Spotlight: Bad Fairy Strikes Again by Elaine Kaye

Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy

Thistle Greenbud thought the nickname Bad Fairy was behind her, but she can't escape it. Someone is spreading a rumor about her that just isn't true and can ruin all of her hard work in getting into Advanced School. What fairy would do such a thing? As if that's not bad enough, Thistle's dad goes missing. Not a single fairy in Tinselville has seen him. He's vanished like pixie dust. Her mom is distraught, and Thistle is worried. Where could he be? Thistle and the Flutters, along with Dusty and Moss, are on both cases. Can they find out what happened to her dad and solve the Bad Fairy rumor? Thistle hopes so! 

Excerpt

We are nearing the edge our village limits when we see the abandoned house hidden in tall weeds. The night grows darker as we huddle in a fern thicket. “It sure is spooky out here,” Lacey whispers and shifts closer to Moss.

“Let's move in closer,” Dusty says. “Moss and Lacey, you go to the other side of the house. Find a crack in the wall to see inside. Thistle and Rose follow me.” He looks back at Moss. “If you see anything strange, flick your flashlight on and off three times.”

“Then what?” Rose asks, munching on another berry.

“We’ll meet…um…” Dusty looks around and then points. “Over by that fern thicket. Is everyone clear?”

We nod and fly as low to the ground as we can. Once we reach our positions, we hunker down and wait. Time goes by as slow as a worm while we wait. It gets darker. After a while, boredom creeps in.

“What's that?” Rose points behind us.

Dusty and I turn to see a shadow coming out of the woods, heading straight for us. Boogles! No, wait. There are two shadows!

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About the Author

Elaine Kaye is the author of A Bad Fairy Adventure series AND A Gregory Green Adventure series. She first created Gregory Green after her son, who loved her homemade pea soup, thus inspiring the story Pea Soup Disaster.

Kaye has worked as a library assistant and teacher’s assistant in elementary schools in the Sunshine State. She currently lives in Florida, but she has called Michigan; Honolulu, Hawaii; and Okinawa, Japan home. She is a grandmother of three boys.

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Spotlight: Sing to Me of Rain by E.B. Dawson

Middle-Grade Fantasy

Date Published: 5/22/21

An innocent naiad. A wounded boy. An adventure that will change their lives forever.

Plip is a naiad of the Great Waterfall, destined to one day sing the songs that send rain out into the world.

Akino isn’t destined for anything but trouble. His father long gone, his mother working on a plantation far away, he doesn’t really belong in the village below the Waterfall. And the villagers don’t let him forget it.

When Akino convinces Plip to travel down the mountain with him, for his own selfish purposes, he launches them into a world more dangerous than either of them could imagine. A world where people are not always what they seem and the rain does not fall evenly across the land.

Excerpt

The Great Waterfall

The village of Fells stretched up and down for nearly a kilometer on either side of the Great Waterfall. Its crooked little houses perched precariously one above the other, bolted to the mossy rock face in a manner that would seem quite miraculous to the rest of the world but was the least interesting aspect of life in Fells.

From here the weather of the world was sent out by the Weather Masters, wizened old men and women who plucked threads of water from the cascading falls and wove them deftly into clouds, guided by the song of the naiads, who danced in and out of the falls like fish in a river.

Plip had lived in the waterfall since she was no bigger than a water drop. She was now nearly grown, almost a full eight centimeters long with a powerful tail that propelled her up the falls and long, blue-green hair like her mother. But her singing voice had not arrived yet, even though she had been wrapping her throat in orchid leaves according to the exact instructions of her best friend Lua.

Plip’s mother sang the song for rain-that-would-fall-on-the-flowers. It was clear and sweet. One had to be gentle with rain that fell on delicate petals, so as not to bruise them.

Plip’s father sang the song for the rain-that-fell-in-the-woody-marshlands of the south. Mother’s gentle rain would not last long in the marshlands, Father used to say with a teasing laugh. Plip did not exactly know what a marshland was, but Father said there were great creatures with fierce teeth who swam through those waters, and fierce men who hunted them. “My rain must be strong if it is to give courage to the creatures of the Woody Marshlands.”

Plip did not feel fierce enough to sing for the Marshlands, or gentle enough to sing for the flowers. What if she was not fit for a song? What if the rain she sang came out all wrong?

“Be patient,” her mother said. “Your song will come when it comes.”

It was difficult to be patient when one grew up in a waterfall. The water certainly seemed to be in a hurry to reach the earth. Perhaps that’s why the naiads were rarely still themselves. When they weren’t singing, they were playing in the frothy fingers of the falls or chatting with the people of the village.

The Weather Masters were peculiar people, so very solemn and still, and incredibly old. They had wrinkles on their hands and around their eyes. They needed a great deal of sleep every day and only the young ones really wanted to play. But the old ones would talk and tell wonderful stories, and Mother and Father said that they held great wisdom.

This month, Plip’s favorite was a man called Tsomo. He had lost his sight several months ago but still wove the most beautiful clouds in the village through the memory of his fingers.

“Where does your rain fall today, Tsomo?” Plip would ask as she perched on his porch.

“On the just and the unjust, child,” he would reply.

“But that was your answer yesterday!”

“It is also true today.”

“You have such strange answers,” she would laugh.

“They only seem strange because you do not understand the questions,” he said with a smile.

“I am almost of age,” she protested. “But you make me feel as if I know very little of the world.”

He chuckled. “You have never left the waterfall, little one.”

“Father says that we are not meant to go out in the world. When the water returns to us from the corners of the earth, it tells us where it has been. But the water does not speak to me yet. Mother says that when I hear it, I will find my voice. Only it seems to me that day will never come.”

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About the Author

E.B. Dawson was born out of time. Raised in the remote regions of a developing nation, traveling to America was as good as traveling thirty years into the future. Now she writes science fiction and fantasy to make sense of her unusual perspectives on life. Her stories acknowledge darkness, but empower and encourage people to keep on fighting, no matter how difficult their circumstances may be. She currently lives in Idaho with her family and her cat Maximus.

Connect:

Website: http://www.ebdawsonwriting.com

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Spotlight: A Thousand Minutes to Sunlight by Jen White

Published by: Farrar Straus and Giroux (BYR)
Publication date: April 20th 2021
Genres: Contemporary, Middle-Grade

Jen White’s A Thousand Minutes to Sunlight is a sensitively-written middle grade novel about a girl struggling with anxiety, family secrets, and the meaning of friendship.

Cora is constantly counting the minutes. It’s the only thing that stops her brain from rattling with worry, from convincing her that danger is up ahead. Afraid of the unknown, Cora spends her days with her feet tucked into sand, marveling at La Quinta beach’s giant waves and her little sister Sunshine’s boundless energy.

And then danger really does show up at Cora’s doorstep–her absentee uncle, whose sudden presence in the middle of the night makes her parents nervous and secretive. As dawn breaks once more, Cora must piece together her family and herself, one minute at a time.

A Thousand Minutes to Sunlight is an endearing and revelatory middle-grade novel that is perfect for fans of Counting by 7s and Fish in a Tree.

Excerpt

A silent house, in the middle of the night, might be one of the loneliest places on the planet. Did you hear that? 

Brain says: Absolutely an ax murderer. 

Crouched in the hallway, I’m poised for anything. It’s 11:31 p.m. to be exact, and a wonder that I can even hear Brain, with my heart hammering in my eardrums. Inside my head, I count. 

1 2 3 4 5 

Counting helps. Sometimes counting the minutes is the only thing that soothes the worry that wedges itself on top of my diaphragm. Right now, I’m tucked into a shadow in our long hallway, the one that leads from our bedrooms to our front entry. I adjust my Las Olas Middle School T-shirt that’s tucked weirdly into my leggings and pretend I’m brave. 

Moments ago, I was perfectly happy, asleep in my room, curled up with Chevy, our bulldog, but I must have heard something. 

Brain says: We did. 

Chevy now stands at my feet and the hair on the back of his neck bristles. A slight growl gurgles up from the edge of his throat. Voices, muted but urgent. 

With Chevy at my heels, I creep down the hall to our front door. Something bumps—a soft thud. Shadows waver through the bubbled glass window above our entry. Without warning, the front door flings open with a bang. 

The handle punches a quick, tidy hole into the wall behind it. I jump back, but what’s weird is that Chevy doesn’t bark. Instead, his tail wags. 

Dad steps over the threshold, carrying something heavy. Did he say he was going out? I don’t remember. 

Then Mom steps into the light. She holds the end part as she and Dad lug a person through our front door. 

I hold my breath. 

Dad says, “Watch his head.” 

“You watch his head,” says Mom. “I’m trying to make sure his filthy shoes don’t touch my floors. The cleaners just came today.” 

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About the Author

Jen White writes middle grade fiction. Her second book, A THOUSAND MINUTES TO SUNLIGHT, releases on 4.20.21. Her debut, SURVIVAL STRATEGIES OF THE ALMOST BRAVE, has been translated into several languages. She grew up in Southern California and currently resides there with her family. Jen received her bachelor of art’s degree in English and her master’s degree from Vermont College of Fine Arts in Writing for Children and Young Adults. You can find out more at www.jenwhitebooks.com.

Connect:
https://www.jenwhitebooks.com/

https://www.instagram.com/jenwhitewrites/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9799883.Jen_White

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Spotlight: Cadillac Payback: Rising Tide by AJ Elmore

Genre: Romantic Suspense 

It has been a year since the fire in the Ninth Ward that solidified Maria's place in the ranks of her grandmother's operation. Though tensions are high among her remaining crew, things seem to be going well...until Abuela starts moving pieces and changing the ranks. Suspicions ride even higher when Isaiah shows up well after he left the life behind, and without an explanation. Will Maria be able to hold it together, or will she lose Joshua and Frederick, as well? What part does Isaiah play?

Exclusive Excerpt

I roll the Indian into the garage lot, and park it. I let the engine growl for a bit before I shut it off. The only time I enjoy turning heads is when they hear this streamlined beast coming. This bike came back from the dead. Only true fans could understand.

Josh is already here, the garage door is up, and so is his hood. A greased-up Cajun by the name of Spanky is checking out the car’s guts. I think that’s his name, anyway.

Spanky is one of the few associates of mine whose interest lies almost solely in a legal trade. He knows where to get old parts for real cheap, and though sometimes I don’t know what the fuck he’s saying to me, he’s reliable. He owns the place, and for a fat sack, he lets me use his space when he can. He’s used to seeing the Caddy. The Challenger is a new treat.

I swing a leg over my bike, then replace my road goggles with my wire-framed glasses. The days are fading earlier the closer we get to fall, and the air has cooled from the mid-summer shroud of humidity and heat. The ride over was nice, wind against my face, carrying what last bits of aggravation lingered from the earlier part of the day.

Everything changes tomorrow, but tonight, I’ve agreed to do a tune up on Josh’s Challenger. He offered me money, but I won’t take it. I just want to get elbow deep in that machine.

I’ve dressed down in a pair of stained jeans, my old motorcycle boots, and a pristine white t-shirt. It’s something of a ritual, the process of getting a clean shirt dirty. I can hear Spanky jawing at the engine in an appreciative tone, and I smirk as I approach. Josh is watching Spanky’s backside with a look of confusion, which he turns on me, like I can somehow explain.

I say, “She’s a damsel, eh, Spanky?”

“Daaaaayum straight,” he answers, with a drawn out “Wooooooeeeeee” as punctuation.

He straightens and gives me a half-cocked grin. The grease on his cheeks makes what’s left of his teeth seem almost white. Somehow I think under that layer of muck, his skin is pale as a newborn, and he never sees the sun without a solid mask of grit.

He points at a large dirty cooler full of ice and clear beer bottles, and says, “Youawnt’un?”

I shake my head and hand over a rolled-up fast food bag, which contains a few flat, oozing burgers and his weed. His eyes light up when he sees it. As much as he’d love to stay and drool over Josh’s toy, he’d just as rather go get high and down some disgusting food. He nods to us, and disappears into the bowels of the garage.

“What the fuck?” Josh mutters under his breath as he snags a beer for himself.

He eyes the label, Miller High Life, and his expression turns down in distaste. It’s so haughty that I almost give him shit for being such a picky bitch. He pops the top anyway and takes a swig. 

I’ve been riding for a while, so there’s already a layer of road dirt on my face. It was the best way to find the space to breathe after everything clicked just out of place at the Garden District house. That moment has been carefully boarded up and stored for later inspection.

There’s a strange ease in knowing the secrets are out, at least as far as our inner crew is concerned. The mandate has been passed, all applicable parties have been notified. Effective immediately. Except not really. Tonight I’m a free agent, floating too far from the ground to control my landing.

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About AJ Elmore

AJ is a beach migrant and part-time muse. She enjoys the exploration of genres vast and the search for untold worlds. A writer-for-fun since childhood, she has also been known to be a superhero, a gunslinger, and, occasionally, a waitress. She lives on an island, has a bachelor’s degree in journalism and some tattoos. She is most easily found at the water’s edge.

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Spotlight: Bake Believe by Cori Cooper

Genre: Middle Grade Contemporary Fantasy

Can it be real? Or is it bake believe?

All Cat Anderson wants out of life is a circle of friends to giggle with and a few cute boys to flirt with. Her first day of eighth grade is looking perfect—until a scheduling mishap places her in a culinary arts class.

Food, it turns out, is a very big deal. In her family there is a secret, too big to stay hidden any longer. A secret too fantastic to be real. Something happens when Cat bakes. Something impossible.

Excerpt

I scramble to my feet, snatch my phone off the carpet and barrel upstairs to my parent’s room. In my excitement, I forget to be stealthy and sound just like that herd of elephants my mom loves so much. I stampede through the door and spring onto their huge, fluffy bed.

“Oof.” Comes from Dad.

“What?!” Comes from Mom.

“Can I go to the pool with Robyn?” Comes from Me.

“What time is it?” My mom groans, as she rolls over.

I can’t answer that because I still haven’t looked at the time. I start to turn my phone back on, but Mom is quicker. She reaches over and adjusts the clock so she can see the numbers.

“Cat Anderson!” She turns the clock so I can see the glowing numbers too.

6:15.

I clear my throat.

My mom stares at me with laser eyes that are so powerful, they may give me male pattern baldness when I’m older. Lucky for my hair, my dad distracts her. He lets out a snorting snore that is loud enough to reach Seattle. People there are probably looking up at the sky wondering what in the smorgasbord that sound was.

Mom nudges Dad so he will roll over, taking the noise with him. We watch until he starts breathing like a normal person again, then my mom snaps her eyes back to me.

I run my fingers through my hair, twirling a strand around my finger.

“It’s the last day of summer.” I say, in a small voice. “I hear the pool is very nice this time of year.”

My mom sighs herself back into her pillows. “I know it’s the last day of summer, and I know you’re excited, Cat.” She gives me a sympathetic look that can’t be good for my plans. “But this conversation would make a whole lot more sense in a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours!” I exclaim. “The day will almost be over in a couple of hours!”

Mom levels me with a look. “It’s 6:00.”

“6:17.” I turn her clock, so she can get another look at the numbers.

Mom sighs again, all the way from her toes this time. “Cat, my point is that nothing is open this early. The mall doesn’t even open for about three hours.”

“Oh, sure it does.” I wave a hand to get rid of her silly sentence.

My mom’s left eyebrow rises just a notch.

I nod to emphasize my words. “You know! They open it super early for all those old ladies to walk laps. The mall is open, but the stores aren’t.”

“Okay.” My mom looks at me, her eyes trying not to wrinkle in the corners. “I’m wondering how you know this. Do you often go to the mall before it opens so you can walk with the old ladies?” A smile curls the corner of her mouth upwards and her eyes lose the wrinkle battle.

She is totally teasing me.

This is so not the time for teasing! Doesn’t she know that the lasting memory of my whole summer hangs on this one day? I shake my head, making my hair fly in front of my eyes. I stop to smooth it back into place. “That’s super weird, Mom.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Anyways.” I wave my hand again, up and down and all around, to help us get back on subject. “The pool. It opens at like 7, I think, that’s 40 minutes from now. It will take me that long to get ready. Then, it takes some time to get there, so that should work out perfect, am I right? Can I go, please? This is the last day of summer! I can’t waste a single minute!”

My mom slips down her pillows, like she’s a balloon that just ran out of air. One long, excruciating silence later, she pokes my dad in the back. She does it a few times before he jerks around to face her.

“What?”

“Andrew, what do you think about your oldest child going to the pool this morning?”

My dad’s eyes are squinty slits. He tries to open them all the way but gives up before it happens. “Is it morning? Are you sure the sun is up?”

“Yeah!” In my enthusiasm to prove it, I spring off the bed to the window and pull up the blinds with a little too much force. The blinds slam against the top thingy and wave across the window like a banner. The room floods with light.

Hello daylight savings time.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audible | Paperback

About the Author

Cori Cooper lives in the magical Arizona Mountains, which she’s pretty convinced is the setting for all the fairy tales.

Besides writing stories, she adores hanging out with her family, playing board games, hiking and baking, baking, baking. Like Cat’s family, she’s positive Cinnamon Rolls fix everything.

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Spotlight: Breathing Underwater by Sarah Allen

Published by: Farrar Straus and Giroux (BYR)
Publication date: March 31st 2021
Genres: Contemporary, Middle-Grade

Breathing Underwater is a sparkly, moving middle grade novel from Sarah Allen, and a big-hearted exploration of sisterhood, dreams, and what it means to be there for someone you love.

Olivia is on the road trip of her dreams, with her trusty camera and her big sister Ruth by her side. Three years ago, before their family moved from California to Tennessee, Olivia and Ruth buried a time capsule on their favorite beach. Now, they’re taking an RV back across the country to uncover the memories they left behind. But Ruth’s depression has been getting worse, so Olivia has created a plan to help her remember how life used to be: a makeshift scavenger hunt across the country, like pirates hunting for treasure, taking pictures and making memories along the way.

All she wants is to take the picture that makes her sister smile. But what if things can never go back to how they used to be? What if they never find the treasure they’re seeking? Through all the questions, loving her sister, not changing her, is all Olivia can do—and maybe it’s enough.

Excerpt

Underwear: check.

Toothpaste and toothbrush: check. Murphy, my stuffed killer whale, who Ruth has already made fun of me for packing: check. 

I tried to keep him tucked under my clothes so Ruth wouldn’t spot him if she came into my room. I didn’t want her to see that I was bringing him and say Geez, Olivia, are you thirteen or three? But she did come in, and she did see him, and she did say it, so I guess there’s nothing I can do about that. That’s just Ruth being Ruth, not one of the bad signs I need to watch out for. 

Most important, I have my new underwater camera in its own special case, a purple case with a long black strap. It took me four months and extra chores to save up for this camera, but it was more than worth it. 

I’m sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor next to my mostly packed luggage when Ruth pokes her head through my doorway. As quickly as I can, I slide the four old pictures I’m looking at under my suitcase. This time Ruth doesn’t notice. “Mom and Dad want us downstairs,” she says. 

“Mmkay, coming,” I say. Ruth steps out of view. “Hey, Ruth?” 

Her head pops back into frame. “What.” 

“Um . . .” Now I’m hesitant, but I say, “What do you remember most from last time?” 

“Last time?”

 “Yeah.” 

She shrugs. “I dunno. It was years ago.”

Only three years ago, I think. “Do you remember what’s in our secret box?” 

“I dunno,” she says again. 

I nod. Ruth disappears from my doorway. 

It’s not like our secret box is huge or special or anything. It’s just a box. A simple wooden box about the size for shoes. Ruth and I thought it looked like a treasure chest when we were younger, so we put a few of our most treasured things inside, like Polaroid pictures and key chains and plastic bracelets and shells we’d collected. We buried it in a cave at Sunset Cliffs, San Diego, before we moved away three years ago. Not even a cave, really, more an open room in the cliffs along the beach half a mile away from our old house. We walked there all the time, played there, and left our treasure there when I was ten and Ruth was thirteen. 

And now? Now we’re going back.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Hardcover

About the Author

Sarah Allen has been published in The Evansville Review, Allegory, and on WritersDigest. She has an MFA from Brigham Young University. Like Libby in her novel What Stars are Made Of, Allen was born with Turner Syndrome.

Connect:

https://www.sarahallenbooks.com/

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5447746.Sarah_Allen?from_search=true

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