True Blue - Hardcover
Molly hates being the new kid. Chrys hates being the weird kid. Both have secrets. Molly’s is at home; Chrys’s is under the ratty trench coat he wears to school every day. But when Molly realizes that she and Chrys would make a winning team for the science competition, an unlikely friendship develops, encouraging both to reveal their true colors.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Jeffrey Lee writes fiction and nonfiction for both children and adults. He lives with his wife and two daughters in Seattle, where he has worked as a family physician for over 16 years. His next book, Catch a Fish, Throw a Ball, Plant a Tree (Three Rivers Press, 2004), helps parents instruct their kids in the life skills that every child should learn.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
1
"Change is good," said Mom. "It's a fresh start." She unwrapped another dish and put it up on the shelf.
"But I don't want a fresh start," I said. "I liked my old school."
"We can't afford your old school, Molly. You don't know how lucky we were to find an apartment in such a great school district. Families that could afford to send their kids anywhere send them to Pine Ridge Middle School. I hear they have a great soccer team."
"I don't care. I don't play soccer anymore." I reached under the table and felt the long, bumpy scar on my knee.
"Well, maybe it's about time you started again. It's been more than a year."
I unwrapped a coffee mug and handed it to her.
"It won't be the same," I said. "I won't know anyone on the team."
Mom looked at me and sighed.
"You'll make new friends. I promise. Now stop complaining and make yourself useful. Weren't you going to make Dad's supper? Don't keep him waiting."
I got up and found the peanut butter and jelly and made a sandwich. Then I cut the sandwich up into little pieces and put them into the blender, poured in some milk, and turned it on. It made a thick, purple-gray milk shake. I poured it into a cup, put in a straw, and took it out into the front room.
Dad was sitting in his wheelchair in front of the TV.
"Peanut butter and jelly again," I said. I set up his tray and put the cup where he could reach the straw with his mouth. "Mom hasn't had time to go shopping yet. I think she's going after she unpacks the kitchen."
He nodded and stared at the TV. It was one of those game shows where people answer trivia questions to win money. Some guy had just won half a million dollars. He was jumping up and down and hugging a woman in a shiny dress. Dad watched with a blank expression on his face.
"Time for your exercises," said Mom. She came in holding a little mirror and a piece of paper. "Ellen said we have to do these every night. She says speech therapy once a week isn't enough--we have to work on your muscles in between her visits."
"Not . . . now," said Dad. His voice was slow and slurred, and he struggled with every syllable. The accident had happened more than a year before, but I could still barely understand him. He sounded as if he were talking underwater.
"Yes, now. Ellen's visits are expensive. I'm not going to let them go to waste."
She grabbed the remote and turned down the sound. Dad sighed.
"All right," said Mom, reading from the piece of paper. "First we warm up with some stretches. Make a big smile."
Dad stared at her for a minute, then tried to smile. The muscles on the left side of his face moved okay, but the right side stayed still. His mouth opened up into a strange, twisty shape. It wasn't much of a smile.
"Good," said Mom. "Now watch yourself and try to make your right side move. If it starts to move, concentrate on making the movement bigger." She held up the mirror for him to see.
Dad tried to smile bigger, but that just opened his mouth wider and pulled it over to one side. He looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. He stopped and turned away.
"That was good, dear. Do you want to try again?"
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "No . . . more."
"Rick," said Mom, "Ellen really stressed how important this is."
"Ellen . . . is . . . an . . . id-i-ot," he said. He turned the sound up on the TV.
Mom just sat there. Her chin started shaking, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Fine," she said. She got up and pulled on her coat. "I'm going to the grocery store." She slammed the door behind her.
Dad stared at the TV. Some woman had just won a trip to Mexico. I got up and went to my room. I started school the next day.
2
Pine Ridge Middle School was only a few blocks from the new apartment. At my old school, there were only eighty kids in the whole building. Hundreds of kids were pouring into this school. I squeezed through the front door with everyone else and followed the signs to the office.
"May I help you?" the woman behind the front desk asked in a nasal voice. She smelled like perfume and cigarette smoke, and her bright orange hair matched her fingernails. It was a color you don't usually see, except on parrots. She wore it in a bun so tight it pulled back the skin around her eyes. The nameplate on her desk said miss gruber.
"I'm new," I answered. "I'm supposed to be in Mrs. Raptor's first-period biology class."
"We'll see about that," she said.
She took out a little pair of glasses and perched them on her nose. "Name?"
"Molly O'Connor." She pulled some papers out of a drawer and ran a long orange fingernail down the first page. When she got to the bottom, she started on the next one. I sat down on a bench by the wall and stared at the ceiling.
After about a year, she looked up and smiled triumphantly.
"Here we are! O'Connor, Molly B. You should be in Mrs. Raptor's first-period biology class."
"Gee, thanks," I said.
"Wait here. Mr. Dinkerman will want to take you there himself. He does that for all the new students."
"Mr. Dinkerman?"
"Our principal. Wait right here."
She got up and knocked on the door at the back of the office. A short man in a dark blue suit answered. He was balding, but he had one of those hairdos where you grow the hair really long on one side and comb it over the top to cover it up. He walked over to me and held out his hand.
"Hello, Mary. I'm Mr. Dinkerman."
I shook his hand. It was soft and damp.
"Molly," I said.
"What?"
"Molly. My name is Molly."
He grinned, as if he'd meant it as a joke. "Yes, of course it is."
"Change is good," said Mom. "It's a fresh start." She unwrapped another dish and put it up on the shelf.
"But I don't want a fresh start," I said. "I liked my old school."
"We can't afford your old school, Molly. You don't know how lucky we were to find an apartment in such a great school district. Families that could afford to send their kids anywhere send them to Pine Ridge Middle School. I hear they have a great soccer team."
"I don't care. I don't play soccer anymore." I reached under the table and felt the long, bumpy scar on my knee.
"Well, maybe it's about time you started again. It's been more than a year."
I unwrapped a coffee mug and handed it to her.
"It won't be the same," I said. "I won't know anyone on the team."
Mom looked at me and sighed.
"You'll make new friends. I promise. Now stop complaining and make yourself useful. Weren't you going to make Dad's supper? Don't keep him waiting."
I got up and found the peanut butter and jelly and made a sandwich. Then I cut the sandwich up into little pieces and put them into the blender, poured in some milk, and turned it on. It made a thick, purple-gray milk shake. I poured it into a cup, put in a straw, and took it out into the front room.
Dad was sitting in his wheelchair in front of the TV.
"Peanut butter and jelly again," I said. I set up his tray and put the cup where he could reach the straw with his mouth. "Mom hasn't had time to go shopping yet. I think she's going after she unpacks the kitchen."
He nodded and stared at the TV. It was one of those game shows where people answer trivia questions to win money. Some guy had just won half a million dollars. He was jumping up and down and hugging a woman in a shiny dress. Dad watched with a blank expression on his face.
"Time for your exercises," said Mom. She came in holding a little mirror and a piece of paper. "Ellen said we have to do these every night. She says speech therapy once a week isn't enough--we have to work on your muscles in between her visits."
"Not . . . now," said Dad. His voice was slow and slurred, and he struggled with every syllable. The accident had happened more than a year before, but I could still barely understand him. He sounded as if he were talking underwater.
"Yes, now. Ellen's visits are expensive. I'm not going to let them go to waste."
She grabbed the remote and turned down the sound. Dad sighed.
"All right," said Mom, reading from the piece of paper. "First we warm up with some stretches. Make a big smile."
Dad stared at her for a minute, then tried to smile. The muscles on the left side of his face moved okay, but the right side stayed still. His mouth opened up into a strange, twisty shape. It wasn't much of a smile.
"Good," said Mom. "Now watch yourself and try to make your right side move. If it starts to move, concentrate on making the movement bigger." She held up the mirror for him to see.
Dad tried to smile bigger, but that just opened his mouth wider and pulled it over to one side. He looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. He stopped and turned away.
"That was good, dear. Do you want to try again?"
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "No . . . more."
"Rick," said Mom, "Ellen really stressed how important this is."
"Ellen . . . is . . . an . . . id-i-ot," he said. He turned the sound up on the TV.
Mom just sat there. Her chin started shaking, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Fine," she said. She got up and pulled on her coat. "I'm going to the grocery store." She slammed the door behind her.
Dad stared at the TV. Some woman had just won a trip to Mexico. I got up and went to my room. I started school the next day.
2
Pine Ridge Middle School was only a few blocks from the new apartment. At my old school, there were only eighty kids in the whole building. Hundreds of kids were pouring into this school. I squeezed through the front door with everyone else and followed the signs to the office.
"May I help you?" the woman behind the front desk asked in a nasal voice. She smelled like perfume and cigarette smoke, and her bright orange hair matched her fingernails. It was a color you don't usually see, except on parrots. She wore it in a bun so tight it pulled back the skin around her eyes. The nameplate on her desk said miss gruber.
"I'm new," I answered. "I'm supposed to be in Mrs. Raptor's first-period biology class."
"We'll see about that," she said.
She took out a little pair of glasses and perched them on her nose. "Name?"
"Molly O'Connor." She pulled some papers out of a drawer and ran a long orange fingernail down the first page. When she got to the bottom, she started on the next one. I sat down on a bench by the wall and stared at the ceiling.
After about a year, she looked up and smiled triumphantly.
"Here we are! O'Connor, Molly B. You should be in Mrs. Raptor's first-period biology class."
"Gee, thanks," I said.
"Wait here. Mr. Dinkerman will want to take you there himself. He does that for all the new students."
"Mr. Dinkerman?"
"Our principal. Wait right here."
She got up and knocked on the door at the back of the office. A short man in a dark blue suit answered. He was balding, but he had one of those hairdos where you grow the hair really long on one side and comb it over the top to cover it up. He walked over to me and held out his hand.
"Hello, Mary. I'm Mr. Dinkerman."
I shook his hand. It was soft and damp.
"Molly," I said.
"What?"
"Molly. My name is Molly."
He grinned, as if he'd meant it as a joke. "Yes, of course it is."
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherDelacorte Books for Young Readers
- Publication date2003
- ISBN 10 0385730934
- ISBN 13 9780385730938
- BindingHardcover
- Edition number1
- Number of pages144
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TRUE BLUE
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(2003)
ISBN 10: 0385730934
ISBN 13: 9780385730938
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