Amid the uncertainty of not having a permanent home, twelve-year-old Queenie finds unforeseen friendship—and unexpected confidence—in this warm, sensitive story addressing loss and belonging. To Queenie, home is Peachy, the little peach-walled house she’s lived in forever, all art deco and flaky paint. Always a provider of solace. But when she and her mom have to move out, suddenly one temporary move follows another, from a retirement village to a flood-prone old camper van to a shared home, sometimes with just her father’s guitar under her arm and some budding lyrics in her head. Along the way, the change-resistant Queenie discovers that home isn’t a place at all—it’s making new friends and reconnecting with old ones, letting yourself be uncomfortable, and finding the courage to share your song with the world. With insight, honesty, and gentle humor, Zanni Louise’s timely novel touches on the experience of housing insecurity as it introduces a relatable protagonist who readers will want to follow wherever she goes. The mother-daughter bond and other relationships forged through Queenie’s moves are winning elements in this heartfelt story of silver linings. Charming and uplifting, and a touching example of perseverance during uncertain times. —Kirkus Reviews Well-paced with an excellent voice and a gorgeous Australian settting, Queenie's story is universally relatable—and bound to resonate with anyone who has struggled with change. —Booklist With insight, honesty, and gentle humor, Zanni Louise’s timely novel touches on the experience of housing insecurity as it introduces a relatable protagonist who readers will want to follow wherever she goes. —School Library Journal The engaging, fast-moving story takes readers inside a not-uncommon experience of homelessness (one shared by Louise, as explained in the acknowledgments) without didacticism. . . . The happy ending is satisfying and realistic, offering hope without minimizing a broad social problem. —The Horn Book Zanni Louise is the author of several books for children, including picture books, middle-grade novels, early readers, and chapter and picture book series. She is passionate about writing and inspiring others to write their own stories. She lives in Australia. HOME ONE My chest is tight. I clutch Mr. Grey’s guitar like it’s going to fly away.    This is it. My final chance to get on the Brown & Jolly Stage and knock ’em dead.   I can do this. I can really do this.    I peek out from the wings. My entire school faces me. I see Mrs. Doherty, the principal, sitting in the front row, her expression terse. Dread feels like Antarctica on a winter’s day.  I can do this. I have to do this.    This is the furthest I have ever made it. Usually, I chicken out before signing up for the concert. But this year, Mr. Grey gave me the guilt treatment in epic proportions.    “Queenie, I have been teaching you now for nearly seven years. You’re the best guitarist I’ve ever taught. Yet you’re the only kid I’ve ever taught who refuses to perform. Do you want to make my entire teaching experience pointless? This is it, kiddo. After this, there is no end-of-year school concert. Just the upper school. And you know what that’s like.”    I don’t know what it’s like. But I do know what it’s like to carry Mr. Grey’s guilt. It’s a weighty object, and he’s been putting it on my shoulders every year since I made him cry by fingerpicking “Moonlight Sonata.”    So I did it. I told Mr. Grey I’d play a song at the end-of-year concert. Mr. Grey had already printed the posters. So he had to go out and do a reprint especially for me.    Quadruple guilt.    Max Rawling is currently belting out the final bit of “Bohemian Rhapsody” on melodeon. It’s awful. But the kid’s so confident. You’ve got to give him that.    “Good luck, Queenie,” says Sparrow Hawkins, poking me in the ribs.    “Thanks,” I mutter.    Thank goodness Sparrow is on after me.    If you looked at Sparrow, you wouldn’t straightaway think she had the potential to be an archrival. She’s so friendly-looking, with her oversize mouth and shiny dark skin. Anyone who wears that many colorful beads in her hair should not be an archrival.    But ever since Sparrow and I stopped being best friends in kindergarten, when she told me she could sing better than me, I’ve done my best to keep out of her spotlight.    Sparrow the Fabulous. The Voice of Destiny.    Sparrow the Spotlight Stealer.    Sparrow will sing after me, and she’ll be better than me. But for a moment, I’ll own the spotlight, and I’ll sing my favorite song, and Mr. Grey’s guilt will slip off my shoulders, and I can proceed to the upper school weightless and victorious. I, Queenie Jean Anderson, performed at Curlew Point’s end-of-year concert.    Mrs. Fig, head of the PTA and yearbook committee, is emceeing the annual concert. When Max finally departs the stage, Mrs. Fig strides on in cowboy boots.    “Thank you, Max. Marvelous. Simply marve