Ghost by Jason Reynolds (English) Paperback Book

Description: Ghost by Jason Reynolds Ghost wants to be the fastest sprinter on his elite middle-school track team, but his past is slowing him down in this electrifying novel--a National Book Award Finalist for Young Peoples Literature and first in a brand-new series. 5/8. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description A National Book Award Finalist for Young Peoples Literature Nominated as one of Americas best-loved novels by PBSs The Great American Read Ghost wants to be the fastest sprinter on his elite middle school track team, but his past is slowing him down in this first electrifying novel of the acclaimed Track series from Coretta Scott King - John Steptoe Award-winning author Jason Reynolds. Ghost. Lu. Patina. Sunny. Four kids from wildly different backgrounds with personalities that are explosive when they clash. But they are also four kids chosen for an elite middle school track team--a team that could qualify them for the Junior Olympics if they can get their acts together. They all have a lot to lose, but they also have a lot to prove, not only to each other, but to themselves. Running. Thats all Ghost (real name Castle Cranshaw) has ever known. But Ghost has been running for the wrong reasons--it all started with running away from his father, who, when Ghost was a very little boy, chased him and his mother through their apartment, then down the street, with a loaded gun, aiming to kill. Since then, Ghost has been the one causing problems--and running away from them--until he meets Coach, an ex-Olympic Medalist who sees something in Ghost: crazy natural talent. If Ghost can stay on track, literally and figuratively, he could be the best sprinter in the city. Can Ghost harness his raw talent for speed, or will his past finally catch up to him? Author Biography Jason Reynolds is a #1 New York Times bestselling author, a Newbery Award Honoree, a Printz Award Honoree, a two-time National Book Award finalist, a 2024 MacArthur Fellow, a Kirkus Award winner, a UK Carnegie Medal winner, a two-time Walter Dean Myers Award winner, an NAACP Image Award Winner, an Odyssey Award Winner and two-time honoree, and the recipient of multiple Coretta Scott King honors and the Margaret A. Edwards Award. He was also the 2020-2022 National Ambassador for Young Peoples Literature. His many books include All American Boys (cowritten with Brendan Kiely); When I Was the Greatest; The Boy in the Black Suit; Stamped; As Brave as You; For Every One; the Track series (Ghost, Patina, Sunny, and Lu); Look Both Ways; Stuntboy, in the Meantime; Aint Burned All the Bright (recipient of the Caldecott Honor) and My Name Is Jason. Mine Too. (both cowritten with Jason Griffin); Twenty-Four Seconds from Now...; and Long Way Down, which received a Newbery Honor, a Printz Honor, and a Coretta Scott King Honor. His debut picture book, There Was a Party for Langston, won a Caldecott Honor and a Coretta Scott King Illustrator Honor. He lives in Washington, DC. You can find his ramblings at JasonWritesBooks.com. Excerpt from Book Ghost 1 WORLD RECORDS CHECK THIS OUT. This dude named Andrew Dahl holds the world record for blowing up the most balloons . . . with his nose. Yeah. Thats true. Not sure how he found out that was some kinda special talent, and I cant even imagine how much snot be in those balloons, but hey, its a thing and Andrews the best at it. Theres also this lady named Charlotte Lee who holds the record for owning the most rubber ducks. No lie. Heres whats weird about that: Why would you even want one rubber duck, let alone 5,631? I mean, come on. And me, well, I probably hold the world record for knowing about the most world records. That, and for eating the most sunflower seeds. "Let me guess, sunflower seeds," Mr. Charles practically shouts from behind the counter of what he calls his "country store," even though we live in a city. Mr. Charles, who, by the way, looks just like James Brown if James Brown were white, has been ringing me up for sunflower seeds five days a week for about, let me think . . . since the fourth grade, which is when Ma took the hospital job. So for about three years now. Hes also hard of hearing, which when my mom used to say this, I always thought she was saying "harder hearing," which made no sense at all to me. I dont know why she just didnt say "almost deaf." Maybe because "hard of hearing" is more like hospital talk, which was probably rubbing off on her. But, yeah, Mr. Charles can barely hear a thing, which is why hes always yelling at everybody and everybodys always yelling at him. His store is a straight-up scream fest, not to mention the extra sound effects from the loud TV he keeps behind the counter--cowboy movies on repeat. Mr. Charles is also the guy who gave me this book, Guinness World Records, which is where I found out about Andrew Dahl and Charlotte Lee. He tells me I can set a record one day. A real record. Be one of the worlds greatest somethings. Maybe. But I know one thing, Mr. Charles has to hold the record for saying, Let me guess, sunflower seeds, because he says that every single time I come in, which means I probably also already hold the record for responding, loudly, the exact same way. "Lemme guess, one dollar." Thats my comeback. Said it a gazillion times. Then I slap a buck in the palm of his wrinkly hand, and he puts the bag of seeds in mine. After that, I continue on my slow-motion journey, pausing again only when I get to the bus stop. But this bus stop aint just any bus stop. Its the one thats directly across the street from the gym. I just sit there with the other people waiting for the bus, except Im never actually waiting for it. The bus gets you home fast, and I dont want that. I just go there to look at the people working out. See, the gym across the street has this big window--like the whole wall is a window--and they have those machines that make you feel like you walking up steps and so everybody just be facing the bus stop, looking all crazy like theyre about to pass out. And trust me, there aint nothing funnier than that. So I check that out for a little while like its some kind of movie: The About to Pass Out Show, starring stair-stepper person one through ten. I know this all probably sounds kinda weird, maybe even creepy, but its something to do when youre bored. Best part about sitting there is tearing into my sunflower seeds like theyre theater popcorn. About the sunflower seeds. I used to just put a whole bunch of them in my mouth at the same time, suck all the salt off, then spit them all out machine-gun-style. I couldve probably set a world record in that, too. But now, Ive matured. Now I take my time, moving them around, positioning them for the perfect bite to pop open the shell, then carefully separating the seed from it with my tongue, then--and this is the hard part--keeping the little seed safe in the space between my teeth and tongue, I spit the shells out. And finally, after all that, I chew the seed up. Im like a master at it, even though, honestly, sunflower seeds dont taste like nothing. Im not even sure theyre really worth all the hassle. But I like the process anyway. My dad used to eat sunflower seeds too. Thats where I get it from. But he used to chew the whole thing up. The shells, the seeds, everything. Just devour them like some kind of beast. When I was really young, I used to ask him if a sunflower was going to grow inside of him since he ate the seeds so much. He was always watching some kind of game, like football or basketball, and hed turn to me just for a second, just long enough to not miss a play, and say, "Sunflowers are all up in me, kid." Then hed shake up the seeds in his palm like dice, before throwing another bunch in his grill to chomp down on. But let me tell you, my dad was lying. Wasnt no sunflowers growing in him. Couldnt have been. I dont know a whole lot about sunflowers, but I know theyre pretty and girls like them, and I know the word sunflower is made up of two good words, and that man aint got two good words in him, or anything that any girl would like, because girls dont like men who try to shoot them and their son. And thats the kind of man he was. It was three years ago when my dad lost it. When the liquor made him meaner than hed ever been. Every other night he would become a different person, like hed morph into someone crazy, but this one night my mother decided to finally fight back. This one night everything went worse. I had my head sandwiched between the mattress and my pillow, something I got used to doing whenever they were going at it, when my mom crashed into my bedroom. "We gotta go," she said, yanking the covers off the bed. And when I didnt move fast enough, she yelled, "Come on!" Next thing I knew, she was dragging me down the hallway, my feet tripping over themselves. And thats when I looked back and saw him, my dad, staggering from the bedroom, his lips bloody, a pistol in his hand. "Dont make me do this, Terri!" he angry-begged, but me and my mom kept rolling. The sound of the gun cocking. The sound of the door unlocking. As soon as she swung the door open, my dad fired a shot. He was shooting at us! My dad! My dad was actually shooting . . . at . . . US! His wife and his boy! I didnt look to see what he hit, mainly because I was scared it was gonna be me. Or Ma. The sound was big, and sharp enough to make me feel like my brain was gonna pop in my head, enough to make my heart hiccup. But the craziest thing was, I felt like the shot--loudest sound I ever heard--made my legs move even faster. I dont know if thats possible, but thats definitely what it seemed like. My mom and I kept running, down the staircase into the street, breaking into the darkness with death chasing behind us. We ran and ran and ran, until finally we came up on Mr. Charless store, which, luckily for us, stays open 24/7. Mr. Charles took one look at me and my mom, out of breath, crying, barefoot in our pajamas, and hid us in his storage room while he called the cops. We stayed there all night. I havent seen my dad since. Ma said the cops said that when they got to the house, he was sitting outside on the steps, shirtless, with the pistol beside him, guzzling beer, eating sunflower seeds, waiting. Like he wanted to get caught. Like it was no big deal. They gave him ten years in prison, and to be honest, I dont know if Im happy about that or not. Sometimes, I wish he wouldve gotten forever in jail. Other times, I wish he was home on the couch, watching the game, shaking seeds in his hand. Either way, one thing is for sure: that was the night I learned how to run. So when I was done sitting at the bus stop in front of the gym, and came across all those kids on the track at the park, practicing, I had to go see what was going on, because running aint nothing I ever had to practice. Its just something I knew how to do. Details ISBN1481450166 Author Jason Reynolds Short Title GHOST R/E Pages 208 Audience Age 10-13 Series Track Language English ISBN-10 1481450166 ISBN-13 9781481450164 Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Series Number 1 Year 2017 Publication Date 2017-08-29 Edition Description Reprint ed. Audience Children / Juvenile Publisher Simon & Schuster Imprint Simon & Schuster Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States US Release Date 2017-08-29 We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:116662606;

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