Reading this book was like eating chicken shit infected with avian flu, with the writing being the chicken shit and the story being the avian flu. Hell, if I could give it two middle fingers I would. This piece of shit is an absolute and utter perversion of the English language. A great self-reflection in what it means to be growing, to be be giving, a piece of fine citrus upon the tongue. You're ahead of me all of a sudden." But I couldn't slow down. until Phoebe had to rip it from my cold dead hands. But this 7th grader is far from boring, he has a spine, a heart, and pair of glasses about an inch thick that become a lynchpin to a much darker deeper secret that had me turning the pages. So I dug in and was immediately swept up in this story about a 7th grader who moves from the boring suburbs of Houston to a strangely overdeveloped region in Florida - another suburb once proudly occupied by tangerine groves, the best in the world. I can't believe you want to read it too." Which is something I'm trying to do: read all the books my two daughters are reading, which is surprisingly easy since kids these days don't do much reading it appears at all in school. She's in 7th grade up here in Washington State and she brought it home and laid it down with a big thud and a groan and "Here it is, Dad. What can I tell you except my daughter Phoebe is reading this.
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