers to believe in himself, he can easily be one of them.“Benji hates being the center of attention, and his limb difference invites plenty of scrutiny. But after Benji meets Staff Sergeant Dirk Snyder, a self-assured quadruple amputee who uses a bionic prosthetic arm, he realizes that getting hands of his own could make him a superhero: the Bionic Boy. Still, he wonders if he made the right decision, especially after an upsetting incident involving the family cat. Can Benji still be a hero? While his conflicting feelings about using prostheses realistically highlight issues such as identity and self-confidence, family and friendship are the story’s core. The loving support of Benji’s dads, his best friend, Sam, and his 7-year-old sister, Becka, who has Down syndrome, radiates throughout, and even a surly new neighbor, Izzy, has a soft side. . . . A feel-good story of family, friends, and self-confidence.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This is a tale about bravery and not merely living through but absolutely thriving against odds. Told in very short chapters, this will appeal to readers in upper-elementary and middle schools who enjoy realistic fiction and accounts of everyday heroes. For fans of Sharon Draper’s Out of My Mind, Cece Bell’s El Deafo, and stories that celebrate children with disabilities.” \u003ci\u003e—Booklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“This uplifting, feel-good narrative by Plourde is reinforced by the compassionate support of Benji’s family and friends, particularly from Snyder, whom [Benji] looks to as he begins to see himself in a new light.” \u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eLynn Plourde\u003c\/b\u003e (LynnPlourde.com) is the author of more than forty children’s books, including \u003ci\u003eMaxi's Secrets\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003ePigs in the Mud in the Middle of the Rud\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWild Child, Moose, of Course!\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eAt One in a Place Called Maine\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eHow to Talk Monster\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBest Buddies\u003c\/i\u003e, and many more. A former speech-language therapist, she worked in public schools for twenty-one years. She grew up in Maine, and currently lives there with her husband, where she loves spending time outdoors snowshoeing, walking, kayaking, and gardening.\u003cb\u003e1 - I Froze\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen I heard my sister crying, I froze.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy legs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mouth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEvery part of me froze.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExcept my heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat was racing at Mach 10 speed, as fast as superhero Quicksilver. Ready to jump into action.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDad had just said, “Benji, I’ll be right back from the office supply store across the way.” He pointed to show me which direction he was heading. “I have to get a few things for my classroom. You’re in charge. Five minutes, tops.” Then he hurried away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut it took less than five \u003ci\u003eseconds\u003c\/i\u003e for my little sister, Becka, to ditch me at the back of the Santa line and head to the front.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI called after her with my best I’m-in-charge voice. “Becka. Come. Back. Now!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut she kept going to get what she wanted. As usual.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecka is a seven-year-old with Down syndrome, flyaway blond hair, pale skin, and a smile that lights up her face when she’s happy. Everywhere she goes, people say “Awww,” “Such a sweetie,” “So adorable!” They give her the first turn, an extra cookie, their biggest grins.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCute-kid privileges, I guess.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd today’s privilege was cutting the Santa line at the mall. She was already having her turn with the jolly old guy. Except Santa didn’t sound jolly. And Becka definitely was \u003ci\u003enot\u003c\/i\u003e jolly. She was crying!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLoudly!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith Dad gone, it was up to me to “rescue” her, to save the day like my favorite superheroes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ve been obsessed with superheroes ever since I moved to the United States eight years ago from an orphanage on the other side of the world and started watching superhero cartoons. Dad and Papa thought the cartoons would help me learn English, but what fascinated me was their action and suspense. I sat on the edge of my seat every episode, worried the superheroes might fail. There were just too many villains in the world! And even though I knew the superheroes would save the day in the end, I held my breath.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEvery single time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow it was \u003ci\u003emy\u003c\/i\u003e chance to save the day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecka was crying louder, and everyone was looking around to figure out who was with her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat was me!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stared at my feet. \u003ci\u003eMove! Move! Move!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut they only shuffled forward one inch, then two. Part of me wanted to save Becka. But another part of me hoped Dad would come back and do it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’d save her the next time. There were too many people watching this time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs much as Becka likes to be front and center, I like to be last and hidden.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhich makes it harder to be a hero.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecka’s crying turned to sobbing. I twisted like Plastic Man, looking every which way for Dad. But he wasn’t anywhere in sight, so I forced my feet to move until I got close enough to see and hear Santa and Becka. “Tell me again, little lady.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecka’s voice quivered. “M-m-medoh.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Meadow? But it’s winter, sweetie. Meadows grow in the summer—and they’re kinda big to fit down the chimney. Do you want a dolly instead?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe pushed out her bottom lip. “No.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecka wasn’t saying \u003ci\u003emeadow\u003c\/i\u003e. I knew what she wanted, so I said it, but she yelled, “MEDOH!” at the same time, so no one heard me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tried again, louder this time. “She wants a MEDAL!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yup, Bubba!” Becka always calls me Bubba—it’s easier to say than \u003ci\u003ebrother\u003c\/i\u003e or \u003ci\u003eBenji\u003c\/i\u003e. She was so excited I’d told Santa what she wanted, she threw her arms up into the air and knocked his wig and cap off and onto the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Becka!” I hurried to get her off Santa’s lap, but her hand was tangled in his beard, and that fell off too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs she slid from Santa’s lap, she grabbed hold of my arm to balance herself and fell onto the floor along with my jacket, which she’d pulled off me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Are you okay?” I asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecka stood up, put her hands on her hips, and announced, “I okay.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryone laughed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut then they stopped laughing, and I could feel their stares, stronger than Cyclops’s optic blasts, all lasered on me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo one said a word.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExcept for one girl, who gasped, “That boy has \u003ci\u003eno\u003c\/i\u003e hands.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was born without hands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e2 - Lost\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSanta gathered up his stuff and rushed away, muttering, “Santa needs a break . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wanted out of there too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Becka, let’s go.” I scooped up my jacket with my right arm and held out my left arm for her to grab. Without hands, I couldn’t hold my sister’s hand, but she knew to hold on to my arm, like she did when we crossed a street or were in a busy parking lot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome kids staring at me stepped closer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What happened to his hands?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Is he okay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Did he get in a fight with an alligator?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey talked as if I wasn’t there. I didn’t have hands, but I had ears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eParents nudged their kids to move along, to stop talking, to quit staring.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI held my arm out to Becka again. “Come on!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe didn’t get the message, so I turned and said, “Let’s go. Now!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut . . . \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe wasn’t there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot on my left.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot on my right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI spun around, but I couldn’t see her anywhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Becka! Becka!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhere \u003ci\u003ewas\u003c\/i\u003e she?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe crowd had thinned out, but I still couldn’t see her. So I hurried in the direction Santa had gone. She must have followed him to make sure he’d bring her a medal. But there was no sign of her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI ran back to Santa’s big red armchair. She loved to play hide-and-seek. I checked to see if she was hiding behind it, but she wasn’t there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Becka!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI lost her. I lost her. I lost her.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe bathroom! That’s where she must have gone. I hurried down the hall until I found the bathroom sign and stood outside the ladies’ room door calling her name. No answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDid a bad guy grab her? Did she leave the mall? Did she go into a store? A toy store! That’s where she’d go, but I couldn’t see one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI headed in the direction where Dad had pointed he was going. I had to find him so he could help me search for Becka.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuddenly, I saw a mall security guard. He’d help me find her. But before I got to him, I heard, “Daddy!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was Becka!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hurried in the direction of her voice and saw her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Daddy!” she said again as she ran to him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stopped and watched them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDad’s shopping bag slipped out of his hand and onto the floor as he lifted her up and twirled her around. “There’s my favorite girl in the whoooooole wide world.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe giggled and hugged him. Hard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI couldn’t help it. A tear slipped out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI lost her and Dad found her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was my hero. Again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJust like when he saved me from the orphanage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was Becka’s hero too. But I don’t think she even knew she was lost.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI knew, though.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI knew something else. I was no hero.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI couldn’t even save my little sister from Santa Claus.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e3 - Dad\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDad pulled Becka in for another hug before setting her down. She was getting too heavy to carry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat’s when he looked around . . . for me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t want him to worry, so I dragged my arm across my eyes to wipe away any more tears trying to escape and rushed over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Here! I’m right here, Dad.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, good. There’s my favorite boy in the whoooooole wide world.” He winked at me. “But why aren’t you two waiting for me in the Santa line? We’ll have to go back to the end again.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No, we won’t. Becka already had her turn.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDad raised his eyebrows. “But that was a long line, and I have to get a photo of her with Santa.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But I promised Papa a photo.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Um . . . maybe . . . you could . . . \u003ci\u003ephotoshop\u003c\/i\u003e Becka into a Santa photo.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDad laughed so hard, people passing by stopped and stared. But they weren’t staring at me this time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen he reached over and rubbed my head. He’d been doing that ever since I got a crew cut in kindergarten so I could get ready “all by myself.” Combs are too tricky to use without hands. So I’m stuck with a crew cut.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe used to pick me up and spin me around like he had just done with Becka. But now, at eleven, I’m too big, so he does the head rub instead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut I’ll never forget the first time he picked me up and spun me around.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was at the orphanage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the day my life changed forever.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy Chosen Day. We don’t know my real birthday, since I was left in a basket on the orphanage steps. So I’ve always had cake and gifts on my Chosen Day. I couldn’t believe that someone chose \u003ci\u003eme\u003c\/i\u003e to join their family.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI still remember the orphanage. There were rows of mattresses on the floor. And different grown-ups took care of us during the day and others at night. There were toys—a sock doll with a missing eye, a wooden top with a broken handle, a teddy bear with the stuffing coming out. Too many hands grabbed for turns with those toys. Without hands, I couldn’t reach for a turn, so I watched the other kids play.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I became the watcher.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe most interesting days to watch were when strangers came. Children nudged each other out of the way, trying to get noticed. Some visitors left with one or two children. The older, left-behind children talked about what that meant—the chosen kids would have parents, a house, and toys that didn’t have to be shared.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI never got near any of those visitors. Instead, I hid in the back of the room and watched . . . until the day Dad arrived.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eToddlers hugged his legs and older children jabbered at him. When he talked, his words sounded strange. Later, I learned he was speaking English.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis eyes searched the room, then stopped when he saw me peeking out from behind a chair in the back corner. He stepped away from the huddle of children around him and took a step in my direction.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore I could hide my head again, he dropped to his knees, and I didn’t look away. The man’s face was kind and gentle. So I took one little step out from behind the chair. The man didn’t move. I took another step. And another.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe held out his hands, and I somehow found a spark of courage and stepped closer. He reached out and held my arms in his hands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis whole face smiled. His lips, his cheeks, his eyes. I smiled back. That’s when he picked me up and twirled me around and laughed. I laughed too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s the first time I can ever remember laughing.","brand":"Nancy Paulsen Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233629286629,"sku":"NP9780593111376","price":17.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593111376.jpg?v=1767738386","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-bionic-boy-isbn-9780593111376","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}