{"product_id":"holler-of-the-fireflies-isbn-9781524701314","title":"Holler of the Fireflies","description":"\u003cb\u003eA boy from the hood in Brooklyn travels to a STEM camp in an Appalachian holler for one epic, life-changing summer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA brilliant new novel from the award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eThe Stars Beneath Our Feet.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJavari knew that West Virginia would be different from his home in Bushwick, Brooklyn. But his first day at STEM Camp in a little Appalachian town is still a shock. Though run-ins with the police are just the same here. Not good.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJavari will learn a lot about science, tech, engineering, and math at camp. And also about rich people, racism, and hidden agendas. But it’s Cricket, a local boy, budding activist, and occasional thief, who will show him a different side of the holler—and blow his mind wide open.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJavari is about to have \u003ci\u003ethat\u003c\/i\u003e summer. Where everything gets messy and complicated and confusing . . . and you wouldn’t want it any other way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJ + C + summer = ∞\u003cb\u003eA \u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e Best Book of the Year\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Chicago Public Library Best Book of the Year\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"\u003cb\u003eThoughtful\u003c\/b\u003e explorations of issues such as corporate greed, the opioid crisis, water rights, and the little-known history of Affrilachians abound in this \u003cb\u003eoutstanding \u003c\/b\u003enovel. An \u003cb\u003eemotionally resonant\u003c\/b\u003e narrative skillfully connecting the past, present, and future.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eExplores serious and urgent subjects\u003c\/b\u003e, including gentrification, class, environmental racism, police brutality and sexual identity. Moore’s \u003cb\u003esophisticated\u003c\/b\u003e story raises as many questions as it answers, making the point that issues around American history, identity and injustice are neither simple nor straightforward.\"—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"The \u003cb\u003ejoy and resilience\u003c\/b\u003e of two kids coming into their own is satisfying. A \u003cb\u003ehighly recommended\u003c\/b\u003e important purchase; \u003cb\u003eboth timely and timeless\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \"Moore covers \u003cb\u003etimely\u003c\/b\u003e social issues in this \u003cb\u003erichly wrought\u003c\/b\u003e fish-out-of-water story that takes a 12-year-old Brooklynite gamer to Appalachia.\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly,\u003c\/i\u003e starred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Moore packs his narrative with themes and carries it all off with \u003cb\u003ewell-rounded characters\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003elively dialogue and action, and often beautiful sensory prose\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e★ \"\u003cb\u003eOutstanding. \u003c\/b\u003eMoore's \u003cb\u003ethoughtful\u003c\/b\u003e approach to big ideas is honest and his text attends to the topics in a way that allows middle-grade readers to understand and older readers to relate. \u003ci\u003eHoller of the Fireflies\u003c\/i\u003e is \u003cb\u003ea feel-good book that still manages to go deep into heavy topics\u003c\/b\u003e. Profound.\"\u003ci\u003e —Shelf Awareness, \u003c\/i\u003estarred review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A \u003cb\u003ecompelling and timely\u003c\/b\u003e read.\" —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003eDAVID BARCLAY MOORE is the author of \u003ci\u003eThe Stars Beneath Our Feet,\u003c\/i\u003e which won the Coretta Scott King–John Steptoe Award for New Talent.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eDavid was born and raised in Missouri. After studying creative writing at Iowa State University, film at Howard University in Washington, D.C., and language studies at l’Université de Montpellier in France, David moved to New York City, where he has worked in film, journalism, and communications.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eDavid now divides his time between Brooklyn, NY; Los Angeles, CA; and St. Louis, MO. \u003cp\u003e1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMoms had warned me I’d get deep in trouble one day. I shoulda believed her. Today was \u003ci\u003ethat\u003c\/i\u003e day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI hadn’t really wanted to ditch my family and ride to West Virginia. At least not until after William Dexter got stretched out on our concrete block in Brooklyn. After that happened, everything changed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow the bald dude with the scar kept glancing back at me from the front row of my bus. The expression on his face said he wanted to carve me up like a turkey on Thanksgiving.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI got tense and reached for my right eyelid. I always did that when I got anxious. Rubbing it, I sank down in my seat and stared out my bus window to avoid Bald Dude’s insane googly gaze.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOutside on the highway, I read a sign: welcome to west virginia: wild and wonderful.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSome comedian had spray-­painted over it: DON’T DRINK THE WATER!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey had so many trees down here. I couldn’t see not one tall apartment building nowhere. Out the window, there were only green hills and sleepy trees.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor the gazillionth time since I climbed on a different bus this morning at Port Authority, I wished I hadn’t left home. I missed Brooklyn already. I missed Daddy and Poppa. And even though that noisy argument me and my moms had had made me eager to leave, I actually missed her and Shireen too.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter a while, the big gray bus slowed down and rolled into a parking lot in front of an old gas station that was locked-­up dark. The folding door at the front of the bus squeaked open.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Horsewhip Hollow!” the driver yelled back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI had arrived, finally. I stood up to exit and, of course, crazy Bald Dude with the scar stepped off right in front of me. This man, made a muscle and fat, musta been at least two feet taller than me. I was twelve years old, but short for my age, like my daddy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBald Dude’s skin was pale and red in spots, not smooth and cocoa brown like mine. His looked like it’d been sunburnt too many times.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe only hair he had was some brown stuff on his chin. I think it mighta been called a goatee. I was probably wrong about the name.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI did know he was built like a pro wrestler.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA beast.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Here you go, sonny.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe driver handed me my blue suitcase and red duffel bag out on the hot parking lot. He smiled at me and then glared at crazy Bald Dude.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t feel right leaving him here with you,” the driver told him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Gimme my bag, old man,” angry Bald Dude grunted. He glared at me, sideways.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Get it yourself, boy,” the driver told him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBald Dude sighed and reached into the luggage area on the side of the bus to snatch out an old camo duffel and a big ice cooler. I watched him check inside the cooler. Packed in the ice there were dozens of bags of Brooklyn Starr Franks. The Beast shut the lid and grunted at the bus driver like he’d expected to find some of them missing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI glanced around the lot. Just one parked car. And that car looked empty.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn a minute, this bus was about to leave me alone here, a million miles from home, with a lunatic white man who for sure wanted to delete me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy phone had zero bars.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI swallowed real hard.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dalton Spratt,” the driver said to Bald Dude, pointing at him. “The operator before told me all about the commotion this morning. I’m leaving you two boys here alone. If I should hear about any more hijinks involving this young’un and you, you will wish your daddy never met your mama. Understand?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBald Dude Dalton frowned at him, spat onto the cracked gray parking lot and strolled over to the grass to sit down on a curb in the shade.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Mr. Spratt!” the driver shouted at him. “I don’t chew my cabbage \u003ci\u003etwice,\u003c\/i\u003e yuh hear? So, listen up: If any harm befalls this here boy, the local authorities will find you and you’ll be in a world a hurt!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDalton just grunted again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat did not make me feel no better.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wiped my forehead. The sun was \u003ci\u003ebeaming\u003c\/i\u003e down here in West Virginia. \u003ci\u003eSoooo\u003c\/i\u003e hot. I missed the bus’s AC already, as weak as it had been.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe bus driver saluted me and took off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow it was just me and Dalton.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI glanced around the lot again, frowned at the empty car sitting across the way and decided to plop down under another shade tree, far away from Dalton.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere didn’t seem to be nothing or nobody around. I didn’t understand. I drained my water bottle and stared into the distance, at all of those mountains.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI felt like I had landed on an alien world.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe I had.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBezzzzzzzzzzzzzz!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSome fly buzzed. Their tiny wings beat and make that noise.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBlack and green, it settled on my hand. I watched this bug and thought of Poppa George. He compared people to flies: irritating and distracting.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Boy,” Dalton called out, “don’t you know the Lord hates a snitch?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow here \u003ci\u003ehe\u003c\/i\u003e went buzzing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI glanced over. Dalton stared toward the mountains. Then he jerked his head at me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Cockeyed little pig,” he called out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy eye stared crossways, but I wasn’t that fat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You gonna make me use my fists,” he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDalton spat again, and stood, stretching on the way up. I clenched onto my luggage harder and glanced around again. No place to run. Only this dusty parking lot and an empty highway and train tracks.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDeserted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI covered my bad eye with my hand and scrunched my face. I heard Dalton crack his back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was gonna die here.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDalton delivered a nasty grin and stomped toward me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI never shoulda left Brooklyn. Back home was still safer than out here in West Virginia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e2\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust yesterday, I had been safe back home in Bushwick.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrooklyn.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNew York City.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWell, \u003ci\u003ekinda\u003c\/i\u003e safe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMe, my father, my mother and my little sis had got caught up in a street fight. It was nuts. In the twelve years I been alive, I had never seen nothing like that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt all went down on Knickerbocker Avenue in Bushwick, right in front of the police station there. An army of us had shown up to protest that the police had shot an unarmed Black man on my family’s block.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe lived in the Bushwick Houses projects, a few streets over. His name: William Dexter. And the police had killed him for resisting arrest.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe week before that, the cops had busted down the door of some old Spanish lady in Hope Gardens and gave her a heart attack, she had been so agitated. The NYPD had accidentally thought her home belonged to a crook. The police broke into the wrong apartment on the wrong floor and almost scared her to death.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe old lady was laid up in the hospital now, and folks in the hood were hot because of her and how they did William Dexter.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe angriest had to have been my moms. She got me and the rest of my family out there two nights ago, protesting police brutality.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat demonstration had started off quiet enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe all held candles in front of the police station.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe sang.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter that, some local minister spoke and preached and then let some of Dexter’s family speak. They tried to get Dexter’s widow to say words, but she couldn’t.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t cry at all; just stood there, like a zombie.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI felt so sorry for her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd then, somebody started screaming on these cops who had tried to enter the police station through some barricades. One of the protesters—­this dude named Cappy—­ shoved one of the cops and took him down on the sidewalk, jujitsu-­style.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll these other cops piled onto them two, trying to drag Cappy off of the first cop. Two more protesters jumped into the jumble, tangling with the police. Our neighbor Antonio was in the mix. One of the cops nearby drew her gun and that was when most of the crowd bolted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLike, a \u003ci\u003ewave\u003c\/i\u003e of black and brown and white bodies crashed into me. They forced my sister Shireen into my chest. I felt my mother’s long fingernails dig into my arm and heard my father curse.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Yearling","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299940356325,"sku":"NP9781524701314","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781524701314.jpg?v=1767729138","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/holler-of-the-fireflies-isbn-9781524701314","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}