NATIONAL BESTSELLER • From the bestselling author of Song for a Whale comes a deeply moving story about a boy, an octopus, and the extraordinary bond that changes their lives forever. Max can’t seem to escape the big, looming shadow of his politician dad. But for the next few months, Max and his mom are going away to a quiet Texas beach town where Max can be someone else. Someone who doesn’t make dumb mistakes that embarrass his father—someone who knows how to be strong. He stumbles on his fresh start right away, when he finds an injured octopus washed up onshore after a storm. With the help of a local wildlife center and a couple of new friends, Max rescues the octopus—who they name Ursula—and vows to take care of her until she’s ready to return to the sea. But as their bond deepens and Max makes unexpected discoveries that turn his summer upside down, Max’s true strength will be put to the test. Can he keep his promise after all? "Kelly tells a gentle, sweet-hearted tale of a tween managing personal responsibility and finding his own voice." — Publishers Weekly " An excellent fit for kids who like stories centering animals and friendship, this will appeal to fans of Pennypacker’s Pax and Kelly’s previous work, Song for a Whale ." —The Bulletin "Full of heart, a dash of science, and plenty of octopus antics, this story is a tender, bittersweet reminder that growth can come from the most unexpected of places. This quiet, heartfelt story will stay with readers long after the tide goes out ." —Kirkus Reviews "Boasting a combination of family dynamics, new friendships, animal husbandry, challenging choices, and coming of age, this will resonate with readers who enjoy diving into realistic fiction with a side of animal love." —Booklist " Animal lovers should keep tissues handy ....This heartfelt story showcases one boy’s coming of age, and the joys and sorrows of rescuing an animal." —School Library Journal Lynne Kelly is the award-winning and USA TODAY bestselling author of Song for a Whale , The Secret Language of Birds , and Three Blue Hearts . She lives with her dogs Abigail and Eloise near Houston, where she works as a sign language interpreter and writes books for kids. I knew the evening wouldn’t go like I’d planned when Dad told me to wear a tie. On the way to dinner we sat in the back seat together, which looked ridiculous. No one in my neighborhood rode around like that. Dad’s driver, Louis, let me ride shotgun whenever I was the only passenger. It seemed weird to ride in the back when there was a perfectly good seat up front. “Where to, young man?” Dad asked. Usually he’d ask me what I wanted for dinner, then choose his own favorite restaurant anyway. He’d want a place that was “Big Max–friendly.” That meant an expensive place most people couldn’t go to. Maybe this time he’d actually let me choose. “I saw this new food truck,” I said. “It’s called Nutter Your Business and they make peanut butter sandwiches.” Dad chuckled. “Sandwiches?” “Not just regular peanut butter sandwiches. I mean, unless you want that. They have all kinds of toppings and breads. You could get one with bacon. I want to try the grilled peanut butter and banana on chocolate-chip bread.” “You can get a sandwich anytime, Max. This is a special night, just us men going out to dinner. It’ll be a while before I see you again.” Soon I’d be leaving for the summer. The whole summer. My mom was in grad school, working on her geography degree. She had a research project at this place on the Gulf Coast called Lafitte Island, about a four-hour drive from our home in Houston. She also said it’d be a chance to get away to a place where no one knew us. That part sounded good to me. “What would people think if they saw us at a food truck?” Dad continued. Well, they’d think we liked food trucks, and peanut butter sandwiches. Dad asked that question a lot: “What would people think?” But there was no point in arguing. Dad had made up his mind. “No one says no to Big Max” was another thing he liked to say. “How about Hawthorne’s,” he said. It didn’t sound like a question. I slumped back against the leather seat. “Hawthorne’s is fine,” I said, wondering why he’d even asked me what I wanted. “Louis, take us to Hawthorne’s,” Dad said. Louis caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Yes, sir.” I was always afraid I was doing something wrong at Hawthorne’s. At a food truck, you don’t have to worry about picking up the wrong fork or sitting up straight. You can hold a wad of paper napkins or wipe your mouth with your shirt and no one will care. You can have a conversation without being extra uncomfortable in a tie and a straight-backed chair. “Good evening, Councilman Conway,” the host said when we walked in. “Right this way.” He led us to a table for two in the back corner. Chicken strips weren’t on the Hawthorne’s menu, so I ordered the closest thing--the baked chicken breast. The chef did cut it into strip