{"product_id":"weird-sad-and-silent-isbn-9780593859674","title":"Weird Sad and Silent","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn this touching novel by the acclaimed author of \u003ci\u003eTelephone of the Tree, \u003c\/i\u003ean intriguing new boy at school helps Daisy cope with both bullying and past trauma.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDaisy has been working on invisibilizing herself—ever since living with her mother’s violent ex-boyfriend, and now to avoid the school bullies who are targeting her. She keeps a low profile, eating lunch with the librarian instead of in the Lunchroom of Terror and secretly counting whenever she’s anxious.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut things are looking up. A new boy has befriended her and seems able to stand up to the bullies, and the stray cat she’s been feeding is starting to almost trust her. Maybe she can finally focus on \u003ci\u003efuturizing \u003c\/i\u003erather than invisibilizing.\"Written in compelling, read aloud-ready vignettes that are as compact as they are impactful, McGhee delivers a distinctly voiced story of connection and resilience.\" \u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"This is a moving tale of self-acceptance with a heap of tender respect for the quiet, weird, and sad kids everywhere.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e★\"McGhee adeptly balances a candid yet sensitive portrayal of domestic violence and its lasting impacts with a nuanced exploration of self-discovery and the power of friendship. In Daisy, she’s crafted a protagonist with a rich inner life.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Well-developed characters in a believable world and short chapters make for accessible, enjoyable reading, balancing harder elements of the story with the beauty of community. A hopeful, heartening story.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"McGhee’s nuanced portrayal of living in the aftermath of trauma is poignant and vital. Daisy’s complex relationship with counting, as well as her compulsions to “pastify” and “futurize” her life provide a medley of sadness and hope for young readers. Her coming-of-age arc from an invisible student to someone who isn’t afraid to take up space is powerful and engaging. McGhee’s simple diction is complemented by her fierce commentary on the strength of differences and self-acceptance, and readers will finish this novel futurizing an authentic life of their own. A brutally beautiful portrayal of the power of finding your own voice, this is a necessary buy for libraries hoping to expand their mental health-centric collections.” —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"McGhee’s story is full of positive adult role models, empathy for others, and optimism to persevere through the “weird,” “sad” silence that may fall in the wake of trauma.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book Magazine\u003c\/i\u003eAlison McGhee is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of books for all ages in all forms, including \u003ci\u003eTelephone of the Tree, What I Leave Behind, Shadow Baby, Firefly Hollow\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eSomeday\u003c\/i\u003e. She is the recipient of many awards and grants, including the Geisel Medal, the Christopher Award, four Minnesota Book Awards, and Minnesota State Arts Board and McKnight Foundation Grants. Her work has been translated into more than twenty languages. She grew up in upstate New York and lives in Minneapolis.I\u003cbr\u003eTo begin, my name is Daisy Jackson. I am ten years old, or as we say in Roman numerals, X years old. I am a fifth--grade student at Haven Elementary. Here are a few other random facts about me, just to get us started.\u003cbr\u003eI. I live with my mama.\u003cbr\u003eII. We live in an apartment building.\u003cbr\u003eIII. Lulu lives next door.\u003cbr\u003eIV. Mama works nights for Glorious Clean, an office--cleaning company.\u003cbr\u003eV. Offices are busy during the day, so all the Glorious Cleaners like Mama work nights.\u003cbr\u003eVI. That means Mama and I have a few hours together after school before she goes to work, and an hour in the morning before she goes to bed and I go to school.\u003cbr\u003eVII. You might think I would get scared at night when Mama’s working, but Lulu stays with me, so I don’t.\u003cbr\u003eVIII. I have a future cat whose name is Rumble Paws. He’s currently a feral cat, but I’ve come up with a plan to get him to trust me.\u003cbr\u003eIX. My Rumble Paws Trust Plan may take a while, because right now Rumble Paws does not trust me\u003ci\u003eat all\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003eX. Are you tired of the numbers on this list? I hope not. I have to memorize them up to 100, or C, as we say in Roman numerals.\u003cbr\u003eII\u003cbr\u003eMs. Capon, our math teacher, is the one who gave us the Roman numeral assignment. Nobody else likes the assignment but me. Probably because they don’t love to count the way I do.\u003cbr\u003eMy favorite number to count to is 111, or CXI, as we say in Roman numerals. My second--favorite number is 222, or CCXXII. Someday I might tell you why I love these numbers.\u003ci\u003eMight\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003eMs. Capon tells us to look for repeating patterns in math, but repeating patterns also apply to words. Words like\u003ci\u003eyet\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003emight\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003esomeday.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy future cat Rumble Paws isn’t my friend. \u003ci\u003eYet\u003c\/i\u003e. Right now, he hunches low in the weeds that grow along the side of our building. He won’t come near me.\u003ci\u003eYet.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut \u003ci\u003esomeday\u003c\/i\u003e, in the future, Rumble Paws \u003ci\u003emight\u003c\/i\u003e sit on my lap and let me brush and pet him.\u003ci\u003eSomeday\u003c\/i\u003e, in the future, Rumble Paws \u003ci\u003emight\u003c\/i\u003e fall asleep on my lap and purr.\u003cbr\u003eThe basics of my Rumble Paws Trust Plan are as follows:\u003cbr\u003eI. Bribe him with food, like tuna, so he can’t resist me.\u003cbr\u003eII. Sit and watch him while he eats. Silently hold out my hand so he gets used to my scent.\u003cbr\u003eIII. Be there every day for Rumble Paws, no matter what.\u003cbr\u003eIV. Envision the day when Rumble Paws is purring on my lap.\u003cbr\u003eIII\u003cbr\u003eMs. Capon says visualizing can help us get better at our goals. She was talking about things like math and grades, but I think visualizing can also apply to terrified feral cats and girls who live in apartment buildings.\u003cbr\u003eInstead of visualizing, I’ve decided to call it futurizing. The future has not yet come. But I’m working on it.\u003cbr\u003eHere’s how I futurize Rumble Paws. I sit in back of my apartment building, next to the clump of weeds, a can of tuna in front of my crossed legs, waiting.\u003cbr\u003eI pick up the tuna can and sloooooowly peel back the top and sloooooowly set the open can on the ground in front of me.\u003cbr\u003eThen I put my hands behind my back and start counting with my fingertips:\u003ci\u003eone two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven\u003c\/i\u003e, all the way up to my favorite number, 111. Or, as you might already know, CXI in Roman numerals. I started counting back when we still lived with my mama’s ex--boyfriend.\u003cbr\u003eI keep my hands behind my back, fingertips tapping as lightly as possible so there’s no movement. No movement is essential. It’s only when I’m still that Rumble Paws feels safe enough to approach.\u003cbr\u003eToday is only one day.\u003cbr\u003eThere will be many more to come for me and Rumble Paws.\u003cbr\u003eIV\u003cbr\u003eOver and over my fingertips tap. I still my breathing as slow and light as I possibly can. The brick behind my back is warm from the sun.\u003cbr\u003eI slit my eyes, catlike.\u003cbr\u003eI try to imagine my way into Rumble Paws’s mind and heart. Try to imagine what it’s like to have no home, to slink along the side of our apartment building, hidden by the tall weeds, drawn by the smell of tuna.\u003cbr\u003eDoes he think about me? Does he even know I’m there? Or am I invisible? Counting is one thing I’m good at, and invisibilizing myself is another.\u003cbr\u003eI lean against the warm brick. Smell the tuna, waiting in its can. Watch the weeds with slitted eyes, hoping to see them moving, hoping to see my future cat emerge.\u003ci\u003eOne two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven—-\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWait.\u003cbr\u003eStop counting.\u003cbr\u003eSomething’s wrong.\u003cbr\u003eDanger!\u003cbr\u003eHow do I know? I just do. Always. Maybe I’ll explain later. Maybe I won’t.\u003cbr\u003e“Well, well, well! It’s Weird Sad and Silent!” a voice says. “And look what she’s doing, Sophie! Being—-”\u003cbr\u003e“Weird sad and silent,” another voice finishes.\u003cbr\u003eI know those voices. They belong to Tad and Sophie, bullies of our fifth grade. What are they doing behind my apartment building?\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDon’t look at them. Don’t move. Say nothing.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eV\u003cbr\u003eIt’s unsettling how tall some people can seem when you’re sitting on the ground and they’re looming over you. Tad is grinning the way he does when he’s being mean, which is most of the time, but Sophie is not.\u003cbr\u003eThe can stays steady on the ground in front of my crossed legs.\u003cbr\u003e“Could she get any weirder?” Tad says.\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t think so,” Sophie says.\u003cbr\u003eI keep my eyes straight in front of me. I stay completely still. To the outside observer, I don’t even notice who’s standing in front of me.\u003cbr\u003eBut behind me, my fingertips press wildly: \u003ci\u003eone two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd inside of me is a whole different story.\u003cbr\u003eInside of me, I’m back in time, two years ago, on the day Tad and Sophie first gave me the nickname Weird Sad and Silent.\u003cbr\u003eOn that day, I was in the Haven community garden, running around, touching each raised bed and calling out the numbers. Out loud, which I never do.\u003cbr\u003e1 to 111.\u003cbr\u003eOr I to CXI in Roman numerals.\u003cbr\u003eThere are thirty raised beds in the community garden. I ran past every one three plus times, until I got to my favorite number, 111.\u003cbr\u003eThat’s when I looked up and saw Tad and Sophie laughing at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHahahahaha!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHahahahaha!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eVI\u003cbr\u003eThat was not a good feeling.\u003cbr\u003eCorrection: It was a terrible feeling.\u003cbr\u003eThe second I saw them I went silent, like I do when I’m scared.\u003cbr\u003e“Don’t stop now!” Tad said.\u003cbr\u003eSophie said, “Keep on counting!”\u003cbr\u003eBut I didn’t say one more word.\u003cbr\u003eAt school, Tad and Sophie made fun of me at recess. They stood there pretending they were running, flinging their hands around, counting out loud and then clamping their mouths shut. And telling everyone that Daisy Jackson was weird, sad, and silent.\u003cbr\u003eThat’s when I got my nickname: Weird Sad and Silent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eYeah, we saw her in the garden running around calling out numbers and we’re like how WEIRD and also how SAD, I mean who runs around\u003c\/i\u003e counting\u003ci\u003e? And then she sees us and instantly goes SILENT.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey were talking about me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI was just counting\u003c\/i\u003e, I wanted to say, \u003ci\u003ejust counting to 111\u003c\/i\u003e, but I didn’t, because it was hard to breathe.\u003cbr\u003eHard to think.\u003cbr\u003eSo I did what I do when it’s hard to breathe and hard to think.\u003cbr\u003eI put my fingers behind my back and tapped the tips of my fingers together one at a time, over and over, counting under my breath:\u003ci\u003eone two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven\u003c\/i\u003e, on and on.\u003cbr\u003eThen they started laughing all over again.\u003cbr\u003eVII\u003cbr\u003eThis happened in third grade, but sometimes I still think about that day. I remember standing there. Trying to breathe. Trying to think.\u003cbr\u003eCounting and counting and counting.\u003cbr\u003eI remember looking around at everyone listening to Tad and Sophie, sneaking looks at me. I remember some of them laughing too.\u003cbr\u003eIt was like my life split in two right in that moment: Before weird sad and silent and After weird sad and silent.\u003cbr\u003eUntil that day, I didn’t think of myself as anything but Daisy Jackson. A kid who used to live with her mama and her mama’s ex--boyfriend but who now lived with her mama in a different apartment across town. A kid who, even though she was quiet, had a few friends she ate lunch with and sat next to. A kid who counted a lot. Whose favorite number is 111 and whose favorite future number is 222.\u003cbr\u003eBut now, in the After, I’m a kid looking back on the Before. Before, when I ran around the garden counting each raised bed until I got to 111. Before, when everybody just thought of me as a quiet kid who mostly kept to herself.\u003cbr\u003eBefore, before, before.\u003cbr\u003eSince that day, I’ve perfected the art of invisibilizing myself, which is something else I started doing back when we lived with the ex--boyfriend.\u003cbr\u003eVIII\u003cbr\u003eI know how to turn invisible, but at Haven Elementary School I am 100%, or C% as we say in Roman numerals, visible to both Captain and Marimba.\u003cbr\u003eCaptain is the custodian at Haven. He knows I like to come to school early and he’s usually waiting for me inside the big double doors. One thing about Captain is he memorizes everyone’s full name and he always uses both names.\u003cbr\u003eOur librarian insists everyone use only her first name, Marimba, but Captain can’t handle it, so he calls her Marimba Surname. It’s a small point of contention between the two of them.\u003cbr\u003e“How’s my girl Daisy Jackson this morning?” Captain says.\u003cbr\u003eCaptain always calls me \u003ci\u003emy girl.\u003c\/i\u003e I’ve never heard him call anyone\u003ci\u003emy girl\u003c\/i\u003e and I don’t really want to, either. There’s something about pushing open the big doors and being the first kid in school and hearing Captain say\u003ci\u003eHow’s my girl\u003c\/i\u003e that makes me feel better. Like everything will be okay.\u003cbr\u003e“Your girl is good,” I say. We smile at each other.\u003cbr\u003e“How’s your mama doing?”\u003cbr\u003e“Tired. Sleeping.”\u003cbr\u003e“Hard worker, your mama,” Captain says. “Everyone walks around with a stone in their shoe. You both doing better now, though.”\u003cbr\u003eI don’t really understand what the stone thing means but Captain says it a lot, so I file it away.\u003cbr\u003eIX\u003cbr\u003eAfter Captain, I head straight to the library. It’s still early. Half an hour before the start--of--school buzzer.\u003cbr\u003eMarimba the librarian is usually drinking coffee. She says caffeine is how she gets through the day, what with all these children and all these books and all these demands, and what would she do without coffee, and God help the day anyone finds out. The library is officially called the media center but Marimba calls it the library because she likes the sound of\u003ci\u003elibrary\u003c\/i\u003e better.\u003cbr\u003e“A library should be a refuge,” Marimba says, “and \u003ci\u003emedia center\u003c\/i\u003e just doesn’t have the same ring.”\u003cbr\u003eMarimba started playing the marimbas when she was little. That’s how she got her nickname. She loves music and bright colors and dancing, and more than anything, she loves books and children. Most of them, anyway. Even if she complains about them.\u003cbr\u003e“My Daisy,” she says, smiling. “Bright and early as always. How are you today?”\u003cbr\u003e“Pretty good.”\u003cbr\u003e“Reading anything good lately?”\u003cbr\u003e“Of course.”\u003cbr\u003eMarimba nods, like she expected that answer.\u003cbr\u003e“How’s your future cat? How are we doing with the trust thing?”\u003cbr\u003e“Not that great,” I say. “So far.”\u003cbr\u003e“Am I to take it that there’s been no progress?”\u003cbr\u003e“Nope. Not yet.”\u003cbr\u003eBut today is just one day, and futurizing a terrified feral cat takes time. A long time.\u003cbr\u003eX\u003cbr\u003eMarimba and Captain have known me since I started kindergarten here at Haven. Marimba was the one who found me hiding in the back of the library the first week of school after our kindergarten teacher, Mr. Kennedy, had already walked our whole class back to our room.\u003cbr\u003eI was hiding because I didn’t want to leave the library. This is before I learned how to be fully invisible; otherwise, maybe Marimba wouldn’t have found me. I hid in the very last row of books, crouched down facing the wall so no one would know I was there, pretending to read a book.\u003cbr\u003eI mean, I was five years old. I didn’t know how to read yet. Most little kids don’t. I had picked the book because I liked the cover.\u003cbr\u003e“Hi there, Daisy,” a voice said. “What are you reading?”\u003cbr\u003eDang it! She’d found me right away! She already knew my name! I didn’t turn around.\u003cbr\u003e“A book,” I said. It came out more like a whisper.\u003cbr\u003eShe sat down right behind me. A grown--up, sitting on the floor? I turned around enough to peek. The book was still in my hands.\u003cbr\u003e“You have great taste,” Marimba said. “That’s one of my very favorite books.”\u003cbr\u003eShe’d found me. But she wasn’t being mean to me. And she didn’t seem angry either.","brand":"Rocky Pond Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300125429989,"sku":"NP9780593859674","price":17.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593859674.jpg?v=1767743741","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/weird-sad-and-silent-isbn-9780593859674","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}