{"product_id":"the-road-to-after-isbn-9780593109618","title":"The Road to After","description":"\u003cb\u003eThis poignant debut novel in verse is a portrait of healing, as a young girl rediscovers life and the soothing power of nature after being freed from her abusive father.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor most of her life, Lacey has been a prisoner without even realizing it. Her dad rarely let her, her little sister, or her mama out of his sight. But their situation changes suddenly and dramatically the day her grandparents arrive to help them leave. It’s the beginning of a different kind of life for Lacey, and at first she has a hard time letting go of her dad’s rules. Gradually though, his hold on her lessens, and her days become filled with choices she’s never had before. Now Lacey can take pleasure in sketching the world as she sees it in her nature journal. And as she spends more time outside making things grow and creating good memories with family and friends, she feels her world opening up and blossoming into something new and exciting.\u003cbr\u003e “Fleeing domestic abuse, a girl and her family begin a hard but hopeful journey to healing. . . . Reading about Rachel Carson, Lacey finds life lessons in the natural world: observing how a sunflower grows from a seed and how a winding creek finds its own way. Lowell, who in an author’s note describes herself as a domestic-abuse survivor, focuses here on healing; the abuse is portrayed retrospectively—fitting, given her audience. Like her gentle illustrations, the verse format suits her story, a mosaic of small epiphanies that cumulatively chart a path from darkness into light. . . . A moving, age-appropriate, and convincing portrayal of family resilience after trauma.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Debut author Lowell positively depicts how trained professionals can help families regain control of their lives, and she draws upon her own experiences living in a household of abuse. Though Lacey’s struggles are emotional, her journey toward independence is filled with hope.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“[Lacey’s] journey is paralleled with the image of a growing flower and is divided into three parts: sprouting, reaching for sunlight, and blooming. Written in verse, Lacey’s journey reflects her growth, regret, and her conflicted feelings surrounding her dad while trying to understand the abuse that she and her family endured because of him. The novel is full of hope and relays a clear understanding of what it might feel like to be a young girl escaping an abusive situation—attempting to understand it and move on, while at the same time missing a parent despite the trauma he put his family through. Using nature as the framing device, the text allows the reader to see Lacey’s world opening up as she makes new friends, joins a homeschooling co-op, and learns that there is more hope and freedom in the world than she could have ever imagined.” —\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Connection\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eRebekah Lowell is an author-illustrator with a passion for the natural world. As a survivor of domestic abuse she has found the outdoors to be a healing grounds and when not in her studio, you can find her outside birding, gardening, raising butterflies—often with her daughters, who she homeschools. She has a BFA in Illustration from the Rhode Island School of Design and an MFA in Children’s Literature and Illustration from Hollins University. Her artwork has been featured on the Maine Duck Stamp four times and she is also an art educator. She lives with her family in her hometown of Biddeford, Maine.\u003cb\u003eThe First Step\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThunder\u003cbr\u003e banging on the door. \u003cbr\u003eVoices yelling—\u003cbr\u003e like lightning. \u003cbr\u003eBut—\u003cbr\u003e Daddy already left for work.\u003cbr\u003e A loud crack tells me\u003cbr\u003e the door to outside is wide open. \u003cbr\u003eLight pours in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eVisitors \u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Who is here? I dash to the edge of the stairs to see. \u003cbr\u003e“Lacey,” says Mama, running up. “Get ready. We have \u003cbr\u003eto go now.”\u003cbr\u003e I freeze.\u003cbr\u003e “Your grandparents are here to help us leave.” \u003cbr\u003eLeave?\u003cbr\u003e We’re not supposed to go anywhere. \u003cbr\u003eWe’re not supposed to leave!\u003cbr\u003e We never leave home without Daddy. \u003cbr\u003e“Now!” Mama tosses a bag to me. \u003cbr\u003e“Put on your shoes!”\u003cbr\u003e My little sister screams, curling her toes. \u003cbr\u003eJenna won’t let Mama put on her shoes.\u003cbr\u003e She knows the rules too. \u003cbr\u003eShoes mean going out—\u003cbr\u003e and we cannot go out without Daddy.\u003cbr\u003e “You didn’t tell me we were leaving!” I scream. \u003cbr\u003eMama replies, “I couldn’t—\u003cbr\u003e it wasn’t safe then.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eInvasion \u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Tall men in black boots come up the stairs. \u003cbr\u003eFootsteps like a storm.\u003cbr\u003e THUD!\u003cbr\u003e CRASH!\u003cbr\u003e CRACK!\u003cbr\u003e Their metal badges shine even in our dim room, \u003cbr\u003ewhere dark-brown fabric is pinned over the windows \u003cbr\u003eto keep out the light, the way Daddy wants it.\u003cbr\u003e I stare—at them, at their guns.\u003cbr\u003e Daddy wears his on a sling, or leaves it in the fruit bowl, \u003cbr\u003eand he yells at us if we touch it.\u003cbr\u003e “You have five minutes,” one of them warns. \u003cbr\u003eAs quick as I can, I cram things into the bag, \u003cbr\u003ebut it’s not easy with shaking hands.\u003cbr\u003e Suddenly, my grandmother comes upstairs, \u003cbr\u003erushing past the men to give Mama a hug.\u003cbr\u003e But Mémère isn’t supposed to be here! \u003cbr\u003eDaddy says she’s not allowed.\u003cbr\u003e If Daddy comes back now— \u003cbr\u003eThe thought fills me with fear.\u003cbr\u003e My face feels cold; my feet won’t move. \u003cbr\u003eI’m planted here, like a tree.\u003cbr\u003e Mama reaches for my hand.\u003cbr\u003e “It’s okay,” she says, looking into my eyes. \u003cbr\u003e“We’re going to be okay.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eRules\u003c\/b\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Daddy has many rules, \u003cbr\u003ebut Mama has rules too.\u003cbr\u003e We just have to do exactly what Daddy says— \u003cbr\u003estay quiet, stay inside,\u003cbr\u003e and if he wants to play, \u003cbr\u003eplay along.\u003cbr\u003e If we follow these rules, \u003cbr\u003eeverything will be fine.\u003cbr\u003e Leaving breaks Mama’s most important rule \u003cbr\u003eabout how to stay safe.\u003cbr\u003e Mama changed the rules and didn’t tell me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eSaving Some Things\u003c\/b\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Stick them onto what you want to bring,” Mémère says, \u003cbr\u003ehanding us each a small stack of bright-pink paper squares. \u003cbr\u003eI mark the framed pictures of our baby feet,\u003cbr\u003e Jenna’s blanket and blocks, my little deer I named Diamond, \u003cbr\u003emy drawings, Mama’s paintings, boxes stacked in a corner. \u003cbr\u003eThen I remember my nature journal.\u003cbr\u003e I find it tucked under my mattress, \u003cbr\u003ewhere I hid it from Daddy.\u003cbr\u003e Instead of tagging it, I place it in my bag. \u003cbr\u003eBut where’s Mac?\u003cbr\u003e I look around the room for our dog. \u003cbr\u003e“Mac!” I call out over and over again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eNow! \u003c\/b\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “There’s no time for that! We have to \u003cbr\u003eget you out before he comes back,” \u003cbr\u003ethe tall men roar as loud as Daddy.\u003cbr\u003e I cover my ears with my hands.\u003cbr\u003e Other men rush by, taking out boxes and boxes. \u003cbr\u003eDaddy’s long guns. Daddy’s short guns.\u003cbr\u003e They are even dropping boxes out the windows \u003cbr\u003ethat Daddy always kept closed.\u003cbr\u003e Where are they taking everything? And us?\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e“Let’s go!”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e“NOW!”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Their voices boom over Jenna’s crying. \u003cbr\u003eEven though my head is spinning,\u003cbr\u003e somehow I make it downstairs without falling. \u003cbr\u003ePépère meets me at the bottom.\u003cbr\u003e “Okay, let’s go, kiddo,” he says.\u003cbr\u003e Muddy boots have stomped\u003cbr\u003e all over the thunderstorm drawings \u003cbr\u003ethat I was making with Jenna\u003cbr\u003e on the kitchen floor this morning. \u003cbr\u003eOur drawings, stomped over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLeaving \u003c\/b\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Mac!”\u003cbr\u003e Our dog appears out of nowhere.\u003cbr\u003e He runs to me, shaking, tail tucked in, \u003cbr\u003eand I stick a pink paper square on him.\u003cbr\u003e Daddy says Mac is his, but Daddy is mean to him. \u003cbr\u003eMac whimpers while I rub his soft head.\u003cbr\u003e “Don’t worry, bud. You’re coming with me.” \u003cbr\u003eWe walk toward the open door together.\u003cbr\u003e The bright sunlight hurts my eyes, \u003cbr\u003emaking it hard to see.\u003cbr\u003e I hold on to Mac with one hand \u003cbr\u003eand Mama with the other\u003cbr\u003e as we step outside, down the broken steps \u003cbr\u003ethat Daddy never fixed.\u003cbr\u003e Our feet slop across the mud in our yard. \u003cbr\u003eThat means it’s springtime in Maine.\u003cbr\u003e The driveway is full of muddy tire tracks. \u003cbr\u003eDaddy will notice that.\u003cbr\u003e He’s going to be so mad that people were here \u003cbr\u003ewhile he was gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eIn the Driveway\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pépère opens his car door for me. \u003cbr\u003eWhite teddy bears are on the seats. \u003cbr\u003e“What about Jenna’s car seat?” I ask. \u003cbr\u003e“She has a new car seat,” he says. \u003cbr\u003e“Daddy’s going to be so mad,” I say.\u003cbr\u003e “It’s okay,” Mama says as she buckles Jenna in. \u003cbr\u003e“Don’t worry about what Daddy will think.”\u003cbr\u003e But what Daddy thinks\u003cbr\u003e is what we \u003ci\u003ealways \u003c\/i\u003eworry about.\u003cbr\u003e I take a step into the car and turn to help Mac up,\u003cbr\u003e but a man outside the car puts his hand through Mac’s collar, \u003cbr\u003eholding him back.\u003cbr\u003e “He can’t go with you now,” he says, pulling Mac away. \u003cbr\u003e“We have to get you to safety first.”\u003cbr\u003e “No!” I scream as he shuts the car door. \u003cbr\u003e“Mac!”\u003cbr\u003e My heart twists.\u003cbr\u003e “Mama!” I plead, looking at her. \u003cbr\u003eHer eyes fill, but she says nothing, \u003cbr\u003ewrapping her arm around me.\u003cbr\u003e I stare through the window at Mac. \u003cbr\u003eHe’s trying to wiggle away.\u003cbr\u003e We drive off with white teddy bears on our laps \u003cbr\u003eonto a road we’ve never been on without Daddy.","brand":"Nancy Paulsen Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303436800229,"sku":"NP9780593109618","price":16.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593109618.jpg?v=1767741261","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-road-to-after-isbn-9780593109618","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}