{"product_id":"noses-are-red-isbn-9780887765902","title":"Noses Are Red","description":"\u003cb\u003eNominated in the fiction category for the 2004\/2005 Red Cedar Book Awards (British Columbia's Young Reader's Choice book award)\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNorbert’s back, and Alan’s got him! In the third of Richard Scrimger’s wildly popular Nose books, Alan is off on a camping trip with his good friend, Victor. Fun, right? Not if the person who is taking you camping happens to be Christopher, your mother’s new boyfriend. And not if you aren’t exactly a fan of the great outdoors, with its bugs and swamps and bears.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe woods are full of dangers, and the boys seem to encounter them all in one hilarious misadventure after another. It’s up to Norbert, the alien from Jupiter, to help Alan find his way out of the forest.“With entertaining characters, witty dialogue, and wry observations, this fast-paced novel supports the notion, seldom acknowledged in children’s books, that Mother doesn’t always know best.”  \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As with its predecessors, this book is hilarious, with a wonderful blend of slapstick humor and dry wit. It will appeal to anyone who hates summer camp or who enjoys a refreshingly comic look at everyday life.”  \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eVOYA\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The third installment in Richard Scrimger’s hilarious “Nose” series…is a fine addition to the Scrimger oeuvre!”  \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eBooks in Canada\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“…a wonderful read. Perhaps the best of the three ‘Nose’ books.”  \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eChildren’s Book News\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“…wickedly humourous and a wonderfully fun summer camp saga…Young readers will empathize with Alan’s struggles in this story…Richard Scrimger beautifully captures the humour in the mundane aspects of daily life while simultaneously portraying the very real thoughts and uncertainties of a typical 13-year-old boy.”  \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eCM Magazine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Richard Scrimger has written an excellent outdoor adventure. It is packed with laughs. The originality of this tale is quite refreshing. Each chapter presents significant plot development. The good feeling after finishing this book will last for days. I would highly recommend this book…”  \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eResource Links\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“…[an] uproarious story…”\u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eTeacher Magazine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“\u003ci\u003eNoses are Red\u003c\/i\u003e is a wonderful tale of adventure, a hilarious tale that tickles the funny bone of the most stubborn people.”  \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eBooks\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Richard Scrimger is a funny man…The writing is confident and droll. There’s only one word for the storyline: unique.”  \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eVancouver Sun\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“One hilarious escapade after another.” \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eStar Phoenix\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Read it yourself – it’ll bring back all your worst memories of summer camp.” \u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003eNew Brunswick Reader\u003c\/i\u003eA columnist and novelist, \u003cb\u003eRichard Scrimger\u003c\/b\u003e grew up in Toronto, always writing but never really considering it a career, until after the birth of his first two children, twins, when he discovered the only time he could seriously write was during their naps. His style clearly demonstrates the influence of his experiences as a waiter in Toronto’s upscale restaurants, and as a stay-at-home father to his four children. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGenuinely witty, his work can be described as multi-dimensional - comic elements ride upon the surface, supported by varying levels of seriousness underneath. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eColumns detailing Richard’s adventures in parenthood have been published in\u003ci\u003e The Globe and Mail, Chatelaine\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eToday’s Parent\u003c\/i\u003e, and were compiled in a collection titled \u003ci\u003eStill Life with Children\u003c\/i\u003e. His first adult novel, \u003ci\u003eCrosstown\u003c\/i\u003e, was a finalist for the City of Toronto Book Award. His first children’s novel, \u003ci\u003eThe Nose from Jupiter\u003c\/i\u003e, won the 10th annual Mr. Christie Book Award, was selected as an A.B.A. Kid’s Pick of the List title, and was a finalist for the Ontario Library Association’s 1999 Silver Birch Award.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRichard Scrimger is also the author of \u003ci\u003eThe Way to Schenectady\u003c\/i\u003e about the adventures of the Peeler family on the road; \u003ci\u003eMystical Rose,\u003c\/i\u003e an adult novel; and a sequel to \u003ci\u003eThe Nose from Jupiter\u003c\/i\u003e entitled \u003ci\u003eA Nose for Adventure\u003c\/i\u003e. In 2001 Scrimger published \u003ci\u003eBun Bun’s Birthday\u003c\/i\u003e a picture book illustrated by Gillian Johnson, and a Peeler Christmas story called \u003ci\u003eOf Mice and Nutcrackers\u003c\/i\u003e. He and his family live in Cobourg, Ontario.\u003cb\u003eChapter 1: Ahead of Myself\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Quick!” shouts Victor. “Quick, Alan, run for it!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What’s going on?” I ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“They’re everywhere! Hurry!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe runs, pulling me after him by the neck. The dust cloud rises all around us, and the sound is in my ears – once heard, never forgotten – the buzz-saw whine of a million angry enemies. I can’t get at them with the aluminum construction on my head. I run as fast as I can, considering that I can hardly see where I’m going.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Help! Christopher!” I cry. “Help, anyone!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWait. I’m getting ahead of myself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e*****\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSorry. You’re probably wondering what on earth is going on. \u003ci\u003eWho’s Victor?\u003c\/i\u003e you ask. \u003ci\u003eWho’s Christopher? What aluminum construction? Who are these angry enemies, and why can’t you get at them?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFair enough. Let me go back a bit further, and start again. Ahem.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt all began on a beautiful spring morning about thirteen years ago. Cobourg, a pretty small town beside Lake Ontario – no, no, make that a \u003ci\u003esmall, pretty town\u003c\/i\u003e beside Lake Ontario – was bathed in sunshine. The sky was a cloudless blue. The birds were singing their little heads off in the bushes outside the window of the hospital room. Inside that room was a tired new mom named Helen Dingwall. Mrs. Dingwall to you. She was learning how to put a cloth diaper on a baby. “Under and over,” she muttered. “Around and up and pin it like… this. Oops!” She stabbed the baby with the pin. The baby opened his mouth wide and screamed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, you poor thing!” my mom said to me. I screamed some more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo, wait again. Come to think of it, that’s probably too far back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e*****\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ll try one more time. Fast-forward through my early years – teething, disposable diapers (finally no more pins!), singing “Clementine” to my nana while standing up in my crib, kindergarten, measles – and get to last June. I went to New York City to visit my dad. (My parents are divorced. No big deal. Maybe yours are too.) While I was having adventures with a snotty rich kid and her dog Sally (long story, no time to get into it now), my mom met Christopher.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe’s important to this chapter of the Alan Dingwall chronicles, so I’ll describe him right off. Christopher Leech: tall and thick, with thick dark hair and a thick dark mustache. Thick arms too – he’s really strong. He can lift our big armchair over his head with one hand, holding on to the chair leg. He spends a lot of time lifting weights at the local YMCA – that’s where he met my mom. He’s kind of handsome, I guess. He has a lot of big sweaters. He’s my mom’s age, more or less. Old.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShortly after I got back from New York, he moved in with us. He has a place of his own, but he stays with us for days on end. Sounds cosy, but it isn’t really. There’s something about him I don’t like. Quite a few things, actually. His name suits him: Leech by name, and leech by nature. I don’t like the way he dresses. I don’t like the way he checks himself in the mirror. I don’t like the way he peers around when he kisses Mom. He’ll be giving her a peck on the cheek, and all the time his eyes are moving around the room, as if he’s on the lookout for the cops. I wonder if he’s on the run? It wouldn’t surprise me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo be honest, I don’t like him kissing Mom at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe don’t get on very well. He started off calling me my boy, and I told him I wasn’t his boy. “I already have a dad,” I said. “I’m \u003ci\u003ehis\u003c\/i\u003e boy, not yours.” Mom sighed, and Christopher apologized. Yesterday he tried calling me Young Dingwall. That didn’t last long. “What are you up to tonight, Young Dingwall?” he asked. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Playing cards, Old Leech,” I replied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe choked, spilling beer all over. “Why, you little…,” he began, and then caught himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e*****\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the evening Mom called me downstairs from the TV room. “Alan, I think we should have a talk,” she said. I hate that phrase. I shuffled from foot to foot in our living room. We were all alone in the house; Christopher had gone back to his place to get some more sweaters.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What about?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sit down, first.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe patted the couch beside her. I took the yellow chair. I sat with my feet on the floor, then spun around so that I was sitting upside down with my feet dangling over my head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Alan, sit straight!” A harsh voice. You’d think she’d be nice, seeing as she works with troubled kids all the time, but that’s the way it goes. I swung around so that my head was right way up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What should we talk about?” I asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You and Christopher.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Old Leech?” I smiled. I couldn’t help it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Alan!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe folded her arms and spoke sternly. “I’m very worried about the way you and he don’t get along. I’m disappointed in you, Alan. Christopher has tried to get along with you. He has done his part. He has extended the hand of friendship, and what have \u003ci\u003eyou\u003c\/i\u003e done?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhere does Mom get these phrases? Hand of friendship, indeed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t know,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You have slapped it aside. Christopher has gone out of his way to… Alan, look at me!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was staring out the window. I don’t know about you, but when someone is yelling at me, I find it hard to stare deeply into their eyes and say \u003ci\u003eyes, yes, go on.\u003c\/i\u003e I turned back to Mom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Christopher has extended the olive branch to you,” she said. “And you have…”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t know what you did to an olive branch. “Eaten it?” I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Alan!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You have refused it. This situation must not go on. Don’t you see, I care about you. So does Christopher. Both of us do. And that is why –”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Here’s Victor,” I said. I was looking out the front window again. “He’s early. The game doesn’t start until 7:00.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Game?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sure. We’re going to Nick’s tonight.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Cards again?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Uh-huh.” I don’t know why, but cards have really caught on this summer. We play all the time. Poker, mostly. Victor’s dad found us an old carousel full of chips, and we carry it from basement to basement. I usually end up with most of the chips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eVictor Grunewald is my best friend. He’s part of the story too. We’ve been in the same class since kindergarten. We looked like twins back then, but we don’t now. He’s grown up and out, and all I’ve grown is more red hair, and more freckles. I come up to his chin now, which isn’t a great idea since he’s beginning to get these pimples.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe’s a nice guy, Victor. Very polite. He rang the doorbell and waited for me to come to get him, instead of just walking in, which is what I do at his house. He said hello to my mother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe frowned at him. “I’m afraid that Alan won’t be able to play cards with you tonight, Victor. We have some things to discuss.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe shot a look at me. I shrugged.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, sure, Mrs. Dingwall. I understand. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe hesitated. “Actually, Victor, Alan is going to be busy for a few days.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He is?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I am?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMom turned to me. “Yes, Alan, you are. Christopher is taking you on a canoe trip.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Wow!” said Victor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eWhat?\u003c\/i\u003e” I said. I wasn’t talking to Victor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’ll leave tomorrow morning, and be gone all weekend.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Double wow!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eWhat?\u003c\/i\u003e” Still not talking to Victor. “But, Mom, I’ve never been on a canoe trip. I’ve never been in a canoe.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Christopher loves canoeing. He knows all about it. That’s why I suggested the trip. I think it would be a good way for you and Christopher to get to know each other better.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But I don’t want to –”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Alan!” A warning note in her voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You are one lucky guy, Alan.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eYou\u003c\/i\u003e can be quiet!” Now I was talking to Victor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e*****\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJust then Christopher pulled into the driveway, in his fresh-waxed cherry-red jeep with roll bar, extra chrome bumper, mudflaps, and fog lamps. Another thing I don’t like about him. He swung himself out of the driver’s seat and strolled up the driveway in hiking pants and boots, a camouflage shirt, and an Australian bush hat. Yikes. Joe Camping.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe all went outside together. Mom was pushing me from behind. “Hi, Mr. Leech,” called Victor from the doorway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yo, Vic!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hey, there,” he said to me. Undecided about what to call me. “Ready to get wet and dirty, hey? Paddle hard, run hard?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Um,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Got a buddy flies a seaplane out of Rice Lake,” he said. “Thought I’d ask him to take us to a conservation area north of Peterborough.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Wow!” said Victor. “A seaplane. What kind?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChristopher smiled at him. “Cessna single engine four seat.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eVictor turned to me. “You’ll have a great time!” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Uh-huh,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll right, I was acting dumb and graceless. But I truly did not want to go camping with Old Leech. And, from the look on his face, I wondered if he really wanted to go camping with me. I know how strong Mom’s suggestions can be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Gee, I sure wish I could go with you guys. I go to camp every summer. I love canoeing.” Victor looked like he meant it. Actually, he always does mean what he says. It’s what I like best about him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry, Victor,” Mom began, but Christopher and I interrupted together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Why don’t you come with us, Vic!” The two of us stared at each other. Something we agreed on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Do you mean it?” Victor’s eyes bulged. They looked like plums.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You bet,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But, Christopher, honey, do you remember what we –”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hey, there, darlin’,” he told her. I hate him calling \u003cbr\u003eher pet names. “It’ll be okay.” He put his arm around her shoulders and smiled widely. Big white teeth like piano keys. “What do \u003ci\u003eyou\u003c\/i\u003e think?” \u003ci\u003eYou,\u003c\/i\u003e meaning me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Great,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You see? He doesn’t mind.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMom didn’t know what to say. Her idea was for me and Christopher to go out in the woods by ourselves and become best friends. Neither of us wanted to tell her that we didn’t want to do this. And she didn’t want to insist. An odd situation. None of us saying what we were thinking. None of us meaning what we said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Gosh, that’s great!” Victor did mean it. “Let me ask my folks!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’ll come with you,” I told him. “Bye, Mom. I’ll be back in a while.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sure, Alan. Come along. My mom likes you,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd he meant that too.","brand":"Tundra Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303842173157,"sku":"NP9780887765902","price":7.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780887765902.jpg?v=1767733887","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/noses-are-red-isbn-9780887765902","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}