Now in paperback, a moving novel of loss and resilience, told in a voice that is “sometimes humorous, at times heartbreaking, and always authentic” ( School Library Journal ). Twelve-year-old May lives with her grandmother, who is depressed about the absence of May’s mother, and her father, who works long hours and is almost never around. Due to her circumstance and her resentment over having to live in a low-income neighborhood, May often finds herself picking fights and getting into trouble. But when May is caught defacing her least favorite teacher’s classroom, she has a choice: expulsion or one-on-one summer school with the teacher she most detests. Begrudgingly, May chooses summer school and ultimately learns that her teacher has a secret past—and might just hold the key to answers no one else will give May about her mother. "Brimming with emotion and insight into adolescent rage, Galante's prose investigates the impact of loss and the importance of making amends." -"Publishers Weekly", February 2011 "Galante deftly weaves together the parallel stories of May and her teacher, while demonstrating how it's their work together, like Holling Hoodhood's sessions with Mrs. Baker in "The Wednesday Wars" (2007), that changes them both." - "KIRKUS, "March 2011 "May's voice is sometimes humorous, at times heartbreaking, and always authentic. Though foreshadowed, the conclusion brings each disparate piece of this touching novel together for a satisfying end to a taut and believable novel.""-Maria B. Salvadore, formerly at Washington DC Public Library" "- School Library Journal, April 2011" Cecilia Galante received a B.A. in English from King's College, and an MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College, Vermont. She lives in Kingston, PA with her husband and three children, and is a faculty member of the Graduate Creative Writing Department at Wilkes University. 1 I thought it was funny. So did a lot of other kids. Miss Movado, however, did not. Neither did Principal Mola, the middle school principal. Principal Mola used to be a drill sergeant in the army. With his shaved head and starched shirts, he still looks like one. He glared at me now above his steepled fingers, waiting, I guess, for me to burst into tears and admit that I was responsible. Instead I stared at the mounted fish that hung on the wall behind his head. Its silvery scales had been painted a dark blue on the bottom and a nose, sharp as a needle, stuck out of the front of it. I wondered if deep down, Principal Mola wished he could do the same thing to some of his students that he’d done to that fish. “Maeve,” Principal Mola said sternly. “Look at me.” I bristled. “It’s May . Not Maeve.” “May.” Principal Mola stood up, leaning his whole weight on just the tips of his fingers until they turned white. “Look at me.” I glanced over at him. A tiny bead of sweat was balanced on his upper lip. “We know it was you. Pete saw you in her room with the spray-paint can.” Pete was the school janitor. I’d seen the top of his bald head go by through the little square hole in Miss Movado’s door just as I was finishing up, and jumped so fast into the coat closet that I almost fell over. It was a tiny, airless space. One of Miss Movado’s hideous cardigan sweaters was hanging behind me. I waited, inhaling the scent of butterscotch and her too-sweet perfume, until I thought I might get sick. Ten minutes went by, but Pete did not return. Finally I slipped back out, grabbed the can of spray paint, and ran. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he might have seen me. I shifted in my chair. The back of my legs made a peeling sound against the red leather. “Pete couldn’t have seen me,” I said. “Because I wasn’t there .” Principal Mola studied me for a moment, as if examining a new specimen of fish. How long had that poor fish struggled? I wondered, glancing up at it once more. How hard had Principal Mola pulled and reeled his line until, exhausted, the poor thing had given up? Probably pretty long. Well, he wasn’t going to reel me in, no matter how hard he pulled or how long he tried. “We have video of you in the hallway too, Maeve. Right outside Miss Movado’s classroom. Just you. No one else.” My cheeks flushed hot. I’d forgotten about the school cameras. “It must’ve been someone else. Someone who looks like me.” Principal Mola shook his head as he came around to the front of his desk. Leaning back against the smooth wood, he crossed his arms over his red tie. A gold wedding ring peeked out from the finger on his left hand. “You’re thirteen years old now, May, correct?” I didn’t answer. He knew how old I was. “Where along the line do you think you picked up such a blatant disrespect for authority?” This was the eighth time this year that I’d been in Principal Mola’s office. The last time was because I was involved in a food fight in the cafeteria. It hadn’t been a big one—just a few Tater Tots hurled across the room at Jeremy Finkster, who’d th