Everybody knows, nobody's talking. That's
what's being passed from friend-to-friend as
seventeen year-old Skylar Thompson is being questioned by the
police in her nice suburban
Long Island town. Her boyfriend Jimmy, baseball and
football star--a Scholar-Athlete -- stands accused of brutally assaulting
two young
El Salvadoran immigrants from a neighboring town, and she's
the prime witness along with Jimmy's best friend and accomplice Sean.
But when Skylar and Sean begin to appreciate the
enormity of what has happened, especially when Carlos Cortez, the victim's
brother steps up to demand justice, they must figure out why they followed
Jimmy--and if they will lie to protect him-- and themselves.
Inspired by true events, most
notably the murder of Marcelo Lucero in
November of 2008 in Long Island by a group of teens, as well as hate crimes
against Hispanics in Brooklyn, NY and rural Pennsylvania, this story grips you
from page one --and will stay with you -- and that is the truth.
Watch The Amazing LIE Book Trailer produced and directed by independent filmmaker Heather
Smith on YouTube. Interested
in more on what inspired LIE? Go to the nonprofit organization Not In My Town and look for the documentary, which aired on PBS in
September of 2011 on Marcelo Lucero, "Light in the Darkness".
THE GIRL IN THE HAT –
A MIDDLE GRADE MEMOIR Excerpt
By Caroline Bock [Caroline Bock - Home]
Author of the critically
acclaimed novel – LIE –-for teens and adults
from St. Martin’s Press.
"I
once had a hat.
This
was a hat I wore all the time – to bed, to school, when I got home, when my
father asked me, ‘why the hell are you wearing a hat inside?’ and after asking
once or twice stopped and just let me be.
Of
course you are wondering what kind of hat? I wish I could say that this hat had
magical properties – that it could, like the talking hat in the Harry Potter stories, tell me what
“house” I should be in. Then I would know where I belonged. For certainly, I
didn’t belong in the house at the end of the block, the one with six-inch high
crabgrass, the one with shouts and screams from four kids jabbing out the open
windows, the one without a mother.
Unfortunately,
this hat was knitted by my grandmother in a fury of clacking needles on her
regular visits when my father was at work. She was our mother’s mother and in a
constant battle with him. Made from leftover yarn, a rough muddy grey and navy
blue wool, the knots on the inside of the hat were the size of bullets and left
dents in my forehead. Once or twice my grandmother tried to teach me to knit
and pronounced me careless and useless and good for nothing but those books I
was always reading. It was a relief to be such a poor student— at knitting and
crocheting and sewing – because then I could go back to reading when I wasn’t
cooking dinner or doing the laundry. I was in sixth grade, eleven-years-old,
when I wore this hat all the time.
The
only place I wasn’t allowed to wear my hat was in Mrs. Abrahamson’s class. She
was old school strict. We sat in rows of desks, unlike in fourth and fifth
grade where we had been part of an experiment in “open classes.” I spent two
years huddling in the corner reading books or at least that’s how I remember
that blur of time. However, I remember Mrs. Abrahamson classroom – we had
textbooks and lessons on the blackboard and homework – and a musty smell of wet
wool through the winter days. It was a relief to find myself in that quiet
classroom. All the rest of my life was in chaos but I had a desk in which to
place my notebook and pencils and hat.
As
soon as the bell rang and we were let outside for recess, I reached for that
hat and pulled it down over my stringy brown hair and high forehead. Maybe, I
thought I could disappear, vanish, and become the invisible person I felt I
truly was. I had no friends except for one other girl, whose divorcing parents during
the winter break would pull her out of public school in New Rochelle, New York and
send her out of state to boarding school.
I
wore that hat no matter the weather: cold, rainy, snowy and into the days that lengthened
and warmed. One rainy spring day there was a class bus trip – I don’t know
remember to where— but I do recall that my friend wasn’t on that trip and I was
sitting by myself with the excuse of a book on my lap, when a hand drilled down
on my head. I reached up as my hat was snatched off my head – by Brent or Evan
or Karen or Debbie—I don’t know who to this day, but those where the kids who led
the tormenting of others. Everyone knew they were the untouchable popular kids.
Brent or Karen ripped my hat off and tossed it from one seat to another. I
screamed – too late—a window had been wedged open for my hat.
Now,
I could end this on a fairy tale note: those kids were punished or at least
said they were sorry; my grandmother knitted me a new, nicer hat; I was
suddenly popular with shiny hair smelling of lavender shampoo -- but none of
those things happened. My grandmother stated that I shouldn’t have lost the hat,
which is what I told her: I lost my hat. My father said that I would lose my
head too if that wasn’t screwed on.
Stacy,
a friend of Karen and Debbie, did inform me that she had her mother drive along
the roadside where my hat had been flung out the bus window. But couldn’t find my
hat in the mud and muck. And I said that it was okay. “It was time for the hat
to go,” as if I knew even then that most things in our lives bring us only
temporary comfort, that life is about a continuing re-arranging and re-imaging
from loss, that we have to reach within ourselves to find the strength to
persevere, to believe in ourselves when others would be so quick to throw us or
our hat out the window.
Some
things you don’t forget. You take them with you and over time, you let the
anger and the sadness at being the girl in the hat form its own story, just one
of many, because you are determined not to have any one story define you. You
are committed to write many stories and end up the master of your fate.
Though
I do have to admit, I don’t like to wear hats any more." © Caroline Bock, 2012
Caroline Bock is the author of the critically-acclaimed young novel, LIE, published by St. Martin's Press. Inspired by real events, LIE explores extreme bullying, hate, murder and the struggle to tell the truth -- or lie. More at www.carolinebock.com.
A FEW
TRUTHS ABOUT ME...I feel like I've been writing all my life, and at the
same time, that I'm just getting started. I'm the author of the
critically-acclaimed young adult novel - LIE - from St.
Martin's Press (August, 2011). In addition, I'm the co-author with my
sister, Susan Blech, of the memoir, Confessions of a Carb Queen (Rodale,
2008), which was optioned by Sony Television. As a graduate of Syracuse
University, I had the distinct honor of studying creative writing with Raymond
Carver. In 2011, I received my MFA in Fiction from The City College of New
York, and have taught there as an adjunct lecturer in the English and Mass
Communications departments.
LIE, the
critically-acclaimed young adult novel from Caroline Bock, is the story of one
community torn apart by race, prejudice, and the struggle of two teens to break
with their friends and tell the truth about a brutal hate crime -- or lie.
Inspired by real events, published by St. Martin's Press,...
RULES:
Open to Everybody 13+ * Winner must respond within 48 hours
*Please note, all giveaways will be shipped out at the end of the month.*
I would step up and tell. Thanks for the chance to win!
ReplyDeleteI would stand up for the victim of the hate crime.
ReplyDeleteI would help the victim of the hate crime..... Thank You for this opportunity to win.... :)
ReplyDeleteI would definitely try to stop it, and go to the authorities. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteIf there were something I could do to possibly stop it at the time, I would try my best...immediately going to the authorities with detailed information would be objective #1 regardless of when/where I came across the incident - hate crimes make me nauseous!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the chance!
If I could step in at the time, I would. And I would definitely go to the authorities with it. Hopefully with proof of the perpetrators.
ReplyDeleteI don't think I would be able to sleep at night if I didn't let the proper authorities know.
ReplyDeleteI like to think I'd speak up and either say something to the person committing the crime, or at least call for help and get the police or whoever to come and help the victim. I'd hate to think I'd let it slide. In fact, I don't think I could forgive myself if I did.
ReplyDeleteI would hope that I would speak up and find someone who could help with the situation. I would definitely want to tell the police about it and try to have as much evidence of it as I could. I couldn't just stand by and watch, I know I'd do something.
ReplyDeleteI... cannot even.
ReplyDeleteThis is perfection.
Thanks for this Amy and Caroline! <333
If you were a witness to a hate crime what would you do?
ReplyDeleteI would speak out, go to the defense of the victim and give what evidence is require.
I would have to report it. I don't know how I could live with myself if I didn't do something.
ReplyDeleteI certainly hope with all my training in criminal justice that I'd report it.
ReplyDelete-K8
http://froze8.blogspot.com/
I work in public safety. If you don't tell, then no knows that help is needed (most of the time)! I would report it.
ReplyDeleteI would probably report it. I hope that I would have the courage to raise my voice against such acts.
ReplyDelete