One Square Inch [NOOK Book]

Overview


Cooper's grandfather gives him and his little sister, Carly, deeds to square inches of land in the Yukon. Carly uses them to invent her own imaginary kingdom of Inchland—far away from the silence of their home, where their single mother stays in bed all day. When their mom comes out of her season of sadness bursting with sometimes frightening energy, Carly retreats into Inchland, while sixth-grader Cooper tries to control the chaos. But can Cooper really keep Carly—and ...

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One Square Inch

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Overview


Cooper's grandfather gives him and his little sister, Carly, deeds to square inches of land in the Yukon. Carly uses them to invent her own imaginary kingdom of Inchland—far away from the silence of their home, where their single mother stays in bed all day. When their mom comes out of her season of sadness bursting with sometimes frightening energy, Carly retreats into Inchland, while sixth-grader Cooper tries to control the chaos. But can Cooper really keep Carly—and himself—safe?

In One Square Inch, Claudia Mills weaves a story that is “Believable and deeply moving” (Publishers Weekly).

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Mills (How Oliver Olson Changed the World) delivers a compassionate story about life with a bipolar parent. Eleven-year-old Cooper and his younger sister, Carly, consider their life in Colorado "normal" until their widowed mother begins to sleep all day. After seeing a psychiatrist, she seems to get better, only to swing to the opposite end of the spectrum. Organized and perceptive, Cooper tries to ignore the unpaid bills, power outage, endless projects, and "unbelievable mess," but his mother's behavior embarrasses and angers him ("I started trying to clean up the kitchen.... If the house looked less crazy, it might make her be less crazy, too"). Not knowing where to turn, he and Carly find escape and comfort imagining a place called Inchland, inspired by their grandfather's collection of Quaker Oats deeds to land in the Yukon. Though Cooper's narration at times feels excessively sensitive ("She reached out and gave me a long, enfolding hug. I fought tears as I hugged her back"), the twist of his emotions and depth of his concern for his mother and sister are believable and deeply moving. Ages 10–14. (Sept.)
From the Publisher

“Believable and deeply moving” —Publishers Weekly

“Cooper’s narration is restrained yet heartfelt, credible in the toll that anxiety increasingly takes on him even as he attempts to reason himself out of it” The Bulletin of the Center for Childrens Books

 “An expertly crafted, low-key alternative to Leslie Connor’s Waiting for Normal (2008).” —Booklist

Children's Literature - Barbara Wheatley
Sixth-grade Cooper and his younger sister Carly have lived alone with their mother in Colorado since the death of their father years ago in a car accident. Life as a family of three is fine until their mom begins sleeping all day, leaving Cooper and Carly alone to fend for themselves. While dealing with the normal middle school anxieties such as girls, new classes, and friends, Cooper also worries about his mother, wondering if she has cancer or another disease, and wishing life would go back to normal. Cooper also takes care of Carly when their mother neglects them and together they turn to Gran-Dan's gift from the summer; eight Quaker Oats deeds to land in the Yukon, each one a deed for one square inch of land. Here Carly and Cooper create the magical world of Inchland, where they escape their tumultuous real life; an imaginative land they wish they could visit as their mother becomes more difficult. After their mom visits a psychiatrist, her depression seems to go away, and the children think that life will become normal. Instead her moods swing drastically towards manic behavior—shopping binges, staying up all night, and promising more than she can do—which are more frightening and embarrassing than the depression and sleeping all day. While this book deceptively may appeal to younger readers; it is more appropriate for older readers since it realistically and sensitively portrays life with a bipolar mother through the eyes of the son, Cooper. Reviewer: Barbara Wheatley
Kirkus Reviews
In this poignant tale, two children try to cope with their mother's bewildering descent into bipolar disorder by retreating into their own imagined world of a miniature kingdom, Inchland. Sixth grader Cooper relates his account of his mother's disabling depression that is followed by a manic phase that causes her to shop relentlessly, take on projects she can't possibly handle, totally abandon housekeeping and finally neglect both children, especially second grader Carly. The children's concern for their mother—Cooper Googles various diseases trying to find one that matches her symptoms—followed by their embarrassment as her behavior becomes more bizarre are affecting and emotionally true. Less believable are some of his thoughts: "Shards of frost lay littered on the lawn like broken glass," or, "Ben with effortless strength and grace..." hardly seem like the voice of a sixth grader. Cooper's efforts to protect his sister by helping her develop Inchland, however, are both tender and at times pathetic. While engaging, it's difficult to imagine a large audience for this often painful story. (Fiction. 10 & up)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781429964456
  • Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
  • Publication date: 9/14/2010
  • Sold by: Macmillan
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 176
  • Age range: 10 - 14 Years
  • File size: 155 KB

Meet the Author


CLAUDIA MILLS is the author of numerous books for children, including How Oliver Olson Changed the World and The Totally Made-up Civil War Diary of Amanda MacLeish. She lives in Boulder, Colorado.


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Read an Excerpt


1
Sometimes magic turns up in unexpected places. Not real magic, if there is such a thing, which my younger sister, Carly, still believes in but I don’t, at least not anymore. But magic that you can sort of pretend to believe in. Magic that is real enough, and sometimes realer than anything else in your life. Looking back, I think it’s strange that it was Gran-Dan of all people who first gave Carly and me the deeds to Inchland.
We were visiting him in New Jersey, Carly, my mom, and me. Our family is just the three of us, so we did everything together: my dad was killed in a car accident when I was only four and Carly had just been born. I don’t know if I have any memories of my dad, or if I just think I do because other people have told me stories about him.
Anyway, we were in New Jersey, and it was hot, hot, hot, so much hotter than it ever seems to get in Colorado, and Carly and I were playing pirates on Gran-Dan’s wide back porch, which I have to say made a great deck of a pirate ship. I was the pirate king, of course. Betrayed by my own men, gravely wounded, weakened by loss of blood, I turned to face the enemy. “Die, you mangy dog!” I shouted, brandishing my fearsome sword.
“No, you die,” the enemy retorted.
The pirate king’s blade slashed through the air. “Die, I said!”
“I can’t die!” The enemy’s voice rose higher. “I can’t die now, Cooper. I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Aw, Carly.” I shoved my cardboard sword back into its cardboard scabbard. “You always have to go to the bathroom right when you’re about to be stabbed.”
“But I do have to go.”
“Well, go then.”
Carly flashed me a relieved smile. Off she ran, her bobbing blond pigtails making her look more like a seven-year-old than a bloodthirsty pirate. The beanbag parrot she had taped onto her shoulder fell off as she disappeared into the house. I followed after her and picked it up.
“Pieces of eight,” I made the parrot squawk.
“Aw, pipe down,” I said to the parrot.
Hot and sweaty now, I plopped onto a worn wooden chair by Gran-Dan’s kitchen table and looked out the window into his huge shaded yard. There were so many more trees of all kinds in New Jersey than in Colorado. The yard was full of great places to make a secret fort or castle or pirate lair.
I lifted my damp hair off my forehead. It was hard to get used to the warm, sticky air.
A cool glass of lemonade might help. Just as I was pouring it, Gran-Dan appeared beside me. I gulped down half the glass in two swallows.
“You’re drinking too fast, you’ll get a stomach cramp,” he said.
That was what Gran-Ellen always used to say, but I’ve never had a stomach cramp and never heard of anyone getting one, except in Gran-Ellen’s warnings about drinking cold liquids too quickly on a hot day. She always used to say it like she was really concerned about how terrible a stomach cramp would be if we actually got one. For Gran-Dan, it was one more thing he could be critical about.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked. “I haven’t seen her yet this morning.”
The question irritated me. Gran-Dan had to know that my mom was still sleeping. It wasn’t that late, maybe ten o’clock, maybe ten-thirty. Counting the two-hour time change, it wasn’t late at all. Besides, lots of people slept longer when they were on vacation.
“I think she’s still asleep,” I said.
Gran-Dan looked at his watch. “At quarter till eleven? What grown adult sleeps until noon like a teenager?”
Before I could answer, Carly came back into the kitchen. Gran-Dan’s eyes lit up at the sight of her. It was okay with me, I guess, that he liked her best.
“Ahoy, matey,” he said by way of greeting. “How’s the pirate business?”
Carly giggled. “Cooper was about to stab me to death, but then I had to go to the bathroom.”
Gran-Dan chuckled. I knew he thought it was silly that an eleven-year-old boy would still be playing pirates, but I only did it for Carly. Well, mostly for Carly. If my mom had been feeling better, she would have been in the game, too, as the pirate queen, and Gran-Dan would have thought that was even worse.
“Where’s your mother?” Gran-Dan asked Carly. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he’d already asked me, and that I had already told him.
“Sleeping,” Carly said.
Gran-Dan checked his watch again.
“She loves to sleep,” Carly said.
Gran-Dan gave a snort of disapproval.
Fortunately, I heard soft footsteps on the stairs. My mom was finally up, though still in her bathrobe, her reddish curls uncombed.
“Good morning,” Gran-Dan said. The “morning” was obviously sarcastic. Then he asked, in a kinder voice, “Are you feeling all right?” For Gran-Dan, the only possible excuse for sleeping so late would be if you were sick, preferably dying.
“I’m just tired, that’s all,” Mom said.
“The best thing when you’re tired isn’t excess sleep, it’s exercise,” Gran-Dan announced. “If I’m tired, I take a brisk walk, or a bike ride, and it does the trick every time.”
Well, maybe everybody in the world wasn’t like Gran-Dan. But I wasn’t going to say it.
“When was the last time you had a checkup?” It was clear that Gran-Dan wasn’t going to let this thing go. “You might have mono. Remember that girl in your class who had mono in high school? If you’re that tired, you should be having a checkup.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well,” Gran-Dan said with fake heartiness. “We’re going into New York tomorrow, and down the shore on Tuesday, but what are the plans for this afternoon? We may be getting a late start, but that’s no reason to waste the whole day.”
“Stay here and play?” Carly said. I was grateful Carly had said it first, not me.
“Come on, you two can play any time. This is your chance to do some sightseeing. What about Morristown? See Washington’s headquarters during the Revolutionary War? Cooper, you must have studied that in school last year. Schools still teach some history these days, don’t they?”
The thought of walking around looking at old Revolutionary War cannons in the 97-degree heat had zero appeal to me.
“We just got here yesterday,” I said, hoping Gran-Dan would think that was a reason to laze around doing nothing, or what he would think of as doing nothing.
“Emily?” Gran-Dan asked my mom.
“Staying here is fine with me.” She didn’t look up from untying and retying the belt on her robe.
Gran-Dan shrugged. “That’s settled then,” he said. If he was disappointed, at least he didn’t say it.
Carly blew upward at her bangs. “It’s hot today.”
“It’s cooler down in the basement,” Gran-Dan suggested. If I had said anything about the heat, Gran-Dan would have said, “Complaining won’t make it any cooler.” The only thing Gran-Dan hated more than sleeping late was complaining about anything, unless Carly was the one doing the complaining.
Gran-Dan’s house wasn’t air-conditioned—he didn’t believe in air-conditioning—but he tried to keep the house cool with drawn drapes and ceiling fans. It wasn’t very cool right now.
“We could play being Eskimos!” Carly said. “We could make an igloo out of … What could we use to make an igloo, Cooper?”
I wasn’t exactly an expert on igloo building, but I tried to think. Big blocks of ice and snow. Styrofoam might be good.
“Do you have any big blocks of Styrofoam?” I asked Gran-Dan.
“I imagine I could find some.”
He led Carly and me down to a corner of the dark basement piled high with boxes stacked on the bare concrete floor; he must have had the boxes for everything he had bought in the last forty years.
“A lot of these cartons have Styrofoam inserts,” he said. “Use what ever you want, but make sure you put everything back where you found it.”
Gran-Dan’s house was completely neat and organized, ever since Gran-Ellen died three years ago. She and my mom were the two creative, messy ones; Gran-Dan was the one who liked order and neatness and everything in its place. I liked order and neatness, too, but I couldn’t see keeping dozens of Styrofoam inserts, each one tucked carefully into its original box.
I was glad when Gran-Dan went upstairs and left Carly and me alone to start building.
An hour later, we had a large, if somewhat lopsided, Styrofoam igloo. I did most of the construction work, but I like building things. Carly had run upstairs and found some of our mom’s old dolls and was putting them to bed inside the igloo’s snug walls. Carefully, she bundled them up against the Arctic blizzard about to strike with its blinding snow and hundred-mile-an-hour winds.
“Lunchtime!” Gran-Dan called.
We left our igloo behind and hurried up to the dining room. Gran-Dan didn’t like to be kept waiting.
Lunch was tuna salad sandwiches and pickles and potato chips. I ate every bite on my plate so that Gran-Dan wouldn’t tell me for the fiftieth time how when he was a boy he always ate every bite on his plate. I noticed that my mom ate every bite, too, for a change. She looked better now that she had gotten dressed, in shorts and a cheery pink top.
“Did you get your igloo built?” Gran-Dan asked Carly.
“Cooper made it. It’s the best igloo in the whole world. I want to live in it forever! Can we sleep in it tonight? Can we?”
Gran-Dan didn’t answer. I couldn’t see any reason for him to object, but it looked like he was thinking about something else.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I just remembered something.”
He left the table and was gone for a long time. I wanted to get up and go back to our nice, cool igloo, but I knew we were supposed to wait where we were.
When he finally returned to the table, he had something in his hand.
“Carly,” he announced solemnly, “I have something to show you.” He held out a sheaf of yellowed papers held together by a rusted paper clip.
“What are they?” Carly asked.
Gran-Dan paused for effect before answering. “These are the deeds to my land in the Yukon that I’ve had since I was ten years old. Each one is for one square inch of land up there in the snowy wilds of Canada where Sergeant Preston and his huskies used to roam. They’re from a radio show back in the 1950s.”
“Are they really deeds to real land?” I asked. “How did you get them?”
“By eating Quaker oats. One deed came in each box. That’s all I wanted to do that winter, listen to Sergeant Preston on the radio and eat Quaker oats as fast as I could, so I could get another deed to another square inch.”
It was hard to imagine Gran-Dan as a boy, sprawled on the rug, listening to the radio, dreaming of faraway places.
My mom reached out her hand. “You never told me about them,” she said to Gran-Dan.
Gran-Dan handed the deeds to Mom. “I forgot all about them until now.”
“Can we have the deeds?” Carly begged. “Cooper and me?”
“How many are there?” Gran-Dan asked.
Carly took the deeds from Mom and counted them. “Eight.”
“That makes four for each of you.” I was surprised that he hadn’t just given them all to Carly, though I know she would have shared with me; Carly and I always share everything.
Carly counted out four deeds for me and four for herself. Leaving them behind on the dining room table, she jumped up. “Come see our igloo! Come see it!”
“Let’s just clear away our lunch things first,” Gran-Dan said.
Carly’s face fell.
“I’ll take care of cleaning up,” Mom offered.
I stayed behind to help while Gran-Dan followed Carly to the basement. To Carly, he’d probably praise the igloo to the skies; to me, he’d find some fault in how I had built it, or in the extra Styrofoam pieces I had left lying on the floor and forgotten to put away. I carried the plates into Gran-Dan’s big, tidy kitchen and set them on the counter by the sink. Gran-Dan didn’t have a dishwasher. He didn’t believe in dishwashers, either.
When I returned to the dining room for the glasses, Mom was lingering at the table, looking at Gran-Dan’s deeds.
“One square inch,” she said. “A whole miniature world. All there in a box of cereal.”
She handed my deeds to me. “Make sure you don’t lose them,” she said. “Though I know you won’t.”
That was the beginning of what was going to be Inchland. But I didn’t know it then.
Excerpted from One Square Inch by Claudia Mills.
Copyright © 2010 by Claudia Mills.
Published in 2010 by Farrar Straus Giroux.
All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.
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First Chapter

One Square Inch


By Claudia Mills

Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

Copyright © 2010 Claudia Mills
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780374356521

1
Sometimes magic turns up in unexpected places. Not real magic, if there is such a thing, which my younger sister, Carly, still believes in but I don’t, at least not anymore. But magic that you can sort of pretend to believe in. Magic that is real enough, and sometimes realer than anything else in your life. Looking back, I think it’s strange that it was Gran-Dan of all people who first gave Carly and me the deeds to Inchland.
We were visiting him in New Jersey, Carly, my mom, and me. Our family is just the three of us, so we did everything together: my dad was killed in a car accident when I was only four and Carly had just been born. I don’t know if I have any memories of my dad, or if I just think I do because other people have told me stories about him.
Anyway, we were in New Jersey, and it was hot, hot, hot, so much hotter than it ever seems to get in Colorado, and Carly and I were playing pirates on Gran-Dan’s wide back porch, which I have to say made a great deck of a pirate ship. I was the pirate king, of course. Betrayed by my own men, gravely wounded, weakened by loss of blood, I turned to face the enemy. “Die, you mangy dog!” I shouted, brandishing my fearsome sword.
“No, you die,” the enemy retorted.
The pirate king’s blade slashed through the air. “Die, I said!”
“I can’t die!” The enemy’s voice rose higher. “I can’t die now, Cooper. I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Aw, Carly.” I shoved my cardboard sword back into its cardboard scabbard. “You always have to go to the bathroom right when you’re about to be stabbed.”
“But I do have to go.”
“Well, go then.”
Carly flashed me a relieved smile. Off she ran, her bobbing blond pigtails making her look more like a seven-year-old than a bloodthirsty pirate. The beanbag parrot she had taped onto her shoulder fell off as she disappeared into the house. I followed after her and picked it up.
“Pieces of eight,” I made the parrot squawk.
“Aw, pipe down,” I said to the parrot.
Hot and sweaty now, I plopped onto a worn wooden chair by Gran-Dan’s kitchen table and looked out the window into his huge shaded yard. There were so many more trees of all kinds in New Jersey than in Colorado. The yard was full of great places to make a secret fort or castle or pirate lair.
I lifted my damp hair off my forehead. It was hard to get used to the warm, sticky air.
A cool glass of lemonade might help. Just as I was pouring it, Gran-Dan appeared beside me. I gulped down half the glass in two swallows.
“You’re drinking too fast, you’ll get a stomach cramp,” he said.
That was what Gran-Ellen always used to say, but I’ve never had a stomach cramp and never heard of anyone getting one, except in Gran-Ellen’s warnings about drinking cold liquids too quickly on a hot day. She always used to say it like she was really concerned about how terrible a stomach cramp would be if we actually got one. For Gran-Dan, it was one more thing he could be critical about.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked. “I haven’t seen her yet this morning.”
The question irritated me. Gran-Dan had to know that my mom was still sleeping. It wasn’t that late, maybe ten o’clock, maybe ten-thirty. Counting the two-hour time change, it wasn’t late at all. Besides, lots of people slept longer when they were on vacation.
“I think she’s still asleep,” I said.
Gran-Dan looked at his watch. “At quarter till eleven? What grown adult sleeps until noon like a teenager?”
Before I could answer, Carly came back into the kitchen. Gran-Dan’s eyes lit up at the sight of her. It was okay with me, I guess, that he liked her best.
“Ahoy, matey,” he said by way of greeting. “How’s the pirate business?”
Carly giggled. “Cooper was about to stab me to death, but then I had to go to the bathroom.”
Gran-Dan chuckled. I knew he thought it was silly that an eleven-year-old boy would still be playing pirates, but I only did it for Carly. Well, mostly for Carly. If my mom had been feeling better, she would have been in the game, too, as the pirate queen, and Gran-Dan would have thought that was even worse.
“Where’s your mother?” Gran-Dan asked Carly. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he’d already asked me, and that I had already told him.
“Sleeping,” Carly said.
Gran-Dan checked his watch again.
“She loves to sleep,” Carly said.
Gran-Dan gave a snort of disapproval.
Fortunately, I heard soft footsteps on the stairs. My mom was finally up, though still in her bathrobe, her reddish curls uncombed.
“Good morning,” Gran-Dan said. The “morning” was obviously sarcastic. Then he asked, in a kinder voice, “Are you feeling all right?” For Gran-Dan, the only possible excuse for sleeping so late would be if you were sick, preferably dying.
“I’m just tired, that’s all,” Mom said.
“The best thing when you’re tired isn’t excess sleep, it’s exercise,” Gran-Dan announced. “If I’m tired, I take a brisk walk, or a bike ride, and it does the trick every time.”
Well, maybe everybody in the world wasn’t like Gran-Dan. But I wasn’t going to say it.
“When was the last time you had a checkup?” It was clear that Gran-Dan wasn’t going to let this thing go. “You might have mono. Remember that girl in your class who had mono in high school? If you’re that tired, you should be having a checkup.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well,” Gran-Dan said with fake heartiness. “We’re going into New York tomorrow, and down the shore on Tuesday, but what are the plans for this afternoon? We may be getting a late start, but that’s no reason to waste the whole day.”
“Stay here and play?” Carly said. I was grateful Carly had said it first, not me.
“Come on, you two can play any time. This is your chance to do some sightseeing. What about Morristown? See Washington’s headquarters during the Revolutionary War? Cooper, you must have studied that in school last year. Schools still teach some history these days, don’t they?”
The thought of walking around looking at old Revolutionary War cannons in the 97-degree heat had zero appeal to me.
“We just got here yesterday,” I said, hoping Gran-Dan would think that was a reason to laze around doing nothing, or what he would think of as doing nothing.
“Emily?” Gran-Dan asked my mom.
“Staying here is fine with me.” She didn’t look up from untying and retying the belt on her robe.
Gran-Dan shrugged. “That’s settled then,” he said. If he was disappointed, at least he didn’t say it.
Carly blew upward at her bangs. “It’s hot today.”
“It’s cooler down in the basement,” Gran-Dan suggested. If I had said anything about the heat, Gran-Dan would have said, “Complaining won’t make it any cooler.” The only thing Gran-Dan hated more than sleeping late was complaining about anything, unless Carly was the one doing the complaining.
Gran-Dan’s house wasn’t air-conditioned—he didn’t believe in air-conditioning—but he tried to keep the house cool with drawn drapes and ceiling fans. It wasn’t very cool right now.
“We could play being Eskimos!” Carly said. “We could make an igloo out of … What could we use to make an igloo, Cooper?”
I wasn’t exactly an expert on igloo building, but I tried to think. Big blocks of ice and snow. Styrofoam might be good.
“Do you have any big blocks of Styrofoam?” I asked Gran-Dan.
“I imagine I could find some.”
He led Carly and me down to a corner of the dark basement piled high with boxes stacked on the bare concrete floor; he must have had the boxes for everything he had bought in the last forty years.
“A lot of these cartons have Styrofoam inserts,” he said. “Use what ever you want, but make sure you put everything back where you found it.”
Gran-Dan’s house was completely neat and organized, ever since Gran-Ellen died three years ago. She and my mom were the two creative, messy ones; Gran-Dan was the one who liked order and neatness and everything in its place. I liked order and neatness, too, but I couldn’t see keeping dozens of Styrofoam inserts, each one tucked carefully into its original box.
I was glad when Gran-Dan went upstairs and left Carly and me alone to start building.
An hour later, we had a large, if somewhat lopsided, Styrofoam igloo. I did most of the construction work, but I like building things. Carly had run upstairs and found some of our mom’s old dolls and was putting them to bed inside the igloo’s snug walls. Carefully, she bundled them up against the Arctic blizzard about to strike with its blinding snow and hundred-mile-an-hour winds.
“Lunchtime!” Gran-Dan called.
We left our igloo behind and hurried up to the dining room. Gran-Dan didn’t like to be kept waiting.
Lunch was tuna salad sandwiches and pickles and potato chips. I ate every bite on my plate so that Gran-Dan wouldn’t tell me for the fiftieth time how when he was a boy he always ate every bite on his plate. I noticed that my mom ate every bite, too, for a change. She looked better now that she had gotten dressed, in shorts and a cheery pink top.
“Did you get your igloo built?” Gran-Dan asked Carly.
“Cooper made it. It’s the best igloo in the whole world. I want to live in it forever! Can we sleep in it tonight? Can we?”
Gran-Dan didn’t answer. I couldn’t see any reason for him to object, but it looked like he was thinking about something else.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I just remembered something.”
He left the table and was gone for a long time. I wanted to get up and go back to our nice, cool igloo, but I knew we were supposed to wait where we were.
When he finally returned to the table, he had something in his hand.
“Carly,” he announced solemnly, “I have something to show you.” He held out a sheaf of yellowed papers held together by a rusted paper clip.
“What are they?” Carly asked.
Gran-Dan paused for effect before answering. “These are the deeds to my land in the Yukon that I’ve had since I was ten years old. Each one is for one square inch of land up there in the snowy wilds of Canada where Sergeant Preston and his huskies used to roam. They’re from a radio show back in the 1950s.”
“Are they really deeds to real land?” I asked. “How did you get them?”
“By eating Quaker oats. One deed came in each box. That’s all I wanted to do that winter, listen to Sergeant Preston on the radio and eat Quaker oats as fast as I could, so I could get another deed to another square inch.”
It was hard to imagine Gran-Dan as a boy, sprawled on the rug, listening to the radio, dreaming of faraway places.
My mom reached out her hand. “You never told me about them,” she said to Gran-Dan.
Gran-Dan handed the deeds to Mom. “I forgot all about them until now.”
“Can we have the deeds?” Carly begged. “Cooper and me?”
“How many are there?” Gran-Dan asked.
Carly took the deeds from Mom and counted them. “Eight.”
“That makes four for each of you.” I was surprised that he hadn’t just given them all to Carly, though I know she would have shared with me; Carly and I always share everything.
Carly counted out four deeds for me and four for herself. Leaving them behind on the dining room table, she jumped up. “Come see our igloo! Come see it!”
“Let’s just clear away our lunch things first,” Gran-Dan said.
Carly’s face fell.
“I’ll take care of cleaning up,” Mom offered.
I stayed behind to help while Gran-Dan followed Carly to the basement. To Carly, he’d probably praise the igloo to the skies; to me, he’d find some fault in how I had built it, or in the extra Styrofoam pieces I had left lying on the floor and forgotten to put away. I carried the plates into Gran-Dan’s big, tidy kitchen and set them on the counter by the sink. Gran-Dan didn’t have a dishwasher. He didn’t believe in dishwashers, either.
When I returned to the dining room for the glasses, Mom was lingering at the table, looking at Gran-Dan’s deeds.
“One square inch,” she said. “A whole miniature world. All there in a box of cereal.”
She handed my deeds to me. “Make sure you don’t lose them,” she said. “Though I know you won’t.”
That was the beginning of what was going to be Inchland. But I didn’t know it then.
Excerpted from One Square Inch by Claudia Mills.
Copyright © 2010 by Claudia Mills.
Published in 2010 by Farrar Straus Giroux.
All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.


Continues...

Excerpted from One Square Inch by Claudia Mills Copyright © 2010 by Claudia Mills. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 7, 2013

    So true. Please read my story.

    Hi, I am 60 and my son has bipolar disorder. At first we were simply worried so he moved in with his sister. She had told me he seemed depressed and was sleeping a lot, but she had also told me he was going through a tough breakup. All he wanted to do was lay in bed and sleep, and we both thought that his depression was because of the break up. He's a 20 year old guy, no job, no girlfriend and a collage dropout. We didn't know what else could be depressing him. Then my daughter called me a few months ago. She said, "Mom, I'm scared. Scott's gone, and I think he's going to commit suicide." She told me that lately, he seemed more depressed than usual, so she called his docter. He had gotten her in touch with a pysachatrist, and she had made Scott an appointment. Scott had gone that same day to see him. Later she told me taht she had found Scott in town making prints of an invitation to a dinner party. He had invited 20+ people, and was buying food and canvases and paints. He had wanted to be an artist and had also loved to cook before bipolar set in. Of course, that dinner never happened. He was caught in a state of mania several other times before the pysachatrist sent him to the hospital. Bipolar is grueling dor friends, family, and especially the victim. What thay need most then is your prayers and support in this tough time.

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  • Posted October 1, 2011

    Great

    Great book to relate to

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
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