Ellen Hopkins
How do you live your life if your past is based on a lie? Find out in this “satisfied and moving story” (Publishers Weekly, starred review) in both verse and prose from #1 New York Times bestselling author, Ellen Hopkins.
For as long as she can remember, it’s been just Ariel and Dad. Ariel’s mom disappeared when she was a baby. Dad says home is wherever the two of them are, but Ariel is now seventeen and after years of new apartments, new schools, and new faces, all she wants is to put down some roots. Complicating things are Monica and Gabe, both of whom have stirred a different kind of desire.
Maya’s a teenager who’s run from an abusive mother right into the arms of an older man she thinks she can trust. But now she’s isolated with a baby on the way, and life’s getting more complicated than Maya ever could have imagined.
Ariel and Maya’s lives collide unexpectedly when Ariel’s mother shows up out of the blue with wild accusations: Ariel wasn’t abandoned. Her father kidnapped her fourteen years ago.
In bestselling author Ellen Hopkins’s deft hands, Ariel’s emotionally charged journey to find out the truth of who she really is balances beautifully with Maya’s story of loss and redemption. This is a memorable portrait of two young women trying to make sense of their lives and coming face to face with themselves—for both the last and the very first time.
Oh, to be given the gifts
of the chameleon!
Not only the ability
to match the vital façade
to circumstance at will,
but also the capacity
to see in two directions
simultaneously.
Left. Right.
Forward. Backward.
How much gentler
our time on this planet,
and how much more
certain of our place
in the world we would be,
drawing comfort
like water from the wells
of our homes.
Four letters,
one silent.
A single syllable
pregnant with meaning.
is more
than a leak-free roof
and insulated walls
that keep you warm
when the winter wind screams
and cool when summer
stomps all over you.
is a clearing
in the forest,
a safe place to run
when the trees shutter
all light and the crunch
of leaves in deepening darkness
drills fear into your heart.
is someone
or two who accepts you
for the person you believe
you are, and if that happens
to change, embraces the person
you ultimately find yourself to be.
Home
Home
Home
Every place
Dad and I have
called home. When
I was real little, the two
of us sometimes lived in
our car. Those memories
are in motion. Always moving.
I don’t think
I minded it so much
then, though mixed in
with happy recollections
are snippets of intense fear.
I didn’t dare ask why one stretch
of sky wasn’t good enough to settle
under. My dad
likes to say he came
into this world infected
with wanderlust. He claims
I’m lucky, that at one day ‘til
I turn seventeen I’ve seen way
more places than most folks see
in an entire
lifetime. I’m sure
he’s right on the most
basic level, and while I
can’t dig up snapshots of
North Dakota, West Virginia or
Nebraska, how could I ever forget
watching Old
Faithful spouting
way up into the bold
amethyst Yellowstone sky,
or the granddaddy alligator
ambling along beside our car
on a stretch of Everglade roadway?
I’ve inhaled
heavenly sweet
Plumeria perfume,
dodging pedicab traffic
in the craziness of Waikiki.
I’ve picnicked in the shadows
of redwoods older than the rumored
son of God;
nudged up against
the edge of the Grand
Canyon as a pair of eagles
played tag in the warm air
currents; seen Atlantic whales
spyhop; bodysurfed in the Pacific;
and picked spring
inspired Death Valley
wildflowers. I’ve listened
to Niagara Falls percussion,
the haunting song of courting
loons. So I guess my dad is right.
I’m luckier than a whole lot of people.
All that sounds pretty damn
awesome. But here’s the deal.
I’d trade every bit of it to touch
down somewhere Dad didn’t insist
we leave as soon as we arrived.
I truly don’t think I’m greedy.
All I want is a real home, with
a backyard and a bedroom
I can fix up any way I choose,
the chance to make a friend
or two, and invite them to spend
the night. Not so much to ask, is it?
Well, I guess you’d have to query Dad.
I know he only wants what’s best
for me, but somehow he’s never
cared about my soul-deep longing
for roots. Home is where the two
of us are, was a favorite saying, and,
The best roof there is the sky. Except
when it’s leaking. The rain reference
cracked me up when I was real young.
But after a time or twenty, stranded
in our car while it poured because
we had nowhere else dry to stay,
reviews from Publishers Weekly:
Once again tackling difficult subject matter through elegantly crafted free verse, Hopkins (Traffick) tells the story of 17-year-old Ariel; her father, Mark; and Maya, also 17, who jumps into a relationship with an older man to escape her mother. Mark is an alcoholic drifter, prone to angry and violent outbursts. He has finally settled down long enough for Ariel to finish an entire school year in Sonora, Calif., where Ariel has allowed herself to develop real friendships and even consider the possibility of finding love. Hopkins uses spare yet poignant language to convey Ariel’s simultaneous joy and fear as she begins to explore her sexuality (“the need to embrace/ this part of myself/ is escalating”) while dealing with an abusive, homophobic, and controlling parent. Maya, whose chapters are written in first-person prose, intersects with Mark and Ariel’s lives in an unexpected way, deepening the story’s exploration of identity. Hopkins creates a satisfying and moving story, and her carefully structured poems ensure that each word and phrase is savored. Ages 14–up. Agent: Laura Rennert, Andrea Brown Literary. (Jan.) —Publishers Weekly