{"product_id":"when-the-world-tips-over-isbn-9780525429098","title":"When the World Tips Over","description":"\u003cb\u003e* An Instant \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Bestseller *\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Jandy Nelson is a true virtuoso . . . I am fervently in love with this brave, funny, tender, exuberant beating heart of a book.\" —Becky Albertalli, author of \u003ci\u003eSimon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eImogen, Obviously\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe explosive new novel that brims with love, secrets, and enchantment by Jandy Nelson, Printz Award–winning and \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eI’ll Give You the Sun\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The Fall siblings live in hot Northern California wine country, where the sun pours out of the sky, and the devil winds blow so hard they whip the sense right out of your head.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Years ago, the Fall kids’ father mysteriously disappeared, cracking the family into pieces. Now Dizzy Fall, age twelve, bakes cakes, sees spirits, and wishes she were a heroine of a romance novel. Miles Fall, seventeen, brainiac, athlete, and dog-whisperer, is a raving beauty, but also lost, and desperate to meet the kind of guy he dreams of. And Wynton Fall, nineteen, who raises the temperature of a room just by entering it, is a virtuoso violinist set on a crash course for fame . . . or self-destruction.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Then an enigmatic rainbow-haired girl shows up, tipping the Falls’ world over. She might be an angel. Or a saint. Or an ordinary girl. Somehow, she is vital to each of them. But before anyone can figure out who she is, catastrophe strikes, leaving the Falls more broken than ever. And more desperate to be whole.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e With road trips, rivalries, family curses, love stories within love stories within love stories, and sorrows and joys passed from generation to generation, this is the intricate, luminous tale of a family’s complicated past and present. And only in telling their stories can they hope to rewrite their futures.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Splendid and complex . . . Satisfying and soul-thrilling.\" \u003c\/b\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eSLJ\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Transcendently beautiful.” \u003c\/b\u003e—Nina LaCour, author of \u003ci\u003eWe Are Okay\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Jandy Nelson is a rare, explosive talent.” \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e—Tahereh Mafi, author of the Shatter Me series\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sumptuous . . . Captivating . . . Luscious, start to finish.” \u003c\/b\u003e—Shelf Awareness (starred review)\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A technicolor fever dream offering readers a sensory feast.”\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e —\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"A gloriously intricate and expansive YA\/adult crossover . . . Stunningly generous.\"\u003c\/b\u003e —Just Imagine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e“\u003c\/b\u003eSublime, intricate, and dazzling.” \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e—Helena Fox, author of\u003ci\u003e How It Feels to Float\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"A complex, seductive YA heartbreaker.” \u003c\/b\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Intoxicating. [Destined to] firmly lodge itself within many, many hearts.”\u003c\/b\u003e —\u003ci\u003eThe Irish Times\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Magical and moving.\" \u003c\/b\u003e—Common Sense Media\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Beautiful.”\u003c\/b\u003e —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Unforgettable.\" \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Observer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Profound.\"\u003c\/b\u003e —\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003ePW\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e* Instant \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Bestseller *\u003cbr\u003e* #1 Indie Bestseller *\u003cbr\u003e* \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003eBestseller *\u003cbr\u003e* Chicago Public Library Best Books of the Year *\u003cbr\u003e* Common Sense Media Best Books of the Year *\u003cbr\u003e* \u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e Best Books of the Year *\u003cbr\u003e* \u003ci\u003eIrish Times\u003c\/i\u003e Best Books of the Year *\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e* The Children's Book Review \u003c\/i\u003eBest Teen Books of the Year *\u003cbr\u003e* ALA Rainbow List Selection *\u003cbr\u003e* Amazon Best Booka of the Last 25 Years *\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e★ \u003c\/b\u003e\"In this multigenerational epic sprinkled with magic, Nelson (\u003ci\u003eI’ll Give You the Sun\u003c\/i\u003e) tackles grief, love, and the ways in which history commingles with the present. . . . Intricately rendered [and told] via myriad alternating perspectives . . . Nelson takes readers on a whirlwind journey toward a profound and satisfying destination.\" \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e★ \u003c\/b\u003eNelson expertly weaves [all the threads] to create a splendid and complex tale. Her writing is magnetic. [Readers] will fall in love with her characters [and] be rewarded with a satisfying and soul-thrilling ending. This long-awaited follow-up to \u003ci\u003eI'll Give You the Sun\u003c\/i\u003e is well worth the wait. \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e★ \u003c\/b\u003e“A multilayered [and] sumptuous example of fabulism, [\u003ci\u003eWhen the World Tips Over\u003c\/i\u003e] is steeped in the mysteries and missteps of the human condition . . . Luscious, start to finish.” \u003cb\u003e—Shelf Awareness (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhen the World Tips Over\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e is transcendently beautiful. It bursts with life and spills over with heartache and love.” \u003cb\u003e—Nina LaCour, Printz Award-winning author of \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eWe Are Okay \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eand \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eYerba Buena\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003c\/i\u003eSublime, intricate, and dazzling, \u003ci\u003eWhen the World Tips Over \u003c\/i\u003ekept opening and opening before me like a glorious map of treasures. I loved all of its delightful, flawed, sensitive characters, and the magic inside each of them. Jandy Nelson has created an epic and intimate tale. I adored it.” \u003cb\u003e—Helena Fox, award-winning author of\u003ci\u003e How It Feels to Float \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Quiet and the Loud\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Jandy Nelson is a rare, explosive talent. Her prose is vivid, breathtaking, and drenched in passion, and her stories remind me why words can change the world.” \u003cb\u003e—Tahereh Mafi,\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of the Shatter Me series\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jandy Nelson is a true virtuoso, and \u003ci\u003eWhen The World Tips Over\u003c\/i\u003e left me speechless. I am fervently in love with this brave, funny, tender, exuberant beating heart of a book.” \u003cb\u003e—Becky Albertalli, \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eSimon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda \u003c\/i\u003eand co-author with Adam Silvera of\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e What If It's Us\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A delirious, intoxicating spell of a book destined to end up on many important award lists and to firmly lodge itself within many, many hearts.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Irish Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“100% Nelson’s signature fabulism and evocative, lyrical prose . . . Readers will be satisfied by the emotional collision of the various plotlines and the richly drawn main and secondary characters. . . . A technicolor fever dream offering readers a sensory feast.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eKirkus\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] complex family saga about self-understanding, relationships, secrets, and passed-down family trauma. . . . Traversing a wide range of topics and emotions through multiple perspectives and formats, \u003ci\u003eWorld\u003c\/i\u003e contemplates each with due attention and nuance, [achieving] a quilt-like story both in its warmth and in its patches coming together to make a beautiful narrative.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Jandy Nelson weaves an unforgettable tapestry of love, loss and magic realism. [Her] lyrical writing has a folksy, dreamy quality in this rewarding and complex multigenerational epic.\" \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Observer \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A gloriously intricate and expansive YA\/adult crossover . . . Nelson’s style is playful [yet her] writing reverberates with the pain of loss and longing . . . Almost nobody [in the novel] is who they initially seem, and often seemingly random moments turn out to have a far deeper significance. [Readers] will find that [the book] more than repays the effort they put in, and it may offer an excellent gateway to the work of Gabriel García Márquez, Isabel Allende, Laura Esquivel and many others.\" \u003cb\u003e—Just Imagine\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Featuring intricately interwoven love stories, curses, rivalries and misunderstandings, Nelson’s first book for ten years is a complex, seductive YA heartbreaker with a touch of magical realism.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Lyrical prose, an epic plot . . . [Readers will] feel the pull of Nelson’s carefully woven storytelling and succumb to her special kind of magic.\" \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Absorbing [and] moving. [The] structure keeps the pages turning and builds suspense, [offering] a lot of food for thought about family, love, hate, sorrow, joy, and more. [This] sweeping generational family epic is magical and moving.\" \u003cb\u003e—Common Sense Media (a Common Sense Selection)\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eJandy Nelson\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eI’ll Give You the Sun\u003c\/i\u003e, which received the Printz Award, was a Stonewall Honor Book, and was named one of TIME’s 100 Best Young Adult Books of All Time. Her critically acclaimed debut,\u003ci\u003e The Sky Is Everywhere\u003c\/i\u003e, is now an AppleTV+ and A24 original film starring Jason Segel and Cherry Jones, for which Jandy wrote the screenplay. Together, \u003ci\u003eSun\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eSky \u003c\/i\u003ehave sold well over a million copies worldwide and have been translated into more than thirty-eight languages. Both have been YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults picks and on multiple best of the year lists, have earned many starred reviews, and continue to enjoy great international success. Currently a full-time writer, Jandy lives and writes in San Francisco, California, not far from the settings of her novels.\u003cb\u003eDIZZY\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEncounter #1 with the Rainbow-Haired Girl\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe morning of the day twelve-year-old Dizzy Fall walked into the path of the speeding eighteen-wheeler and encountered the rainbow-haired girl, everything was going wrong. In the divorce with her best friend, Lizard, who now went by his real name, Tristan, Lizard-now-Tristan had been granted popularity, a cool haircut, and a girlfriend named Melinda.\u003cbr\u003eDizzy had been granted nothing.\u003cbr\u003eThey’d been a twosome since first grade, wandering around in each other’s innermost secrets, baking through the list of \u003ci\u003ePastry Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e’s most ambitious desserts as well as their mutual favorite activity: surfing the internet for pertinent information regarding existence. Lizard’s area of expertise was weather and natural disasters while Dizzy’s was all cool things.\u003cbr\u003eLately those cool things had been stories about saints who rose into the air in fits of ecstasy, Himalayan yogis who could turn their bodies into stone, Buddha, who’d made duplicates of himself and shot fire from his fingers (yes!). Reading about these woo-woo things made Dizzy’s soul buzz and Dizzy wanted a buzzy soul. A buzzy \u003ci\u003eeverything\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003eAlso, recently, pre-divorce, Dizzy and Lizard had kissed for three seconds to see if they’d feel the endorphins Lizard learned about online or the spontaneous internal explosions Dizzy read about in the romance novels her mother kept behind the literary ones on the shelf, particularly \u003ci\u003eLive Forever Now\u003c\/i\u003e starring Samantha Brooksweather, which was Dizzy’s favorite. Lizard thought romance novels were totally useless, but Dizzy learned so much from them. She wanted the door of her wild femininity to swing open already, her fiery furnace to ignite, her passion-moistened depths to awaken, and, although, unlike Samantha Brooksweather, she’d never seen a real live penis, from these books she knew an absolute ton about stiff members, turgid shafts, and throbbing spears. Unfortunately, however, during the three-second kiss with Lizard, neither of them had felt endorphins nor spontaneous internal explosions.\u003cbr\u003eAnyway, all that morning of the telltale day of the first encounter, Dizzy sat in class and watched ex–best friend Lizard-now-Tristan stealthily texting with awful new girlfriend Melinda, probably about all the spontaneous internal explosions they experienced when they kissed each other at the dance three weeks before. Dizzy had watched it happen, her throat knotting up as Lizard’s hand reached behind Melinda’s neck right before their lips met. Since that moment, Dizzy, a renowned motormouth, hardly spoke at school and when she did, she felt like her voice was coming out of her feet.\u003cbr\u003eBut what was there for Dizzy to say anymore? Her mother had told her once that the great loves of one’s life weren’t necessarily romantic. Dizzy had thought she had three great loves already, then: her best friend, Lizard; her mom, Chef Mom; and her oldest brother Wynton who was so awesome he gave off sparks. But what now? She didn’t know people could stop loving you. She’d thought friendship was permanent, like matter.\u003cbr\u003eAfter lunch—which Dizzy spent in the computer room learning about a group of people in Eastern Europe who believed someone or something was psychically stealing their tongues—she walked halfway across school to the bathroom no one used. She was trying to avoid passing Lizard-now-Tristan and Melinda, who were always camped out together lately by the water fountain outside the closer bathroom with their hands and souls glued together. Only when she swung open the door, there was Lizard at the sink of the school’s one all-gender bathroom.\u003cbr\u003eHe was alone at the mirror putting some kind of gel in his new hair, looking like all the other boys now, not like the Lizard of a month ago with cyclone hair like hers and geek-kid-at-the-science-fair personal style, also like hers. He’d even gotten contacts, so their black ten-ton Clark Kent eyeglasses no longer matched. She wanted the old Lizard back, the boy who’d told her about sun pillars, fog bows, and said, “So dope, Diz,” at least five hundred times a day.\u003cbr\u003eThe fluorescent lights in the slug-colored bathroom flickered. They hadn’t been alone in what felt like ages and Dizzy’s chest felt hollow. Lizard glanced at her in the mirror, his expression unreadable, then returned his attention to his hair, which was the color of butternut squash. He had pale skin with scattered freckles on his cheeks, not galaxies of them like Dizzy. Once in fifth grade when lifelong Dizzy tormentor Tony Spencer had called Dizzy an ugly freckle farm, Lizard had come to school the next day with galaxies of his own that he’d drawn onto his cheeks.\u003cbr\u003eDizzy glimpsed her reflection in the mirror and had the same sinking reaction she always did to her appearance because she looked exactly like a frog in a wig. She couldn’t believe this was what people had to see when they looked at her. She wished they got to see something better, like Samantha Brooksweather’s head, for instance. Samantha Brooksweather set men’s hearts on fire with her soft silken locks, pouty pillowy lips, and glittering sapphire eyes.\u003cbr\u003eDizzy settled her plain old unglittering brown eyes back on her ex–best friend, the real version, not the mirror one. She wanted to hold his hand, like they had secretly for years under tables. She wanted to remind him how she used to braid their hair into a single braid so they could pretend they were one person. She wanted to ask him why he wouldn’t return her texts or calls or come to his bedroom window even after she threw thirty-seven pebbles in a row at it. Instead, she went into the stall and held her breath for as long as she could and when she came out, he was gone.\u003cbr\u003eOn the mirror in black marker was written: \u003ci\u003eLeave Me Alone\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003eDizzy felt like she was going to blow away.\u003cbr\u003eThen came gym. Dodgeball. Hour of terror and dread. She was sweating through her shirt on the broiling field, practicing invisibility, pretending not to notice Lizard huddled with Tony Spencer. Ack. Ick. Lizard the Traitor. Dizzy wanted to burrow into the ground. Why hadn’t she thought to make more than one friend in life? But she had no time to contemplate this because Tony Spencer had broken away from Lizard and was charging at her with the ball and a gleaming, cartoon-y knife of a smile. Plus homicidal intent. Her insides plunged. She tried to psychically steal his tongue then cancelled the order because: ew.\u003cbr\u003eA weird embarrassing yip of a noise came from her lips as Tony lifted the ball into the air and then pummeled it into her gut, knocking the breath out of her, the dignity out of her. Then when she was lying on the ground like a gulping, gasping fish, holding her belly where he’d reamed her, he turned around, squatted over her, shoved his sweaty, gym-shorted butt in her face, and farted.\u003cbr\u003eDizzy’s mind froze. No, she begged, make it so this did not just happen to her. Let her hit delete. Hit escape. Power off.\u003cbr\u003e“What color is it, Dizzy?” Tony said with glee because Lizard must’ve told him about her synesthesia, how she saw scents as colors.\u003cbr\u003eEveryone laughed and laughed but Dizzy focused only on Lizard’s horse-neigh of a laugh, laughing like Dizzy wouldn’t have eaten a tub of spiders to spare him a second of sadness.\u003cbr\u003eThat was what had made Dizzy cry. That was what had made her command her bare, bony stick-legs to run across the athletic field, climb over the fence of Paradise Springs Middle School, and peel through vineyard after vineyard, so that now here she was in a deserted part of town in her gym clothes in the middle of the school day, in a heatwave, wanting to just jump out of her stupid sweaty body and leave it behind.\u003cbr\u003eBecause Tony Spencer had done that in her face! In front of everyone! And Lizard had laughed! At her! God! She’d need a disguise from here on out, a whole new identity. She could never go back to school, that was certain. She’d have to steal her mother’s credit card and book a flight to South America. Live in the savannah with the capybaras because Dizzy had learned in one of her online research marathons that capybaras were the nicest of all mammals.\u003cbr\u003eNot hateful like seventh-grade people.\u003cbr\u003eAnd hello? Synesthesia wasn’t even something Dizzy was embarrassed about, like she was her frog-in-a-wig looks, or her nuclear mushroom hair, or her freckles, which colonized every inch of her including her toes, including her fiery furnace. Or the everything. Like how small and concave she was and how she had no hair anywhere exciting yet and how she often felt like a dust particle. Not to mention how scared she was to die or to go to sleep or to lie there in the dark or to leave a room if her mom was in it or to be ugly forever. Or even how much time she \u003ci\u003ereally\u003c\/i\u003e spent surfing the internet for pertinent information regarding existence or so many, many things that made Dizzy feel like life was hopping from one private or public humiliation to the next.\u003cbr\u003eShe careened down the empty sweltering sidewalk, lost in her mind, not registering the burnt amber scent of the air, nor the shops closed because of the infernal temperatures, nor the sun-scorched hills in the distance, nor the strange creaking quiet because all four streams that ran through Paradise Springs had run dry. She didn’t even register the sky, empty of birds who couldn’t be bothered to fly with The Devil Winds roving down the valley, causing the worst heatwave in recent memory.\u003cbr\u003eShe stepped blindly into the street.\u003cbr\u003eThen, a screeching like the world was splitting in half.\u003cbr\u003eThe ground beneath her shook, the air rattled. Dizzy had no idea what was happening.\u003cbr\u003eShe turned around and saw the massive metal face of a truck barreling toward her. \u003ci\u003eOh no oh no oh no oh no.\u003c\/i\u003e She couldn’t move or scream or think. She couldn’t do anything. Her feet were encased in concrete as time slowed, then seemed to suspend entirely with the revelation: This was it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eIt\u003c\/i\u003e it.\u003cbr\u003eThe End.\u003cbr\u003eOh, she hoped she’d get to be a ghost. A ghost who baked all day beside Chef Mom at her restaurant, The Blue Spoonful\u003ci\u003e.\u003c\/i\u003e “I want to come back immediately, please,” Dizzy said urgently, out loud, to God. “A ghost who can talk, sir,” she added. “Not one of the mute ones, please.”\u003cbr\u003eShe swallowed, flooding with sorrow, with \u003ci\u003eso\u003c\/i\u003e not-ready. She was going to die only having used up three seconds of the two weeks the average person spent kissing in their lifetime. She was going to die before she fell in love and merged souls like Samantha Brooksweather and Jericho Blane. Before she rose up to meet someone’s urgent thrust or was burnt to cinders from the frenzy of simultaneous eruptions or any of the other epic sex stuff in\u003ci\u003eLive Forever Now\u003c\/i\u003e. Worse, she was going to die before she ever even had an orgasm on her own—she couldn’t figure it out or was malformed; she wasn’t sure which.\u003cbr\u003eAnd this was even worse than all of that: She was going to die before the father she never met—because she was in the womb the night he left—returned. She knew he wasn’t dead like some people said though, because she’d seen him once up on the ridge in his cowboy hat, looking like he did in all the photos, except no one believed her about this (except Wynton and Lizard) on account of how she regularly saw those mute ghosts in the vineyard, and no one (except Wynton and Lizard) believed her about that either. Oh Wynton. And her other brother Perfect Miles. Her mother! Panic seized her. How could she leave them? Leave the world? She didn’t even like leaving the breakfast table. How could she die before they—Wynton, Perfect Miles, Chef Mom, Un-disappeared Dad, Weird Drunk Uncle Clive—could squeeze together on the ancient red velvet couch in the living room, a happy people-pile with Dizzy smack in the middle, all of them watching \u003ci\u003eHarold and Maude\u003c\/i\u003e or \u003ci\u003eBabette’s Feast\u003c\/i\u003e (her mom’s favorite old movies and now hers too). Oh, she hoped everyone would watch those two movies in her memory, in lieu of flowers.\u003cbr\u003eNot that her family had ever watched anything in a happy people-pile or been that happy, period. But now there was no chance of it.\u003cbr\u003eShe was going to die before all the chances.\u003cbr\u003eAnd the really awful part wasn’t even that the last thing that happened to her before death was being face-farted by Tony Spencer and betrayed by Lizard. (Actually, forget the old movies—in lieu of flowers, please egg and toilet paper both their houses.) The worst part was she was going to die before anything truly miraculous happened to her in life.\u003cbr\u003eAnd then something truly miraculous happened to her in life.\u003cbr\u003eTwo hands planted themselves hard and strong on her hips. She turned and saw a girl. A bright and shining, shooting star of a girl.\u003cbr\u003eDizzy lifted her hand to touch the face that was framed by rainbow curls tumbling to the girl’s waist, fairy-tale tresses of every color, but before Dizzy could touch the light-struck cheek, the girl spoke, bopped Dizzy’s nose with her finger, then shoved Dizzy mightily, and up Dizzy went. Up, up, up. The sky tipping as Dizzy hurled forward out of all thought, out of time and place, landing finally in a splatter of limbs and bewilderment on the hot pavement.\u003cbr\u003eHoly holy holy.    \u003cbr\u003eDizzy didn’t move for a moment. Um. What had just happened? Her heart was a wild animal in her chest, her face pressed into burning gravel. Was she a ghost? She touched two fingers together. No, still flesh. She tried to lift her head and was met by blur—where were her glasses? She rolled onto her back and a figure, a man, she could tell even without her glasses, not the girl she expected to see, was towering over her, blocking the sun, offering her a hand, and talking a blue streak.\u003cbr\u003e“Close call. Close call. Oh Jesus God. But look at you. Like new. Not a scratch. Thank the lord.” He helped Dizzy to shaky feet with shaky arms. Despite the gravel in her cheeks and palms, the pavement burns on her knees, the pounding in her chest, she was okay. Dizzy wasn’t so sure about this man, though, who she thought might be on the road to hyperventilation. He was sweating through his shirt in stained patches, his scent staggering, a pumpkin-orange smell, the color Dizzy associated with men, with men-sweat. Girls and women smelled mostly green. Except not all of them, she now knew. The rainbow-haired girl who’d just saved her life had smelled magenta, like flowers did. “Oh jeez. Oh lord. Oh God,” the man said. “What are you, nine, ten? I got a grandbaby your age. Built like a feather just like you.”\u003cbr\u003e“I’m a \u003ci\u003etwelve\u003c\/i\u003e-year-old feather,” Dizzy said defensively. Because yes, it was annoying to still be asked to be an elf in the Paradise Springs summer parade, thank you very much. She bent down to feel for her glasses, only to realize they were stuck in her hair, which doubled as her personal lost and found. She disentangled them and put them on to see that the man, with his big sweaty friendly mustached face, was, for all intents and purposes, a talking walrus.\u003cbr\u003eThe girl, however, was nowhere in sight.\u003cbr\u003e“Okay then, twelve. Stand corrected,” the man said. “Whew-y. So glad you’re all right. Thought you were a goner.”\u003cbr\u003e“Me too,” said Dizzy, her mind revving. “I hoped I’d get to come back as a ghost, but I didn’t want to be one of the mute ones, you know?” She could feel words, words, words, a tidal wave of them, straining to break out of her like they used to in the good old pre-divorce days. Sure, some people who shall remain nameless thought Dizzy talked too much and should get her vocal cords removed, but those people weren’t here, so on she went. “That would be awful. There, watching everything and everyone but unable to talk, to tell people anything, even your name. Like the ones in our vineyard.”\u003cbr\u003e“I think you’d be terrible as a mute ghost,” the walrus-man said.\u003cbr\u003e“Yes. Exactly.” She looked around. “I have to thank the girl, sir. Where’d she go?”\u003cbr\u003eThe man made a face that caused his bushy eyebrows to bunch up. “Where’d who go? All I seen is sun, then you standing in it, frozen, looking up to the heavens like some religious statue. And then I’m slamming on the brakes, riding ’em for my life, but the next second you were flying outa the way. You must be some kind athlete, ’cause you really flew. It was a sight.”\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eSo\u003c\/i\u003e not an athlete. That’s my brother Perfect Miles. I hate sports. All of them. I don’t even like being outside.” She took a breath to slow down her thoughts, which loved to avalanche. “I flew like that because a girl pushed me. Hard too, just shoved me into the air. You didn’t see her?” Dizzy looked up and down the street again. No one was anywhere. No tourists. No cars even. The Devil Winds had turned Paradise Springs into a dry, dusty ghost town. “She had all these colorful tattoos of words”—Dizzy touched her arm where the tattoo of the word \u003ci\u003edestiny\u003c\/i\u003e had been on the girl—“and she was\u003ci\u003eso\u003c\/i\u003e beautiful, her face—”\u003cbr\u003e“Just us here, honey. Must be the heat. No one’s thinking straight.”\u003cbr\u003eWalking home through the vineyards under the burning sun, her sweat-soaked clothes stuck to her, Dizzy couldn’t get the girl out of her mind. That magenta smell. The way she’d looked right at Dizzy, eye to eye. “Don’t worry. You’re okay,” the girl had said in a strange husky voice before touching Dizzy’s nose with her finger—\u003ci\u003ebop\u003c\/i\u003e. All Dizzy’s panic about the oncoming truck had vanished. All Dizzy’s panic and uncertainty about \u003ci\u003eeverything\u003c\/i\u003e had vanished. Light had been everywhere on the girl, streaming around her head, around those endless rainbow-colored curls, like a halo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLike a halo.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd then she’d pushed Dizzy into the air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eDIZZY\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe next morning, Dizzy was at the breakfast table—alive and breathing air and thinking thoughts and \u003ci\u003etouched by an angel\u003c\/i\u003e! She could barely contain her news, wanted to shout it at Perfect Miles sitting across from her but he had a Keep Out sign up, meaning he was huddled over some novel, like always, his raven ringlets ringletting ravenly around his princely face.\u003cbr\u003eDizzy and her oldest brother Wynton had no clue where Perfect Miles came from. He was on an athletic scholarship at a fancy prep school three towns away (Wynton, like Dizzy, regularly walked into walls). He was quiet, serious, and scary-beautiful (Wynton, like Dizzy, looked like a frog in a wig and engaged in unserious pillow fights and unquiet screaming contests). He loved to go for runs in nature (Wynton, like Dizzy, loved walls, roofs, snacks in front of the TV).\u003cbr\u003eAlso, Perfect Miles was \u003ci\u003egood,\u003c\/i\u003e spent his free time walking three-legged dogs and brushing blind horses at the animal refuge (Wynton was always bad, even got himself thrown in jail a couple weeks ago, and Dizzy specialized in ugly thoughts about her peers). And the cherry on the sundae Perfect Miles would never eat because he didn’t indulge in sweets (no comment): He was voted both Class Hottie and Most Likely to Succeed in the yearbook two years running.\u003cbr\u003ePerfect Miles made Dizzy feel especially warty.\u003cbr\u003eShe poked his arm. “I saw an angel yesterday.”\u003cbr\u003eHe didn’t take his eyes off his book.\u003cbr\u003e“She saved my life.”\u003cbr\u003eNothing.\u003cbr\u003e“By bopping my nose, maybe.”\u003cbr\u003eNothing.\u003cbr\u003e“Miles!”\u003cbr\u003e“Reading,” he said, not lifting his head.\u003cbr\u003eBecause Dizzy was the youngest and so small and was now a friendless girl who’d been face-farted, certain family members like Perfect here thought it fine to act like she didn’t exist.\u003cbr\u003e“An angel, like, for real, Miles. A super cool one who had tats and everything.”\u003cbr\u003eHe turned the page.\u003cbr\u003eDizzy studied his lashy eyes, his stupid Cupid’s-bow mouth, his loose, lazy curls that shined and never frizzed (like Samantha Brooksweather’s!). The rest of his Class Hottie features. Seriously, how was it she, the face-farted, and Perfect here were part of the same species, let alone the same family?\u003cbr\u003e“The thing is, Miles,” she said. “You don’t know if today’s going to be your last day alive. You could get hit by a truck or an asteroid or a sinkhole could open up right under your feet. It’s so harrowing that you have absolutely no control over when you’ll die, don’t you think? Don’t you think it’s so hard being mortal?”\u003cbr\u003eMiles started choking on his dry brown rice toast (no comment), then recovered, all without lifting his head from his book.\u003cbr\u003eArgh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWe should all try to be more like Miles, \u003c\/i\u003eher mother always said.\u003ci\u003e He never wastes a minute. \u003c\/i\u003eDizzy wasted all the minutes. This was because time went faster for her than other people. How else to explain what happened when she went online? Or looked out a window? Or whatever. She often snoop-read the little note pads Perfect Miles kept in his back pocket and stored in the bottom drawer in his dresser. They used to be full of To-Do lists but recently they’d gone off the rails. A recent item said: \u003ci\u003eFind someone to trade heads with.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t want to die at all,” Dizzy continued, undeterred. “I mean at all at all at all. I want to be immortal. Lots of people say they’d get bored living for millennia or too depressed seeing everyone they love die again and again. Not me. How about you?”\u003cbr\u003eDizzy looked at Miles expectantly.\u003cbr\u003eHe turned the page.\u003cbr\u003eShe watched his skin gleam.\u003cbr\u003eShe watched his lashes flutter.\u003cbr\u003eShe watched him get more perfect.\u003cbr\u003eThis sibling thing between them wasn’t working out. They were terrible breakfast companions. Really, she hadn’t spent much time alone with Miles until recently. He never used to come down for breakfast (or dinner, or movies, or spontaneous dance parties, or baking marathons, or screaming contests, or pillow wars) when Wynton was around, which was every day until a couple weeks ago when Mom kicked Wynton out and changed the locks. (Except right this minute Wynton was crashed in the attic because Dizzy had illegally left out keys for him.)\u003cbr\u003eDizzy knew she was annoying Perfect Miles, figured on a scale of one to ten she was at a seven, but hello? It was annoying to be ignored too. Very annoying. “So,","brand":"Dial Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233845686501,"sku":"NP9780525429098","price":21.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780525429098.jpg?v=1767743995","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/when-the-world-tips-over-isbn-9780525429098","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}