{"product_id":"the-burning-season-isbn-9780593617953","title":"The Burning Season","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn this riveting coming-of-age survival story in verse, a fire lookout-in-training must find her courage when a wildfire breaks out on her watch. Now in paperback.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwelve-year-old Opal is preparing to become a fourth-generation lookout on Wolf Mountain, deep in the New Mexico wilderness. She, Mom, and Gran live at ten thousand feet in a single room at the top of a fire tower. They are responsible for spotting any hint of smoke before it becomes an uncontrollable blaze. But Opal has a secret: she’s deathly afraid of fire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInstead of training for the lonely life of a lookout, Opal wishes she could be starting seventh grade in Silver City, attending classes with kids her own age. But Wolf Mountain has other ideas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Mom makes the long trek to town for supplies and Gran goes missing, Opal is the only one to spot a tell-tale spiral of smoke moving up the mountainside. She’ll have to be braver than she’s ever been as she heads into the woods, beyond Wolf Ridge’s old blackened burn scar, to face down a fire on her own. But a fire is what took her father away, and Opal has already felt the sting of smoke and lick of flames. How can she be brave enough to do this on her own?\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Burning Season\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e: \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Junior Library Guild Selection\u003cbr\u003eAn NCTE 2026 Notable Children’s Poetry Books and Verse Novels Selection\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e★ “\u003c\/b\u003e[A]\u003cb\u003e masterful\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003ememorable coming-of-age tale\u003c\/b\u003e that \u003cb\u003esensitively explores the power and pressures of family legacy\u003c\/b\u003e.”—\u003ci\u003eBookPage\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e★ \u003c\/b\u003e“This novel written in \u003cb\u003eemotive free verse\u003c\/b\u003e brings the \u003cb\u003eemotional impact\u003c\/b\u003e of poetry to 12-year-old Opal Gloria Halloway’s \u003cb\u003ecoming-of-age tale of survival\u003c\/b\u003e. A young wilderness lookout confronts family expectations and her fear of fire… \u003cb\u003eBelievable emotions\u003c\/b\u003e,\u003cb\u003e gripping action\u003c\/b\u003e, and skillfully incorporated information about \u003cb\u003eclimate change and wildfire management\u003c\/b\u003e make this a \u003cb\u003erelatable\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003eengaging \u003c\/b\u003eread. \u003cb\u003eA girl-versus-nature story\u003c\/b\u003e that \u003cb\u003eshines with evocative verse\u003c\/b\u003e, a \u003cb\u003ecompelling protagonist\u003c\/b\u003e, and a \u003cb\u003ebrisk plotline\u003c\/b\u003e.”—\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “\u003cb\u003eExcellent pacing\u003c\/b\u003e, an \u003cb\u003eengrossing plot\u003c\/b\u003e, and an \u003cb\u003eendearing main character\u003c\/b\u003e make this \u003cb\u003eimpossible to put down\u003c\/b\u003e. \u003cb\u003eA riveting survival story \u003c\/b\u003ewith \u003cb\u003eemotional growth\u003c\/b\u003e…Opal's voice shines through each poem, deepening moments of \u003cb\u003eemotional resonance\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003eintensifying action\u003c\/b\u003e sequences.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This \u003cb\u003ethrilling\u003c\/b\u003e novel in verse packs all of the \u003cb\u003eadventure\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003eexcitement\u003c\/b\u003e of a \u003cb\u003esurvival\u003c\/b\u003e story into concise, poetic stanzas.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eThe adventure starts fast\u003c\/b\u003e in this \u003cb\u003ewilderness survival verse novel\u003c\/b\u003e…the style brings readers along with Opal, racing through the forest as she calls on everything she has learned to take control…Descriptions of the National Forest feel \u003cb\u003evivid \u003c\/b\u003eand \u003cb\u003erealistic\u003c\/b\u003e; Opal and her family know and love the land and \u003cb\u003edetailed pictures\u003c\/b\u003e are painted by the verse.”—\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eRiveting\u003c\/b\u003e, original, deftly written, \u003cb\u003eemotionally engaging\u003c\/b\u003e, and a \u003cb\u003efascinating \u003c\/b\u003eread from start to finish.”—\u003ci\u003eMidwest Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As Rose layers ongoing drama, the \u003cb\u003etension ramps up\u003c\/b\u003e. In a \u003cb\u003egripping climax\u003c\/b\u003e, Opal, alone, hunts for and then fights to contain a blaze\u003cb\u003e… lyrically evocative\u003c\/b\u003e.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003eCaroline Starr Rose is an author whose books have been ALA-ALSC Notable, Junior Library Guild, ABA New Voices, Kids’ Indie Next, Amazon’s Best Books of the Month for Kids, and have been nominated for almost two dozen state award lists. She spent her childhood in the deserts of Saudi Arabia and New Mexico and taught social studies and English in four different states. Caroline lives in New Mexico.\u003cb\u003eLIGHTNING CUTS\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eacross the sky.\u003cbr\u003eThe lantern casts\u003cbr\u003estrange shadows.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThunder booms\u003cbr\u003eclose enough\u003cbr\u003eI feel its echo\u003cbr\u003ein my chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWind whips,\u003cbr\u003erattling dishes.\u003cbr\u003eCups clink\u003cbr\u003ein their crate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI press my hand\u003cbr\u003eto the windowpane.\u003cbr\u003eThe glass is ice,\u003cbr\u003ethe air not much warmer\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eup here, in a box\u003cbr\u003ewith metal legs\u003cbr\u003eperched on the edge\u003cbr\u003eof a mountainside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLightning burns,\u003cbr\u003ethunder follows,\u003cbr\u003eno distance in between.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI mark the glass on the Firefinder,\u003cbr\u003ebut bolts of light come so fast\u003cbr\u003ethe Xs I make\u003cbr\u003eare only a few\u003cbr\u003eof all the strikes I’ve seen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe tower’s grounded with copper wire\u003cbr\u003erunning straight to bedrock.\u003cbr\u003eIf lightning strikes, its current is carried\u003cbr\u003edeep underground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA fire tower’s the safest place\u003cbr\u003ea person could be in a storm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut the potbellied stove might be dangerous.\u003cbr\u003eSmoke’s made of carbon, Gran says.\u003cbr\u003eIt transmits electricity.\u003cbr\u003eShe told me a story where a lightning bolt\u003cbr\u003eonce zipped through a stovepipe, burning a lookout.\u003cbr\u003eI fill a cup, pour it over the coals.\u003cbr\u003eSteam fills the air, a puff of ash.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn Aunt Dor’s day, a tower was struck\u003cbr\u003ein the Mangas Mountains, killing a lookout.\u003cbr\u003eAnd even with the grounding wires,\u003cbr\u003eBarb, on Black Mountain, a few years back\u003cbr\u003ehad shoes blown off her feet!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grab the stool stored under the sink.\u003cbr\u003eWe call it our lightning chair.\u003cbr\u003eIt’s a simple square with glass insulators,\u003cbr\u003elike little jam jars, covering its legs.\u003cbr\u003eThere’s not enough room for three to sit,\u003cbr\u003ebut there’s enough—barely—\u003cbr\u003efor three to stand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI think of Mom and Gran and me,\u003cbr\u003ehuddled together, holding each other,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewhile I’m here alone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eSTRIKE\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLightning burns\u003cbr\u003ethunder explodes\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eelectricity prickles\u003cbr\u003eover my arms\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ea blinding flash\u003cbr\u003ea deafening blast!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003elike the world’s\u003cbr\u003ebeing torn\u003cbr\u003eto pieces\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePRAYER\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePlease God\u003cbr\u003eplease God\u003cbr\u003ekeep Gran safe\u003cbr\u003ehold her close\u003cbr\u003eGod please\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eSTATIC FROM THE RADIO\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMark or Jim checking in.\u003cbr\u003eMaybe Mark has news of Gran.\u003cbr\u003eBut thunder masks the choppy words.\u003cbr\u003eThe radio’s signal is weak.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI lift the receiver.\u003cbr\u003e“Silver City? Please repeat.\u003cbr\u003eAre you there, Signal Peak?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo click\u003cbr\u003eno static\u003cbr\u003eonly emptiness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eTHE MORNING IS BEAUTIFUL\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003equiet and calm,\u003cbr\u003eas it always is after a storm.\u003cbr\u003eA hint of sun warms the east.\u003cbr\u003eNearby, a pinyon jay sings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe cab is freezing.\u003cbr\u003eI wrap Gran’s quilt around my shoulders.\u003cbr\u003eSomehow deep in the night\u003cbr\u003eI finally fell asleep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI reach for the radio again,\u003cbr\u003epress the button to make a call.\u003cbr\u003eBut no static crackles.\u003cbr\u003eThere’s no sound at all.\u003cbr\u003eThe jay goes on singing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eBATTERIES\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI dig through the crates\u003cbr\u003eand Mom’s desk drawers\u003cbr\u003ethe magazine basket\u003cbr\u003ethe kitchen cupboards\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efrantically searching,\u003cbr\u003ewildly hoping\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe last\u003cbr\u003earen’t\u003cbr\u003ein the radio.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the shed I find\u003cbr\u003eGran’s firepack\u003cbr\u003efrom the olden days.\u003cbr\u003eI open the pouches\u003cbr\u003epull everything out\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003esifting, sorting,\u003cbr\u003ehoping, hoping.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn a zippered pocket\u003cbr\u003enext to a flashlight\u003cbr\u003eand old battered canteen—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere. A set of batteries.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grab them and ones\u003cbr\u003efrom the flashlight too,\u003cbr\u003ethen rush upstairs,\u003cbr\u003etesting them all,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003etrying and trying\u003cbr\u003ethe radio.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eWHAT'S BEST\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI take a deep breath,\u003cbr\u003elet it out slowly.\u003cbr\u003eThe batteries failed.\u003cbr\u003eThe radio’s dead.\u003cbr\u003eI can’t send word to Silver City,\u003cbr\u003ecan’t tell Mark that Gran’s still not back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy now Mark’s talked to the Salazars.\u003cbr\u003eJeanette could be hiking over right now,\u003cbr\u003eleaving Bear Wallow to help find Gran.\u003cbr\u003eMark will know when I don’t sign in\u003cbr\u003esomething’s wrong here too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat flare I saw, the flash of light—\u003cbr\u003eI know better than anyone\u003cbr\u003ethe spot where Gran might be.\u003cbr\u003eShe must be deeper in the woods\u003cbr\u003ebeyond the old burn scar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m the one who has to find her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePREPARATIONS\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe firepack from olden days\u003cbr\u003eI take from the storage shed.\u003cbr\u003eBigger than my hiking pack,\u003cbr\u003ethere are things inside that might be useful:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ea collapsible shovel,\u003cbr\u003ea dented canteen,\u003cbr\u003ean old compass that’s broken and cracked,\u003cbr\u003ea box of matches, a first aid kit,\u003cbr\u003ea map of the Gila Wilderness.\u003cbr\u003eA Pulaski handle sticks from the bag,\u003cbr\u003epart axe, part hoe, a double tool\u003cbr\u003efire crews use to build a line—\u003cbr\u003eto clear vegetation down to the soil\u003cbr\u003eto keep a fire from spreading.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUpstairs again, I make my plan.\u003cbr\u003eI’ll check the woods a second time,\u003cbr\u003ethen work my way out from there.\u003cbr\u003eIf the flash of light was really Gran,\u003cbr\u003eif she was able to get to shelter,\u003cbr\u003eshe’s probably on the side of Wolf Ridge\u003cbr\u003ewhere the fire burned years ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe thought of it ignites my fears.\u003cbr\u003eIf I hadn’t stopped searching yesterday,\u003cbr\u003eshe wouldn’t have spent a night in the storm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA quick sponge bath at the sink,\u003cbr\u003eI brush my teeth and braid my hair,\u003cbr\u003epull on a faded pair of jeans,\u003cbr\u003ea red sweatshirt,\u003cbr\u003emy hiking boots,\u003cbr\u003ereach for the coat\u003cbr\u003ethat’s grown too small,\u003cbr\u003ea turquoise baseball cap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI scoop beans into a mason jar,\u003cbr\u003efill the canteen and a water bottle,\u003cbr\u003egrab the mini water filter,\u003cbr\u003eapples and granola bars,\u003cbr\u003eroll up my mat and sleeping bag\u003cbr\u003eand strap them to the pack.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI unhook our mirror from where it hangs\u003cbr\u003eon a string near the door.\u003cbr\u003eIt’s about the size of my science book.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere.\u003cbr\u003eThat’s everything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLOVE, OPAL\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI can’t leave without a note.\u003cbr\u003eWhat if Jeanette comes while I’m gone?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe radio’s dead.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’ve got to find Gran.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI think she tried to signal me\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003efrom the woods on the other side of the river\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003enear the Wolf Ridge scar.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eIf you find her first, tell her I love her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy throat aches with tears.\u003cbr\u003eI grab my pack.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI scan the cab one last time,\u003cbr\u003ethe solar-powered lantern still burning\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ein case Gran comes,\u003cbr\u003ebeats me back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eOUTSIDE ON THE CATWALK\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grip the mirror’s sides\u003cbr\u003eand face the mountains\u003cbr\u003emiles from here—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe faraway Mangas,\u003cbr\u003etheir friend Eagle Peak,\u003cbr\u003eSignal’s curved dome,\u003cbr\u003eBlack Mountain’s smooth back,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewhere others live\u003cbr\u003ein towers like\u003cbr\u003emine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBack in the day\u003cbr\u003elookouts used mirrors,\u003cbr\u003esent flashes tower to tower.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe morning is new. The sun still low.\u003cbr\u003eI tilt the mirror to catch the light\u003cbr\u003eand move it side to side.\u003cbr\u003eUp and down I shift the glass,\u003cbr\u003eunsure if I’m doing it right.\u003cbr\u003eI face northwest, where Bear Wallow is,\u003cbr\u003ethen Eagle due north, and Black northeast.\u003cbr\u003eLast, I try Signal Peak.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOthers must have heard last night\u003cbr\u003ewhen I talked to Mark on the radio.\u003cbr\u003eNow maybe they’ll see these flashes of light—\u003cbr\u003emaybe Gran will see them too—\u003cbr\u003emy message she’s missing,\u003cbr\u003ethat I’m coming soon.","brand":"Nancy Paulsen Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233635971301,"sku":"NP9780593617953","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593617953.jpg?v=1767738570","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-burning-season-isbn-9780593617953","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}