{"product_id":"harbor-me-isbn-9780525515142","title":"Harbor Me","description":"\u003cb\u003eA \u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLER!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jacqueline Woodson's first middle-grade novel since National Book Award winner \u003ci\u003eBrown Girl Dreaming\u003c\/i\u003e celebrates the healing that can occur when a group of students share their stories.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It all starts when six kids have to meet for a weekly chat--by themselves, with no adults to listen in. There, in the room they soon dub the ARTT Room (short for \"A Room to Talk\"), they discover it's safe to talk about what's bothering them--everything from Esteban's father's deportation and Haley's father's incarceration to Amari's fears of racial profiling and Ashton's adjustment to his changing family fortunes. When the six are together, they can express the feelings and fears they have to hide from the rest of the world. And together, they can grow braver and more ready for the rest of their lives.\u003cb\u003e*\u003c\/b\u003e “Woodson celebrates all that is essential and good for humanity—compassion, understanding, security, and freedom—in this touching novel. . . . Woodson’s skills as poet and master storyteller shine brightly here as she economically uses language to express emotion and delve into the hearts of her characters. Showing how America’s political and social issues affect children on a daily basis, this novel will leave an indelible mark on readers’ minds.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e*\u003c\/b\u003e “Woodson delivers a powerful tale of community and mutual growth. The bond they develop is palpable. . . . The characters ring true as they discuss issues both personal and global. This story, told with exquisite language and clarity of narrative, is both heartbreaking and hopeful. An extraordinary and timely piece of writing.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e*\u003c\/b\u003e “The magic is in the writing. Woodson tells stories torn from headlines but personalizes them with poetry and memories, blunting their trauma with understanding and love. Haley’s history weaves in and out, drawing readers close. These children become each other's safe harbors and Woodson brilliantly shows readers how to find the connections we all need.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e*\u003c\/b\u003e “Woodson’s spare, lyrical, and evocative prose carries the story seamlessly, weaving in themes of justice and family, friendship and courage. This is a timely and beautifully written story that should be on library shelves everywhere.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e*\u003c\/b\u003e \"In her first middle-grade novel since her 2014 National Book Award winner, \u003ci\u003eBrown Girl Dreaming\u003c\/i\u003e, National Ambassador for Young People's Literature Jacqueline Woodson deftly alchemizes a sixth-grade classroom into an affecting metaphor for racial, political and socioeconomic challenges—enhanced by the transformative power of storytelling: ‘what matter[ed] most is that we were heard.’ . . . A powerful love letter to effective teachers, unexpected friendship and the healing magic of hearing, recording and sharing words.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Explore[s] deep issues of identity, community, family, change, and forgiveness. The power of remembrance is also an important theme. . . . Will speak to young people’s insecurities and fears while recognizing their courage in facing them, and [Woodson's] craft as a weaver of words and imagery is evident on every page. A timely tribute to the resilience of young people and to the power of human connection that often overrides our differences.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eHorn Book\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Takes readers on a journey during which young urban teenagers discover the satisfaction of a well-wrought conversation. Woodson's easygoing lyrical voice is the highlight. . . . Each likable young person tells an engaging story, and the others are quick to listen. . . . Many urban readers will hear their story in one of these six's narratives. . . . With alternatingly simple, realistic language and flashes of lyrical romanticism . . . will please teachers trying to coax personal revelations from their students.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eVoice of Youth Advocates\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Leaves readers of all ages asking, 'would I let myself be a harbor for someone who needs it?'”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Connection\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eJacqueline Woodson\u003c\/b\u003e (www.jacquelinewoodson.com) is the recipient of a 2023 Guggenheim Foundation Fellowship, a 2020 MacArthur Fellowship, the 2020 Hans Christian Andersen Award, the 2018 Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award, and the 2018 Children’s Literature Legacy Award. She was the 2018–2019 National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature, and in 2015, she was named the Young People’s Poet Laureate by the Poetry Foundation. She received the 2014 National Book Award for her \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling memoir \u003ci\u003eBrown Girl Dreaming\u003c\/i\u003e, which was also a recipient of the Coretta Scott King Award, a Newbery Honor, the NAACP Image Award, and a Sibert Honor. She wrote the adult books \u003ci\u003eRed at the Bone\u003c\/i\u003e, a \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller, and \u003ci\u003eAnother Brooklyn\u003c\/i\u003e, a 2016 National Book Award finalist. Born in Columbus, Ohio, Jacqueline grew up in Greenville, South Carolina, and Brooklyn, New York, and graduated from college with a B.A. in English. She is the author of dozens of award-winning books for young adults, middle graders, and children; among her many accolades, she is a four-time Newbery Honor winner, a four-time National Book Award finalist, and a two-time Coretta Scott King Award winner. Her books include \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestsellers \u003ci\u003eThe Day You Begin\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eHarbor Me\u003c\/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003eThe Other Side\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eEach Kindness\u003c\/i\u003e, Caldecott Honor book \u003ci\u003eComing On Home Soon\u003c\/i\u003e; Newbery Honor winners \u003ci\u003eFeathers\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eShow Way\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eAfter Tupac and D Foster\u003c\/i\u003e; and \u003ci\u003eMiracle's Boys\u003c\/i\u003e, which received the \u003ci\u003eLA Times\u003c\/i\u003e Book Prize and the Coretta Scott King Award. Jacqueline is also a recipient of the Margaret A. Edwards Award for lifetime achievement for her contributions to young adult literature and a two-time winner of the Jane Addams Children's Book Award. She lives with her family in Brooklyn, New York.Copyright © 2018 Jacqueline Woodson\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e4\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e If there’s one thing I \u003ci\u003edo \u003c\/i\u003eremember as clear as if it hap­pened an hour ago, it’s the afternoon when Ms. Laverne said to us, \u003ci\u003ePut down your pencils and come with me. \u003c\/i\u003eIt was the end of September and we had been taking a spelling test. Esteban had been absent for days, and when he finally returned, Ms. Laverne asked him if he was up to doing some work and he nodded. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eIt helps me forget for a little while, \u003c\/i\u003ehe said. \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eForget what? \u003c\/i\u003eAmari asked. \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat nobody knows where they took him. And now we’re packing up everything, \u003c\/i\u003eEsteban said. \u003ci\u003eBecause if they took him, maybe they’re going to take us too. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI turned back to my test. I didn’t want to think about fathers. Mine had been in prison for eight years by then. In the last letter we’d gotten, he said he wasn’t sure what would happen with his parole. If he got it, he didn’t know exactly when he’d be coming home. I remember zero about living with him. Every good thing that hap­pened had happened with my uncle. I couldn’t imagine a different life. Didn’t want to imagine it. Not for me. Not for anyone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was stuck on the word \u003ci\u003eholiday\u003c\/i\u003e. Did it have one \u003ci\u003el \u003c\/i\u003eor two? My spelling had always been bad, but in Ms. Laverne’s class it didn’t matter so much because we were all at different levels in one thing or another. \u003ci\u003eThe words you miss just tell me what you don’t yet know, \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne always said. \u003ci\u003eIt says nothing about who you are. \u003c\/i\u003eFor some reason that made me feel better. I was eleven years old. What eleven-year-old didn’t know how to spell \u003ci\u003eholliday\u003c\/i\u003e?\u003cbr\u003e  \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePut down your pencils and come with me.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe six of us stood up. Our school uniforms were white shirts and dark blue pants or skirts. We could wear any jackets, shoes and tights we wanted. I had worn blue-and-white-striped tights that day. Holly’s tights had red stars on them. When we stood next to each other in the school yard that morning, our stars and stripes echoed the flag waving from the pole above us. We had spent the minutes before the bell rang dancing around it while Holly sang that old song about having a hammer, \u003ci\u003eI’d hammer out danger, I’d hammer out a warning \u003c\/i\u003e. . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe stood next to our desks and waited for Ms. Laverne to tell us what to do next. Amari pulled his hoodie over his head, then quickly pulled it off again, the way he sometimes did when he was nervous. Amari was beauti­ful. His skin was so dark, you could almost see the color blue running beneath it. His eyes were dark too. Dark like there was smoke behind his pupils. Dark and se­rious and . . . infinite. In that fifth\/sixth grade class, I didn’t know how to say any of this. I wanted only to look at him. And look at him.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTake a picture, it lasts longer, \u003c\/i\u003eAmari said to me in such a cranky way, it almost brought me to tears. Ashton smirked, then pushed his hair away from his forehead and held his hand there.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe doesn’t want a picture of you, \u003c\/i\u003eHolly said. \u003ci\u003eBad enough we have to look at you five days a week. \u003c\/i\u003eShe had left her desk and was heading over to the classroom library.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHolly, back to your desk, \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne said. \u003ci\u003eI want you all to take your books. You won’t be coming back here today.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe all gathered our stuff and followed her into the hallway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMs. Laverne took out her phone and said, \u003ci\u003eSmile, people. \u003c\/i\u003eIn the photo, Holly and I have our fingers linked together, our tights looking crazier than anything. Amari has his hood halfway on and halfway off, and Tiago, Esteban and Ashton are all looking away from the cam­era. The picture is taped to my refrigerator now. We all look so young in it, our cheeks puffing out with baby fat, our uniform shirts untucked, Tiago’s sneakers untied. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe walked down the hall behind Ms. Laverne, her heels softly clicking. I thought about how maybe one day I’d grow up to wear black shoes with small heels that clicked as I walked down a hall. And have students fol­lowing behind who were a little bit in love with me. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwo small kids came running down the hall, but when they saw Ms. Laverne, they stopped and started walking so slowly, I almost laughed. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEsteban pulled his knapsack onto his shoulder and held it with both hands. \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou okay, bro? \u003c\/i\u003eAmari put his hand on Esteban’s arm. \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNah, \u003c\/i\u003eEsteban said. \u003ci\u003eNot really. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAmari moved his arm over Esteban’s shoulder. And kept it there.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e 5\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e When we got to Room 501, Ms. Laverne opened the door and held it for us. Nobody knew what to do, so we just stood there. The room was bright and smelled like it had just been cleaned with the same oil soap my uncle used on our floors. Back when me and Holly were in third grade, it had been the art room, but then someone gave our school enough money to open up a whole art studio in the basement, so now this was just a room we passed by sometimes and said to each other, \u003ci\u003eRemember when that used to be the art room? \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWelcome to Room 501, \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHolly ran in ahead and the rest of us followed and looked around. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the old art room, there were just a few of those chairs with swing-up desks in a circle, a teacher’s desk with no chair, a big clock on the wall and some little kid’s ancient painting of a bright yellow sun thumbtacked to the closet door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEsteban asked, \u003ci\u003eAre we getting transferred to a new class? \u003c\/i\u003eHe put his knapsack down between his ankles and hugged himself. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAmari had taken his arm off Esteban’s shoulder but was still standing close to him. When Esteban shivered, Amari put his arm back. I heard him whisper, \u003ci\u003eIt’s all good, bro. It’s all good. Ms. Laverne’s not taking us some­where we don’t want to be.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMs. Laverne sat on the edge of the teacher’s desk and folded her arms. \u003ci\u003eEvery Friday, from now until the end of the school year, the six of you will leave my classroom at two p.m. and come into Room 501. You’ll sit in this circle and you’ll talk. When the bell rings at three, you’re free to go home.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy can’t we just talk in our regular classroom? \u003c\/i\u003eHolly asked, hopping up onto the teacher’s desk. \u003ci\u003eI mean, in your classroom.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOur regular classroom wasn’t regular. We knew that. But still.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDown from there, please, Holly. \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne waited for Holly to jump off again before she continued. \u003ci\u003eI don’t\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003ewant to hear what you have to say to each other. This is your time. Your world. Your room.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSounds like you’re trying to get an early break from us, \u003c\/i\u003eHolly said. \u003ci\u003eGive yourself your own kind of half day.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMs. Laverne laughed. \u003ci\u003eOne day, Holly, your brain will be very useful to you.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHolly looked like she wasn’t sure if our teacher was complimenting her.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat I’m trying to do is give you the space to talk about the things kids talk about when no grown-ups are around. Don’t you all have a world you want to be in that doesn’t have people who look like me in it?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNope, \u003c\/i\u003eAmari said.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYeah, \u003c\/i\u003eAshton said. \u003ci\u003eNot really.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe like being with you, \u003c\/i\u003eI added. \u003ci\u003eIn the other room.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou like what you know, \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne said. \u003ci\u003eYou like what’s familiar.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNone of us said anything. She was right. What was wrong with liking familiar things?\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNothing’s wrong with that, \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne said, being a teacher\/mind reader. \u003ci\u003eBut what’s unfamiliar shouldn’t be scary. And it shouldn’t be avoided either.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut I don’t know what we’re even supposed to talk about, \u003c\/i\u003eTiago said. \u003ci\u003eLike, schoolwork and stuff? And to who?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSchoolwork, toys, TV shows, me, yourselves—any­thing you want to talk about. To each other. And it’s \u003c\/i\u003eto whom\u003ci\u003e, Tiago.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo whom, \u003c\/i\u003eTiago said to himself like he was practic­ing it. \u003ci\u003eTo whom.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI think any other bunch of kids would have started happy-dancing and acting crazy because there weren’t going to be any grown-ups around. But we weren’t any other kids.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI heard Amari say \u003ci\u003ethat’s stupid \u003c\/i\u003eso quietly that I won­dered if I was hearing things. Then he said, \u003ci\u003eWe could be talking in class if we wanted to be talking. You trying to change the art room into the A-R-T-T room—A Room To Talk.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat’s tight, \u003c\/i\u003eAshton said. He and Amari pounded fists. \u003ci\u003eI like that.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMs. Laverne clapped once and pointed at Amari. \u003ci\u003eYou. Are. Brilliant.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI could have come up with that. \u003c\/i\u003eHolly rolled her eyes. \u003ci\u003eI could have added an \u003c\/i\u003eR \u003ci\u003eand thrown an acronym out there. \u003c\/i\u003eShe said \u003ci\u003eacronym \u003c\/i\u003eloudly, making sure Ms. Laverne heard.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNice use of the word, Holly, \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne said. \u003ci\u003eOkay, so because the art room is now the A-R-T-T room, no one gets in trouble for talking here. You get in trouble for taking out your phone. You get in trouble for being disrespectful—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow’re you gonna know if you’re not in here with us? \u003c\/i\u003eAmari asked her.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ll know.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd we all knew she was telling the truth. Teachers knew things. That’s all there was to it.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell, what if I don’t have anything to say to anybody? \u003c\/i\u003eAmari asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMs. Laverne laughed again. \u003ci\u003eSince when do you not have anything to say, Amari? \u003c\/i\u003eShe shook her head and waved her hand to include all of us. \u003ci\u003eI can’t believe you all are so resistant. I’m giving you an \u003c\/i\u003ehour. \u003ci\u003eTo chat! You get in trouble for this every single day. How many times do I have to say ‘No talking’? Now I’m saying, ‘Talk!’\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAmari tried to hide his smile but he didn’t do a great job of it. \u003ci\u003eOkay . . . I’m vibing it. The old art room is the new A-R-T-T room, y’all.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I bet you can draw in here too, if you want, \u003c\/i\u003eAshton said to him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMs. Laverne nodded. \u003ci\u003eDraw, talk. And yes, Amari—the A-R-T-T room is beyond clever.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike I said, anybody could have thought of that, \u003c\/i\u003eHolly said.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYeah—but I see YOU didn’t, \u003c\/i\u003eAmari said.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd like I said, \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne told us, \u003ci\u003ein this room we won’t be unkind.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe started it—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDoesn’t matter, Amari.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI just want to get it straight, \u003c\/i\u003eAshton said. \u003ci\u003eSo, school now ends at two o’clock on Fridays?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe had pale white skin like my uncle, and hair that always fell into his eyes. Even as he asked, he was hold­ing it back with his hand. Once Holly had said to him, \u003ci\u003eJust cut it already, \u003c\/i\u003eand his ears turned bright red. My own hair had always been bright red, but lately it had started getting darker and kinkier. If Holly’s mother didn’t braid it for me, I just pulled it back into a sloppy ponytail that frizzed all around my face.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJeez, Ashton! \u003c\/i\u003eHolly said. \u003ci\u003eThat’s not what she’s saying. This is so not deep, people.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI just don’t really understand why we’re going into another room, \u003c\/i\u003eAshton said, \u003ci\u003eby ourselves.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003eI think, looking back on that day now, that’s the line that will always stay with me—\u003ci\u003eanother room, by ourselves. \u003c\/i\u003eHow many other rooms by ourselves have we walked into since that day—even if they weren’t real rooms and we didn’t know that’s what we were doing?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stood there thinking about my father. In six months or a year—I didn’t know exactly when—I’d be walking into another room, the one where my father lived with me. And as I stood there, Esteban was inside the room where he didn’t know where his dad was. He glanced at me. That day, no one but Holly knew that my dad was in prison. I felt like I was betraying Esteban. Like I should have been standing next to him, saying, \u003ci\u003eHey, it’s gonna be okay. \u003c\/i\u003eBut I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell the truth about my dad to help him. So I looked down at my skirt and thought about rooms. I wondered about Tiago, Holly, Amari and Ashton—what were the rooms for them? What did they hide inside those rooms? Another room, I thought. We are always entering another room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat day, Ms. Laverne pushed us out—from the Fa­miliar to the Unfamiliar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt felt like an hour passed as she waited for us to say something. I looked at the clock. The second hand made an echoing sound when it ticked. It was five minutes past two. Fifty-five minutes left.\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou can do this, Ashton. You all can do this, \u003c\/i\u003eMs. Laverne finally said. And with that, she walked away. With that, she let us go.","brand":"Nancy Paulsen Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301682696421,"sku":"NP9780525515142","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780525515142.jpg?v=1767728706","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/harbor-me-isbn-9780525515142","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}