The Half-Orphan's Handbook by Joan F. Smith || Excerpt
For fans of John Green and Emily X.R. Pan, The Half-Orphan’s Handbook by Joan F. Smith is a coming-of-age story and an empathetic, authentic exploration of grief with a sharp sense of humor and a big heart.
It’s been three months since Lila lost her father to suicide. Since then, she’s learned to protect herself from pain by following two unbreakable rules:
1. The only people who can truly hurt you are the ones you love. Therefore, love no one.
2. Stay away from liars. Liars are the worst.
But when Lila’s mother sends her to a summer-long grief camp, it’s suddenly harder for Lila to follow these rules. Potential new friends and an unexpected crush threaten to drag her back into life for the first time since her dad’s death.
On top of everything, there’s more about what happened that Lila doesn’t know, and facing the truth about her family will be the hardest part of learning how a broken heart can love again.
I sucked my top lip into my mouth and released it. “You’re grieving all over again.”
“Exactly.”
Another person
with more than one bad thing that had happened to them. It seemed like that
grief lightning handbook rule was right after all. I stared at my fingernails,
trying to work up the courage to ask my bunkmates how to fix me. “How do you
get over it?” I whispered.
Winnie and
Madison exchanged a glance. “Even though it feels mountain-shaped, I don’t know
that it’s something you can get over, exactly,” Winnie said. “Sometimes you’re
going up. Sometimes you’re going down. Eventually you figure out that there are
tunnels and that maybe you’re on one mountain of many, but no matter what kind
of hiking boots or backpack you get, you’re still climbing a fucking mountain.”
Madison nodded.
“It’s not something you get over; it’s some- thing you wade through. It just
becomes one of your memories.” “Which bubbles at a pretty low burn for me,” Winnie
added.
“A daily simmer.
Like, while I feel like every day is pretty much the same without my dad . . .”
“I get really
upset on anniversaries. My mom’s birthday, death day, holidays,” Madison
finished.
“I can’t
concentrate.” I traced the edge of my shorts. “I think about my dad constantly.
I can’t sleep. My whole life took this massive turn without me asking for it. I
didn’t get to say goodbye. To use your metaphor”—here I gestured to Winnie—“one
second I had a mountain guide, and the next he’d just . . . evaporated. And I
don’t even know why.”
“You don’t know
why he did it?” Madison asked, her voice gentler than I’d ever heard it.
“No. And I’m
positive it would help.”
Winnie leaned
forward. “Your mom won’t tell you? Or does she not know either?”
“She knows.”
anie
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