Grace + her dad, Davy = Team Gravy. No way is a new stepmom going to break up this team. . . . Filled with reverse Parent Trap -like pranks, The Stepmom Shake-Up is a hilarious and heartfelt look at what it means to be a family. Grace + Dad = the perfect team After Grace's mom died, she and her dad grew extra close. They have special nicknames and are always busy with new projects--like building a puppy condo for their dog, Potus--and they love learning random facts about the US presidents. Grace thinks her little family of two is perfect. Then some committee members at church suggest it's time for Dad to start dating again. And Dad agrees! Grace knows that adding a new member to the team will end in disaster. No problem! She and her best friend have a plan: Operation: Stepmom Shake-Up But what if a little shake-up is exactly what Grace's family needs? “ A funny, sympathetic look at a kid grappling with family change.” – Kirkus Reviews “This book focuses on a unique setting and characters while gently weaving together themes of love, loss, and healing .” – School Library Journal Niki Lenz lives in Kansas City, Missouri, with her husband and children. She studied elementary education at Southwest Baptist University and taught kindergarten for six years. She enjoys reading, travel, glamping, polka dots, red lipstick, and oldies music. She is also the author of Bernice Buttman, Model Citizen. Follow her on Twitter at @NikiRLenz or visit nikilenz.com. 1 Space for Possibilities  The Christmas tree teetered on the edge of disaster as Dad and I heaved it up the tight attic staircase.  “You got it?” Dad’s muffled voice came from behind the box he was shoving through the door.  “Um, sort of?” I said, trying to get a good grip on the box.  “Come on, Grace, use those muscles!” Dad said, and then he gave the box a last big push and he and the Christmas tree tumbled onto the rough wooden floor.  “Whew,” he said, wiping sweat and dust from his face. “Hey, Grace, why did the muscle miss class?”  I itched my nose. “I feel a dad joke coming on. . . .”  “Because it wasn’t a tendon.” Dad smiled, his mouth and eyes wide, waiting for me to burst into laughter.  Instead I groaned. “Remind me again why we don’t just leave that thing set up all the time?”  Dad shrugged. Our beagle, Potus, had squeezed past me and was happily sniffing around a mountain of cardboard boxes. “It’s bigger up here than I remembered . . . ,” I said.  Dad snorted and shoved the Christmas tree box toward the far wall. The attic has vaulted ceilings and two dirty windows that face the front of the house. The piles of junk were balanced on plywood to keep them from falling through the unfinished floor. I brushed a spiderweb out of my hair without flinching. “I like it.”  Dad glanced at me with a puzzled look. “What exactly do you like?”  “This space! It’s big up here. Way bigger than my room. It could fit a bunch more bookshelves, and maybe a couch. Plus, I could set up my sewing machine. . . .”  The sewing machine was a gift my grandma sent me last Christmas. My plan was to make historically accurate costumes so I could talk my dad into doing some cosplay. Technically, cosplay is when you dress up like characters from a movie, book, or video game, but I thought historical figures should count too. This attic space would give me room to really spread out, unlike my bedroom, which was basically a closet with a bed in it.  Dad scratched his head. “You want to clean this up?”  I grinned and bounced on my heels. “Fun project, huh? You’ve been saying we need a new one.” Dad and I are always doing “projects.” We’d just completed a deluxe dog condo for Potus and presented it to him with a big bow on it for Christmas. Potus was very impressed with our craftsmanship. He gave it two paws up.  Dad blew a raspberry, taking in the city of boxes, the cobwebs, and the unfinished--okay, fine, probably unsafe--status of the attic. “A project is right.”  “Come on, can’t you see it? We’ll move this stuff to the basement. Add some walls and floors.”  “And update the electrical, and add insulation, new light fixtures . . .” Dad ticked things off on his fingers, but I could see the wheels turning in his head. Once he caught the vision for things I wanted to create, I could usually drag him on board.  “Hmm,” he said, which was as good as a yes. He reached into the nearest box and pulled out a dusty leather-bound book. “Some of this stuff has been up here for a very long time.”  The house we live in once belonged to my grandparents. They gave it to my parents as a wedding present. It’s over a hundred years old, full of creaks and quirks and cramped bedrooms that can’t support the many hobbies of a sixth-grade girl.  “What about this: We finish this area and make it my room, and then you can have my old room for an office. You’ve always wanted an office. Think of all the space you would have to practice your sermons!”  Dad is the pastor of the First Baptist Church in