{"product_id":"the-66th-rebirth-of-frankie-caridi-1-isbn-9780593660966","title":"The 66th Rebirth of Frankie Caridi #1","description":"\u003cb\u003eNormally \"back to school\" means gathering supplies and buying new clothes, but Frankie Caridi has never known normal. So when her \"back to school\" consists of learning how to use crystals to power her mind and trapping marauding spirits, she adapts. But the secrets of magic are nothing compared to the secrets she learns about her own past.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrankie is used to living in her younger brother’s shadow. Lucie is outgoing, smart, kind, and has horns. Yes, horns. Frankie’s life has always revolved around Lucie, so when she's told she must attend a new boarding school because Lucie has been given a full scholarship, she knows she has no other choice. But something about the Pythagorean Institute is off. The building looks like a prison, half of the students have horns like her brother, and the headmaster acts more like a cult leader than a principal. Even weirder, however, are the dreams Frankie has been having since she moved into her dorm. Dreams that sometimes seem more like… \u003ci\u003ememories\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTrapped in this new school with no way home, Frankie must get to the bottom of why the place unsettles her so much. But in learning about the Institute, Frankie learns more about herself—and her past—than she could ever have expected. What she discovers brings her out of her brother’s shadow and gives her powers beyond belief, but the spotlight comes with its own set of troubles.\"Real and otherworldly dramas collide. A twisty story with broad reader appeal...and the cliffhanger ending will leave readers hungry for more.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"\u003c\/i\u003e[H]umor, suspense, and a brisk pace will make for an enjoyable introduction to a promising contribution to the magical school genre.\u003ci\u003e\" —BCCB\u003c\/i\u003e, starred reviewJohnny Marciano is a \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author and illustrator. Alongside the well-known Klawde: Evil Alien Warlord Cat series, he has also authored the Witches of Benevento series, \u003ci\u003eThe No-Good Nine\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eMadeline at the White House\u003c\/i\u003e. A nonfiction author as well, Johnny also penned \u003ci\u003eAnonyponymous\u003c\/i\u003e. He lives in Red Hook, Brooklyn, with his wife, daughter, two cats, and a dog.\u003cb\u003ePrologue\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A man walks in the woods.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Well, something of a man. Something, also, of a beast. Not that you can tell, as his goatlike legs are obscured by baggy corduroy pants. \u003ci\u003eThese pants!\u003c\/i\u003e Too hot in such weather.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Silvenus peels the shirt away from his clammy chest, sweat circles radiating from his armpits. Never has he gotten used to this humidity. From the Latin \u003ci\u003ehumidus\u003c\/i\u003e, meaning moist or wet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Momentary relief rides in on a cool breeze. How lovely! the satyr thinks as he pauses to drink it in. Behind him, a stick breaks. He walks on, now with the sensation of being followed; the wind turns decidedly colder, causing Silvenus to shiver in his damp shirt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eOh no.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Glancing back, a shadow. Silvenus quickens his pace. Not a pretty sight, his awkward trot, yet fear propels the old satyr forward. Fear, and a breath—­huffing on the nape of his neck, on his ear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eThey’re back\u003c\/i\u003e. \u003ci\u003eWhy are they back? How did they get out? The hazards of this place!\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His ancient heart bangs against the cage of his chest and he suffers every inhale. \u003ci\u003eIs this it?\u003c\/i\u003e Of all the times Silvenus thought the end had come, to die like this, with such embarrassing armpits!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Except, the shadow has ceased chasing him. No matter; the satyr does not stop running until he makes it to the main dormitory of the Institute. Panting, Silvenus enters and is greeted by the portraits of the Founder and of Mother. He does miss her so.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Up the long flights of stairs the satyr climbs to what he still thinks of as Mother’s door. He knocks. And again. Without an answer, he twists the knob and enters. Inside, he is met by his own face, a rather more rude greeting. Silvenus uses the hall mirror to reorganize himself, then walks into the next room, where the apartment’s present occupant sits cross-­legged, meditating.  He looks even younger than his thirty-­two years, his skin as smooth and taut as the marble statuette in the corner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The satyr would prefer not to disturb Natas. Of course, he would also prefer not to get accosted by disembodied souls on his afternoon stroll in the forest. And whose fault might that be?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Why do you think \u003ci\u003eI \u003c\/i\u003ehad anything to do with it?” Natas says, eyes still closed. “You felt the earthquake. It happened on the final day of the summer retreat. Did you not tell me your favorite coffee mug broke?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Silvenus sighs his dissatisfaction. Because even if the spirit did escape by natural means, Natas could rectify the situation, were he to choose to do so. But he does not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “All creatures fear the presence of the disembodied, and why? They cannot harm us.” Natas opens his eyes to focus on Silvenus. “It is the vision of what awaits us that is terrifying.” He shuts his eyes again. “Consider these spirits a preparation for your future.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “And what are you preparing for?” Silvenus asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “You know very well,” Natas says. “The one we have been waiting for is coming. I can feel it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Natas uncrosses his legs. He doesn’t get up from his seated position; rather, he gets down. Because, you see, he has been levitating.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eThey \u003c\/i\u003eare coming.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e 1\u003cbr\u003e The Wagon Wheel\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They are sitting across from Mom in a booth at the Wagon Wheel, a retro diner in Proserpina, PA. The three of them have been driving since six in the morning, which is why they’re eating breakfast at noon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Or in Frankie’s case, not eating.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Bad enough the place is some kind of freaky cult, but a boarding school?” Frankie says. “Who wants to \u003ci\u003elive \u003c\/i\u003eat school? I just want to be with my friends.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “It’s not a cult. And stop complaining. You should be thanking your little brother,” Mom says. “The Institute wanted him so badly they’re letting you in, even with your math scores. \u003ci\u003eThat’s \u003c\/i\u003ehow gifted he is.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She beams proudly at Lucie, whose knife scrapes against his plate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Mom, don’t make Frankie feel bad,” Lucie says, chewing. “It’s not her fault that I happen to be the kind of kid who tests well. And that she’s, y’know, not so much that kind of kid. But that does \u003ci\u003enot \u003c\/i\u003einvalidate her.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lucie puts his hand on his sister’s shoulder and squeezes. He always does just the thing to make her feel worse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Frankie grits her teeth and retreats into her phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her group chat, Femme Fatality, has been blowing up all morning. Back home, school is already in session and her friends are psyched because, being in eighth grade now, they’re allowed to leave the building for lunch. They can eat wherever they want \u003ci\u003eand \u003c\/i\u003euse their phones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Frankie doesn’t know much about the school she and Lucie are going to, having refused to learn anything about it. (A form of protest that is against her best interests, like most of her protests.) But she does know two things: One, no matter what Mom says, the Institute used to be a weird 1970s mind expansion cult; and two, there’s a no cell phone policy. Even \u003ci\u003eafter \u003c\/i\u003eclass.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSTELLA\u003c\/b\u003e Wish you were here\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eTAYLOR\u003c\/b\u003e We’re at bubba’s bubbles\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSERENA\u003c\/b\u003e I’ll drink an oat milk extra boba for you\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSERENA\u003c\/b\u003e 100% sweet\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSTELLA\u003c\/b\u003e Yuk! Tooooo sweet!\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eSERENA\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Frankie looks down at her disgusting Greek omelet and makes a yuck sound. She presses the last crumb of bacon onto her finger and eats it.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eFRANKIE\u003c\/b\u003e In crappiest diner ever. I hate Pennsylvania already\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e A red exclamation point pops up next to her message. \u003ci\u003eUnable to deliver.\u003c\/i\u003e No signal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Who’s the \u003ci\u003efreak\u003c\/i\u003e?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Across the diner, teenage boys wearing camo and baseball caps are pointing at Lucie and cackling. Because of the horns on his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yes, \u003ci\u003ehorns\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “He looks like he should play for the Rams!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The other teenagers high-­five the kid who said it. Like he wasn’t the millionth jerk to make the same stupid football helmet joke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Frankie hates it when this happens. Not only because it’s mean and she feels the need to defend her little brother; it’s also one more instance of Lucie getting all the attention.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mom gets up to do something, but Lucie tells her it’s okay and goes over to talk to the camo-­and-­tractor-­hat boys. Frankie can’t hear what he’s saying, but she can see he’s charming them. The bullies touch his horns and whistle, and within minutes, they think Lucie is cool.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mom brings the check to an old-­fashioned cash register and hands it to a girl who’s maybe a year or two older than Frankie. While Mom gets out her wallet, Lucie says goodbye to the jerks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Have fun at cult school!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “You’ll fit right in with the rest of the deems!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I \u003ci\u003etold \u003c\/i\u003eyou it was a cult school,” Frankie whispers to her mom, who’s holding out a credit card.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sorry, cash only,” the girl at the register says. As Mom gives her some money, the girl turns to Frankie. “Don’t let those losers bother you. It’s not all deems at the school.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Deems?” Frankie says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Register girl nods without explaining, counting out change. Frankie notices her dyed-­black hair has pale yellow roots. Someone who doesn’t want to be blond? That’s Frankie’s kind of person.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “See you later,” the girl says.","brand":"Penguin Workshop","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301970366693,"sku":"NP9780593660966","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593660966.jpg?v=1767737981","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-66th-rebirth-of-frankie-caridi-1-isbn-9780593660966","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}