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Overview
Eleven-year-old April Jackson loves playing the drums, almost as much as she loves her best friend, Zee, a violin prodigy. They both dream of becoming professional musicians one day. When Zee starts attending a new school that will nurture his talent, April decides it’s time for her to pursue her dreams, too, and finally take drum lessons. She knows she isn’t very good to start, but with Zee’s support, she also knows someday she can be just as good as her hero, Sheila E., and travel all around the world with a pair of drumsticks in her hand.
When the unthinkable happens and Zee suddenly passes away, April is crushed by grief. Without Zee, nothing is the way it’s supposed to be. Zee's Dad isn't delivering the mail for his postal route like he should. April's Mom is suddenly dating someone new who is occupying too much space in their lives. And every time April tries to play the drums, all she can think about is Zee.
April isn't sure how to move on from the awful feeling of being without Zee. Desperate to help Papa Zee, she decides to secretly deliver the mail he’s been neglecting. But when on her route she discovers a classmate in trouble, she doesn’t second guess what she knows is the right thing to do.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780593530917 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Young Readers Group |
| Publication date: | 06/06/2023 |
| Sold by: | Penguin Group |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 288 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
| Age Range: | 10 - 14 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
The Sound of Music
makes everything better,
even the first day of school.
In the quiet of morning, there’s
no mistaking the faint sound of
a violin, my best friend, Zee, playing at this early hour.
We’re both going to school
today, but not the same one,
not anymore.
Wash, Brush, Dress
in my school uniform
with the crisp collar,
skirt pleats poppin’,
creased shirtsleeves
sharp enough to cut you,
like Mama taught me.
I double-check my ponytail,
every strand in place, grab
my bookbag, my drumsticks,
and ease into the kitchen.
Devour the orange-cranberry scone
Mama baked special for today.
I slip into her
room for a kiss,
but don’t wake her.
Her UPS badge on
the dresser, her head
half beneath the pillow.
Working night shift
loading trucks means
Mama sleeps most of
the day, works most of
the night, and we live
in the quiet moments
in between.
Like Clockwork
Zee waits for me in the hallway
outside his apartment, across
from my own.
He’s dressed in a burgundy polo,
a gold-and-blue crest on his chest,
khaki pants, new black loafers.
The hallway reeks of fried eggs
and onions, strong coffee and
cologne. Zee has one leg
kicked behind him on the wall,
his violin case in his hand, his
face as hard as stone.
Zee closes his eyes,
takes three long, deep
breaths but still no words.
He’s usually not this quiet.
You okay, Zee?
We gabbed all summer about
today, so I know he’s as excited,
and as nervous too, as I am.
His eyes open when Papa Zee
exits their apartment,
door slamming behind him,
shirt untucked, hat on backward.
He’s late to work today but still
plants a kiss on our foreheads
before ushering us to the elevator.
He jabs the button so many times I’m
afraid it might break. We’re only
on the twelfth floor, but the elevator
always seems slowest when we’re
in a rush.
One for the road? Papa Zee asks, winking.
How do you make a bandstand?
How? I ask.
Zee leans forward,
fully alert.
You take away their chairs!
Zee laughs out loud.
A real laugh, a belly laugh.
The mood lighter now, the
elevator arrives.
It’s Been
Zee and me forever,
same walk to the same school,
same classes, same teachers,
until Papa Zee promised when
the new Boston STEAM charter
school with a focus on the arts
opened in the neighborhood,
Zee could audition.
It’s been six months since and
I still don’t feel prepared.
You scared? I ask, falling in step with Zee.
At least we still get to walk together
most of the way, our schools only
five blocks apart.
Not scared. Can’t believe it’s literally happening.
I’m already good, you know?
Good is an understatement.
Zee is a violin prodigy.
I’m nowhere close,
but I want to be better.
Me too, Zee. Me too.
Zander Elliot Ellis Jr.
is Zee for short—never loud, or
rough and tumble, hard or fast, or
the clown of the class—just Zee.
Because he’s a junior,
saying Zander means
Daddy and son both
turn with those same
big eyes, broad nose,
velvet-brown skin,
with a smirk on
their lips, a question
in their eyes.
We were born a month apart,
but Zee was twice my size
even as babies, but no match
for my energy in the
playpen where we
cried . . .
wrestled . . .
cuddled . . .
each other before we
crawled . . .
walked . . .
talked.
Zee is more than
my best friend, he’s
like a brother. He’s
family.
We’re bookends.
We are.
I’m the A to his Z.
The Order of Things
in my life is simple:
quiet and efficient,
calm never commotion,
just as Mama likes it.
Like putting on socks before
shoes, letting dough rise before
baking, kissing Mama good night
first thing in the morning.
It’s important.
We keep our voices low, the
television off, even our alarm
clocks don’t beep because we
never set them.
There’s nothing except books
and magazines to distract us
when most people have a
television going 24/7,
reality shows or news,
but Mama has no patience
for either.
I asked Mama once why
we live the way we do.
Warehouse work is noisier than you can imagine.
And don’t get me started about what it was like in the army.
Silence is golden. It is music to my ears.
A quiet home is a small sacrifice
to keep Mama happy, but wanting
to play the drums makes me
a round peg in a square hole,
always out of place.