Winner of the APALA Asian/Pacific American Award for Young Adult Literature An ALA-YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults Book After a classmate commits suicide, Kana Goldberg—a half-Japanese, half-Jewish American—wonders who is responsible. She and her cliquey friends said some thoughtless things to the girl. Hoping that Kana will reflect on her behavior, her parents pack her off to her mother's ancestral home in Japan for the summer. There Kana spends hours under the hot sun tending to her family's mikan orange groves. Kana's mixed heritage makes it hard to fit in at first, especially under the critical eye of her traditional grandmother, who has never accepted Kana's father. But as the summer unfolds, Kana gets to know her relatives, Japan, and village culture, and she begins to process the pain and guilt she feels about the tragedy back home. Then news about a friend sends her world spinning out of orbit all over again. Starred Review, School Library Journal , March 2011: "Thompson has crafted an exquisite, thought-provoking story of grief and healing that will resonate with teen readers and give them much to discuss." Review, Publishers Weekly , January 3, 2011: “Eloquently captures a teenager’s anger, guilt, and sorrow after a classmate takes her own life. . . . Understated yet potent verse.” Review, Kirkus Reviews , January 1, 2011: “A fast-paced page-turner that explores the rippling effects of suicide.” Review, Booklist , January 1, 2011: “Readers will want to talk about the big issues, especially the guilt of doing nothing.”   Review, VOYA , “Compelling. . . . Teens who enjoy learning about other cultures will relish Thompson’s ability to evoke the sights, smells, and tastes of Japan, while poetry fans will enjoy the novel’s unique format.” Review, The Winston-Salem Journal , March 20, 2011: "This lyrical look at bullying and the afterschocks of suicide may be gut-wrenching, but Orchards is crafted with a sensitive beauty." HOLLY THOMPSON was raised in New England, earned her B.A. in biology from Mount Holyoke College and her M.A. in English from New York University. A long-time resident of Japan, she teaches creative writing at Yokohama City University. Chapter One Because of You One week after you stuffed a coil of rope into your backpack and walked uphill into Osgoods' orchard where blooms were still closed fists my father looked up summer airfares to Tokyo why? I protested it wasn't my fault I didn't do anything! exactly! my mother hissed and made the call to her older sister my aunt in Shizuoka nothing would change their minds all my mother would say as I followed her through garden beds transplanting cubes of seedlings she'd grown under lights in hothouses all she'd say row after row in tight-lipped talk-down do-as-I-say Japanese was you can reflect in the presence of your ancestors not that I'm alone in being sent away--  Lisa's off to summer school Becca to Bible camp Mona to cousins in Quebec Emily to help in her uncle's store Erin to math camp Abby to some adventure program Noelle to her father's Gina to her mother's Namita to New Jersey . . . all twenty-nine eighth-grade girls scattered, as Gina said, like beads from a necklace snapped but we weren't a necklace strung in a circle we were more an atom: electrons arranged in shells around Lisa, Becca and Mona first shell solid, the rest of us in orbitals farther out less bound less stable and you-- in the least stable most vulnerable outermost shell you sometimes hovered near sometimes drifted off some days were hurled far from Lisa our nucleus whose biting wit made us laugh            spin                      revolve around her always close to her indifferent to orbits like yours farther out than ours after you were found in the grove of Macs and Cortlands that were still tight fists of not-yet-bloom and the note was found on your dresser by your mother who brought it to the principal who shared it with police who called for an investigation and pulled in counselors from all over the district word got around and people in town began to stare and talk and text about our uncaring generation still I don't think I personally did anything to drive you to perfect slipknots or learn to tie a noose . . . with what? I wonder shoelaces? backpack cords? drawstrings in your gym shorts as you waited for your turn at the softball bat? because of you, Ruth, I'm exiled to my maternal grandmother, Baachan, to the ancestors at the altar and to Uncle, Aunt and cousins I haven't seen in three years-- not since our last trip back for Jiichan's funeral when Baachan told my sister Emi she was just right but told me I was fat should eat less fill myself eighty percent no more each meal but then I was small then I didn't have hips then was before this bottom inherited from my father's Russian Jewish mothe