Zaynab is from Somaliland, a country that doesn’t exist because of politics and may soon be no more than a desert. Lucas is from rural Devon, which might as well be a world away. When they meet, they discover a common cause: the climate crisis. Together they overcome their differences to build a Fridays For Future group at their school and fight for their right to protest and make a real impact on the local community. But when Zaynab uncovers a plot which could destroy the environment and people's lives back home in Somaliland, she will stop at nothing to expose it. Lucas must decide if he is with her or against her – even if Zaynab's actions may prove dangerous... "For anyone who wants to get involved in climate change activism but has always felt intimidated by the topic, this is the ideal introductory guide. Two teenagers start protesting with Extinction Rebellion's school strikes, and learn more about the politics of the climate emergency as they uncover a corrupt scheme by an oil company. This novel tackles some big, complex topics like greenwashing, feminist intersectionality and the disproportional effects of climate change on third world countries. It's incredibly well researched and ultimately uplifting, despite the difficult topics" - Lauren James - Climate Fiction Writers League "A novel that might actually lead to some change ... scorching in more ways than one" - - Books for Keeps "A passionate and gripping book, about the importance of standing up for what we believe in, of not making judgements about others, of allowing each other to learn and grow, and the power of friendship" - Saffia Farr - Juno magazine "A gripping read, this is a hard-hitting story about the climate emergency and the important role everyone can play in campaigning to avert it... readers will be inspired" - Julia Eccleshare - LoveReading4Kids Anthea Simmons is the author of Share, The Best Best Baby, I’m Big Now and Lightning Mary and Burning Sunlight. She campaigns for European values and a fairer democracy. LUCAS I lay on the smooth marble floor of the Natural History Museum, staring up through the bones of the giant 3D model of the ichthyosaur. It was as extinct as humankind would be if we didn’t do something soon. I was playing dead, but my heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.          Around me, a sea of bodies covered in sheets, with only their whitened faces visible. Eyes closed. Barely breathing. There was an eerie silence. It made me think of the stillness and quiet on the moors before a storm blew in. Only we were the storm, this time. I felt fear and elation as we waited, waited, waited. Surely people could hear my heart, which thumped wildly underneath the bag of paint taped to my chest? Zaynab lay next to me, her bony elbow sticking into my side, her crutch propped against my leg. ‘You won’t chicken out, will you?’ she hissed under her breath. ‘Promise! Promise me you are in!’ I turned my head towards her. She had asked me this a million times. Nothing had changed. She fixed me with her fierce stare and my heart stopped for a moment. ‘Well?’ I nodded. ‘I’m in. I promise.’ She moved her elbow just enough to stop my ribs hurting. We closed our eyes and got back to the die- in. In a few minutes, we’d die again and wake the world up. Oh yes. ZAYNAB I did not want to go to the UK, even if it was where Mama was born and I lived until I was four. I did not want to leave Mama. I didn’t want to go somewhere I would no longer see her everywhere I looked, or hear her voice, or even almost feel her touch, and I did not understand why Father would want to, either. Except, I was forgetting. For him, his work came first, before   everything –  even Mama with cancer. Even Mama gone and me on my own, missing her so badly that I could barely see the point of going on. And now his work was tearing me out of the place where Mama and I had laid our roots, except that Mama remained deep in Somaliland soil, buried beneath one of the yeheb bushes which she had helped so many people to plant in the fight against the endless droughts. ‘The change will be good for us. It will help us to forget,’ Father said, as we were driven to the airport. I said nothing in return. It seemed to me that he had already forgotten. Mama would have hated this trip. She would have hated that we were flying, hated that we were abandoning people who needed our help and turning our backs on the work she had done with the rest of the team at the charity to keep women safe in camps, to plant trees, to help them find a way to make a living when they had lost everything to the desert as it spread, destroying their farms. ‘And it’ll be an adventure. Something for you to tell your friends about!’ he added. He had completely failed to notice that I had stopped hanging out with my friends since Mama died, that they bored me with their silly talk, that I was truly alone. We spent the first night in the UK in a ho