This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
Cover, left column from top to bottom: Photograph from The Little Woods © 2012 by Albert Delamour; art from Love and Other Perishable Items © 2012 Irene Lamprakou/ Trevillion Images; illustration from Joshua Dread © 2012 by Brandon Dorman. Right column, from top to bottom: Photographs from Sacred © 2012 by Terry Bidgood/Trevillion Images (background) and Ilina Simeonova/Trevillion Images (girl); art from Meant to Be © 2012 by Trevillion Images (couple) and Timothy Passmore / Shutterstock Images (sunset); illustration from Behind the Bookcase © 2012 by Kelly Murphy.
andom House Children’s Books is dedicated to cultivating and nurturing new talent. With proven editorial acumen, rich sales and marketing resources, publicity savvy, and production and design excellence, the Random House Children’s Books team has worked together with its authors to give readers proven first-time successes such as New York Times bestsellers Eragon by Christopher Paolini and A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray, as well as The Emerald Atlas by John Stephens and the Printz Award winner How I Live Now by Meg Rosoff. The future of the book industry lies with new literary voices. For that reason, we are committed to growing alongside our authors by implementing unique publishing and marketing programs that enhance our lists and deliver continued success stories to you: the bookseller, the teacher, the librarian. We know that it is the love of children’s literature we share with you that helps get these new voices into readers’ hands and, for this, we thank you.
New for Fall 2012!
It’s a Second! Second novels from former “It’s a First!” novelists see p. 21 New for Spring 2012 see p. 24 New for Summer 2012 see p. 25
Behind the Bookcase
Written by Mark Steensland Illustrated by Kelly Murphy Edited by Françoise Bui
ISBN: 978-0-385-74071-5 $16.99/$19.99 Can. Middle-Grade Fiction On Sale: 10/09/2012
Who’s game for jumping down a rabbit hole? Mark Steensland is, and I am happy to follow. With Behind the Bookcase, Mark has written an adventure-fantasy tale that combines his love of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and The Twilight Zone. All the classic elements of a creepy page-turner are here: moving into a run-down house, feeling chilled by something in the air, hearing strange noises in the middle of the night . . . and, of course, finding a secret passageway.
I love that Sarah, the main character, scares easily. So tumbling into Scotopia should paralyze her, right? Especially as she encounters the ruthless cat who reigns over the dark land, as well as a boy with half a face, a hand that walks on two legs and has an eye in its palm, and many more strange inhabitants. But Sarah is stronger and a lot more resourceful than she realizes—which is what makes this a rewarding story. Join Sarah on her unforgettable adventure! Kelly Murphy’s atmospheric interior illustrations make the journey behind the bookcase even more vivid.
ruth be told: the place looked creepy. Sarah simply couldn’t believe that anyone she knew—let alone someone from her very own family—could have anything to do with such a house. Never in her life had she seen such a disaster. The puke-green paint was peeling. The lawn was more brown than green. The flower beds were overrun with weeds. The roof was missing so many shingles it looked like a checkerboard. The driveway was cracked. The steps were sagging. It was awful, made even worse by the fact that they would be celebrating her twelfth birthday in it. Even though they had just spent an entire week in the car, driving here from California, Sarah would have gladly turned right around and gone back home. “This is it?” she asked, just to be sure. In the front seat, Mom and Dad exchanged a look and then Dad said, grimly, “Afraid so.”
“It’s always been like this. That’s why the bullies called me Creepy Carol in school.”
“Billy,” Dad said. “Don’t say that.” “But it is!” he insisted.
Sarah’s younger brother, Billy, meanwhile, was wearing a huge smile. “Awesome!” he said, with a reverence that thoroughly annoyed his sister. “What could be awesome about this?” “Look at it,” Billy said. “It’s like a haunted house.”
“I’m sure it’s just because Grandma wasn’t feeling well the last few years. She couldn’t keep the house up.” “No, honey,” Mom said. “It’s always been like this. That’s why the bullies called me Creepy Carol in school. Now can you understand why I wanted to leave as soon as I could? And get as far away as possible?” Dad tried to put his arm around Mom, but she got out of the car. Dad gave Billy one last sour look and then got out with her.
“What’s wrong with them?” Billy asked. “This is where Mom grew up,” Sarah said. “Her mom died in there. Do you think she liked hearing you say it looks haunted?” “Oh,” Billy said. “I didn’t think of that.” “Of course not,” Sarah snapped. “You don’t think of anyone but yourself.” “That’s not true.” “Prove it,” Sarah said as she grabbed her backpack and opened her door. Billy got out behind her and went over to where their parents were standing. “Sorry, Mom,” he said. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out.” Mom patted Billy on the head. “It’s okay,” she said with a sniffle. “I understand.” She faced the house, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. “I’m glad you like it. At least one of us does.” Mom fished in her purse until she found a yellow envelope. After Grandma Winnie had died, Mom had gotten a bunch of these yellow envelopes in the mail. When Sarah had asked about them, Mom had explained that they were from lawyers telling her about things she had to do to settle Grandma’s affairs. The biggest of all these things was selling the house. That was why they were there. Mom and Dad had decided they would do what they could to fix it up before they sold it. But now that Sarah had actually seen it, she didn’t think one summer would be enough to fix the house. Not unless they rented a bulldozer and just pushed it flat. Mom opened the envelope and took out a key. While Dad held the squeaking screen door, she put the key in the lock, turned it, and pushed the front door open. A gust of cool air came out of the darkness beyond and swept over all of them. To Sarah it felt like running through the sheets hanging on the laundry line in their backyard at home. In fact, it felt so much like something—or someone— pushing past her that Sarah gasped a little and stepped back. Was Billy right? Was Grandma’s house really haunted?
Photo © Kristin Steensland
Mark Steensland became a professional journalist at the age of eighteen, writing about movies for such magazines as Prevue and American Cinematographer. He has also written, directed, and produced numerous award-winning films. He lives in Erie, Pennsylvania.
Written by Lee Bacon Edited Wendy Loggia
ISBN: 978-0-385-74185-9 $16.99/$19.99 Can. Middle-Grade Fiction On Sale: 09/25/2012
Don’t let Lee Bacon fool you. Behind his twinkling hazel eyes, unassuming smile, and blue button-down . . . lies a superhero. Because anyone who can write an action-packed first novel like Joshua Dread—totally kid friendly, fun and funny has to have hidden powers. Joshua Dread launches a terrific new series about a boy who’s trying to have a normal life . . . except his parents are supervillains. And it turns out that Joshua has a superpower too.
I’m loving working on a series for both boys and girls, and when I shared the cover and read a little of Joshua Dread to my son’s fourth grade class, their enthusiasm confirmed what I already knew: Superheroes are fun to read about! And villains for parents? Irresistible. Just like Lee’s writing. He might not wear a cape . . . but trust me. Superhero.
t’s embarrassing to run into your parents when you’re with people from school, especially when your parents are about to destroy the planet. Mom was drifting five feet above the ground on her hover scooter, wearing her usual uniform: a green one-piece armor body shield and black eye mask. Dad was drifting beside her on his own hover scooter. He was dressed in a dark gray jumpsuit, with blood red gloves and boots. He was wearing a pair of massive silver goggles. Dozens of reporters surrounded them, spilling out into the street with their cameras and microphones. People crowded to one side of the school bus, pressing their faces against the glass to get a better look. “I can’t hear anything!” someone in the front yelled. “Open a window!” All at once, twenty windows rattled downward. I ducked down low, worried that my parents would notice me. Milton squeezed against my shoulder to get a better look. “That’s the Dread Duo!” His voice was full of fear and amazement. “Is it?” I asked, trying to sound like I wasn’t sure who they were. Like I hadn’t just eaten breakfast with the Dread Duo seven hours earlier.
My parents did this kind of thing sometimes—death lasers, rampaging zombies, floods. I guess it’s a part of their job description.
“There’s the Botanist.” Milton pointed at my mom. “She can control plants with her mind. And next to her is Dr. Dread. He wears those goggles because of his supervision. They set a horde of zombies loose in Washington, DC, last year. They tried to vaporize California with a death laser but then it got blocked by Captain Justice. I can’t believe they’re actually here.”
Milton went quiet as soon as Dr. Dread—my dad—began speaking to the gathered reporters. “You may have noticed the sudden change in weather when you reached this intersection.” He gestured to the wall of pounding rain and snow that surrounded the calm, clear area of downtown where our bus was stopped. “We have created a Vortex of Silence, which neutralizes the effects of the Weather Alterator within a fifty foot radius of wherever we go. This Vortex of Silence will keep us safe and dry, even as the weather outside gets worse.” “And we assure you it will get worse,” my mom continued. “Much worse. Unless the government agrees to meet our demands, every continent on earth will be destroyed in”—she checked her watch—“less than four hours.” My parents did this kind of thing sometimes—death lasers, rampaging zombies, floods. I guess it’s a part of their job description. They’re two of the most feared supervillains in the world. But that’s only one part of who they are. As far as anyone in town knows, my mom is just an ordinary horticulture professor at the local junior college and my dad is a stay-at-home inventor. They have a regular house in a regular neighborhood on the outskirts of a regular little town. And they have a regular son. In other words, me.
Photo © Miriam Berkley
Lee Bacon grew up in Texas with parents who never once tried to destroy the world (at least not that he knew of). He lives in Brooklyn.
The Little Woods
Written by McCormick Templeman Edited Lee Wade
ISBN: 978-0-375-86943-3 $17.99/$20.99 Can. Young Adult Fiction On Sale: 07/10/2012
When I first read The Little Woods, I was struck by McCormick Templeman’s smart, authentic voice, and was immediately swept up in the incredibly compelling, fast-paced mystery, set in an elite private boarding school on the West Coast. When Calista Wood, a new student, arrives midway through her junior year, St. Bede’s feels like a normal school . . . until she discovers that a girl disappeared a couple of months earlier. Some kids think she ran away, others think she was murdered, but it’s only when Cally starts digging around that she finds the startling truth. Get ready to be caught up in this page-turning thriller, as Cally enters a world of privilege, weekend-long parties, high school romances, and . . . well-kept secrets.
T H E LI T TLE WOODS
h my God, you guys, Wood doesn’t know,” Pigeon said, getting all flustered and gesticulating haphazardly. “The woods are haunted. These two little girls were murdered out there.”
I coughed, and the cracker I was eating went spewing all over the glass coffee table. “They weren’t murdered,” Noel said, color rising in her cheeks. “They died in a fire.” “No.” Pigeon shook her head dramatically. “Seriously, you guys. They wandered off into the woods or whatever, but they were totally murdered.” I clenched my teeth and tried to slow my breathing. This was not the turn I’d expected the conversation to take.
The smartest thing would be to tell them right then and there. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Clare was a part of me I didn’t share.
Chelsea stood up and circled the group, leonine, in search of something to pour into her empty glass. “Um, why have I never heard this story?” “Because you don’t go to our school,” Brody said, pretending to snarl at her. “Why are you even here, Chelsea Vetiver? Aren’t you supposed to be at Exeter?” “The semester hasn’t started yet. Anyway, I call bullshit.” “No,” Noel sighed, resigned. She poured more wine into Chelsea’s glass and then into her own. “It’s true. It was before you and your grandparents moved here. One of them was our bio teacher’s daughter.” “Yeah,” Freddy said, shaking her head with the appropriate level of detached sympathy. “The little girl and her friend died in a fire out here in the woods. It was incredibly tragic.”
“So, what,” Chelsea sneered, “they just wandered out into the blazing forest and died? And one of them was your bio teacher’s kid? What the hell?” “I know, right?” Pigeon expectorated. “You’d think she’d be, like, all weird, with too many scarves or something, but she’s totally normal. Like nothing ever happened. People only act that innocent when they’re guilty, am I right?” Helen raised her eyebrows. “Pigeon, tell me you’re not suggesting that Ms. Snow killed her own child.” Noel drew in a sharp breath. “Pigeon.” “I assume she set the fire too?” Helen sneered. “Think before you speak, Pigeon.” “No, it’s like . . . suspicious, right? They never found the bodies. How did they just disappear?” “Whoa, Pidge,” Alex said. “Watch it.” “No. She’s probably right,” Chelsea groaned, draining her glass. “It’s always the parent. Hey, Wood, you okay there? You’re looking a little peaked.” I tried to get myself together and smile along with the rest of them. God, what an idiot. How naïve of me to think they wouldn’t know about Clare just because she was before their time. Of course a thing like that lingered. It was, I knew, now or never. I would never be able to go back to this moment and say, Hey, you know, that was my sister who died in that fire. I guess I just forgot to mention that. If I kept quiet and someone found out later, it would be a disaster. The smartest thing would be to tell them right then and there. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Clare was a part of me I didn’t share. I furrowed my brow and cleared my throat. “Doesn’t it seem weird to you guys, though? I mean, I just got here, like, five days ago, and this is already the second story of disappearing girls I’ve heard. So is St. Bede’s, like, the Bermuda Triangle of boarding schools or what?”
McCormick Templeman attended a school not unlike St. Bede’s as a teenager. She then graduated from Reed College and went on to complete two master’s degrees. She lives in Southern California, where she is a licensed acupuncturist and herbalist. Visit her at McCormickTempleman.com.
Photo © R. Q. Camp
Love and Other Perishable Items
Written by Laura Buzo Edited Katherine Harrison
ISBN: 978-0-375-87000-2 $17.99/$20.99 Can. Young Adult Fiction On Sale: 12/11/2012
Laura Buzo had me at page two of her deliciously awkward debut, Love and Other Perishable Items. I bit my nails through the first half of the book, and sobbed through the second, laughing the entire time, which resulted in some jagged fingernails and more than a couple wayward tears. Not only was it emotionally compelling, it was smart, too, delving into issues that had piqued my curiosity as a teen and gone on to fill many a pensive study-hall hour. Issues like: Can beautiful people ever be trusted? Why is Pip from Great Expectations such a wanker? And how do you deal with the terrible freedom that comes after graduation when suddenly you’re expected to be grown-up? All these questions and so much more are sprinkled throughout Chris and Amelia’s conversations—conversations that crackle with wit and repressed longing and bursts of awkwardness. By the end, I didn’t know about these characters, I knew them. And I knew we had to publish them. My high school self would’ve killed for a book like this. And I’m so pleased to share it with kids and teens currently muddling through the indignities of adolescence.
and Other perishable Items
he yawning six-year chasm between my age and Chris’s is not the only fly in the proverbial ointment of this “loving Chris” business. I’m not even sure what “getting” Chris would involve; all I know is I want him. I want to be enfolded by him somehow, and to possess him. To have unfettered and exclusive access to him all the time. To feel how I feel around him all the time. To know that he loves being around me too. To feel more of his skin on my skin. But Chris seems to be in perpetual pursuit of another girl from work called Kathy Rushworth. She’s twenty-two and studying primary education at the same university as Chris. Like Bianca, she is a supervisor and so is sort of Chris’s boss. He refers to his long-standing crush as the Kathy virus, as it seems to take a relapsing-remitting course. “Got a raging case of it today, Youngster,” he mutters, pushing a cart past my register with white knuckles, watching Kathy talking animatedly to Stuart Green from Canned Goods at the service desk. The following week Chris declares, “It’s in remission!” and declines Kathy’s invitation to go to the pub after work. Instead, he hangs around after his shift advising me on my English assignment.
I’m not even sure what “getting” Chris would involve; all I know is I want him.
Kathy is dark, pretty, small—elfin even—and completely uninterested in Chris. Except, strangely, when the Kathy virus is in remission. Then she bombards him with a campaign of arm-touching (signature move), bow-tie adjusting (borrowed from Bianca) and leaning over Chris’s register giving him her undivided, headcocked-to-one-side attention. An immediate relapse of the Kathy virus invariably follows.
and Other perishable Items
That Kathy needs a can of reduced-for-quick-sale spam pegged at the back of her head, and I reckon I’m the woman for the job. They’re stacked within easy reach of my register. After glaring at the Chris-and-Kathy spectacle for the whole shift from my vantage point at checkout number seven, I walk home through the deserted mall and dark streets. Fifteen-year-old checkout girls are in no position to compete with someone like Kathy. Even Street Cred Donna would be struggling to make serious inroads with Chris (which, by the way, I am totally convinced she is. She just shows it differently). She has recently added a tattoo of barbed wire encircling her upper right arm (as a sixteenth birthday present to herself) and has her mother’s name tattooed on her other arm. You can’t see her tats—her work shirt covers them. Chris told me about them. My sixteenth birthday is months and months away. I have no tats. I don’t smoke. I have no idea how to wear makeup and now that my older sister has moved away to live on campus, I have no one to teach me. I don’t stand a chance.
Laura Buzo is a social worker and mother to a young daughter, living in Sydney, Australia. The Australian edition of Love and Other Perishable Items was shortlisted for the Prime Minister’s Literary Award and named a CBC Notable Book.
Meant to Be
Written by Lauren Morrill Edited Wendy Loggia
ISBN: 978-0-385-74177-4 $17.99/$20.99 Can. Young Adult Fiction On Sale: 11/13/2012
In seventh grade my best friend pressed a copy of Sweet Dreams #2: The Popularity Plan into my hands and squealed, “You are going to love this book!” We became addicted. Who could resist titles like Ten-Boy Summer? In Sweet Dreams, the girl always got the boy, no matter if she was shy, dorky, average looking—or all three. What wasn’t to love? So when Lauren Morrill’s Meant to Be arrived on my desk, it felt, well, meant to be. I bought it on the spot.
Lauren’s writing was what I’d been waiting for—fresh, funny, and sweet—and that it was set in England made me love it even more. Take a serious ruleabiding girl, a mischievous class clown guy, and set them loose on a wild goose chase through London . . . and sparks fly. So don’t just flirt with this book. Take it out for a date. Hold its hand. And give it a big smooch at the end.
hat’s up?” I ask as I swing the door open, trying to act casual despite my state of undress. But I instantly forget that I’m (for all intents and purposes) naked when I see that he’s standing on the other side in perfectly distressed jeans and what looks to be a deep blue cashmere V-neck over a plain white tee. The sweater intensifies his blue eyes, and for the first time I understand why he won “Best Eyes” in last year’s yearbook superlatives. The faint smell of cologne wafts through the doorway, and I notice he’s added some kind of product to his hair to make it look like he walked out of a wind tunnel. This was not what he looked like during our bus ride through the city, when he had on a North Face fleece and a ratty Sox cap over his mop of rustyred hair. The only thing that’s the same is the big wad of purple gum he’s smacking away at. As I’m standing there, taking in his suspiciously groomed physique, he fishes a pen out of his pocket, uncaps it, and steps toward me with the tip aimed straight at my face. “What are you doing?” I shriek, swatting his hand away. “Connecting the dots,” he says matter-of-factly. My hand flies to my face and comes away with a palm full of chartreuse speckles. “Good look, by the way. Very avant-garde,” he calls out as I rush to the sink to scrub the green goop from my face.
MEANT TO BE
The faint smell of cologne wafts through the doorway, and I notice he’s added some kind of product to his hair to make it look like he walked out of a wind tunnel.
Instead of responding, I march back to the door and give it a good hard swing, not really caring if it catches his pen, or one or two of his fingers. He’s too quick, though, and throws a hand up to stop it. “Wanna hit up a party?” he asks, stepping into my room as though I didn’t attempt to slam my door on him. “A what?” I adjust the robe. Clearly I haven’t heard him right. “A party,” he repeats, a wide grin spreading across his freckled face. “A lively gathering, typically involving music and drinking . . .” Too many questions are spinning around in my head to even land on one to ask. We’ve only been in the city about three hours, and most of that was spent on a tour bus with twenty of our classmates and one very frazzled English teacher. How did he get invited to a party? Where is this party taking place? And why on earth is Jason Lippincott standing at my door asking me to go with him?
Photo © Steven Folkins
Lauren Morrill lives in Boston with her husband and their dog, Lucy. When she’s not writing, she spends a lot of hours getting knocked around as a member of the Boston Derby Dames, a roller derby league.
Written by Elana K. Arnold Edited Françoise Bui
ISBN: 978-0-385-74211-5 $17.99/$20.99 Can. Young Adult Fiction On Sale: 11/13/2012
A good love story is hard to resist, even though the pattern of events is often the same—girl and boy, first at odds with each other, come together, only to break apart because of some revelation. Once everything gets patched up, girl and boy walk off into the sunset. For the most part, this is what happens to Scarlett and Will, the two young people who fall for one another in Sacred, but their personal stories stand out too. Here’s what drew me in: • The setting. Catalina Island is almost another character. And since Scarlett feels emotionally isolated when the story opens, living on an island underscores her loneliness. • Jewish mysticism. The Kabbalah has a following among celebrities, but what is it all about? And how is it a way to live one’s life? Will sheds light on these ancient, mysterious teachings. • Teenage yearning. Scarlett and Will’s passion for each other is palpable. Do Scarlett and Will equal a forever couple? You’ll have the answer when Splendor, the sequel to Sacred, comes out next year. Even I don’t know yet—but Sacred left me wanting to find out.
is face was white with fear as Delilah came at him at a full-out gallop, but he stayed stock-still and as solidly rooted to the ground as the oak tree that had hidden him from my view. His nostrils flared, not unlike Delilah’s, and even as my mare and I barreled toward him, his gaze did not waver. At his sides were his hands, clenched into fists. Unflinchingly, he stared at me and held up one of his hands. “Stop.” It was just one word, and though his voice was not raised, it resonated somehow, and without consciously deciding to, I obeyed. I leaned back in my saddle and pulled firmly on the reins. “Whoa!” I told Delilah. She tossed her head, unwilling, but I increased the pressure on the reins. In front of me, the boy didn’t move. Good thing Delilah stopped, or we would have collided.
His grip was warm and firm, and he held my hand rather than shook it, as if sealing a promise.
“What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the trail?” I snapped, throwing my right leg across the saddle and sliding to the ground. “You could have gotten both of us hurt.” “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to cause you trouble. That is the last thing I want to do.” He fixed his eyes on me. “I’m Will,” he said, offering his hand. “Will Cohen.” Will tilted his head slightly to one side, waiting with his hand extended while I tried to diagnose his motives before I finally gave up and thrust my hand toward his. “Scarlett Wenderoth,” I murmured in the second before our hands connected. Then our fingers touched, and I don’t think I could have told anyone my name at all.
“What’s the matter with you?”
His grip was warm and firm, and he held my hand rather than shook it, as if sealing a promise. His other hand came up to grasp mine too. Then Delilah nudged me with her muzzle, her warm breath sending shivers down my body, and I felt a colder breeze than I’d felt all summer. Fall was coming. I smelled it all around me. I pulled my hand free. “I’m really sorry,” Will said, his eyes pleading. “But I thought . . . I thought you were in some kind of trouble.” I snorted. “Trouble? I don’t think so. I’ve been riding these trails all my life. I know this island better than my bedroom.” Somehow, saying “bedroom” to this boy sent a blush across my cheeks, though he didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah,” he said softly, as if contemplating something very important. “You did seem in complete control . . . and I don’t see anyone else nearby.” His eyes scanned the terrain as if searching for predators.
Will shook his head. “I don’t know. Something . . .” He stopped abruptly and walked away, stumbling as if drunk, his head bowed in what looked like pain, his hand massaging his temple. I watched him as he wandered back along the trail and rounded the corner of the large oak tree. Then he disappeared from view.
© Mischa Kuczynski Erickson
Elana K. Arnold thinks everyone has a story to tell. It took her a long time to find hers. She lives in Long Beach, California, with her husband and two kids. Visit Elana at ElanaKArnold.com.
Find out what former “It’s a First” novelists have been up to.
IT’S A SECOND!
Lush and opulent, romantic and sinister, The Unfailing Light, Volume II in The Katerina Trilogy, reimagines the lives of Russia’s aristocracy in a fabulously intoxicating and page-turning fantasy.
“It’s a First”
Fifth grade was full of unforgettable events for Mr. Terupt and his class at Snow Hill School. When seven students return, it’s a roller-coaster of a year as Mr. Terupt helps his students be the best they can be—and enlists their help to pull off an extra-special project. But will there be a happy ending for all?
mr. terupt falls again
“It’s a First”
CHRISTINA DIAz gONzALEz
With twelve-year-old Ani’s father far away fighting in Spain’s Civil War, it’s easy for her to feel alone. Until she meets Mathias, and is introduced to an underground spy network. She finally feels like she’s making a difference, but when her town is destroyed by Nazi bombers Ani will be tested in ways she never thought possible.
“It’s a First”
A Thunderous Whisper
For Mab, the practice of blood magic is as natural as breathing and she’ll do anything to keep the ancient practice safe, especially from cute and curious neighbor Will. But dangerous forces are looking to break the magic free and reclaim its dark power.
“It’s a First”
Kate Grable is geeked out to shadow the county medical examiner, but after he’s arrested for murder, she’s left with the bodies. It doesn’t take long for Kate to realize that the zombie epidemic she cured last fall was only the beginning. Someone— or something—is murdering kids. And she has to find it before it’s too late.
“It’s a First”
Bad HAIR DAY
Caro considers herself an only child. After all, her much older sister, Hannah, left home eight years ago. So when Hannah returns to live with them, Caro feels as if an interloper is crashing her family. But when she unearths a clue from Hannah’s past— one that could save Hannah from the dark secret that possesses her—Caro begins to see her sister in a whole new light.
“It’s a First”
o p p o s i t e of hallelu jah
Kate, Michael, and Emma confronted the Dire Magnus, but the trail to their missing parents remains cold. But as Kate’s connection to the Book of Time grows stronger, Michael and Emma find a map that may lead to their parents. The children must harness the power of the Books of Beginning. But will it be enough to save them?
“It’s a First”
Visit ItsAFirst.net to catch up with other Random House Children’s Book debut authors and find out what they’ve been up to!
It’s a First–Spring 2012
It’s a First–Summer 2012!
This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
We've moved you to where you read on your other device.
Get the full title to continue listening from where you left off, or restart the preview.