U.S. 16.99 Ingrid Canada 18.50 Law
Mibs is about to turnALWAYS ONTHE HUNTFOR HERU.S. 16.99IngridLawCanada 18.50MIBS BEAUMONT IS ABOUT TO BECOME ATEENAGER. As if that prospect weren’t scaryfamily, becoming a teenager means finallydiscovering your extra-special ability—ability—OWN SAVVY,INGRIDLAW has dabbled in costume design,floral design, and fiber arts. She has soldshoes, worked in a bookstore, helpedother people get jobs, and assembledboxes for frozen eggplant burgers. Today,she writes and imagines with herthirteen-year-old daughter in a lovely oldmobile home called “Ploppy,” which theylike to believe is a cross between aspaceship and a shoe box. They enjoywriting on its walls and painting on itsceiling, and have filled their home to thebrim with wonderful things like goodbooks, fluffy pillows, a ukulele, and thearoma of baking muffins. Visit Ingrid atwww.ingridlaw.com.enough, thirteen is when a Beaumont’ssavvy strikes—and with one brother whocauses hurricanes and another who createselectricity, it promises to be outrageous . . .and positively thrilling.Will Mibs’s savvy be strong enough to guide herthrough the journey of a lifetime@lifetime@U U UBoston Globe–Horn Book Honor Award#1 Children’s Book Sense PickAssociation of Booksellers for Children New Voices Pick “Law’s savvy@ She’s a natural storyteller who’s created avibrant and cinematic novel that readers are going to love.”—Publishers Weekly—Weekly,, starred “Law’s storytelling is rollicking, her languageimaginative, and her entire cast of whacky,yet believable characters delightful.” 9FJKFE CF9 Æ?FIE 9FFB ?fefi 8nXi[—Booklist,, starred——Booklist “A marvel-laden debut.”—Kirkus,, starred——KirkusDIALJacket art 2008 by Brandon DormanJacket design by Kristin SmithPrinted in the U.S.A./0508waLdirI ngBut just before her big day, Poppa is in aterrible accident. Suddenly, Mibs’s dreamsof X-ray vision disappear like a flash of herbrother’s lightning: All she wants now is asavvy that will save Poppa. In fact, Mibs isso sure she’ll get that powerful savvy thatshe sneaks a ride to the hospital on a ricketybus, with her siblings and the preacher’skids in tow. But when the bus starts headingin the wrong direction only one thing iscertain: After this extraordinary adventure,not a soul on board will ever be the same.Reading the fantastical tale of the Beaumontfamily will leave you as changed as ifyou’d just discovered your own savvy—and who’s to say you won’t, once you’velearned how to look@DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERSA division of Penguin Young Readers Groupin partnership with Walden Media, LLC345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014www.penguin.com/youngreaderswww.walden.com
byIngrid LawDial Books forYoung Readers
DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS A division of Penguin Young ReadersGroup Published by The Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,New York, NY 10014, U.S.A. Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700,Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) PenguinBooks Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’sGreen, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) Penguin Group (Australia), 250Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson AustraliaGroup Pty Ltd) Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,New Delhi - 110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) Penguin Books (South Africa)(Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa Penguin BooksLtd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, EnglandThis book is published in partnership with Walden Media, LLC. Walden Media and theWalden Media skipping stone logo are trademarks and registered trademarks of WaldenMedia, LLC, 294 Washington Street, Boston, Massachusetts 02108.Copyright 2008 by Ingrid LawAll rights reservedDesigned by Teresa DikunPrinted in the U.S.A.The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility forauthor or third-party websites or their content.10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataLaw, Ingrid, date.Savvy / by Ingrid Law.p. cm.Summary: Recounts the adventures of Mibs Beaumont, whose thirteenth birthday hasrevealed her “savvy”—a magical power unique to each member of her family—just as herfather is injured in a terrible accident.ISBN 978-0-8037-3306-0[1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 3. Voyages and travels—Fiction.] I. Title.PZ7.L41836Sav 2008[Fic]—dc222007039814
ForHannahwith loveas you blowout thirteendrippingcandles
Chap r 1teWhen my brother Fish turned thirteen, we moved tothe deepest part of inland because of the hurricane and, ofcourse, the fact that he’d caused it. I had liked living downsouth on the edge of land, next to the pushing-pulling waves.I had liked it with a mighty kind of liking, so moving hadbeen hard—hard like the pavement the first time I fell offmy pink two-wheeler and my palms burned like fire fromall of the hurt just under the skin. But it was plain that Fishcould live nowhere near or nearby or next to or close to oron or around any largish bodies of water. Water had a wayof triggering my brother and making ordinary, everydayweather take a frightening turn for the worse.
Unlike any normal hurricane, Fish’s birthday stormhad started without warning. One minute, my brotherwas tearing paper from presents in our backyard nearthe beach; the next minute, both Fish and the afternoonsky went a funny and fearsome shade of gray. Mybrother gripped the edge of the picnic table as the windkicked up around him, gaining momentum and rippingthe wrapping paper out of his hands, sailing it highup into the sky with all of the balloons and streamersroiling together and disintegrating like a birthday partyin a blender. Groaning and cracking, trees shudderedand bent over double, uprooting and falling as easily assticks in wet sand. Rain pelted us like gravel thrown bya playground bully as windows shattered and shinglesripped off the roof. As the storm surged and the oceanwaves tossed and churned, spilling raging water and debrisfarther and farther up the beach, Momma and Poppagrabbed hold of Fish and held on tight, while the restof us ran for cover. Momma and Poppa knew what washappening. They had been expecting something like
this and knew that they had to keep my brother calmand help him ride out his storm.That hurricane had been the shortest on record, butto keep the coastal towns safe from our Fish, our familyhad packed up and moved deep inland, plunging intothe very heart of the land and stopping as close to thecenter of the country as we could get. There, withoutbig water to fuel big storms, Fish could make it blowand rain without so much heartache and ruin.Settling directly between Nebraska and Kansasin a little place all our own, just off Highway 81, wewere well beyond hollering distance from the nearestneighbor, which was the best place to be for a familylike ours. The closest town was merely a far-off bluracross the highway, and was not even big enough tohave its own school or store, or gas station or mayor.Monday through Wednesday, we called our thinstretch of land Kansaska. Thursday through Saturday,we called it Nebransas. On Sundays, since that was theLord’s Day, we called it nothing at all, out of respect for
His creating our world without the lines already drawnon its face like all my grandpa’s wrinkles.If it weren’t for old Grandpa Bomba, KansaskaNebransas wouldn’t even have existed for us to livethere. When Grandpa wasn’t a grandpa and was justinstead a small-fry, hobbledehoy boy blowing outthirteen dripping candles on a lopsided cake, his savvyhit him hard and sudden—just like it did to Fish that dayof the backyard birthday party and the hurricane—andthe entire state of Idaho got made. At least, that’s theway Grandpa Bomba always told the story.“Before I turned thirteen,” he’d say, “Montanabumped dead straight into Washington, and Wyomingand Oregon shared a cozy border.” The tale of Grandpa’sthirteenth birthday had grown over the years just like theland he could move and stretch, and Momma just shookher head and smiled every time he’d start talking tall. Butin truth, that young boy who grew up and grew old likewine and dirt, had been making new places wheneverand wherever he pleased. That was Grandpa’s savvy.
My savvy hadn’t come along yet. But I was onlytwo days away from my very own thirteen drippingcandles—though my momma’s cakes never lopped to theside or to the middle. Momma’s cakes were perfect, justlike Momma, because that was her savvy. Momma wasperfect. Anything she made was perfect. Everything shedid was perfect. Even when she messed up, Mommamessed up perfectly.I often reckoned what it would be like for me. Ipictured myself blowing out the candles on my cakeand fires dying in chimneys across four counties. Or Iimagined making my secret birthday wish—getting mycheeks full and round with air—then floating up towardthe ceiling like my very own happy birthday balloon.“My savvy is going to be a good one,” I told mybrother Rocket. “I just know it.”“Girls don’t get the powerful jujubes,” said Rocket,running one hand through his dark shock of unkempthair with a crackle of static. “Girls only get quiet, politesavvies—sugar and spice and everything humdrum
savvies. It’s boys who get the earthshaking kinds ofsavvy.”I had scowled at my brother and stuck out mytongue. Rocket and I both knew that there were plentyof girls climbing round our family tree that had strongand sturdy savvies, like Great-aunt Jules, who could stepback twenty minutes in time every time she sneezed;or our second cousin Olive, who could melt ice with asingle red-hot stare.Rocket was seventeen and full of junk that I wasn’tallowed to say until I got much, much older. But he waselectric through and through, and that had always gone tohis head. For fun, Rocket would make my hair stand onend like he’d rubbed it with a balloon, or hit Fish with awicked zap from the other side of the room. But Rocketcould keep the lights on when the power went out, andour family sure liked that, especially the littler Beaumonts.Rocket was the oldest, with Fish and me followingafter. Born only a year apart, Fish and I were nearly thesame height and looked a lot alike, both with hair like
sand and straw—hair like Momma’s. But while I hadPoppa’s hazel eyes, Fish had Momma’s ocean blue ones.It was as if we’d each taken a little bit of Momma, or alittle bit of Poppa, and made the rest our own.I wasn’t the youngest or the smallest in the family;broody Samson was a dark and shadowy seven, anddoll-faced Gypsy was three. It was Gypsy who startedcalling me Mibs, when my full name, Mississippi,became far too much for her toothsome toddler tongueto manage. But that had been a relief. That name hadalways followed me around like one of Fish’s heavystorm clouds.The itch and scritch of birthday buzz was about allI was feeling on the Thursday before the Friday beforethe Saturday I turned thirteen. Sitting at the dinner table,next to Poppa’s empty chair and ready plate, I barelyate a bite. Across from me, Gypsy prattled endlessly,counting the make-believe creatures she imagined seeingin the room, and begging me to help her name them.
I pushed the food around my plate, ignoring my sisterand daydreaming about what it would be like when Igot my very own savvy, when the telephone rang rightin the middle of pot roast, mashed potatoes, and mightyunpopular green beans. As Momma rose to answer, uskids, and Grandpa Bomba too, seized the chance to plopour mashers on top of our beans while Momma’s backwas turned. Samson tucked some of those beans intohis pockets to give to his dead pet turtle, even thoughMomma always said he shouldn’t be giving it any of ourgood food, seeing how it was dead and all, and the foodwould just go to rot. But Samson was sure as sadly surethat his turtle was only hibernating, and Momma hadn’tthe heart to toss it from the house.We were all smiling to each other around the kitchentable at the smart way we’d taken care of those beanswhen Momma dropped the phone with a rattling clatterand a single sob—perfectly devastated. She sank to thefloor, looking for all the world as if she were staringright through the checkered brown and blue linoleum
to behold the burning hot-lava core at the very centerof the Earth.“It’s Poppa,” Momma said in a choked voice, as herperfect features stretched and pinched.A gust of wind burst from Fish’s side of the table,blowing everyone’s hair and sending our paper napkinsflying pell-mell onto the floor. The air in the room grewwarm and humid as though the house itself had brokenout into a ripe, nervous sweat, and the many dusty,tightly lidded, empty-looking jars that lined the tops of allthe cupboards rattled and clinked like a hundred toastingglasses. Outside it was already raining Fish rain—dropshastened from a sprinkle to a downpour in seconds asFish stared, wide-eyed and gaping like his namesake,holding back his fear but unable to scumble his savvy.“Momma?” Rocket ventured. The air around himcrackled with static, and his T-shirt clung to him likesocks to towels straight from the dryer. The lights in thehouse pulsed, and blue sparks popped and snapped atthe tips of his nervous, twitching fingers.
Momma looked at Poppa’s empty chair and waitingplate, then she turned to us, chin trembling, and toldus about the accident on the highway. She told us howPoppa’s car had gotten crushed up bad, like a pop canunder a cowboy boot, and how he’d gone and forgottento get out before it happened, landing himself in a roomand a bed at Salina Hope Hospital, where now he laybroken and asleep, not able to wake up.“Don’t fret, child,” Grandpa consoled Momma asthough they were back in time and Momma was stilla young girl sitting on his knee crying over a brokendoll. “Those doctors know what’s what. They’ll fix yourfellow up in no time. They’ll get his buttons sewn backon.” Grandpa Bomba’s tone was soft and reassuring. Butas the strobe-like flashes from Rocket’s nervous sparkslit Grandpa’s face, I could see the worry etched deepinto all his wrinkles.For half of a half of a half of a second I hated Poppa.I hated him for working so far away from home andfor having to take the highway every day. I hated him10
for getting in that accident and for ruining our potroast. Mostly, I realized that my perfect cake with itspink and yellow frosting was probably not going toget made, and I hated Poppa for wrecking my mostimportant birthday before it had even arrived. Then Ifelt the burning shame of even having those thoughtsabout my good, sweet poppa and sank low in my chair.To make amends for my selfish feelings, I sat quietlyand ate every last unwelcome green bean from beneathmy mashed potatoes, as Fish’s rain lashed against thewindows and Rocket caused every lightbulb in the houseto explode with a live-wire zing and a popping shatter,sending shards of glass tinkling to the floor and pitchingthe house into darkness.11
Chapt er 2Later that night, as I lay awake in the dark bed-room I shared with Gypsy, I listened to my sister’s evenbreathing and to the steady patter of Fish’s worriedrain. I could hear Momma and Rocket moving arounddownstairs, sweeping up glass and replacing lightbulbs.And though Grandpa had gone to bed as well, every nowand then the ground would rumble and the floor wouldshake as though the earth below us had a bellyache.Momma and Rocket were leaving for Salina early inthe morning and planning to stay in a motel near thehospital. I had begged to go, begged to go see Poppaand stay in a motel and get some of those little soaps12
all wrapped up in paper. But the rest of us had to stayat home with Grandpa. Rocket got to go because hiselectric touch was the only thing that could make theold station wagon run.Nobody had said anything about my birthday.Nobody had said much about much. I lay awake mostof the night, unable to sleep, until Momma tiptoed inwith the dawn to whisper a soft good-bye, kissing mycheek lightly with her perfect pink lips. Still upset thatI wasn’t allowed to go with her and Rocket to Salina, Ipretended to be asleep, and soon after, I heard the cardoors slam and the engine rumble to life at Rocket’sspark as he and Momma drove away.That Friday before my birthday, Fish was in chargeof looking after Gypsy and Grandpa Bomba. It was myjob to get Samson up and ready for school and to makesure we both made it up the three steep steps of the bigorange bus that took Samson and me the fifteen milesto school in Hebron, Nebraska. I had to poke and prodbroody Samson up the long, soggy boggy road toward13
our mailbox, which had fallen over in the night aftergetting pushed ten feet farther to the west from all ofGrandpa’s worried rumbling. Samson didn’t say muchwaiting for the bus, but Samson never did.“It’s Missy-pissy and her storm cloud,” Ashley Bingsaid every day when Samson and I climbed onto thebus. And every day Emma Flint repeated, “Missy-pissy!”with a snorting laugh, like it was a new and funny jokeeach time. The kids at school had learned on my veryfirst day that my real name was Mississippi, which hadbeen unfortunate; we Beaumonts got enough whispersand giggles as it was. The rumors were fierce, and I’dheard them all:“Look, it’s the weird kids. My mom said they had tomove here because one of them got into some huge kindof trouble.”“I heard the oldest brother got hit by lightningand now he’s dangerous and hardly ever leaves thehouse.”“That family ought to live in an ark. It’s almost14
always storming at their place and one of these daysthey’ll just wash away for good.”I knew that after I blew out my own thirteen drippingcandles, it’d be a-di-os and a-lo-ha to Hebron MiddleSchool, as well as to Ashley Bing and Emma Flint, andeveryone else like them. After my birthday, my poormoody Samson would be a lonesome shadow in theback of the big orange bus while I grew moss in picklejars with Fish and Rocket back at home.It was hard for us Beaumont kids to make friendsand keep them. It wasn’t safe to invite anyone over withFish and Rocket still learning to scumble their savvies;we couldn’t risk someone finding out, or getting hurtby sparks or storms if my brothers lost control. Likeso many things, a savvy could take years to tame, andMomma and Poppa said the ups and downs of growingup only added to the challenge.My last day at Hebron Middle School was a slow,creeping crawl of a day. It was hard, hard, hard to15
concentrate on x y z when my thoughts were alltied up at Salina Hope Hospital. It was harder still tospell accommodate and adolescence and armadillo whenI thought of Poppa waiting for Momma to come andgive him a fairy-tale kiss that would wake him up, andI couldn’t imagine how often in my life it might be sovery important to spell arma-double L-dillo. But, of allthings, it was hardest to listen to Ashley Bing and EmmaFlint whisper and stare when the teacher said, “I’d likeeveryone to join me in wishing Mibs Beaumont a fondfarewell. Today is her last day with us here at HebronMiddle School. Mibs will be homeschooled beginningnext week.”Everyone turned in their seats to look at me. Nobodysmiled or wished me a fond sort of anything. Most ofthe kids just shrugged and turned right back around.“Missy-pissy’s going to stay home with hermommy,” Ashley said, as though she were talking to ababy—just quiet enough that the teacher couldn’t hear.“With her mommy,” Emma repeated.16
“She’s going to stay home so that no one can seewhat a friendless freak she is,” Ashley sneered.“What a freak she is,” mimicked Emma like a spitefulparrot.It was a good thing for Ashley and Emma that Mommakept us kids home once we had our savvy. By the end ofthe day, I was hoping that mine might give me the muscle
DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS A division of Penguin Young Readers Group Published by The Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, U.S.A. Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700,
Independent Personal Pronouns Personal Pronouns in Hebrew Person, Gender, Number Singular Person, Gender, Number Plural 3ms (he, it) א ִוה 3mp (they) Sֵה ,הַָּ֫ ֵה 3fs (she, it) א O ה 3fp (they) Uֵה , הַָּ֫ ֵה 2ms (you) הָּ תַא2mp (you all) Sֶּ תַא 2fs (you) ְ תַא 2fp (you
1) Ingrid will attend weekly, 90-minute anger management group for the next 8 weeks in order to learn conflict resolution and positive coping strategies to manage stressful situations which arise with her son. 2) For the next 2 months, Ingrid will attend weekly, 60-minute Parent Support Group in order to receive support
Dr. Ingrid Martin, California State University, Long Beach – College of Business . Dr. Ingrid Martin the Director of Graduate Programs and Professor of Marketing teaching undergraduate and MBA courses in IMC and Sustainability. She has led a team of faculty in curriculum renewal of the MBA program at CSULB. Teaching and working with MBA students
2018 One thousand Fibres, Ingrid Bolton’s ‘Reconnect’ by Ellen Agnew –Art Africa Magazine, South Africa, January 2018 2017 Art for her Sake by Debbie Loots, Cape Town Art Fair –Estate Magazine, South Africa, November 2017 2017 Berman Contemporary at 11 Alice Lane –Creative Fe
Ingrid PERNKOPF Renate WAGNER-WITTULA. HAUPTSPEISEN FISCH 26 Gebeizte Lachsforelle von Sandra Hummer, Steinerkirchen ZUTATEN 2 topfrische Lachsforellenfilets zu je ca. 200 g, gut entgrätet ( Tipp) 10 g Stein oder Meersalz 5
E quipment for eye care Community Eye Health Journal Continues overleaf In ThIs Issue 21 equipment for eye care Ingrid Mason and Wanjiku Mathenge 22 Ophthalmic equipment survey 2010: preliminary results Daksha Patel, Elizabeth Mercer, and Ingrid Mason 26 equipment maintenance and repair
Wiske Wedstrijd [8], een initiatief van VUB-professor Ingrid Daubechies bedoeld voor leerlingen van het hoger secundair onderwijs. De wedstrijd wordt verzorgd door de vakgroep Wiskunde van de Vrije Universiteit Brussel. We motiveren waarom deze opdrachten een ideale basis zijn voor de vereiste onderzoekscompetenties binnen de
1 Mental Health Month 2010 Mental Health Month 2010 Mental Health Association NSW . Positivity: top-notch research reveals the 3-to-1 ratio that will change your life. Random House, New York. Sonja Lyubomirsky, 2007, The How of Happiness, Sphere, London. Ingrid Poulson, 2008, Rise. Pan MacMillian.
