The Words We Keep by Erin Stewart (English) Hardcover Book

Description: The Words We Keep by Erin Stewart When sixteen-year-old Lily Larkins older sister, Alice, begins to struggle with her mental health, Lily attempts to keep everything together and perfect, despite her own growing anxiety. FORMAT Hardcover LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description WINNER OF THE SCHNEIDER FAMILY BOOK AWARD FOR TEENS!A beautifully realistic, relatable story about mental health—anxiety, perfectionism, depression—and the healing powers of art—perfect for fans of Girl in Pieces and How it Feels to Float. Whatever you struggle with, you are not alone and you are already enough—just the way you are.Its been three months since The Night on the Bathroom Floor--when Lily found her older sister Alice hurting herself. Ever since then, Lily has been desperately trying to keep things together, for herself and for her family. But now Alice is coming home from her treatment program and it is becoming harder for Lily to ignore all of the feelings shes been trying to outrun.Enter Micah, a new student at school with a past of his own. He was in treatment with Alice and seems determined to get Lily to process not only Alices experience, but her own. Because Lily has secrets, too. Compulsions she cant seem to let go of and thoughts she cant drown out.When Lily and Micah embark on an art project for school involving finding poetry in unexpected places, she realizes that its the words shes been swallowing that desperately want to break through. "A tender, heartfelt, and realistic look at mental illness, familial love, and finding your voice."—Kathleen Glasgow, New York Times bestselling author of Girl in Pieces Author Biography Erin Stewart grew up in Virginia and now makes her home in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and their three children. Erin loves using her background in journalism to research and write fiction based on real life. A heart failure survivor and adoptive mother, she believes life throws plot twists and people in our path for a reason--always. She is the author of the acclaimed YA novel Scars Like Wings. Visit her at or on Twitter/Instagram @Erin_N_Stewart. Review Praise for The Words We Keep: A SCHNEIDER FAMILY BOOK AWARD FOR TEENS WINNER! … "A sprawling, engrossing read, Stewarts latest succeeds in mapping out the toll of anxiety disorder with scrupulous, cleareyed detail. Above all, however, theres an overpowering sense of hope underlined by an achingly sincere message: Speak up and get help if needed. Indispensably candid."—Kirkus, starred review… "An excellent choice."—SLJ, starred review … "In Lilys frank, forthcoming voice, Stewart mingles Lilys love of words—blackout poetry, social media posts coining terms that should exist—with specific descriptions of anxiety disorder–related distress that will resonate with many readers."—Publishers Weekly, starred review "Wild, beautiful, and free. The Words We Keep is a poetic page turner. A raw, relatable story of mental illness, romance, and the power of love."—Jennifer Niven, #1 New York Times bestselling author of All the Bright Places "A gorgeous and deeply touching rumination on the power of art, this book is for anyone who has lost their words and lost their way. The Words We Keep is a tender, heartfelt, and realistic look at mental illness, familial love, and finding your voice."—Kathleen Glasgow, New York Times bestselling author of Girl in Pieces and Youd Be Home Now "The Words We Keep is a luminous exploration into the restorative power of love and art. The only thing it contains more of than poetry is raw, unfiltered hope. This book is a healing balm to a wounded heart."—Jeff Zentner, Morris Award–winning author of In the Wild Light "Stewart offers a realistic portrait of Lilys lonely battle."—Buffalo News Review Quote Praise for The Words We Keep : " Wild, beautiful, and free . The Words We Keep is a poetic page turner . A raw, relatable story of mental illness, romance, and the power of love."--Jennifer Niven, #1 New York Times bestselling author of All the Bright Places "The Words We Keep is a luminous exploration into the restorative power of love and art. The only thing it contains more of than poetry is raw, unfiltered hope. This book is a healing balm to a wounded heart. " --Jeff Zentner, Morris Award winning author of Goodbye Days Excerpt from Book prologue I find my sisters hand beneath the waves. "Im scared." My voice is small, carried away by the water--and so am I. The ocean tugs me farther. Were too far. But Alice reaches out to me. "Take my hand," she says. "Were on an adventure." And because Im six and shes my much wiser and braver eight-year-old sister, I believe her. I let her convince me were deep-sea explorers, returning from an expedition. I let her lead me, even though salt water fills my mouth, my ears, my everything. We fight against the waves, hand in hand. And then Im on the sand. Dads swearing. Hes pounding on my back. Hes yelling my name so loudly, it hurts my head. Lily. Lily. Lily. Im choking, spitting out the ocean. Dad falls to his knees, and hes hugging us, so tight I almost pop, and were huddled on the beach, and hes crying, and I think theyre happy tears, but its hard to tell. "Its okay, Dad," I say, my voice stronger on land. "We were on an adventure! We were so brave!" This only makes him cry harder, and Alice is crying, too, which makes no sense because shes the bravest one of all. Ten years later, Im by the shore again. Alone this time. No deep-sea expedition. No adventure. Just the crash of the waves and a stopwatch and the thud-thud-thud of my feet on the pavement. A text from Alice lights up my phone: Lily. Where are you? I dont answer. Im in the zone, pushing a little faster. A little farther. A little better. Until my muscles are spent, and I turn toward home. I find her on the bathroom floor. She reaches out to me, razor loosely in hand, words repeating on her lips: Im sorry Im sorry Im sorry. I stand, frozen, paralyzed by the sight of blood draining from her wrist, pooling on the tile. Help me, she says. In slow motion, I wipe her with a towel. Try to stop the blood. Find the source. But my shaking hands make it worse. Bright red on my skin. Smeared on the floor. Help me. But I dont know how. I barely know her, this lesser version of my brave big sister. "Dad!" My voice echoes in the room, shrill and panicked and unfamiliar. He finds us there, her head in my lap, her blood on my hands, waiting for someone who can fix this. Dad scoops her up. Carries her, legs limp, blood dripping like a fairy-tale crumb trail down the stairs. He puts her in the car. Drives her away. I clean my sisters blood off the tile. Off the carpet. Off me. In the sink, the red spirals away, but not the echo of her whispered help me. It fills my head, and I want to drown it out with screams. But I cant. I need to be strong. For Alice. For Dad. So because I can do nothing else, I make her bed over and over and over. Sixteen times. Until its perfect. And when the sheets are straight, corners military tight and pillows fluffed, I rip it apart. Just so I can put it back together. chapter 1 Two months after the Night of the Bathroom Floor, it comes to my attention that Im losing my shit at an alarming rate. I use the term losing metaphorically, of course, because Ive decided going insane is a process, and not a singular event, despite our eloquent idioms. Snapped. Meltdown. Off the deep end. But there is no lightning bolt of insanity. Its more like a drizzling leak you dont even notice until youre gasping for air, suddenly and irrevocably aware that youve drowned in your own thoughts. I wonder sometimes if thats how it felt for Alice. I havent had the chance to ask since Dad drove her away in the middle of the night and shipped her off to Fairview Treatment Center. Sure, I could send one of the ten billion emails Ive started and deleted, or I could go with Dad and my little sister, Margot, to the weekly family visitation days, but thats a big fat no. Its not like I dont want to see her, but I definitely dont want to see her like that, with all the other "troubled teens" at a place, according to the website, that promises to fix my big sister with horseback riding and trust exercises on the main lawn. So until next month when Alice comes home from psych-ward sleepaway camp, I wont know if were on the same slow train to locoville. All I know is that I, Lily Larkin, at the ripe old age of sixteen, am losing my freaking mind. "Just relax." Sam slings her violin case onto the desk next to mine, doling out the same advice shes given me since we were freshmen. "That little vein on your forehead is getting angry." "Relaxation will not help me ace this," I reply without looking up from my notecards, where Ive written each line of my poem for todays presentation. Sam plucks the cards from my hand. "As your best friend, it is my sworn duty to save you from yourself." I swipe at them, but she karate chops my arm and sticks the cards into the back pocket of her jeans. "Its just one grade. So chill, Lil." "Its never just one grade," I say, rubbing my temple to momentarily release the tension wrapping my head. Note to self: I have got to get more sleep. "Not all of us can have your raw musical talent." Sams mouth falls open as she holds up her fingers, three of them wrapped in Band-Aids. "Hello? First-chair bragging rights come with a price, too, you know." "So dont tell me its just one grade or one solo or one anything. Its a never-ending domino effect to success, and if one piece is off, only the slightest bit not perfect, the whole thing goes to hell." Sam frowns. "Depressing." "But true." It doesnt help that were in the honors track, which means our dominos have to fall at a much faster rate. No breaks. No breathers. Just piece after piece, falling perfectly into place. Oh, and if you dont "specialize" in something like violin or swim team by the end of elementary school, what are you even doing with your life? "So maybe just take it down from hyperdrive," Sam says. "Do you see anyone else freaking out?" On cue, Kali plops down next to me, buried in her own notecards. Once upon a childhood, Kali was my go-to bestie, until it became clear in middle school that we were much better suited as frenemies. Were both word nerds and were always pitted against each other in writing contests and class rankings, so now were still friends but more the keep-your-competition-close variety. "You ready?" Kali asks without looking up. As if I didnt stay up until two a.m. writing these poems--and rewriting them. Every time I thought I was done, there was a smudge or weird spacing or a million other reasons to start again, over and over, until they were perfect. "Oh, shes ready," Sam says. "She always brings her A-game." Sam gives my arm a squeeze as a group of students and a bearded teacher I dont recognize file in, taking seats in the back row. The teacher waves them forward until they all move, groaning, to the front. While Sam scrutinizes the intruders, I pull my cards out of her pocket. She throws her hands up in the air and gives me her most disappointed look while I scan one last time through the words Im going to have to say in a few minutes in front of everyone. My stomachs already tight at the thought. Although, if Im being honest, my gut is always semi-clenched. Mrs. Gifford claps to get our attention, her eyes and her frizzy red hair even more wild than usual. She introduces the new kids as the art class, and the bearded man as Mr. Friedman, the art teacher. No wonder I didnt recognize him. Ive never actually been in the art room because (1) I have approximately zero artistic ability, and (2) my honors classes and the track team keep my schedule packed, leaving no room for artsy extracurriculars. Gifford tells us the art kids are here "for something very exciting" and gives us time to practice our poems, although I strongly suspect its because shes still nursing her daily Diet Coke. She doesnt even notice when Damon, late as always, slides into a seat behind me. "Did you see him?" he says, leaning forward like we were midconversation. "Who?" Kali asks, a singsongy lilt in her voice because OMG! Its Damon! who shes been in love with since fifth grade. Shes never forgiven me for the regrettable month freshman year when I dated him, mostly because I believed that beneath his assholery, there was a boy worth liking. Spoiler: I was wrong. Underneath, hes still a colossal tool. "The psycho," he says in a creepy, horror-movie kind of way. He takes a long sip of an energy drink (the official last-period pick-me-up of the junior class) and nods to a boy who came in with the art kids, wearing neon Details ISBN1984848860 Author Erin Stewart Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 1984848860 ISBN-13 9781984848864 Format Hardcover Imprint Delacorte Press Pages 400 Publication Date 2022-03-15 Audience Age 12 Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2022-03-15 NZ Release Date 2022-03-15 US Release Date 2022-03-15 UK Release Date 2022-03-15 Publisher Random House USA Inc Place of Publication New York DEWEY FIC Audience Teenage / Young adult 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:141771601;

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