{"product_id":"jo-laurie-isbn-9781984812018","title":"Jo \u0026 Laurie","description":"\u003cb\u003eBestselling authors Margaret Stohl and Melissa de la Cruz bring us a romantic retelling of \u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e starring Jo March and her best friend, the boy next door, Theodore \"Laurie\" Laurence.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1869, Concord, Massachusetts: After the publication of her first novel, Jo March is shocked to discover her book of scribbles has become a bestseller, and her publisher and fans demand a sequel. While pressured into coming up with a story, she goes to New York with her dear friend Laurie for a week of inspiration--museums, operas, and even a once-in-a-lifetime reading by Charles Dickens himself! \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut Laurie has romance on his mind, and despite her growing feelings, Jo's desire to remain independent leads her to turn down his heartfelt marriage proposal and sends the poor boy off to college heartbroken. When Laurie returns to Concord with a sophisticated new girlfriend, will Jo finally communicate her true heart's desire or lose the love of her life forever?\"\u003ci\u003eLittle Women \u003c\/i\u003efans have been bemoaning Jo and Laurie's fate since the book was first published in 1868. Now Margaret Stohl and Melissa de la Cruz have teamed up to give these two the romantic tale they have always deserved.\" —\u003ci\u003ePopSugar\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"[Stohl and de la Cruz] have joined forces to give \u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e shippers everywhere what they’ve wanted for years: A happy ending for Jo and Laurie.\" —\u003ci\u003eCulturess\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Whether or not you believe that Jo should have remained single at the end of \u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e, rather than marry Friedrich Bhaer, if you're a dedicated shipper of Jo March and Theodore Laurence, you're going to love Stohl and de la Cruz's novel.\" —\u003ci\u003eBustle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A richly imagined look at grief, creativity, and authorship that infuses the beloved characters with new life.\" --\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Clever, satisfying and well-researched . . . Romantics will swoon.\" —\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Stohl and de la Cruz capture the spirit of Alcott, a notable feat . . . The quick pace and inspired plot are gripping and emotional, with twists that will keep the audience engaged. Fans of classics, romance, and feminism will be glad to see that Jo March has not lost her feisty essence. New readers and admirers of the original will cheer.\" —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Stir(s) feelings of nostalgia.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eMargaret Stohl\u003c\/b\u003e is a #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling nerd, world-builder, video game creator, comic book writer, and festival founder. As an award-winning young adult author, she has been published in fifty countries and thirty-two languages and has sold more than ten million books worldwide. She has published fifteen novels and graphic novels, as well as contributed to several games and countless comics since her debut. Some of her best known works include the Beautiful Creatures series, the Black Widow: Forever Red duology, the ongoing Mighty Captain Marvel comic, and the Life of Captain Marvel miniseries. Learn more at mstohl.com and follow Margie on Twitter @mstohl and on Instagram @margaret_stohl.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e*****\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMelissa de la Cruz\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e internationally bestselling author of many critically acclaimed books for readers of all ages, including the Alex \u0026amp; Eliza trilogy, Disney's Descendants novels, the Blue Bloods series, and the Summer on East End series. Her books have sold over eight million copies, and the Witches of East End series became an hour-long television drama on the Lifetime network. Visit Mel at melissa-delacruz.com and follow her on Twitter @MelissadelaCruz and on Instagram @authormelissadelacruz.\u003cp\u003eBefore You Begin . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe story that we now think of as \u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e was originally published as two separate volumes written by Louisa May Alcott in 1868 and 1869.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn those pages, Jo March—one of young adult literature’s most beloved writers and sisters—writes and publishes the story of her life with her family at Orchard House.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur own reimagined story takes place \u003ci\u003ebetween\u003c\/i\u003e the two volumes, after the success of the first, as Jo struggles to write the second.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust as we expect “Lu” did.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—MS \u0026amp; MdlC\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePrologue\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Offices of Roberts Brothers, Publishers and Bookbinders\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eWashington Street, Boston, Massachusetts\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e1868\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Little Women\u003c\/i\u003e? That’s the title?” The author looked concerned. Above her light brown eyes and beneath her threadbare linen cap, the chestnut curls that framed her face were shaking. Miss Josephine March was all of seventeen years old, and though her girlish curves were slight, her spirit was immense.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was nothing \u003ci\u003elittle\u003c\/i\u003e about her, or her characters.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOr so she had thought.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe book in question—a volume of domestic stories, loosely inspired by her own family—was one she hadn’t wanted to write, had in fact steadfastly \u003ci\u003erefused\u003c\/i\u003e to write, until her editor had offered a notably \u003ci\u003eunrefusable\u003c\/i\u003e royalty, instead of the usual piffling advance. Only then had she dashed off a dozen chapters in a fit of pique. To her dismay, he’d loved them, and she’d had no choice but to finish the final chapters, which she’d come to deliver now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd lo—insult beyond injury—it would be called \u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Isn’t it perfect?” Mr. Thomas Niles beamed at her over his spectacles. Her editor at Boston’s (moderately) respected and (moderately) solvent Roberts Brothers Press, Niles felt he had developed some (moderate) expertise in the publishing industry. His authors, at times, disagreed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThis\u003c\/i\u003e was one of those times.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Far from it!” Jo drew a worn cambric handkerchief square from her pinafore pocket and dabbed dramatically at the corner of her left eye, although both author and editor knew there was no actual tear to be wiped away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOnly fury, and there’s not a cambric square big enough in the world for that—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s dismissive!” Jo seethed. “It’s pap!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh?” Niles pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his bulbous red nose. “How so?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s . . . trite!” Jo dropped the handkerchief upon the bundled pages in front of her. They were tied with string, the requested final chapters, as painstakingly inked as the others before them. Her hands hovered, as always, just above the parcel; it was never easy, letting go of the fruit of \u003ci\u003eso many\u003c\/i\u003e stolen hours in her damp writing garret under the attic eaves, where she’d burnt her last saved stumps of candle-wax—as well as her fingers—and ruined her eyes in the service of one of these so-called \u003ci\u003elittle\u003c\/i\u003e stories. \u003ci\u003eThe nerve!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNiles sighed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Trivial!” Jo huffed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“When you say \u003ci\u003etrivial\u003c\/i\u003e,” Niles began, “do you mean—?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“For starters, that’s not a title, it’s a literal restatement of the very essence of the plot,” Jo interrupted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe eyed the parcel hungrily. “Yes, and I’m told it’s charming.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJo’s head-shake was very nearly violent. “It’s not \u003ci\u003echarming\u003c\/i\u003e. I’m not \u003ci\u003echarming\u003c\/i\u003e.” After making a living writing her customary \u003ci\u003eblood-and-thunder\u003c\/i\u003e tales—or so she thought of them—this business of feminine tradition and treacle was all very unfamiliar. To be fair, with the exception of her sisters, Jo knew and liked hardly any girls at all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re \u003ci\u003every\u003c\/i\u003e charming, Miss March. Nearly as charming as your book,” Niles said, looking amused. “And a tribute to little women everywhere.” He pulled a tin from his outer vest pocket. “Peppermint?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBuying time with sweets, again. Niles offered them up only when he found himself in a tough conversational crossroads, Jo knew.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSo that’s it, then.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThere really is no changing the title.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thank you, no.” Jo looked out the window as a horse and carriage clattered up Washington Street, spraying mud in every direction, including onto the glass of the (moderately) well-kept Roberts Brothers offices. She tried not to wring her hands in despair and failed. “I suppose it is what it is. Perhaps it doesn’t matter what you call it. I dashed the thing off in weeks, and for what?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Money,” Niles said. “The almighty dollar. Which you happen to need, not unlike the rest of us. Speaking of earning your wage, are those the chapters you owe me?” He reached for the bundled pages between them.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s not about earning my wages,” Jo said, tightening her grip on the manuscript. “Not \u003ci\u003ejust\u003c\/i\u003e about that.” She’d written it on assignment, because Niles was experimenting beyond the standard Continental Gothic that came flowing from Jo’s pen so easily.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd, yes, because of the money.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe result was a collection of domestic moments, sure, but it had surprised even her; it wasn’t just feminine drivel, even if the title might perhaps now doom it to be. She hadn’t expected it to come as quickly as it had, or as pleasantly. Not that she would admit that to her editor. “Money’s not a reason. Not a proper one, anyway.” \u003ci\u003eEven if we are poor as rats.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Many people—\u003ci\u003emost\u003c\/i\u003e—seem to think otherwise,” Niles said, yanking his handkerchief from his pocket and mopping his brow, which was beginning to perspire as they argued. He was never without a handkerchief; decades of sobbing authors, Jo suspected, had trained him thus.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not all people,” she sniffed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Certainly my investors do. You aren’t the only family with war debts, you know.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJo had no answer for that, for he was right. She supposed she would never be considered a real writer now, never be taken seriously by the public. Never invited to lecture at the Athenaeum with Ralph and Henry and . . . \u003ci\u003eWho was that other chap?\u003c\/i\u003e Perhaps this was what happened to feminine scribblers who aspired above their little place in the Concord world.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eStrike another blow to the weaker sex—and all that rot.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Charming,” she sighed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ideally, you’ve written equally charming last chapters as well.” Niles eyed the stack hopefully. “Seeing as my typesetters have very nearly caught up with you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJo snorted, which was a good indication of her feelings concerning the process that put her words on the page. Lottie Roberts, who manned the letterpress, had once changed \u003ci\u003e“Christopher Columbus!”\u003c\/i\u003e—Jo’s most oft-uttered oath—to \u003ci\u003e“My Heavens!”\u003c\/i\u003e and Jo had never forgiven her. This was, truthfully, not an isolated event; \u003ci\u003e“Blazes!”\u003c\/i\u003e had been mysteriously printed as \u003ci\u003e“How sad!”\u003c\/i\u003e—\u003ci\u003e“Hell”\u003c\/i\u003e as \u003ci\u003e“The Down Below”\u003c\/i\u003e—\u003ci\u003e“Blow me down!”\u003c\/i\u003e as \u003ci\u003e“No!”\u003c\/i\u003e—and \u003ci\u003e“A French pox upon you, Adventuress!”\u003c\/i\u003e had been eliminated altogether.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Your typesetters go too far.” She glared, repeating the warning not to change a word of her text for the twentieth time.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yes, well.” He snapped shut his peppermint tin. “When women of polite society are allowed to speak like common sailors, you are welcome to terminate their employment yourself, Miss March.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And I look forward to the day, sir.” Jo pursed her lips.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I am confident you shall meet it.” Niles smiled. For despite all indications to the contrary, the two were fond friends. Niles reminded Jo of her father, who had left Concord years earlier to join the Union army as a chaplain. Mr. March had come home only once in all that time—when the Union prevailed and the war was won, three years ago. Shortly thereafter, he’d left once more to volunteer in the Reconstruction efforts in the South, helping to build schools and churches for previously enslaved people. And though his letters usually came frequently, the March women felt his absence keenly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut Jo still had Niles, and if they fought, they fought well, each considering the other the more harmless version of their species. (The dollar a story Niles paid to run Jo’s wild romantic adventures didn’t hurt, either. Neither did the fact that subscriptions to his circular, \u003ci\u003eThe Tall Taler\u003c\/i\u003e, had gone up by forty-three since engaging her. \u003ci\u003eForty-three!\u003c\/i\u003e)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Call it what you will. No one will read it, anyway.” Jo tapped her fingers along the brown-paper-wrapped parcel. “I don’t know why you believed you could sell it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Perhaps.” Niles nodded.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I should have used a different name instead of my own,” she sighed. “Eustacia. Thomasina.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Possibly.” He nodded again. “Eustacia Emerson is lovely. I’m quite partial to Thomasina Thoreau, but Hildegarde Hawthorne could also do just fine.” He winked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHawthorne. That was his name, the other Athenaeum chap!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Fine.” She picked at the string about the parcel. “Take my daft little book of scribbles and do with it as you will.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ve seen dafter. Trust me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Trust you? You have no sense of anything, least of all publishing! Why, you couldn’t sell \u003ci\u003eRomeo and Juliet\u003c\/i\u003e if I wrote it for you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Admittedly a bit somber for my taste—I do prefer a happy ending to my \u003ci\u003esensation stories\u003c\/i\u003e. So do our \u003ci\u003eTall Taler\u003c\/i\u003e readers. Why couldn’t Romeo have married Juliet and settled down in a nice Tuscan villa? A sequel by any other name . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe author bit her lip; it kept her from responding in a discourteous manner.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Now give it here,” the editor said, sliding his fingers impatiently across the blotter atop his desk and taking the manuscript from her hands.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Take it.” She scowled.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eManuscript obtained, Niles traded his peppermints for the bottle of peppermint schnapps he kept in the bottom of his drawer for special occasions.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A toast!” he offered, pouring two thimblefuls into two cups.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJo grudgingly accepted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“To our \u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e!” her publisher cried. “And to the bright future of Jo March, Thomas Niles, and Roberts Brothers! May 1868 prove to be a banner year for us all!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJo clinked her glass against his. It seemed rude otherwise. With a final sigh and a shake of her curls, the author drank to her defeat. The editor drank to her success.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLittle Women\u003c\/i\u003e it was.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233284239589,"sku":"NP9781984812018","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781984812018_524c31cc-12c1-4ee5-af4f-0a7d3289a123.jpg?v=1767730428","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/jo-laurie-isbn-9781984812018","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}