A biracial student questions her identity in this contemporary novel from the author of the Coretta Scott King - John Steptoe Award–winning The Rock and the River . Ella and Z have been friends forever, both of them middle school outsiders in their Las Vegas suburb. Ella is the only black girl in her grade and gets teased for the mottled colors of her face. (Her deceased father was white.) Z is the classic “weird kid” who maintains an elaborate—and public—fantasy life, starring himself as a brave knight. Though Z is content with his imagined world, Ella wishes for a larger group of friends, so she’s thrilled when Bailey, another black kid, arrives at their school. He’s popular and wants to befriend Ella—but to join the cool crowd, Ella would have to ditch Z. Does she stay loyal to the boy who has been her best and only friend for years, or jump at the chance to realize her dream of popularity? Author Kekla Magoon deftly navigates the muddy waters of racial and cultural identities in this contemporary exploration of one girl’s attempt to find herself. "All characters are well constructed. The story is written in a style that many early teens would appreciate for its real life parallels and issues. " -"Library Media Connection", May/June 2011 "Magoon writes with insight, wit, and compassion. Characters are appealing; action is well paced; and adolescent angst is palpable. Although Ella's skin condition and Z's psychological problems are not clearly defined, the trauma of both is conveyed. Ella is caught between a desire to hang out with Bailey and the popular crowd or remain loyal to eccentric Z, and her actions, musings, and guilt will resonate with readers.-Gerry Larson, Durham School of the Arts, NC "-SLJ, January 2011" "This elegantly crafted story features strong writing and solid characterizations of both main and secondary characters. Ella and Bailey's racial identity is one element in a full and richly textured narrative. An out-of-the-ordinary setting--just outside of Las Vegas--and the nuanced picture of young teens and families under stress make this an outstanding follow-up to Magoon's Coretta Scott King/John Steptoe Award-winning debut, " The Rock and the River" (2009). -"KIRKUS, "December 2010, *STAR "This novel, by the author of The Rock and the River (2009), is a sensitive, quietly powerful look at discovering inner strength, coping, and thriving--or not--in the face of tragedy."-- Heather Booth " "BOOKLIST, "February 2011 Kekla Magoon has worked with youth-serving nonprofit organizations in New York City and Chicago. She holds an MFA in writing for children from the Vermont College of Fine Arts and her first novel, The Rock and the River , won the Coretta Scott King - John Steptoe Award for New Talent. She resides in New York City and you can visit her at KeklaMagoon.com. CHAPTER 1 I call him zachariah. he calls me eleanor, but the way he says it, it comes out sounding like Ellie-nor. These are not our real names. Most people, the sort of people who don’t need extra names, can get away with doing simple things like looking in a mirror or taking a bathroom pass out of the cafeteria in the middle of lunch hour. We are not most people. Z and I have learned how not to see the things we don’t want to. It’s not that hard, but it makes us seem strange to everybody else. Z, especially, is . . . different . . . from the other kids in our class. Good different, as far as I’m concerned, but the kind of different that makes other people raise their eyebrows and sort of laugh under their breath, as if he’s not to be believed. I’ve been gone maybe five minutes, but it’s too long. Heading back toward our table, I can almost hear that silly Sesame Street song humming in the air, converging on him. “One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn’t belong . . .” Z’s in trouble. I’m walking toward him and I see it, know I should never have left him alone, but some things can’t be helped. Our eyes lock across the room, and there’s nothing in his gaze but stark terror. I should never have left him alone. Zachariah. Eleanor. These are not our real names. These are our shadow names, our armor, our cloaks. They are larger than we can ever hope to be; they cause things to bounce off us so we can never be hurt. By anyone. Anything. Ever. It doesn’t always work. “Zachariah!” I practically scream it, running toward him. “Ellie-nor,” he says, gazing at me with alarm. These are not our real names, but none of that matters now. For the moment I simply throw my arms up over his head to stop the food from hitting him. Spaghetti with mystery meat sauce. Tiny rolling peas. Vanilla pudding with cookies. A carton of chocolate milk, unopened, thank goodness. Z’s whole tray overturned by laughing hands. The bulk of it catches me in my shoulders, neck, and back. Beneath me, Z sits stock still, clean but immobile, gazing innocently at the blank space of the table in front of him. He