Benny Ramírez can see dead people . . . Well, one dead person, anyway. A hilarious and heartwarming story about a boy who can suddenly see the ghost of his famous musician grandfather! After moving cross-country into his late grandfather’s Miami mansion, Benny discovers that the ghost of his famous trumpet-playing abuelo, the great Ignacio Ramírez, is still there . . . and isn’t too thrilled about it. He’s been barred from the afterlife, and no one can see him except his grandson. But Benny’s got problems of his own. He’s enrolled in a performing arts school with his siblings, despite having no obvious talent. Luckily, Abuelo believes they can help each other. Abuelo has until New Year’s Eve to do some good in the world and thinks that teaching Benny how to play the trumpet and become a school celebrity might be the key to earning his wings. Having no better ideas, Benny finds himself taking Abuelo's advice—to disastrous and hilarious results. Benny and Abuelo will find that there’s more than one way to be great in this unforgettable, laugh-out-loud tale of family, music, and self-discovery. Praise for Benny Ramírez and the Nearly Departed : Sunshine State Young Reader Award Finalist Andre Norton Nebula Finalist Children's Book Council's 2025 Librarian Favorites Children’s Book Council’s 2025 Teacher Favorites “ Hilarious and heartfelt . . . . A musical, food-filled party for the artist in everyone!” —Carlos Hernandez, Pura Belpré Award–winning author of Sal and Gabi Break the Universe “A fun and lyrical exploration of what it means to find your true talent while keeping your priorities straight. . . . A stunning debut by a rising talent. ” —David Bowles, Pura Belpré Honor–winning author of They Call Me Güero “ A funny and heartwarming story about family, friendship , and discovering your talents that resonates like a beautiful song.” —Christina Diaz Gonzalez, Edgar Award–winning author of Concealed " Sweet and funny ....Latine readers may catch some references to Cuban artists in the story, which is richly fleshed out to showcase Miami life and culture." — Booklist " A humorous and haunting riff on a classic storyline." —Kirkus Reviews "Benny’s story is a charming, not-scary ghost story with moments of joy, sadness, and wishing-you-were-there in Miami eating a delicious Cubano sandwich." —School Library Journal José Pablo Iriarte is a Cuban-American high school math teacher. They are also a Nebula, Hugo, Sturgeon, and Locus Award–nominated author of fantasy and science fiction. Their stories have been published in Uncanny Magazine, Lightspeed Magazine, and Strange Horizons, among others. Benny Ramírez and the Nearly Departed is their debut novel. José grew up in Miami and still lives in Florida. Chapter One If there was a worse way to wake up than crammed into the backseat of an SUV with your brother and sister at the end of a fourth straight day on the road, then I never wanted to experience it. One minute I was dreaming about accepting an award for . . . well, something. The next I was getting shoved rudely by my younger brother, Manny. “Stay on your side, bro,” he said. “You drool when you sleep.” “I do not, ” I replied, wiping my chin off with my T-shirt. He ignored me and went back to studying his Little Shop of Horrors script. Other people read books. Manny memorized scripts. For fun. “I’ll be so glad when I’m not stuck with you two cavemen,” my sister, Cristina, said without glancing up from her phone. She had such an attitude ever since she turned thirteen, even though she was still only a year older than me. “Benny, Cristina, basta,” my mother said. “We’re almost there.” I peered out the window. When did we get off the interstate? At some point while I slept, the billboards, mile markers, and rest stops had been replaced by palm trees, traffic lights, and pastel-colored buildings. I looked at the GPS up front. ETA: sixteen minutes! We really were almost at our new home. Everything was going to be different. New house. New town. New school. The GPS lady told us to turn left, and within a couple of blocks, the traffic and businesses gave way to massive trees that covered the road in a canopy so thick it felt like night underneath, though it was only late afternoon. This . . . looked nothing like the pictures of Miami I’d seen online. Where were the pink-and-aqua buildings? Where were the high-rise towers? Where was the beach? Instead, it seemed like we were driving into an urban jungle. The sidewalks wound around the gnarly tree trunks like they’d lost a turf war, and even the street had bumps where the roots had managed to lift the asphalt. Joggers and bicyclists dodged each other on the roller-coaster pavements, and I peered past them at massive houses, wondering if the people who lived inside were all famous like Abuelo had been. We’d never visited Abuelo at his home. The few times I’d seen him were awkward meals