{"product_id":"west-of-the-sea-isbn-9780593465578","title":"West of the Sea","description":"\u003cb\u003eTae Keller meets Tracey Baptiste in a tale of generational trauma, told with a cryptozoological twist.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePaleontology-loving Haven West and her older sister, Margie, have hardly talked with their mom since she retreated into a deep depression. Each morning Haven wonders if it’s going to be a “good” or “bad” day, and the only thing that seems to occupy her mom is collecting fossils for her bone garden.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut one night, after an ominous moonlight heart-to-heart, her mom disappears—right before Haven discovers she’s inherited a monstrous family trait. It turns out that she is the latest in a long line of cryptids, a past her mom has been hiding. Suddenly, the Texas terrain is full of ghostly dinosaur silhouettes and Haven is breaking out in scales at all the wrong moments. Even worse, she doesn’t know whom she can trust with this information. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSince the only person who could guide her through this has vanished, Haven sets off on the road trip of a lifetime with Margie and their new friend Rye in tow. Together, they’re determined to find her mom and finally get some answers, hopefully before Haven’s secret is revealed . . .\u003cb\u003eLove for \u003ci\u003eWest of the Sea\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e* \"Willing’s sparkling debut incorporates profound family dynamics, ghostly dinosaurs, a shape-shifting cryptid, and Celtic mythology, culminating in a suspenseful, innovative read.\"—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Intriguing mythology with a prehistoric twist and an endearing family focus.\"—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Part road trip adventure, part family reckoning, Willing’s debut ambitiously approaches loss, mental illness, identity, neurodivergence, and adolescence and executes them with compassion and depth.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003eStephanie Willing is a writer and audiobook narrator who hasn’t been able to find good Tex-Mex food since she left her home state. She has an MFA in Writing for Young People from Lesley University. Originally from Texas, Stephanie now lives in New York City, and she never misses an opportunity to visit the dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History.\u003ci\u003e1\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eCountry girls don’t get scaredwhen things go thump in the night. There’s always some critter out there making noise and trouble. So when I heard the scratching out back, I didn’t think too hard on it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA low rumble, a \u003ci\u003escrrritchy sort of sound, and my brain put two and two together: there was an owl with a tummyache scratching at my window. It made perfect sense.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eScrrritch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eWait, no, it didn’t.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eThump. Scrrrritch. THUD.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eI shoved myself upright and rubbed the sleep grit out of my eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eThere was a face at the window. It had a long, snaky neck and a sharp, pointy beak. Looking at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eMy heart jumped up past my throat and choked off a scream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eBut then I slumped against the headboard. I knew that face. It was Harry. My dang peacock. Presumably hoping for breakfast in the middle of the night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe had no sense of time. He had no sense period, but then, neither did I.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eMoonlight spilled over the bed, illuminating me and the fossil I’d fallen asleep holding. I’d scooped this stony relic off one of Mama’s cairns in the weak hope that she’d come looking for it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’d actually thought stealing a fossil would do something, like get a reaction.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eMama could smell a fossil five feet out of the ground, so it stood to figure she’d be drawn to this one too, and then I’d get to say goodnight to her before she locked herself in the bathroom to soak in the tub for hours. \u003ci\u003eAgain. If I got really lucky, maybe she’d even smooth my hair, or sing me our old lullaby, or scold me for messing up her stack of stones. I wasn’t picky. I’d take anything other than how I became invisible to her at night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eScritch.\u003ci\u003eThump.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eA draft of cold air rustled the room, and I pulled the quilt up around me. I was almost twelve, not a little girl anymore. I shouldn’t need Mama to come say goodnight to me. It would be better if I learned to not need her, like my big sister, Margie, had.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eScritch scritch SCRATCH.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Ugh, I’m coming,” I said. Keeping the quilt, I scooted out of bed and stomped over to where my peacock watched me through the window. I pushed the pane up until there was only the screen between us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eHarry scraped and rustled inside a decrepit old wheelbarrow that Mama had parked under my window and made into a flower box. She was always taking broken things and turning them into something beautiful. At least, she used to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Harry, it is not breakfast time,” I told him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe clucked and spread his fan of tail feathers. He was only one year old, so it wasn’t impressive, but I never let on. There was a lot he didn’t know. He’d been born in the drought, and if it ever rained, he’d probably think the sky was falling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Yes, you’re very handsome, but not even the handsomest birds get fed before six a.m.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eI scolded him, but I wasn’t \u003ci\u003ereally mad. I got it. Sometimes I woke up lonely too and went hunting for a snack.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe night air smelled warm and dry. I wasn’t sure why I’d felt such a chill in the room when I woke up. I let the quilt fall to the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eI looked past Harry to our wheat fields. They rustled in endless silver waves under the moon. But the stalks were weak and not as tall as they should be. If the drought didn’t break, we’d be out a year’s harvest, and the lines in Papa’s face would get deeper. Mama would sink even quieter, Margie would get angrier, and I’d . . . I’d be fine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eHarry pressed his face against the screen, and I pushed my hand against the shape of him. He chirruped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe house was silent. I listened for the soft splish--splash sounds of Mama soaking in the tub down the hall, but she must’ve gotten out while I was asleep. Or maybe she’d dozed off in there. It wouldn’t be the first time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eThunder rumbled, and I realized I was squeezing the fossil tight in my right hand. I hadn’t noticed I was still holding it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eI frowned. If there was thunder, there should be clouds. And if there were clouds, the moon wouldn’t be this bright.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Go back to the coop, Harry,” I said. “Papa’s gonna feed you in a few hours.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eHarry closed his fan, bobbed his head, and jumped to the ground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eAnd that’s when I saw the dimetrodon in the vegetable garden.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e","brand":"Viking Books for Young Readers","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300710273253,"sku":"NP9780593465578","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593465578.jpg?v=1767743784","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/west-of-the-sea-isbn-9780593465578","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}