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The chilling truth is that his story could have been mine. The tragedy is
that my story could have been his.

In December 2000, the Baltimore Sun ran a small piece about Wes Moore,
a local student who had just received a Rhodes Scholarship. The same
paper also ran a series of articles about four young men who had
allegedly killed a police officer in a spectacularly botched armed robbery.
The police were still hunting for two of the suspects who had gone on the
lam, a pair of brothers. One was named Wes Moore.

Wes just couldn’t shake off the unsettling coincidence, or the inkling that
the two shared much more than space in the same newspaper. After
following the story of the robbery, the manhunt, and the trial to its
conclusion, he wrote a letter to the other Wes, now a convicted murderer
serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole. His letter
tentatively asked the questions that had been haunting him: Who are you?
How did this happen?

That letter led to a correspondence and relationship that have lasted for
several years. Over dozens of letters and prison visits, Wes discovered
that the other Wes had had a life not unlike his own: Both had had difficult
childhoods, both were fatherless; they’d hung out on similar corners with
similar crews, and both had run into trouble with the police. At each stage
of their young lives they had come across similar moments of decision, yet
their choices would lead them to astonishingly different destinies.

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A remarkable true story from social justice advocate and
national bestselling author Julissa Arce about her journey to
belong in America while growing up undocumented in Texas.

Born in the picturesque town of Taxco, Mexico, Julissa Arce was
left behind for months at a time with her two sisters, a nanny,
and her grandma while her parents worked tirelessly in America
in hopes of building a home and providing a better life for their
children. That is, until her parents brought Julissa to Texas to
live with them. From then on, Julissa secretly lived as an
undocumented immigrant, went on to become a scholarship
winner and an honors college graduate, and climbed the ladder
to become a vice president at Goldman Sachs.

This moving, at times heartbreaking, but always inspiring story
will show young readers that anything is possible. Julissa's
story provides a deep look into the little-understood world of a
new generation of undocumented immigrants in the United
States today--kids who live next door, sit next to you in class, or
may even be one of your best friends.

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If Naomi had picked tails, she would have won the coin toss.
She wouldn't have had to go back for the yearbook camera, and
she wouldn't have hit her head on the steps.
She wouldn't have woken up in an ambulance with amnesia.
She certainly would have remembered her boyfriend, Ace. She
might even have remembered why she fell in love with him in the
first place.
She would understand why her best friend, Will, keeps calling
her "Chief." She'd get all his inside jokes, and maybe he wouldn't
be so frustrated with her for forgetting things she can't possibly
remember.
She'd know about her mom's new family.
She'd know about her dad's fiancée.
She wouldn't have to spend her junior year relearning all the
French she supposedly knew already.
She never would have met James, the boy with the questionable
past and the even fuzzier future, who tells her he once wanted
to kiss her.
She wouldn't have wanted to kiss him back.
But Naomi picked heads.

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The story is about the Fitzgerald family. The parents of the siblings are Sara and Brian Fitzgerald and their daughter Kate Fitzgerald has suffered from leukemia for a long period of time. Kate's health is not improving and Brian and Sara are desperate to help her. As a result of Kate's decreasing health, Sara and Brian decide that they will have another child with the specific purpose of their new child being compatible for blood and organ transplantation to Kate. As such, Anna Fitzgerald is born and for many years she was happy to give whatever she could to help her sister's deteriorating health. However, when Anna turns 13 and Kate needs a kidney from Anna to continue to live, Anna declines. Anna's mother, Sara, is furious at this as she wants Anna to give her kidney to Kate. Anna seeks a lawyer who is able to get her medical empanciation from her parents. Anna meets Alexander Campbell who takes on Anna's case as it will provide him with further publicity. A legal; battle ensues between Sara and Alexander Campbell (acting on behalf of Anna).

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Dear Martin tells the story of an Ivy League-bound African American student named Justyce who becomes a victim of racial profiling. He struggles to reconcile the fact that he's a "good kid" with suddenly being in police handcuffs. In the months that follow, Justyce confronts injustices and micro-aggressions he experiences at his mostly White prep school and the fallout from his brief detainment. There's violence, including boys getting into fights with punches thrown and lips bloodied, police brutality, a teen shot, an officer killed offstage, and racist experiences. There's some swearing (including "f--k" and "s--t"), teen drinking, and grief. Parents should be prepared to talk about current events, the Black Lives Matter movement, underage drinking, and stereotypes.

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Olga Reyes is hit by a truck, and at the funeral her younger sister Julia worries that their parents will never love her as they loved her sister. Amá decides Julia must have the quinceañera Olga never had. Julia finds sexy lingerie and a hotel key in her sister’s room, and though Amá locks it she decides to investigate. The hotel refuses to give out information about clients, so she contacts Olga’s best friend Angie, who tells her nothing. Julia hates everything about her quinceañera, from her dress to the music. At the height of the ceremony, her parents hold a moment of silence for Olga. In the bathroom, she runs into her tía Milagros, who again mentions Olga. Julia confronts her aunt about her family’s disappointment and vents her frustration with insults. That night, Julia’s parents lament her disrespect. Amá explicitly accuses Julia of causing Olga’s death with her misbehavior.

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She watches her daily, and after writing to Rachel for a school project--and actually getting a response--Brynn starts drafting emails to Rachel but never sending them. Brynn tells Rachel about breaking up with her first serious girlfriend, about her brother Nick's death, about her passive mother and even worse stepfather, about how she's stuck in remedial courses at school and is considering dropping out. Then Brynn is confronted with a moral dilemma. One student representative will be allowed to have a voice among the administration in the selection of a new school superintendent. Brynn's arch nemesis, Adam, and ex-girlfriend, Sarah, believe only Honors students are worthy of the selection committee seat. Brynn feels all students deserve a voice. When she runs for the position, the knives are out. So she begins to ask herself: What Would Rachel Maddow Do?

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From where he's standing across the street, Justyce can see her: Melo Taylor, ex-girlfriend, slumped over beside her Benz on the damp concrete of the FarmFresh parking lot. She is missing a shoe, and the contents of her purse are scattered around her like the guts of a pulled party pooper. He knows she's stone drunk, but this is too much, even for her.

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This is the story of two boys living in Baltimore with similar histories and an identical name: Wes Moore. One of us is free and has experienced things that he never even
knew to dream about as a kid. The other will spend every day until his death behind bars for an armed robbery that left a police officer and father of five dead. The chilling truth is that his story could have been mine. The tragedy is that my story could have been his. Our stories are obviously specific to our two lives, but I hope they will illuminate the crucial inɻection points in every life, the sudden moments of decision where our paths diverge and our fates are sealed. It’s unsettling to know how little separates each of us from another life altogether.

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On the day I turned three years old, my mom scrambled to get everything ready so we could go to church for my presentacion de los tres anos. This is the day children are taken to church to give thanks for their life and receive God's blessing. I had a lot to be thankful for.
I was born in a bathroom stall, two months before I was supposed to arrive. My uncle Alex had to slide his hands under the bathroom door to hold my head. I almost didn't make it past day one of my life, but I survived. My mom reminded me constantly that I had been so strong. Se called me her miracle.

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Above all, mine is a love story.
And like most love stories, this one involved chance, gravity, a dash of head trauma.
It began with a coin toss.
The coin came up tails; I was heads.
Had it gone my way, there might not be a story at all. Just a chapter or sentence in a book whose greater theme had yet to be determined. Maybe this chapter would have had the faintest whisper of love about it, but maybe not.
Sometimes, a girl needs to lose.

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In my first memory, I am three years old and I am trying to kill my sister. Sometimes the recollection is so clear, I can remember the itch of the pillowcase under my hand, the sharp point of her nose pressing into my palm. She didn't stand a chance against me, of course, but it still didn't work. My father walked by, tucking in the house for the night, and saved her. He led me back to my own bed. 'That,' he told me, 'never happened.'
As we got older, I didn't seem to exist, except in relation to her. I would watch her sleep across from me, one long shadow linking our beds, and I would count the ways. Poison, sprinkled on her cereal. A wicked undertow off the beach. Lightning striking.
In the end, though, I did not kill my sister. She did it all on her own.
Or at least this is what I tell myself.

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What surprised me most about seeing my sister dead is the lingering smirk on her face. Her pale lips are turned up ever so slightly and someone has filled in her patchy eyebrows with a black pencil. The top half of her face is angry - like she's ready to stab someone - and the bottom half is almost smug. This is not the Olga I knew. Olga was as meek and fragile as a baby bird.

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Dear Rachel Maddow,

I am writing to you because of a school assignment. It's a totally ridiculous reason to be writing, but I don't think you'll actually read it anyway. This kind of thing is so sixth grade. I am a junior in high school and I've been forced to write to a "celebrity hero" by the Applied English teacher. (Hey, Mr. Grimm! How's it hanging, buddy?) I wasn't going to do it, because my ex-girlfriend worships you and, hello, school assignment. But I turned on your show and Mom totally freaked out to see me watching you. Apparently your liberal and leftist views don't sit well with her. Mom spat out the words like she was talking about my dad, so I knew she meant it. That made you my celebrity hero.

You were talking about some guys running for Congress. But then you said one of them was "freaking amazing." I don't think news-people are supposed to say things like that. And isn't that biased? News people aren't supposed to be biased. I know this because Mr. Grimm made us watch this video about news writing. Though no one else knows this about me, Rachel Maddow, I have a near photographic memory for

stuff people say. Their words just stick in my brain. So I remember what a reporter is supposed to do.

Anyway, thanks for pissing off my mom.

Sincerely,

Brynn Harper