{"product_id":"the-peach-rebellion-isbn-9780593378595","title":"The Peach Rebellion","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom the author of \u003ci\u003eThe Running Dream\u003c\/i\u003e comes a heart-swelling historical tale of friendship, family, and the power of sisterhood to help heal the wounds of the past and step boldly into the future.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGinny Rose and Peggy were best friends at seven, picking peaches on hot summer days. Peggy’s family owned the farm, and Ginny Rose’s were pickers, escaping the Oklahoma dust storms. That didn’t matter to them then, but now, ten years, hard miles, and a world war later, Ginny Rose’s family is back in town and their differences feel somehow starker. Especially since Peggy’s new best friend, Lisette, is a wealthy banker’s daughter.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eStill, there's no denying what all three girls have in common: Families with great fissures that are about to break wide open. And a determination to not just accept things as they are anymore.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThis summer they will each make a stand. It’s a season of secrets revealed. Of daring plans to heal old wounds. Of hearts won and hearts broken. A summer when everything changes because you’re seventeen, and it’s time to be bold. And because it’s easier to be brave with a true friend by your side.\"\u003cb\u003eVan Draanen continues to capture the souls of teenage girls, \u003c\/b\u003eperfectly penning the hopes and fears of her protagonists. \u003cb\u003eA compelling story of friendship\u003c\/b\u003e and learning from tragedy.\"\u003ci\u003e —SLJ\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Van Draanen’s \u003cb\u003eheartfelt\u003c\/b\u003e telling \u003cb\u003ecaptures the close bond of two lovable heroines\u003c\/b\u003e.\" --\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eReaders will cheer, then weep,\u003c\/b\u003e as the unlikely trio of Ginny Rose, Peggy, and Lisette sets out to heal a broken family. The time and place are beautifully evoked, but it’s the characters who power this story.”\u003cbr\u003e—Kimberly Brubaker Bradley, Newbery Honor Winner for \u003ci\u003eThe War that Saved My Life\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eFighting Words\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“In this story, grit creates not a pearl but the indomitable Ginny Rose, a Dust Bowl Anne of Green Gables. \u003cb\u003eI couldn’t pull myself away.\u003c\/b\u003e”\u003cbr\u003e—Kirby Larson, author of \u003ci\u003eCode Word Courage\u003c\/i\u003e and Newbery Honor Winner for \u003ci\u003eHattie Big Sky\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A beautifully written historical novel about compassion, marginalization and inclusion and, above all, empathy and friendship. \u003cb\u003eSure to delight and inspire\u003c\/b\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e—Francisco Jiménez, award winning author of \u003ci\u003eThe Circuit\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBreaking Through\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eReaching Out\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eTaking Hold\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Peach Rebellion\u003c\/i\u003e gets everything right.\u003c\/b\u003e A compelling story of three fully realized girls who navigate friendships across boundaries and find common ground together. Not to be missed!”\u003cbr\u003e—Deborah Hopkinson, author of \u003ci\u003eHow I Became a Spy, We Had to be Brave,\u003c\/i\u003e and Sibert Honor winner for \u003ci\u003eTitanic: Voices from the Disaster\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Peach Rebellion\u003c\/i\u003e is \u003cb\u003ea warm, heart-felt hug of a story\u003c\/b\u003e. Ginny Rose and Peggy captured my heart from the first pages as they wrestled with friendship, family, fixing old wrongs, and finding their place in 1940s California.”\u003cbr\u003e—Rosalyn Eves, author of \u003ci\u003eBeyond the Mapped Stars \u003c\/i\u003eand the Blood Rose Rebellion trilogy\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Highlights bonds between\u003cb\u003e unforgettable female characters\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews \u003c\/i\u003eWENDELIN VAN DRAANEN was a classroom teacher for many years before turning to writing full-time. Her first Sammy Keyes mystery, \u003ci\u003eSammy Keyes and the Hotel Thief\u003c\/i\u003e, won the coveted Edgar Award. She is also the author of many beloved stand-alone novels, including \u003ci\u003eFlipped, The Running Dream, Wild Bird\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Secret Life of Lincoln Jones\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in Central California with her husband. You can read more about her work online at WendelinVanDraanen.com or follow her on Twitter, Tumblr, or Instagram at @WendelinVanD--or on Facebook: @SammyKeyesBooks.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cp\u003e1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePeggy\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eReunion\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEach year, as the sweet smell of peaches filled the June air and ripened into summer, I found myself looking for Ginny Rose Gilley. For seven summers, I held on to a fading hope that she’d show up at our orchard, just like she had the summers I’d turned seven, eight, and nine.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe first summer she didn’t come I was devastated.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhere was she? How was I going to survive harvest without her?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGrowing peaches may sound romantic, but when your family owns twenty acres of them, reality is quick to replace fantasy, and when picking season is in full swing, farms all over need help with harvest, including ours. Especially ours. There’s no shaking a peach tree to get the fruit down, or using a machine to harvest it. Peaches need hand picking, and every summer field workers swarm in to help.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe summer I turned ten, pickers came, but Ginny Rose and her father did not. That left me spending long, hot days sorting peaches in the field with strangers, and my family certainly didn’t fill the void. Bobby, who was twelve and full of himself, and Doris, who was thirteen and full of spite, bossed me around, while Father ran the crew and Mother gave birth to twins.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“They’re boys,” I heard Father say when Willie and Wesley were born, his breath gusting out on a big sigh of relief, as though he could see himself resting at some future date.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMother, on the other hand, seemed condemned to never rest again. Those babies cried. And fussed. And cried some more. “Boys,” I heard her mutter, and in it was a whole wide world of weary.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mother had been my only ally. Oh, my grandmother Nonnie, who lived with us, used to be, but the older she got--or maybe the older I got--the more she seemed to disapprove of me. And now they were both overoccupied with the twins and had little patience for my misery.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“They’ve surely moved on,” Mother said that first summer, when I complained about missing Ginny Rose. “Maybe they’ve gone back to Oklahoma. You should hope for them that they’ve found something better than fieldwork,” she said, changing Willie’s diaper.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But Ginny Rose is my friend,” I whimpered. “My best friend!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have plenty of friends, Peggy,” Nonnie said, changing Wesley’s.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not like her!” I wailed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNonnie raised an eyebrow in Mother’s direction, indicating her disapproval at my tone. Nonnie is Father’s mother, and that eyebrow of hers has done my mother in on more than one occasion.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well,” Mother said to me, ignoring the eyebrow as she finished pinning the diaper tight, “friendship won’t feed their family, and that’s the same for us. Now go out there and do your part.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI did do my part. From dawn to dinner, I sorted peaches brought down by the field hands, hauled buckets of drinking water out to the orchard, and helped load wooden lug boxes of fruit high on a truck bound for the cannery. I did my part until peach fuzz coated my arms and face, until it permeated every pocket, every seam, every fiber of my being. I did my part until the trees were bare and the sickening rot of fruit on the ground buzzed with flies. I did my part until I never wanted to taste or touch or smell another peach for as long as I lived.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnyone who’s lived this life knows--farming’s a roll of the dice, a prayer to the skies, and work. Endless, body-bruising work. And every nickel we earned seemed to be needed for repairs, supplies, and equipment.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut even farmwork can be fun when you’ve got a friend. Nonnie was right--I did have other friends--but Ginny Rose was special. Maybe that was because we did the same work--fieldwork. Words can’t really explain what it’s like, so mostly I didn’t feel like talking about “my summer vacation” to other friends, or at school. Our family rarely went anywhere. And during harvest? We never took a day off, not even Sundays.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSummer meant working the farm.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDawn to dark, we worked the farm.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo there was that, but there was also the way Ginny Rose could make me laugh. We’d giggle about everything, including Bobby, who was as bossy then as he is now, and Doris, who’d rather sting us with insults than work alongside us. Having Ginny Rose around made the days go by fast.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo even as I got older, even as I moved from working out back in the orchard to working out front at our fruit stand, I missed her. I missed us. But this summer after the month of June came and went, I finally stopped hoping she’d reappear. I’d be seventeen soon. It was time to let her go.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBesides, so many things had changed since those summers with her. The war had started and ended, rations were over, Franklin Delano Roosevelt--who’d been president for as far back as I could remember--had died, and Harry Truman was now in charge.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd the biggest change of all?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEveryone seemed more hopeful.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlso, if I’m being completely honest, instead of pinning my hopes on a friend who’d disappeared, I was putting them on Rodney St. Clair, a classmate who had already appeared at the fruit stand four times since school let out in June and had been especially friendly to me when I’d seen him at the Freedom Parade on the Fourth of July.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo that was where my mind was--firmly and fondly focused on sweet thoughts of Rodney St. Clair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd then, suddenly, there she was.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ginny Rose?” I gasped. She was standing in front of the fruit stand, blue-eyed and freckled, her strawberry-blond hair braided in one long tail, just the way I remembered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Peggy!” she squealed. “That is you!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe threw our arms right over the stand, right over the peaches, right over the years that had divided us, and wrapped each other tight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI held on to her shoulders as we pulled apart. “Where have you been? Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Aw!” she said, her eyes going glassy. “Honest?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What do you mean? Yes, of course! You were my best friend.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Aw!” she said again, this time looking away as she blinked back tears.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So what happened?” I pressed. “Where have you been?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe shrugged noncommittally. “We moved around a lot. You know that.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But . . . where? Mother said you might have gone back to Oklahoma.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGinny Rose shook her head. “Papa lost everything there, so . . . no.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But . . . are you still . . . are you still farmhands?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No. Papa found other work during the war, but he still hopped from job to job. We never really put down roots anywhere.” She brightened. “But he’s got a permanent job at the Ferrybank switching yard now.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“At the rail station?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe nodded. “The job comes with housing and a little piece of land. We’re plannin’ to stay.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s wonderful!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“All of us are tired of movin’ around, and the Littles love that trains roll by.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The Littles?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh!” she said, and her cheeks went rosy. “There’s two more Gilley girls now. Katie Bee--she’s six--and Bonnie Sue, who’s seven. And of course there’s Anna Mae, who’s ten. So that makes four, and I’m mighty glad for all of ’em.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI couldn’t help bouncing on my toes. “My mother had twins! They’re boys and the same age as your Littles!” I laughed. “Maybe we’ll get them to fall in love with each other someday!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe idea of it really tickled me, but Ginny Rose barely smiled and seemed quick to change the subject. “What about Bobby and Doris?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI grinned. “You mean Bossy and Dodo?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat did get a reaction out of her--we both giggled like we were kids again. Then I said, “Bobby graduated high school and is practically running the farm now. And Doris eloped with a man right after the war. He was wearing a uniform then, but he’s working the oil fields in Modesto now.” I rearranged a few jars of preserves. “She had a baby.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Doris is a mama?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI nodded, then laughed. “It seems to have made her extra grouchy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s a wonder that’s even possible,” she said with a grin. Then she waved a hand across the stand and said, “This is a smart idea.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Father built it when I turned twelve,” I said. But seeing it with new eyes now, I realized how weathered the raw sheet of plywood on four-by-four posts had become. “It’s not much to look at, but it does the job.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well, it’s in a great spot,” Ginny Rose offered. “Folks can just pull right off the road, then get right back on it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You sound like my father!” I said with a laugh.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe laughed, too, then scuffed the dirt, her mood suddenly darker. “I wanted to write, Peggy, really I did. But . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So why didn’t you? You have no idea how much I missed you!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was silent for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Mama said there was more dividin’ us than bindin’ us. She said I should give up the notion of us bein’ friends.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What? Why?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe kept studying the ground. “You know. ’Cause we were pickers?” She sneaked a peek at me. “Okies?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I never called you that!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But we were. We are.” She gave another little shrug. “And Papa says to take it with pride when people say it. That it means we’re survivors.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“So then . . . why . . . ?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well, other folks don’t see us as survivors. They still see us as trash.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEven though I could tell she was papering over painful memories, her voice held no sharp edges. It was the same as it had always been--cool and smooth and fast, like ice cream dripping quicker than you can lick it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd hearing it now sent me back to the sleepover we’d had one August--a concession I’d begged from my mother for my ninth birthday. I hadn’t understood Mother’s objections, and eventually she’d lost the will to argue with me and had relented. It had been a magical time, with just the two of us playing crazy eights and old maid and whispering late into the night.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was about to ask Ginny Rose where their house was when a car rolled up to the fruit stand. It was a sparkling new, deep red convertible with whitewall tires. And, as if tailor-made for each other, it was Rodney St. Clair sitting behind the wheel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy heart went for a tumble.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hey, Peaches,” he called, giving me a devilish grin as he stepped out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI blushed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo did Ginny Rose.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You let him call you that?” she whispered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s only the second time he’s done it,” I whispered back. “And what am I supposed to do about it?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Her name’s Peggy,” Ginny Rose asserted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRodney slipped his sunglasses down his nose as he approached. “And you are . . . ?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI pulled Ginny Rose behind the fruit stand so she was standing beside me and said, “This is my friend Ginny Rose.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRodney gave a little bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Rose.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“My last name’s Gilley,” she said. “I’m Ginny Rose Gilley.” She tilted her head a little. “And you are . . . ?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“This is Rodney St. Clair,” I hurried to say, hoping to get things back on track. “His family owns Valley Motors, which is how he comes to be driving a brand-new . . .” I leaned around to admire his car and let him fill in the blank.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“. . . Ford Super Deluxe.” His gaze shifted to an old bicycle propped against a tree near the road. “I could set you up,” he said with a grin in Ginny Rose’s direction. “My dad offers great financing.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stared at the old bicycle with its worn, oversized front basket, wondering for a moment where it had come from. But then it dawned on me--Ginny Rose hadn’t just magically appeared. She’d ridden her bike.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not interested in financing,” Ginny Rose said with a distinct huff.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well, cash is always welcome,” Rodney said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe air was feeling strangely charged, but not in the way I would have liked. “So!” I said to Rodney. “Are you here for peaches? Preserves? Pie?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe flashed another grin. “Maybe all three?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy brain had gone numb wondering what he was actually after when a black Dodge sedan skidded to a stop alongside the fruit stand. “Lisette!” I called out with a wave.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe emerged from the car, her skirt waist cinched impossibly tight, her smooth dark hair in a perfect victory roll. “Peggy!” she called as she hurried toward me, her saddle shoes flying. But when she realized that the boy with his back to her was Rodney St. Clair, her skirt came in for a landing and her voice took on an aloof tone. “Hello, Rodney,” she said, turning her nose up slightly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’d kept my feelings about Rodney from Lisette because--not so very deep down--I knew they were foolish. I was a farm girl and he was . . . well, he was Rodney St. Clair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI also hadn’t told her because it felt disloyal to be head over heels for a boy she hated. She’d said time and again that he was annoyingly full of himself and not to be trusted. I’d never seen her give anyone the cold shoulder the way she turned it on Rodney.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut here he was, and here she was, which left me feeling stuck between love and loyalty. So when she turned her attention to Ginny Rose, I broke out of my paralyzed state and hurried to make introductions: “Lisette, I’d like you to meet my dear friend from childhood, Ginny Rose Gilley. Ginny Rose, please meet Lisette Bovee, my dear friend since ninth grade.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNonnie likes to say that proper introductions put the hand that’s attending to social encounters firmly on the tiller. And since I’d heard that expression my whole life, it was almost natural for me to put the notion to use. It seemed to be working, too, because as Ginny Rose and Lisette were saying their pleased-to-meet-yous, I could feel a calm settling over all of us.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat is, until my bossy brother came clip-clopping up on our white mare, Blossom, his cowboy hat wedged on tight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Bobby?” Ginny Rose gasped.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI did a double take, because instead of making a crack about him still riding a high horse or some such, she was looking at him like he was Clark Gable.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnfortunately for her, Bobby only had eyes for Lisette--a relatively new development that made Lisette uneasy, to say the least.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Ember","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300163211493,"sku":"NP9780593378595","price":11.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593378595.jpg?v=1767740897","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-peach-rebellion-isbn-9780593378595","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}