A Bank Street Best Book of the Year. Nominated for the Massachusetts Book Award. ALA Amelia Bloomer Book. IRA Notable Book for a Global Society. When her father loses his job and leaves India to look for work in America, Asha Gupta, her older sister, Reet, and their mother must wait with Baba's brother and his family, as well as their grandmother, in Calcutta. Uncle is welcoming, but in a country steeped in tradition, the three women must abide by his decisions. Asha knows this is temporary--just until Baba sends for them. But with scant savings and time passing, the tension builds: Ma, prone to spells of sadness, finds it hard to submit to her mother- and sister-in-law; Reet's beauty attracts unwanted marriage proposals; and Asha's promise to take care of Ma and Reet leads to impulsive behavior. What follows is a firestorm of rebuke--and secrets revealed! Asha's only solace is her rooftop hideaway, where she pours her heart out in her diary, and where she begins a clandestine friendship with Jay Sen, the boy next door. Asha can hardly believe that she, and not Reet, is the object of Jay's attention. Then news arrives about Baba . . . and Asha must make a choice that will change their lives forever. "Unputdownable ... Perkins knows how to construct characters so real you can see them breathe and laugh and cry and fight. She hurls you right into their lives, and you come up for air only when you turn the last page." -- Eclectica Magazine Well-developed characters, funny dialogue, and the authentic depiction of spunky Asha's longing for romance and female self-determination make this book an attractive pick for teenage girls. --School Library Journal "Achingly realistic." --Kirkus "An intimate and absorbing drama." --Publisher's Weekly "Heartbreaking and hopeful." --ALA Booklist In an intimate and absorbing drama about a displaced Indian family in the 1970s, Perkins ( Monsoon Summer ) vividly highlights the conflict between traditional Indian values and feminist ideals. After Asha's father goes to America in search of a new job, the rest of the family moves from Delhi to Calcutta to live in the more restrictive household headed by her grandmother. As often as she can, Asha escapes to the rooftop to confide her woes to her "secret keeper," a diary; breaking the rules of the house, she also befriends the son of the family next door, who gazes at her through a window. But their relationship changes irrevocably when tragedy prompts Asha to make a painful sacrifice for the sake of her mother and sister. Readers may not always agree with Asha's bold decisions, but they will admire her courage and selflessness as she puts her family's needs before her own. Besides offering insight into Indian culture, Perkins offers a moving portrait of a rebellious teen who relies on ingenuity rather than charm to prove her worth. --  Publisher's Weekly Mitali Perkins has written several novels for young readers, including You Bring the Distant Near (nominated for the National Book Award), Rickshaw Girl (a NYPL best 100 Book for children in the past 100 years), Bamboo People (an ALA Top 10 YA novel), and Tiger Boy , which won the South Asia Book Award for Younger Readers. She currently writes and resides in the San Francisco Bay Area. ONE Asha and Reet held their father's hands through the open window. The train picked up speed slowly, and Baba jogged, then ran alongside it. As his fingers slipped from their grasp, the girls turned and watched him dwindle and disappear into the Delhi haze. "Watch your head, Osh!" Reet cried suddenly, pulling her sister inside before the train sliced into a tunnel. The train swerved in the darkness, and Asha grabbed her sister's arm. Usually their mother would have issued the warning long before Reet had. But sometimes Ma was in the clutches of the Jailor, the girls' label for the heavy gloom that often fell over her like a shroud. Was she already so remote that the possibility of her daughter's decapitation couldn't rouse her? When the train chugged out of the tunnel, Asha could hardly believe what she saw. Their mother's face was buried in her hands, and tears--wet, salty tears--were staining her powdery cheeks in widening brown stripes. What was happening? This had to be a mistake--there was no way Sumitra Gupta could be crying. The girls had seen their father get choked up many times, even while Ma or Reet sang about rain, grief, or heartache. But their mother never cried, retreating instead into stony silence that could last for hours, days, weeks. Even months, as it had after she'd read the telegram telling of her own mother's death. But now Ma was crying. She was actually crying. The girls exchanged shocked looks. Then Reet sat down and gathered their mother in her arms. Asha watched in amazement. This was Ma, who had ruled their household--and the entire social circle of Bengali families in Delhi--for years. To see her weeping on Reet's shoulder felt like watching a f