{"product_id":"paper-heart-isbn-9781984815347","title":"Paper Heart","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn this companion to \u003ci\u003eTornado Brain\u003c\/i\u003e, a moving tale of loss and healing comes full circle.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTess has always understood her role in her family. She is supposed to be the \"okay\" one. The one no one has to worry about. But all Tess does is worry, constantly picking at her fingers every time a new worry arises. Still grieving her best friend's death, she is consumed by the fear that everything was her fault and her sadness that Colette is never coming back. Worse still, it seems like everyone else has found a way to move on, even her twin sister Frankie. When her mom decides a change of location might do her good, Tess finds herself on an airplane bound for her aunt's house in small town Wyoming and a summer vacation attending art camp.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTess thinks she might never be able to move on from losing Colette but her quirky but determined cousin Kennedy and new friend Izzy are determined to help. When Tess becomes convinced that Colette's ghost might be haunting her, Kennedy and Izzy find new ways for Tess to make peace with the past and finally let go of the grief that has been haunting her heart.\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003ePaper Heart\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “\u003cb\u003eUtterly convincing \u003c\/b\u003eand \u003cb\u003ecompelling\u003c\/b\u003e . . . Patrick writes with a sure hand, \u003cb\u003ea fine eye for detail\u003c\/b\u003e, and a \u003cb\u003equick, accessible\u003c\/b\u003e understanding that will have readers on Tess’ side and happy to see her finding and forgiving herself.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An \u003cb\u003eengaging tale\u003c\/b\u003e of grief and the \u003cb\u003epower of friendship\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Patrick’s \u003cb\u003ecleverly plotted\u003c\/b\u003e tale is a mashup of\u003cb\u003e mystery and summer romance\u003c\/b\u003e that makes for an agreeable companion to \u003ci\u003eTornado Brain\u003c\/i\u003e, and it can also be read and enjoyed independently.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Patrick provides \u003cb\u003ea unique look\u003c\/b\u003e into the world of a grief-stricken kid trying to stay above water. She \u003cb\u003eintertwines mystery, realistic fiction, romance, and social-emotional issues with aplomb\u003c\/b\u003e, creating \u003cb\u003ea lovely and therapeutic story\u003c\/b\u003e . . . [and] weaves an \u003cb\u003eauthentic \u003c\/b\u003etale of a young girl with a sensitive heart who endures life’s hardships.” —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A \u003cb\u003ehighly readable\u003c\/b\u003e, convincing, and \u003cb\u003egripping\u003c\/b\u003e narrative . . . Crisp dialogue, subtle characterization, a sprinkling of romance, liberal handfuls of \u003cb\u003ehumor\u003c\/b\u003e, and \u003cb\u003eclever mystery\u003c\/b\u003e plotting add up to \u003cb\u003ea very satisfying read\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eTornado Brain\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA 2022-2023 Truman Readers Book Award Nominee (MO)\u003cbr\u003eA 2021 Bank Street Best Children’s Book of the Year\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eA 2021 Texas Lone Star Reading List Pick\u003cbr\u003eA 2021 Washington State Book Award for Young Readers Finalist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eA Summer 2020 Kids Indie Next List Pick\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Spring 2020 Apple Most Anticipated Book\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Junior Library Guild Pick\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “Frankie’s first-person narration is \u003cb\u003espot-on\u003c\/b\u003e as she describes her feelings about her attention-deficit and sensory-processing disorders and her Asperger’s syndrome as well as her distaste for the medications that impair her thinking. . . This \u003cb\u003emoving account\u003c\/b\u003e of Frankie’s emerging maturity—with extra challenges—is \u003cb\u003eperfect\u003c\/b\u003e. . \u003cb\u003e.\u003c\/b\u003e An \u003cb\u003eintriguing mystery\u003c\/b\u003e embedded within a \u003cb\u003erichly insightful\u003c\/b\u003e coming-of-age story.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “Patrick...has done a \u003cb\u003eremarkable\u003c\/b\u003e job of creating an \u003cb\u003eunforgettable character\u003c\/b\u003e in Frankie, who tells the story in her own idiosyncratic first person voice, which takes readers inside her head as she struggles with her many challenges. The result is \u003cb\u003ea tour de force\u003c\/b\u003e that readers will remember long after they have finished the book.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003eCat Patrick is the author of \u003ci\u003eTornado Brain\u003c\/i\u003e, a critically acclaimed Summer 2020 Kids' Indie Next List selection, and several books for young adults, including \u003ci\u003eForgotten\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e Revived\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Originals\u003c\/i\u003e. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eCat lives outside of Seattle with her family but was born and raised in Wyoming. You can find her online at catpatrick.com.\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlmost one year later, I returned to the cabin in Wyoming. It looked and smelled exactly the same, but everything was different.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eColette had been dead for two and a half months.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Keep it moving,” Kennedy said in her Boston accent, so it sounded like \u003ci\u003emah-ving\u003c\/i\u003e to me. She bumped my shoulder with her duffel bag, trying to get around me in the cramped cabin entryway. “God, cousin, you’re like a rock in a river.” \u003ci\u003eRivah\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sorry,” I murmured, my vocal cords hardly working, taking a step toward the bench that had dirty hiking boots lined up under it, but not setting down my own bag. I’d been pretty much silent during the two-hour solo plane ride from Washington to Salt Lake City and the four-hour rental car ride with my relatives from Salt Lake City to Pinedale.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrankie had refused to come back, so that meant my mom and her boyfriend, Charles, stayed home, too. I’d been given a choice: go alone—with my Boston relatives, of course—or spend the summer at home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHere, I’d go to art camp with strangers and try not to annoy my cousin.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere, I’d see the world moving on without Colette firsthand.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat hadn’t really been a choice to me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll carry your bag up, Tess,” Uncle Bran said, appearing behind me. “I know you don’t like the stairs.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was very aware of the weight being lifted off my right shoulder as Bran took the bag. I felt like it’d been keeping me from floating away. I sort of wanted it back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thanks,” I said weakly. He was already halfway up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAunt Maureen tiptoed through the door with five-year-old Kane sleeping in her arms. She lovingly smiled at me before walking down the hallway to put Kane in bed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tess?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow Aunt Maureen was standing by the old compact fridge, without Kane, looking at me expectantly. I guess I’d zoned out; who knows for how long.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sorry, what?” I asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I asked if you wanted something to drink.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe and Uncle Bran didn’t have Boston accents, since they weren’t raised there; only their kids did. It was kind of weird.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAunt Maureen waited patiently for me to answer. I thought about how she was a slightly younger, more put-together version of my mom. Her short-sleeved blue button-down shirt and tan shorts somehow weren’t even wrinkled from traveling all day. But my mom had waved me goodbye this morning in dirty sweats and a messy bun.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll get some water,” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll get it for you,” Aunt Maureen said, motioning me over. “Take a seat.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe round table could fit four people comfortably or six if you didn’t mind squishing in. I sat down on one of the outdated chairs. The plastic tablecloth felt sticky even though it was clean. I reached for a faded wooden lemon from the bowl in the center.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eLast time I was here, Colette sat across from me. She tried to juggle these lemons. I wonder if she was the last person to touch this.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAunt Maureen set down my water.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Are you doing okay?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eDon’t ask me that,\u003c\/i\u003e I thought. \u003ci\u003eIt makes it worse.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI nodded because talking would make me cry. I felt like crying anyway. I picked up the glass and tried to wash away the lump in my throat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUncle Bran and Kennedy thunked down the stairs, across the room, and out the back door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Why doesn’t she have to help unload the car?” Kennedy asked her dad. I heard her through the screen door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“She’s been through hell,” Uncle Bran said. “I think you can manage some kindness for—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAunt Maureen shut the inside door.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Want to go lie down until dinner?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI didn’t want to do anything. “Sure.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI stood up, and Aunt Maureen pulled me into a tight hug.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, Tessy Bear, you’ve had a hard time of it, but things will get better. Day by day, it’ll get better.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo many adults had said to me: \u003ci\u003eIt’ll get better\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo, it won’t,\u003c\/i\u003e I thought.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAunt Maureen released me, and I went upstairs, not feeling as terrified of the stairs this time. I walked up the center and barely held on, numb.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the bunk-room doorway, I looked from right to left at the full-size bed Kennedy had claimed, the two sets of bunk beds on the far wall, and the queen bed to my left. Maybe I should have picked a different place to sleep, but I didn’t. I kicked off my shoes, crawled onto the queen bed and under the covers, and snuggled into my spot near the wall, leaving space for someone who wasn’t here anymore.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI closed my eyes, thinking of the kids at school. Colette’s family. My family.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHow did you just keep going?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHow did you joke around, signing each other’s yearbooks, at the end of a seventh-grade year that Colette didn’t finish?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHow did you sell the house where she lived?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHow do you laugh now when I feel like laughter is a foreign language?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHow do you get out of bed without making deals with yourself?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHow is Earth even still turning?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You have an owie.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eStartled, I opened my eyes to find my youngest cousin, Kane, next to the bed. I felt out of it, like I’d fallen asleep. His dark blond hair was wild from his own nap. He was looking at my left hand, where the cuticles on three fingers were coated in crusted, dried blood. I’d gotten really good at hiding my hands in pockets or long shirtsleeves after the nail biting had gotten so much worse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGood job, loser, you’re freaking out a little kid\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s a bad owie,” Kane pointed out again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yeah,” I said, tucking my hands under the covers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Does it hurt?” he asked with huge, concerned eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was asking about my hand, but I felt the question in my heart. “Yeah, it does,” I said quietly, which made the tears come. They always came eventually.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKane reached over and wiped my cheeks dry with his miniature thumbs. “It’s okay to cry when you have an owie or just anytime you feel sad.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thanks, Kane,” I said, so surprised by the gesture that I stopped crying. I wasn’t used to being around kids who were younger than me. I didn’t have my babysitting certificate yet. Colette and I had been planning to do that together at the end of the summer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay and Mommy says you have to come to eat your hamburger now please.” Kane stared at me for three seconds, then added, “Okay, Teth, you have to get up now Mommy says please. We are having hamburgers and do you like ketchup?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I do,” I said, sitting up and throwing off the covers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI followed Kane to the landing. Before he started down, he took my hand and looked up at me with his big eyes and long eyelashes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We’re going downstairs now,” he said bravely, taking a deep breath, then the first step off the landing. “You don’t have to be scared. Just hold on tight and go slow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay, thanks, Kane,” I said, getting choked up again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ketchup is icky,” he said as we stepped. “I like plain hamburgers. We can still be friends, though, because everyone has their own ’pinions and that’s okay. ’Cept my ’pinion is ketchup is very bad and my ’pinion is your ’pinion is wrong.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay,” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay,” he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMe and my little cousin made it down the steps. And then we ate hamburgers.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Nancy Paulsen Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301808001253,"sku":"NP9781984815347","price":17.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781984815347.jpg?v=1767734469","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/paper-heart-isbn-9781984815347","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}