{"product_id":"hokey-pokey-isbn-9780440420514","title":"Hokey Pokey","description":"Welcome to Hokey Pokey. A place and a time, when childhood is at its best: games to play, bikes to ride, experiences to be had. There are no adults in Hokey Pokey, just kids, and the laws governing Hokey Pokey are simple and finite. But when one of the biggest kids, Jack, has his beloved bike stolen—and by a girl, no less—his entire world, and the world of Hokey Pokey, turns to chaos. Without his bike, Jack feels like everything has started to go wrong. He feels different, not like himself, and he knows something is about to change. And even more troubling he alone hears a faint train whistle. But that's impossible: every kid knows there no trains in Hokey Pokey, only tracks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaster storyteller Jerry Spinelli has written a dizzingly inventive fable of growing up and letting go, of leaving childhood and its imagination play behind for the more dazzling adventures of adolescence, and of learning to accept not only the sunny part of day, but the unwelcome arrival of night, as well.\u003cb\u003eStarred Review, \u003cu\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/u\u003e, January 1, 2013:\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“This unforgettable coming-of-age story will resonate with tween readers and take its rightful place beside the author’s \u003ci\u003eManiac Magee\u003c\/i\u003e and Louis Sachar’s \u003ci\u003eHoles\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eStarred Review, \u003cu\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/u\u003e, December 1, 2012:\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“A masterful, bittersweet recognition of coming-of-age.”JERRY SPINELLI is the author of many novels for young readers, including \u003ci\u003eDead Wednesday\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Warden's Daughter; Stargirl\u003c\/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003eLove, Stargirl\u003c\/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003eMilkweed\u003c\/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003eCrash\u003c\/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003eWringer\u003c\/i\u003e; and \u003ci\u003eManiac Magee\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the Newbery Medal; along with \u003ci\u003eKnots in My Yo-Yo String\u003c\/i\u003e, the autobiography of his childhood. A graduate of Gettysburg College, he lives in Pennsylvania with his wife, poet and author Eileen Spinelli.All night long Seven Sisters whisper and giggle and then, all together, they rush Orion the Hunter and tickle him, and Orion the Hunter laughs so hard he shakes every star in the sky, not to mention Mooncow, who loses her balance and falls--puh-loop!--into Big Dipper, which tip-tip-tips and dumps Mooncow into Milky Way, and Mooncow laughs and splashes and rolls on her back and goes floating down down down Milky Way, and she laughs a great moomoonlaugh and kicks at a lavender star and the star goes shooting across the sky, up the sky and down the sky, a lavender snowfireball down the highnight down . . . \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e down . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e down . . . \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e down . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Today\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e . . . to Hokey Pokey . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e . . . where it lands, a golden bubble now, a starborn bead, lands and softly pips upon the nose of sleeping Jack and spills a whispered word:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e it’s\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e and then another:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e time\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Something is wrong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He knows it before he opens his eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He looks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His bike is gone!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Scramjet!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What more could he have done? He parked it so close that when he shut his eyes to sleep, he could smell the rubber of the tires, the grease on the chain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And still she took it. His beloved Scramjet. He won’t say her name. He never says her name, only her kind, sneers it to the morning star: “Girl.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He runs to the rim of the bluff, looks up the tracks, down the tracks. There she is, ponytail flying from the back of her baseball cap, the spokes of the wheels--his wheels--plum-spun in the thistledown dawn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He waves his fist, shouts from the bluff: “I’ll get you!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The tracks curve, double back. He can cut her off!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He sneakerskis down the gullied red-clay slope, leaps the tracks, plunges into the jungle and runs--phloot!--into a soft, vast, pillowy mass. Oh no! Not again! He only thinks this. He cannot say it because the front half of himself, including his face, is buried in the hippopotamoid belly of Wanda’s monster. This has happened before. He wags his head hard, throws it back, and--ttthok!--his face comes free.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Wan-daaa!” he bellows. “Wake up!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Wanda stirs in a bed of mayapples.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Wanda!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The moment Wanda awakes, her monster vanishes in a puff of apricots, dropflopping Jack to the ground. He’s up in an instant and off again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Every other step is a leap over a sleeper. All is quiet save thunder beyond the trees and the thump of the sun bumping the underside of the horizon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He hoprocks across the creek, past the island of Forbidden Hut, and pulls up huffing at the far loop end of the tracks. He looks up, looks down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He slumps exhausted to the steel rail. He stares at his sneaker tops. He gasps, reflects. She said she would do it. “I’m going to take--” No, to be accurate, she didn’t say take, she said ride: “I’m going to ride your bike.” And who knows? Maybe if she had said it nicely . . . maybe if she wasn’t a girl. But she is a girl and she said it with that snaily smirk, but there was no way she was ever coming within ten long spits of his bike.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But she did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And he hates her. He hates her for taking the thing he loves most in this world. But maybe even more, he hates her for being right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He pushes himself up from the rail. Once more he casts forlorn eyes up and down the tracks that no train travels. He cries out: “Scramjet!” This is too painful to bear alone. From the black tarpit of despair he rips his Tarzan yell and hurls it into the jungle and over the creek and across the dreamlands of Hokey Pokey.","brand":"Yearling","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302073094373,"sku":"NP9780440420514","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780440420514.jpg?v=1767729119","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/hokey-pokey-isbn-9780440420514","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}