{"product_id":"the-loss-of-the-burying-ground-isbn-9781536232387","title":"The Loss of the Burying Ground","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn this twisting, page-turning read, shipwrecked teen girls from opposing sides of a long war must find common ground in order to survive.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen the \u003ci\u003eBurying Ground \u003c\/i\u003egoes down in neutral waters, it sends the delegations from two warring nations—and the peace treaty they were about to sign—to the bottom of the ocean. The only survivors are a pair of teen girls: Cora, daughter of a Duran newspaper man, and Vivienne, lady’s maid to an Ariminthian princess. Neither has known a time when war between their two countries did not rage, but now they must learn to trust each other if they are to find sustenance, avoid dangerous pirates, and have any hope of rescue from the remote island they washed up on. However, in the midst of a conflict steeped in fierce national identity, propaganda, disinformation, and radicalization, finding a common path forward seems nearly impossible, for both Cora and Vivienne and their respective countries. But when the teens’ politically charged rescue seems likely to extend the war, Cora and Vivienne realize they do have a shared purpose: peace. If only it isn’t too late.Told in alternating first-person perspectives, the story moves quickly and paints a convincing portrait of the lives of ordinary citizens caught in the political games of their governments. . . . An intriguing fantastical take on contemporary political themes.\u003cbr\u003e—Kirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSwashbuckling fantasy. . . . Readers will be rewarded with shocking reveals and conniving court intrigue.\u003cbr\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe characters are drawn with great emotional appeal, and readers will find it easy to become invested in their fates.\u003cbr\u003e—The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCoats has written an agreeable story of action and adventure that will hold readers' attention.\u003cbr\u003e—Booklist\u003cb\u003eJ. Anderson Coats \u003c\/b\u003eis the author of fantasy and historical fiction for children and young adults, including \u003ci\u003eSpindle and Dagger\u003c\/i\u003e. J. Anderson Coats lives and works as a librarian near Seattle.\u003cb\u003eTHE ISLAND\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eCORA\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003eThe first three things I realize:\u003cbr\u003e   My head is killing me.\u003cbr\u003e   I have never been this sore.\u003cbr\u003e   I am soaking wet.\u003cbr\u003e   But when I peel my eyes open and take in an expanse of golden sand that ends in a thick line of tangly trees, it’s a long, waterlogged moment before I realize a fourth thing. A thing I was hoping was all a really, \u003ci\u003ereally \u003c\/i\u003ebad dream.\u003cbr\u003e   I’m not on the deck of the \u003ci\u003eBurying Ground.\u003c\/i\u003e There’s nothing left of either peace delegation. No sign of the treaty that was finally going to end the War of Ariminthian Aggression. A massive storm really did turn a forty-gun warship to sawdust and toothpicks beneath our feet.\u003cbr\u003e   Then it capsized what was left like a paper boat in a bathtub.\u003cbr\u003e   Then it flung those pieces into one another and into us while we fought the surf and lost.\u003cbr\u003e   I push myself up. Onto my backside. My muscles scream and my sunburned skin crunches and I suck a breath through my teeth.\u003cbr\u003e   The ocean stretches without measure in front of me. Calm now. Cheerful and rolling, swishing toward me up the sand in a gentle sheet. Empty of anything and so blue it hurts my head. The sort of thing a little kid would draw.\u003cbr\u003e   I squinch my eyes shut. When I open them again, I’ll be in my room. Lying on my bed. All my stuff nearby. My books. My sewing basket. My precious packet from the war work placement center containing everything I’d need to convince my parents that working at a fish hatchery would be \u003ci\u003every \u003c\/i\u003epatriotic, and it was merely a coincidence that it happened to have coed dorms and require two hours’ travel to get there.\u003cbr\u003e   Merely a coincidence that it happened to be somewhere adults had better things to do than hover like mosquitoes looking for a patch of bare skin to stab and stab again. \u003ci\u003eHow late will you be? Will their parents be home? That skirt is awfully short.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e   It doesn’t work. My shoulder is still pressing into sand, not the soft faded quilt I’ve had forever. The sun is baking down, and there’s nothing nearby but a scatter of broken shells and a few strings of seaweed in an uneven, haphazard line.\u003cbr\u003e   A slow, cold feeling seeps through me.\u003cbr\u003e   I’m on a beach that curls away and out of sight in both directions, empty of people and animals. There’s chirring and cheeping from the trees behind me, and all at once the \u003ci\u003eshush-shush\u003c\/i\u003e of the water is unnerving.\u003cbr\u003e   “Hello?” I croak, and gah, it even hurts to talk.\u003cbr\u003e   —\u003ci\u003escreaming my throat raw grappling for a plank but none of them hold me up a wave shoves me under mouth full of—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e   Slowly, gritting my teeth, I climb to my feet. My bare feet. My bare—oh crackers—my bare \u003ci\u003eeverything\u003c\/i\u003e. The only clothing the storm left me is the cute lacy camisole and underwear that Kess dared me to buy at the dress shop a week before she moved away, that my mother found while cleaning and confiscated and gave me an earful about.\u003cbr\u003e   I sneaked those skivvies back out of her closet, and I wear them whenever I need to be more like Kess. Even though it’s been a few years and they don’t fit so well anymore. Maybe no one else can see them, but I know they’re there.\u003cbr\u003e   Right now my underwear is all anyone can see, and there’s nothing nearby to cover up with. No scrap of sailcloth or even a piece of wood, and I don’t think my father will have seen this much of me since I was in diapers. That’s bad enough, but then there are the Duran cabinet secretaries, their assistants—\u003cbr\u003e   And oh. It’s possible that Ariminthians will be here, too. The royal family or their servants, or perhaps sailors from the \u003ci\u003eBurying Ground.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e   If it wasn’t for them—\u003ci\u003eall of them\u003c\/i\u003e—there would be no war and therefore no need for a peace treaty and definitely no need to hold the signing on a ship in neutral waters.\u003cbr\u003e   I’d better find the Duran delegation. Right now.\u003cbr\u003e   “Hello?” This time I get some volume. Not quite a shout, but the best I’m going to do till I wash the sand out of my throat. “Anyone? Dad? Mom?”\u003cbr\u003e   The ocean goes \u003ci\u003eshush-shush.\u003c\/i\u003e The trees go \u003ci\u003echirrrrrrr-cheecheechee.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e   I move slowly toward the tree line. Toward the shade. I move slow because my head is swimming and pounding and swimpounding, and I am not thinking about what I’ll do if there’s no sign of my parents. Or any of the Duran diplomats.\u003cbr\u003e   Or anyone.\u003cbr\u003e   There’s a big smooth rock where the sand changes color, and I sink onto it. It’s blissfully cool against my bare legs, and the relief it brings helps me push aside—for just a little longer—some very basic things that I will soon have to reckon with.\u003cbr\u003e   Like that I’ve been shipwrecked on an island in barely charted waters where pirates are known to prowl. I have no food, no water, no clothing, no shelter, and no idea when someone will come get me.\u003cbr\u003e   The \u003ci\u003eBurying Ground\u003c\/i\u003e is currently at the bottom of the ocean, and there’s no way to know who survived its sinking besides me.\u003cbr\u003e   If anyone.\u003cbr\u003e   Which means the entire peace delegation may have drowned. Our cabinet secretaries and the whole Ariminthian royal family.\u003cbr\u003e   Which means the war that’s been going on my whole life—\u003cbr\u003e   —that took both my brothers and too many of my friends, that left my mother bedridden for nearly a year—\u003cbr\u003e   —that gives my parents way too many reasons to hover over me—\u003cbr\u003e   —that’s shaped and governed every choice I’ve ever made—\u003cbr\u003e   —that war just may have gotten a whole lot further from won.","brand":"Candlewick","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300188279013,"sku":"NP9781536232387","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781536232387.jpg?v=1767740315","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-loss-of-the-burying-ground-isbn-9781536232387","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}