Haven jacobs saves the p.., p.1
Haven Jacobs Saves the Planet, page 1
Praise for Haven Jacobs Saves the Planet
“Once again, Barbara Dee has created vivid, real, likable middle school characters who tackle big problems. Full of humor, science, and activism, Haven Jacobs Saves the Planet addresses the eco-anxiety that many young people feel. Readers will cheer for Haven and her friends as they navigate complicated friendships and act to help save their town’s river… and, just maybe, the planet.”
—Rajani LaRocca, author of Newbery Honor Book Red, White, and Whole
“Relatable, achingly imperfect, and inspiringly hopeful, Barbara Dee’s characters jump off the page. Readers will cheer for Haven as she discovers that—in spite of our fears—we all have the ability to do small things greatly.”
—Jodi Lynn Anderson, bestselling author of My Diary from the Edge of the World and the Thirteen Witches trilogy
“An empathetic exploration of youth eco-anxiety that provides comfort, hope, and ways to cope in an uncertain world. Barbara Dee’s deeply developed and beautifully flawed characters navigate the ups and downs of friendships and family relationships as they face a local environmental crisis head-on in this crucial, timely, and engaging novel.”
—Lisa McMann, New York Times bestselling author of the Unwanteds series
“I loved this book! Haven Jacobs is full of heart, healing, and hope. This story will leave readers inspired, energized, and ready to change the world.”
—Carrie Firestone, author of Dress Coded and The First Rule of Climate Club
“Dynamic, engaging, and full of heart, Haven Jacobs Saves the Planet is the voice of a generation of kids who care deeply about the environment and want to put hope into action.”
—Chris Baron, author of All of Me and The Magical Imperfect
“As readers keep turning the pages of this accessible and immediately engaging narrative, they will discover in Haven Jacobs a relatable, believable protagonist with an indefatigable spirit.”
—Padma Venkatraman, author of Born Behind Bars and The Bridge Home
“A powerful and pitch-perfect story that will inspire readers to take action and fight for change.”
—Alyson Gerber, author of Taking Up Space and Focused
Praise for Violets Are Blue
“Violets Are Blue will break your heart and then piece it back together with infinite care. Barbara Dee expertly captures the struggle to be known and loved within a narrative that presents the complicated reality of addiction. Both Wren and her mother will stay with you long after this story is done.”
—Jamie Sumner, author of Roll with It and Tune It Out
“Barbara Dee tunes into issues that impact middle schoolers and writes about them with compassion, insight, and just plain excellent storytelling. I loved this absorbing, accessible novel, which explores the heartbreaking effects of opioid addiction while also celebrating the joys of discovering a passion and finding people who understand you.”
—Laurie Morrison, author of Up for Air and Saint Ivy
“Barbara Dee has done it again! Violets Are Blue is an emotionally rich story that masterfully weaves life’s messy feelings while gently and thoughtfully tackling the difficult subject of opioid addiction. Beautiful. Complicated.
And full of heart. A must read!”
—Elly Swartz, author of Smart Cookie and Dear Student
“Told realistically and with compassion, Violets Are Blue provides a fascinating look into the world of special effects makeup, budding friendships, family, and the secrets we keep.”
—Melanie Sumrow, author of The Inside Battle and The Prophet Calls
An SLJ Best Book 2021
A Project LIT Book Club selection
A Junior Library Guild Selection
A Cybils Awards Finalist
One of A Mighty Girl’s 2021 Books of the Year
Praise for My Life in the Fish Tank
“I loved My Life in the Fish Tank. Once again, Barbara Dee writes about important topics with intelligence, nuance, and grace. She earned all the accolades for Maybe He Just Likes You and will earn them for My Life in the Fish Tank too.”
—Kimberly Brubaker Bradley, author of Newbery Honor Books Fighting Words and The War That Saved My Life
“I felt every beat of Zinny Manning’s heart in this authentic and affecting story. Barbara Dee consistently has her finger on the pulse of her middle-grade audience. Outstanding!”
—Leslie Connor, author of A Home for Goddesses and Dogs and National Book Award finalist The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle
“My Life in the Fish Tank is a powerful portrayal of a twelve-year-old dealing with her sibling’s newly discovered mental illness. Author Barbara Dee deftly weaves in themes of friendship, family, and secrets, while also reminding us all to accept what we can’t control. I truly loved every moment of this emotional and gripping novel, with its notes of hope that linger long after the last page.”
—Lindsay Currie, author of The Peculiar Incident on Shady Street and Scritch Scratch
“My Life in the Fish Tank rings true for its humor, insight, and honesty. Zinny is an appealing narrator, and her friendships with supporting characters are beautifully drawn.”
—Laura Shovan, author of Takedown and A Place at the Table
“Barbara Dee offers a deeply compassionate look at life for twelve-year-old Zinny, whose older brother faces mental health challenges. This touching novel will go a long way in providing understanding and empathy for young readers. Highly recommended.”
—Donna Gephart, award-winning author of Lily and Dunkin and Abby, Tried and True
A Bank Street Best Book of the Year
A Junior Library Guild Selection
One of A Mighty Girl’s 2020 Books of the Year
Praise for Maybe He Just Likes You
“Mila is a finely drawn, sympathetic character dealing with a problem all too common in middle school. Readers will be cheering when she takes control! An important topic addressed in an age-appropriate way.”
—Kimberly Brubaker Bradley, author of Newbery Honor Books Fighting Words and The War That Saved My Life
“In Maybe He Just Likes You, Barbara Dee sensitively breaks down the nuances of a situation all too common in our culture—a girl not only being harassed, but not being listened to as she tries to ask for help. This well-crafted story validates Mila’s anger, confusion, and fear, but also illuminates a pathway towards speaking up and speaking out. A vital read for both girls and boys.”
—Veera Hiranandani, author of Newbery Honor Book The Night Diary
“Mila’s journey will resonate with many readers, exploring a formative and common experience of early adolescence that has too often been ignored. Important and empowering.”
—Ashley Herring Blake, author of Stonewall Children’s & Young Adult Honor Book Ivy Aberdeen’s Letter to the World
“Maybe He Just Likes You is an important, timeless story with funny, believable characters. Mila’s situation is one that many readers will connect with. This book is sure to spark many productive conversations.”
—Dusti Bowling, author of Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus
“In this masterful, relatable, and wholly unique story, Dee shows how one girl named Mila finds empowerment, strength, and courage within. I loved this book.”
—Elly Swartz, author of Smart Cookie and Dear Student
“Maybe He Just Likes You is the perfect way to jump-start dialogue between boy and girl readers about respect and boundaries. This book is so good. So needed! I loved it!”
—Paula Chase, author of So Done and Keeping It Real
A Washington Post Best Children’s Book
An ALA Notable Children’s Book
A Project LIT Book Club selection
A Bank Street Best Book of the Year
An ALA Rise: A Feminist Book Project selection
For all kids everywhere who care about our planet.
Keep doing what you can. Keep speaking out.
“The future is inside us. It’s not somewhere else.”
SENSITIVE
Sometimes in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep, I’d think about the time I lost my family in a bouncy castle.
It happened at a state fair—a million years ago, when I was like four or five. We’d all been bouncing, having a great time, when suddenly my big brother, Carter, said his stomach felt funny. I watched my family race out of the castle, shouting for me to follow. But I wasn’t ready to go, so I just kept on bouncing, all by myself.
Finally I stepped out of the castle to the flat, unbouncy ground, expecting to see Mom, Dad, and Carter.
Except they weren’t there.
No family.
For a second I froze, panicking. And then I started running.
I ran over to the Ferris wheel, then the roller coaster, then the ice cream stand where we’d all bought extra-large swirly cones an hour before. I ran over to a water-gun game where the prize was a giant stuffed Pikachu, then to the stage where some guy was playing a banjo, and past a lady in a cowgirl dress who was selling pies.
Somehow I made it back to the bouncy castle—and when I got there, my family was waiting. They looked terrified.
“Haven, what happened to you?” Dad yelled, and Mom burst into tears as she squeezed me tight.
“If you ever get separated from us, just stay put,” she scolded when she finally stopped crying. “Promise you won’t move around next time; let us find you.”
I promised.
“Haven’s a true problem solver,” Grandpa Aaron used to say.
“Yes, but not everything is a true problem,” Mom would answer.
She’d talk to me about “learning to relax,” “having patience,” “accepting what we can’t control.” And Dad would talk about “enjoying the process.” About “good sportsmanship,” too, when I’d lose at Blaster Force 3 to Carter or miss an easy goal in soccer.
“Haven, games are not about the final score,” he’d tell me. “It’s important to just have fun.”
And I’d think: Okay, but what’s fun about losing? To me, things counted only when I knew how they added up, or how they ended. So getting to the end of something—the solution of a puzzle, the last chapter in a book, the final scene in a movie—was basically why I was doing it in the first place.
I didn’t try explaining this to Mom and Dad because I knew what they’d say: Haven, honey, you should try to relax—enjoy the process!
Although, to be fair, they didn’t only talk this way, and sometimes they took my side. Like they did last summer, right before seventh grade, when our family went camping at Lake Exeter. I’d never gone fishing before, so I was excited to go out on the water with Dad and Carter. I even caught a trout in the first half hour.
Except the thing was, until the very second I caught that trout, somehow I hadn’t realized that catching a fish meant killing it.
“Can’t we just throw it back?” I’d begged Dad.
“Come on, Haven, fish are food,” Dad had replied.
“Not to me! I’m not a fish killer!”
Because how could I have eaten this creature that was still twitching and staring at me, that just a minute earlier I’d felt tugging on my rod? I absolutely couldn’t. And I didn’t want anyone else to eat it either.
“Aw, honey,” Dad said to me. “Don’t worry, fish don’t have feelings.”
“How do you know that?” By then I was almost crying.
Carter groaned. “Argh, Haven, why can’t you just enjoy the lake! And being on this boat. You’re missing the point of this whole vacation!”
“No, I’m not! Because the point of being on this boat is killing animals!”
“That’s not the point at all! Why do you always have to make such a big deal about everything? And get so emotional?”
“All right, enough squabbling, you two,” Dad said. “You’ll scare off the other trout.”
“Good, I hope we do,” I said.
Right at that moment, without saying anything, Dad threw the fish back. If he was annoyed with me, he didn’t show it, but Carter did.
That night, as we ate a takeout supper back at our campsite, my brother announced, “I can’t believe we came all the way here to fish, but because of Haven, we’re eating ramen.”
“Carter, you don’t even like eating fish,” Mom said. “And you love ramen! We all do,” she added as she caught my eye.
Carter slurped some noodles. “Not the point. Haven’s so hypersensitive. She can’t relax about anything!”
“All right, Carter, you’ve shared your opinion; now let it go,” Dad said sharply.
Mom changed the subject, but I didn’t pay attention. Instead I was thinking how the lake was big, full of fish. Plenty of other people were still fishing. I’d saved the trout, but how much had I accomplished, really?
Plus I’d messed up my family’s vacation, and now my brother was mad at me.
So even though I tried hard to enjoy myself—and the last few days of vacation before seventh grade—it felt like I’d won and lost at the same time.
ANTARCTICA
Of course I didn’t say this to my brother, but even before that fishing trip I’d been thinking about bigger things than what we were eating for supper. I’d been thinking about the planet—all the scary stuff happening with climate change.
And not just thinking about it: worrying. Reading stories on my computer. Having bad dreams sometimes, like the one where a tornado tore the roof off our house. Another one about my favorite elm tree catching fire, and how I couldn’t save a nest of baby robins. Another one about my bed floating away after a big rainstorm.
But I didn’t talk about it, because I didn’t want to hear how I was being “too sensitive,” “too emotional,” focusing on a problem-that-wasn’t-really-a-problem.
Until one day in the spring of seventh grade, when our teacher Mr. Hendricks showed a video in science class. It was about Antarctica, how climate change was making the glaciers disappear.
At first I didn’t get what the narrator was talking about, because he had an English accent and called them glassy-ers. But when I realized he meant glay-shers, and that they were melting in front of our eyes—right underneath the penguins—I got a funny buzzing feeling in my head.
If the glaciers melt, what happens to those penguins? I thought.
Don’t ask me where this question came from. I mean, it wasn’t like I was this penguin-obsessed person. I’d always liked penguins—the way they waddled and swam, the way both penguin parents took turns holding the eggs on their feet. But to be honest, I’d never really thought about them before.
And now this English guy in the video was talking about giant chunks of ice crashing into the ocean, meaning the Antarctic was in trouble. And that meant the penguins were in trouble, and probably the whales and the seals, too. Also dolphins, right? Plus a million creatures and plants whose names I didn’t even know.
Just then I remembered the trout, how we almost killed it for no good reason. And that made me think how humans were killing everything for no reason. How the whole planet—animals, plants, lakes, oceans, towns, cities—was in danger.
Including people. Including my family. And my friends.
Maybe our town would be swept up in a giant hurricane, and our school would sink. And our house would wash away while I was sleeping in my bed. Not just like in a scary dream, but in real life.
Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. My chest got tight and I was sweating all over: my armpits, my hands, my scalp. One word flashed in my brain—Run!—and before I knew what I was doing, I ran out of the classroom to hide in the girls’ restroom for the last four minutes of the period.
But even as I stood in front of the mirror, splashing cold water on my face, my brain kept replaying the video of that glacier crashing into the ocean, the penguins and other animals in danger. Like it was at the top of my mental playlist and I couldn’t scroll past it. Or delete it. Or reboot.
At lunch my best friend, Riley, asked if I was all right. But it was hard to think of an answer that sounded normal.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
Riley’s eyes were round and serious. “Come on, Haven. Something’s going on; I can see it on your face. Just tell me, okay?”
I dipped a carrot stick in my hummus, making small circles. “Okay, so. It’s that video we watched in science. It kind of freaked me out, actually.”
“And that’s why you left the room?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, I thought that was maybe it.” Riley pulled the crust off her sandwich, making a crust pile on her napkin. “But how come it upset you so much? Because Mr. Hendricks is always showing us stuff like that, right?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “But this was different.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I just can’t stop thinking about the penguins! Didn’t it seem like they could almost tell the ice was melting under their feet? And that they couldn’t do anything to stop it?”
“I guess,” Riley said. “They do seem really smart, don’t they? The way they communicate—”
“But it wasn’t just the penguins. It was everything else in that video too. What’s happening to the whales and dolphins. What’s happening to Antarctica. An entire continent.”
Riley blinked at me. I knew that lately she was scared about her grandma’s heart problems. If she was scared about climate stuff too, she’d never told me. And the truth was, we only talked about other stuff. School stuff, people stuff. Not this.
