The Crying Rocks

by Janet Taylor Lisle

• ISBN13: 9780689853197
• ISBN10: 068985319X
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2003-10-01
• Publisher: Atheneum/Richard Jackson Books

Summary

A New York Times Bestselling Author A Newbery Honor and Scott O'Dell Award-winning Author About Joelle's life before she was found as a scrawny five-year-old, there isn't a lot known. But when her weird classmate, Carlos, tells her she looks like a girl in an old painting of Narragansett Indians, Joelle is surprised by a flicker of recognition. Carlos leads her to the ancient Crying Rocks, where the howling winds are thought to be the spirit voices of children long ago flung to a early death. The terrible story draws Joelle into the downdraft of her own memory.

Author Biography

Janet Taylor Lisle's novels for young readers include five selected as Best Books of the Year by School Library Journal: Sirens and Spies, The Lampfish of Twill, Forest, A Message from the Match Girl (from the Investigators of the Unknown series), and Afternoon of the Elves, a Newbery Honor Book. Her most recent title for Atheneum is The Art of Keeping Cool, a Horn Book Fanfare title and winner of the Scott O'Dell Award for Historical Fiction.

She lives with her family on the coast of Rhode Island.

Excerpts

Chapter 1 Every morning before Joelle comes out of the house to go to school, there is little Misti Martin waiting for her on the sidewalk. She stands behind the low prickly hedge, dangling her lunch box in one hand and staring with worshipful eyes at Joelle's front door, whose paint is peeling off and screen is ripped."That China girl is out there again," Aunt Mary Louise calls, catching sight of her figure from the upstairs window. "What's she want with you, anyway, a little kid like that?""Nothing," Joelle yells back, "and don't bother to come down. I'm making my own breakfast."Aunt Mary Louise hasn't been feeling up to par since summer. First it was her back. Now her legs are giving her trouble. She used to get up at 6:00 A.M. to fix Vernon something to eat before he left for work at the turkey ranch. Lately, she's not even making it downstairs before Joelle has to leave.The moment Joelle appears at the door, Misti's mouth drops open an inch or so. Her fine-rimmed eyes widen, as if she's seen something marvelous. Joelle strides across the beat-up lawn on her long legs and pushes through the prickly hedge, now bristling with the red berries of fall."How's it going, Misti?""Okay," she says."So what's for lunch today?" Joelle asks, looking down at the lunch box."A bologna sandwich without mustard, and a boiled egg," Misti barely breathes, collapsed with shyness."Well, that's a surprise," Joelle says, trying to keep things light. "That is truly a big surprise."Misti nods. She eats the same thing for lunch every day. Seven days a week, four weeks a month, twelve months a year, a bologna sandwich without mustard, and a boiled egg. Joelle could say something mean about this if she wanted, but she holds back. Misti is too little to rag on."Do you have art today?" she asks instead, stooping over to speak as they begin to walk along. Misti, who is eight, is very small for her age, while Joelle, at thirteen, has grown unusually tall, five feet nine inches at last measurement and still going. There must have been a church steeple somewhere back in her family tree, Aunt Mary Louise often jokes."No art today," Misti answers, just above a whisper. She has coal black hair like Joelle, but shiny and sleek instead of thick. As best she can, she's wearing it the same way Joelle's wearing hers, pinned back with barrettes behind the ears."Oh yeah, I forgot. Only on Fridays, right? That's terrible, art just once a week. They should have it more. Especially for people like us, who really love it.""You like it too?" Misti dares to ask. She's not really Chinese, but Japanese. Or rather, half Japanese. Aunt Mary Louise knows this, she just doesn't always remember to make the distinction. Misti's mother came from Japan when she was a child herself, and later met and married her father, who is an American. Misti was born and has lived her whole life so far just down the street."I used to," Joelle says, "when I was your age. I remember we made necklaces out of beer tabs one time. And another time we carved pendants out of wood. You know what a pendant is, right? It's like a charm you wear around your neck? I've still got mine somewhere. Do they let you do jewelry?"Misti doesn't answer. She peeks up at Joelle, then glances away fast, as if she's walking with the sun or, anyway, with something too bright to look at for very long."Are you really a lost royal princess?" she blurts out suddenly. "Penny Perrino said you are but you don't want to tell people."Joelle comes to a stop and looks down. "Awhat?"she explodes. "A lostwhat?"Misti jumps."Listen, don't ask me that stuff," Joelle yells at her. "I don't want to hear that stuff anymore, okay?"Misti's mouth quivers and she stares at the ground."I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell." Joelle puts her arm around Misti's narrow shoulders. They start walking again. "I'm just tired of ques