{"product_id":"love-other-great-expectations-isbn-9780593429457","title":"Love \u0026 Other Great Expectations","description":"\u003cb\u003eAn American girl embarks on a competitive scavenger hunt in England—and along the way, meets up with a bookish British boy who might make the trip take some unexpected turns.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Other Great Expectations\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Take it from a romance-addicted Anglophile: Becky Dean’s \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Other Great Expectations\u003c\/i\u003e is a dessert to be devoured. Simply put, I adored it.\" —K. L. Walther, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Summer of Broken Rules\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This smart and swoony debut is the perfect read for lovers of travel and British literature. Pack your bags and get ready to join the coolest scavenger hunt ever!” —Kristy Boyce, bestselling author of D\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eungeons and Drama\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBritt Hanson has always preferred scoring goals on the soccer field to analyzing dusty old books. But when an injury ends her dream to play in college, she jumps at the chance to compete in a scavenger hunt in England that takes her to the locations of classic novels—the prize money would change her life!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnce in the UK she meets bookish and very British Luke Jackson. He can’t actually help her with any of the clues (against the rules), but something about Luke compels her to invite him to join her. She wouldn’t mind getting to know him—and listening to his accent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo win, Britt must outsmart three competitors who aren’t afraid to play dirty while solving clues and traveling around the English countryside. Along the way, Britt learns that sometimes you have to follow the map and other times, you need to throw caution to the wind and see where the cobblestoned road leads you.Praise for \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Other Great Expectations\u003c\/i\u003e: \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA JLG selection!\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This \u003cb\u003esmart\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003eswoony\u003c\/b\u003e debut is the perfect read for lovers of travel and British literature. Pack your bags and get ready to join the \u003cb\u003ecoolest scavenger hunt ever\u003c\/b\u003e!”--Kristy Boyce, author of \u003ci\u003eHot British Boyfriend\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e “With classic literary treasures on every page, this \u003cb\u003einspiring\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003eheartfelt\u003c\/b\u003e adventure is full of humorous witty banter, timely self-discovery, a rich complexity of friendships, and brave new beginnings. \u003cb\u003eA delightful debut\u003c\/b\u003e.”--Nova McBee, author of the Calculated series \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Take it from a romance-addicted Anglophile: Becky Dean’s \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Other Great Expectations\u003c\/i\u003e is a dessert to be devoured. Simply put, \u003cb\u003eI adored it\u003c\/b\u003e.\"--K.L. Walther, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Summer of Broken Rules\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"In \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Other Great Expectations,\u003c\/i\u003e Becky Dean delivers not only a \u003cb\u003eswoon-worthy romance\u003c\/b\u003e, but an adventure of self-discovery through classic British literature that will \u003cb\u003edeeply satisfy\u003c\/b\u003e every reader's heart.\"--Chelsea Bobulski, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Wood\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The romance is \u003cb\u003esweet\u003c\/b\u003e, and Britt’s zeal for travel combined with \u003cb\u003elaugh-out-loud\u003c\/b\u003e moments will \u003cb\u003echarm\u003c\/b\u003e readers.\"--\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Britt’s drive to overcome her insecurities—and her delight in traveling, meeting new people, and experiencing new things—are \u003cb\u003einfectious\u003c\/b\u003e in Dean’s \u003cb\u003elighthearted\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003egood-humored\u003c\/b\u003e summertime romance.\"--\u003ci\u003ePW\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Readers will be drawn in and pull for Britt to see her own \u003cb\u003etrue potential\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003ewin\u003c\/b\u003e.\"--\u003ci\u003eSLJ\u003c\/i\u003eBecky Dean is a fan of adventures both real and fictional. When she’s not writing or traveling, she can be found drinking tea, watching science fiction shows, or quoting \u003ci\u003eThe Lord of the Rings\u003c\/i\u003e. Though she lives in Texas with her husband, she remains a Southern California girl at heart. \u003ci\u003eLove and Other Great Expectations\u003c\/i\u003e is her debut novel.\u003cp\u003eChapter One\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDreams are like knees--you don’t realize how fragile they are until something rips them to shreds.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI sank onto the first row of bleachers overlooking Fairview High’s athletic field. One hand rubbed the massive brace gripping my leg, which was tight after my cross-campus trek. The other clutched the strange envelope I’d found in my locker but hadn’t opened in my rush to arrive.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eArrive, so I could leave before the game started.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGirls in royal blue jerseys and blue-and-white striped socks sat on the grass, stretching. I’d made it in time. Warm-ups, I could handle. Games, however, were more torture than physical therapy, a tactic that could’ve cracked terror suspects.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf I’d happened to schedule PT during the three playoff games the past two weeks . . . well, it was purely coincidental.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSeveral teammates waved from the field. One shouted, “We miss you, Britt. Can’t wait to have you back.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy heart stutter-stepped as I returned the wave. They’d be waiting a long, long time. But they only knew about the knee, not the rest of it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen the soccer ball made its appearance, a shot of pain kicked through my chest.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI yanked my attention to the cream-colored envelope. Handwritten letters across the front spelled out my name: Brittany J. Hanson. A round, raised seal on the flap displayed the monogram PCM, the C larger in the center. The card inside read:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe honor of your presence is requested\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eToday, May 20, at fifteen minutes past three\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein the afternoon in classroom A−6.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA Unique Opportunity Awaits.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt resembled the announcements we’d received when my sister and brother graduated college, but unlike those, this card didn’t say who sent it or the meeting’s purpose.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThree-fifteen was . . . I checked the scoreboard clock. Four minutes ago.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWas it worth the trip? I couldn’t run, so I’d definitely be late. But it intrigued me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shouted “Bye” and hurried across campus as fast as the knee brace allowed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnique opportunity. The phrase set my pulse racing. I could use one of those. Didn’t even have to be unique--I’d settle for any old opportunity. It had come knocking once this year, but after I let it in, it bolted without the courtesy of a goodbye.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGranted, unique opportunities were rare. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. But it was better than the ninety minutes of fingernail-extracting, tooth-yanking misery of a soccer match I couldn’t play in.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePlus, someone who used calligraphy might serve snacks like tiny sandwiches or something wrapped in bacon. I never passed up bacon.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA-6 was my English classroom, but why would our teacher, Ms. Carmichael, invite me to anything? Her comments on my essays frequently included the words uninspired, lack of thought, and disappointing. Was she the mysterious PCM who had access to my locker?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen I reached the room, Amberlyn Hartsfield was sitting in the front row. Spence Lopez, a guy from the football team, lounged a few seats away, and another boy slouched in the last row with a book, long hair hiding his face. No one else was present. Also, negative on the bacon snacks.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFancy invitations for four people? Weird.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmberlyn grunted, showing my lack of punctuality had not gone unnoticed. “Some things never change.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer muttered words reached me, which I’m sure she intended.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Like your constant uptightness?” I dropped into the seat next to Spence, smothering a sigh of relief to be off my feet. “Whatever this is, it hasn’t started yet. What’s the big deal?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe straightened a colored notebook and the invitation in the exact center of her desk. The stationery looked natural in her manicured hands. Her mail probably always arrived this way--party invites, credit card offers, and political flyers delivered on heavy cardstock in engraved envelopes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer gaze flicked to my leg, and I saw the condescension drain from her face. For a second, she resembled the girl who used to share secrets and red Skittles with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePity-politeness based on failed friendship. Fantastic.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI swallowed a growl. “No spring practice today?” I asked Spence. “Don’t you have freshmen to train?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe shook his head, making the longer hair above his undercut flop. “Girls took over our field for a strange sport called soccer.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI punched his shoulder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe grinned. “The other guys are watching the game. They were talking about how much the team misses you. Will you be able to play summer league?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEvery time I received a similar question, it felt like a ball to the gut at short range, the air physically forced from my lungs. “Not sure. I might be on my yacht, cruising the Riviera.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe snorted. Our small town south of Santa Barbara, California, contained two types of people--those who owned yachts and those who cleaned them. Spence and I did not own yachts.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eActually, I did know the answer to his question. I just hadn’t told anyone. The doctor’s diagnosis constantly echoed in my head. Phrases bounced around like out-of-control soccer balls: blood clotting disorder, blood thinner, no contact sports, change your diet, watch out for sharp objects. Be careful, be careful, be careful.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut as long as I was the only one who knew, as long as I never spoke the words, I imagined I could contain it. Undo it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Any idea what this is about?” He lifted his chin to point to the front of the classroom.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nope. I was hoping for snacks.” I glanced around, but no bacon had magically appeared.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe guy in the back sprawled in his seat, wearing a Captain America shirt and reading a beat-up paperback with a spaceship on the cover. I recognized him now--Peter Finch, a sullen guy I’d had classes with for years. He looked up and caught me staring. His blank gaze didn’t change, but his lip curled.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI thought that expression was reserved for supervillains but apparently not. He aimed his sneer alternately at me and Amberlyn. What was his problem? Captain America was supposed to be nicer than that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGroaning, I faced front. Whatever this opportunity was, it’d better be good.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do you think this is a psychological experiment?” I tapped my non-braced leg against the desk. “To see how long we sit here?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No, Ms. Hanson,” a proper British voice said from the doorway. “It is not.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy posture straightened at the familiar accent.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur English teacher, Ms. Carmichael, glided across the room and settled at her desk.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs was usual in her class, she presided. There was no other word for it. In her first year teaching here, she already ruled the school. Her styled, short hair was a pale blond probably called Champagne Bubbles or Old Money. Glasses dangled from a beaded chain around her neck, always accompanied by pearl earrings and flawless makeup that made her appear younger.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thank you for coming.” She regarded each of us. “As your invitations stated, I have a unique opportunity for you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer expression didn’t reveal anything. Her cultured voice filled the room, each word enunciated in a crisp British accent.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ve decided to try something rather exciting. I called you here because I am offering each of you a chance to compete for a prize of one hundred thousand dollars.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA wild laugh escaped my throat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSpence made a strangled noise.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmberlyn gasped and sat up straighter.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur questions tumbled over each other--“Is this for real?” “How is that possible?” “You’re joking, right?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe waited until we fell silent. “Yes, this is real. It’s not a joke.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA hundred grand was . . . a lot of money. So much I couldn’t comprehend it. And hardly information you dropped so casually. My brain conjured images of stacks of bills, of Scrooge McDuck swimming in a pile of gold coins.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnother image replaced those: the letter from UCLA, saying if I still planned to enroll in the fall, I owed ten thousand dollars by September 1 for registration, housing, and a hundred various fees, many I suspected they had made up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd that was for this year, to say nothing of the following three, when I wouldn’t have partial help. Even if they let me keep this year’s money, no more would come. People don’t pay for work you can’t do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSince my original Life Plan had been forced into an early retirement, I needed a new one. As my mom and siblings enjoyed pointing out so frequently, most Life Plans required a college education. One I no longer had a way to pay for.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUntil now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis prize would cover those made-up fees and more.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNext to me, Spence leaned forward, his hands gripping the sides of the desk.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmberlyn capped and uncapped her pen repeatedly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWere the others dreaming of what they’d do with the money? College, a new car, traveling the world. It seemed too good to be true.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Where’s the money coming from?” I asked. “Is this school-sponsored?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The school has approved this trip,” Ms. C said. “But it is something of a personal endeavor. I’ve been blessed with resources and wish to help others.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I didn’t realize teaching paid so well,” I muttered to Spence.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Who said the money came from teaching?” Ms. Carmichael met my gaze.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Who cares where it comes from,” Spence said. “What do we have to do to win?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGood question.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Is there an application?” Amberlyn asked. “Do we have to write something?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Like a book report or an essay?” I added.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOr something equally likely to eliminate me? I’d had my chance at earning money, and it certainly hadn’t involved academics. My odds of winning anything from an English teacher? Whose class discussions I avoided and whose books I found tedious? I might as well leave now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMs. Carmichael folded her hands and rested them on the desk. “Ah yes. Now we come to the fun part.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy hopeful heart pounded in my ears. My brain kept repeating that this couldn’t be real. The rest of my body ignored the logic. Don’t get excited. You can’t win anyway.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The contest will be a scavenger hunt,” she said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat sounded promising. Action-oriented, physical, concrete. I might stand a chance.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Inspired by classic British literature,” she continued.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot so promising. I held my breath.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“To take place in England.” She smirked like she knew she’d saved the best for last.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSweet. I finally breathed. The laugh bubbled out again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmberlyn squeaked. Spence met my gaze, his eyes wide and bright. Even Peter grunted behind me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s not exactly cheap,” I said. “Assuming we need the cash prize, how are we supposed to pay for a trip across the pond?” I tried to mimic her accent on the last three words.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That will be taken care of.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re paying for us to go to England and giving one of us cash?” I drummed my fingers on the desk. “What’s the catch? Do we have to use this for college or books or something?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmberlyn raised her hand even though there were only four of us. “Is this like when the French club went to Paris or the student council to DC?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“They didn’t get cash prizes for those,” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That you know of,” Amberlyn replied.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“There is no catch.” Ms. C’s face remained calm. “You may use the money however you see fit. Consider it an investment in your future.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI tapped the desk. “So how does it work exactly?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll handle the arrangements, speak with your parents, and ensure you have adequate supervision while overseas. All you have to do is decide if you’re willing to be challenged and possibly learn about yourself in the process. Travel tends to have that effect.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLearning about myself didn’t sound fun, but I never said no to a challenge. A scavenger hunt in England was a better way to spend my summer than watching from the sidelines as my team played soccer without me. Or wearing a chicken costume on the main drag, holding a sign for the Lord of the Wings restaurant like my siblings had.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Why us?” Spence asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePeter still hadn’t spoken, but his posture had straightened and he’d been listening to Ms. C with wide eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I selected each of you for a specific reason that will be made clear in time.” A glint in her eyes, the slightest quirk of her mouth, said Ms. C was enjoying this.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat possible reason could she have for me? English was far from my best subject.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut I could win this, with less contemplation and more action. The familiar pregame energy built inside me--a feeling I’d missed the last few weeks--making my muscles tense, my senses sharper.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDeep breath through the nose, count to ten, release slowly. Better not to imagine how winning could change my life. Wanting things rarely ended well, especially things I didn’t have control over. Even things I thought I had control over were ending badly recently.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIndifference was a proven armor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“When do we leave?” Amberlyn uncapped her pen again and poised it over her notepad. “How long will it take? What can we do to prepare?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“If you agree, you and your parents will sign a nondisclosure agreement, and I will provide your plane ticket. You’ll leave at the end of June and be gone for ten days. Though you’ll begin in London, where I will meet you for the start of your journey, the trip will take you throughout the UK. Other details--including the specifics of your tasks--will wait until you arrive.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmberlyn’s grip tightened on her pen, and I could practically hear her teeth grinding. Personally, I figured not being able to prepare favored me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePlus--London. I’d never been farther from Southern California than the Grand Canyon. If I didn’t win, at least I’d be getting a free trip to England. Images of men in red uniforms and tall, black hats paraded through my mind. I couldn’t contain a giant grin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Why the mystery?” I asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“When it is your money involved, you may be as mysterious as you wish.” This time she fully smiled, telling me she didn’t mind my interrogation.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mind whipped through questions. Would Mom let me go? Would I be better off getting a job that guaranteed money? Would I stand a chance against Amberlyn, Peter, and Spence?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOverthinking never accomplished anything. Action was better. Despite my efforts not to get excited, desire ignited inside me. I needed to believe something good could still happen to me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI nodded once. “Where do I sign?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Two\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA month later, I crossed the tiny gap between the airplane and the gangway--my first step onto a new land. My heart skipped, and my feet wanted to join it, my enthusiasm overcoming the fact that I felt like I’d been run over by a bus.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAmberlyn, with her sleeping pills, doughnut-shaped pillow, and travel-size makeup bag, looked ready for a photo shoot. She frowned as I waved goodbye to my businessman seatmate. “I bet he’s never had a worse flight. You’re so rude.”\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Ember","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303104106725,"sku":"NP9780593429457","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593429457.jpg?v=1767731904","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/love-other-great-expectations-isbn-9780593429457","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}