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The Last Place on Earth
     

The Last Place on Earth

4.2 6
by Carol Snow
 

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Daisy and Henry are best friends, and they know all each other's secrets.  Or, so Daisy thinks, until she wakes up one morning to find that Henry and his family have disappeared without a trace. Daisy suspects Henry's disappearance is connected to their seriously awkward meeting the night before, but then she finds a note from Henry, containing just

Overview

Daisy and Henry are best friends, and they know all each other's secrets.  Or, so Daisy thinks, until she wakes up one morning to find that Henry and his family have disappeared without a trace. Daisy suspects Henry's disappearance is connected to their seriously awkward meeting the night before, but then she finds a note from Henry, containing just the words "SAVE ME."

 

Deeply worried, Daisy convinces her unemployed brother to take her on a rescue mission into the California mountains. As they begin to home in on Henry's exact location, they also start to find some disturbing clues... clues that call into question everything Daisy believes she knows about her friend.  Why is he so hard to find? What kind of trouble is he in, exactly? And most importantly, who is actually saving who?

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
11/30/2015
Sixteen-year-old Daisy Cruz hasn’t heard from her best friend Henry Hawking for days. She’s worried that an awkward moment they shared has damaged their friendship, but as the days pass, she knows it has to be more. Also, why is everyone at school suddenly falling ill? A note on Henry’s desk leaves Daisy certain that he’s in danger, and additional clues lead her deep into California’s Los Padres National Forest, and finally to an underground bunker. Then things get really weird. Snow (Bubble World) presents a quirky entry into the “Is this it for humanity?” genre, as Daisy is thrust into a potential apocalypse she is ill-equipped to handle. Daisy’s engaging voice and dry wit are a real highlight, especially where her survivalist ineptitude is concerned (“Did you know that straight bleach can actually burn a hole in your clothes? Neither did I!”). Themes of loyalty, friendship, and family bonds are the foundations of a winning story filled with small, poignant moments that, against a background of uncertainty, don’t feel small at all. Ages 14–up. Agent: Stephanie Kip Rostan, Levine Greenberg Rostan Literary Agency. (Feb.)
From the Publisher
"Constantly clever... hilarious." —Kirkus Reviews

"Subtle, effective... Readers who enjoyed Libba Bray's Beauty Queens will relish Snow's sarcastic wit." —School Library Journal

"Snow nestles a powerful message about bravery, self-confidence, and integrity in the midst of fluffy, irreverent talk of fashion and teen idols and a virtual world at the crossroads of The Matrix and Barbie’s Dreamhouse." —Booklist

VOYA, April 2016 (Vol. 39, No. 1) - Sherry Rampey
Daisy and Henry are best friends who do everything together. Although Henry’s parents are uber-protective and have some crazy quirks, Daisy does not think anything of it, until the day Henry disappears. She makes inquiries at school among their classmates and friends (at least among those who are not sick), but nobody seems to know where he may have gone. Daisy finally receives a plea from Henry for help, but where she finds him is the last place she expected to be. Being the quick read that it is, there is not a lot of character or plot line development. It seems the author may have been trying for a partial dystopic novel but fell short. For those wanting quick knowledge in wilderness training and survival, this book may be a good start. Reviewer: Sherry Rampey; Ages 11 to 15.
Children's Literature - Marilyn R. Garcia
Daisy Cruz collects her best friend Henry’s homework for him whenever he is absent, which is often. This time, she suspects something is really wrong. After several days with no Henry in sight, she is convinced his entire family has disappeared. Daisy and her brother break in to Henry’s house to see if they can piece together where Henry has gone and why. They find a note in Henry’s handwriting that simply says, “Save me,” and their quest to find him begins. As they search, the world around them begins to swirl in fear, then panic, as an incurable and mysterious epidemic spreads and people they know die. The siblings are separated when Daisy falls into a pit in the woods, is held captive in a well-supplied survival bunker, and eventually emerges to reunite with Henry and a small colony of survivalists who have been waiting and preparing for this plague. Daisy battles her own fear, anger, and confusion as she forcibly becomes one of this group who are clearly not as prepared for the end of civilization as they thought they would be. In the end, Daisy survives, saves her brother, and finds a new appreciation for her own family. In this not quite post-apocalyptic novel, Snow poses a number of interesting questions for young adult readers, such as the meaning of family and the fragility of civilization, while providing real historical context about plagues and disease. However, the resolution of the plot feels disappointing when put up against the many possible outcomes. Characters lack believable development, particularly the female protagonist, who too easily accepts and forgives being deceived, imprisoned, and virtually enslaved. In the end, this book becomes a teen romance, missing much of its potential to examine the interesting questions it raises. Reviewer: Marilyn R. Garcia; Ages 12 up.
School Library Journal
12/01/2015
Gr 6 Up—This mystery starts with lots of promise. Daisy's best friend and potential love interest, Henry, mysteriously disappears. After following the clues left in her suburban neighborhood, she and her brother trek to his last-known whereabouts deep in the California Redwoods. Here, Daisy finds herself in over her head and has to rely on her wit and courage to survive. Unfortunately, the writing in this book is not convincing. When Daisy is in danger, there is no fear in her voice. When she is panicked, there is no anxiety. The protagonist maintains a flat tone, full of sarcasm and benign pop culture references. Despite this, the mystery is full of twists and turns with teenage jolts of humor and angst that will attract reluctant readers, especially fans of Caroline B. Cooney and Joan Lowery Nixon. VERDICT A secondary purchase for reluctant readers who love mysteries.—Jaclyn Anderson, Madison County Library System, MS
Kirkus Reviews
2015-11-03
Most of the time, "the world is ending" is a metaphor. But what if it really is ending? At first, Daisy thinks Henry, her best friend, is just playing sick, as he often does. But when he doesn't return her texts, she gets worried—especially when there's no sign of him or his parents in their house. Where is Henry? And does this have anything to do with how he almost kissed her the night before he disappeared? Daisy needs to know, so she breaks into Henry's house and finds a note in his room, a note with only two words: "SAVE ME." And so Daisy sets out on a journey to save the best friend who might be more than just her best friend, a journey that means spending a week in quarantine, discovering a world of doomsday preppers, learning about the Madagascar plague, and asking if this really is the end of the world. But facilely, Daisy and Henry learn that no matter how many things change, "life goes on as before." The doomsday elements of the plot make for a jarring addition to what seems to be an ordinary friends-to-lovers story. Still, the characters, in particular Daisy, are well-drawn, and the topic is certainly of interest. Though the story is not particularly cohesive, its characters carry the day. (Fiction. 14-18)

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781627790390
Publisher:
Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
Publication date:
02/23/2016
Pages:
304
Sales rank:
539,946
Product dimensions:
5.50(w) x 8.30(h) x 1.20(d)
Lexile:
HL680L (what's this?)
Age Range:
14 - 18 Years

Read an Excerpt

The Last Place on Earth


By Carol Snow

Henry Holt and Company

Copyright © 2016 Carol Snow
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62779-040-6


CHAPTER 1

ONE DAY HENRY was there, and the next he wasn't.

I assumed he was home sick. Well, playing sick, more likely. When it came to faking an illness, Henry was a master. True, he'd had his slipups, like the time he gargled hot tap water before taking a thermometer from his mother, only to have his temperature come in at 109 degrees. But that was an exception. (To Henry's credit, his argument about the thermometer's "defective engineering" was so convincing that his mother wrote a letter to the manufacturer.)

Most of the time, Henry managed to convince his parents that his cough, headache, nausea, and/or fever were reason enough for him to stay out of school ("I'd feel really bad if I gave it to the other students"), but not serious enough for him to see the doctor. His parents would phone the excuse into the attendance office and head off to their Very Important Jobs in pet insurance and contracts law, while Henry would pass the day downloading music onto his MP3 player and teaching himself the guitar.

Had it been a normal day, I would have sent Henry a text — Hope it isn't fatal — and Henry would have replied right away with something like, Pray for me. And bring me my homework. (Please.)

But there was nothing normal about this day, because there had been nothing normal about the night before. I was all set to act like nothing had happened, if that was how he wanted it, but I wasn't prepared to find an empty desk in our first-period class (Spanish II) or in any of our shared classes that followed (AP European history, honors chemistry, dance, advanced geometry, honors sophomore English). Henry might be lazy, but I had never taken him for a coward.

"Where's Henry?" the girls in dance class asked, as they always did.

"The usual," I said.

Henry was the only boy in dance class, which was exactly why he'd signed up. Anyone who didn't play a sport was required to do two years of physical education or dance.

"I'll take the one where the girls wear spandex shorts and tank tops," he had said.

As for his own clothes, he'd talked the teacher into letting him wear basketball shorts and a T-shirt. Of course he had.

"You want to take one of these for Henry?" our chemistry teacher asked, giving me an extra packet. Only a month into sophomore year, and our teachers had figured it out: Henry would be absent a lot. I'd take his work. Henry would catch up without any problem.

It made me crazy, how easily Henry pulled As without even trying. Sick or healthy, I never missed a day of school. I never forgot a homework assignment. I never left a paper till the last minute. And yet my GPA was lower than Henry's. Not by a lot, but still.

Henry, Henry, Henry.

"I think you're secretly in love with him," my mother said back in ninth grade, when we first started partnering up for school projects, sharing inside jokes, and exchanging endless texts.

"We're just friends," I told her.

But we weren't just friends. We were best friends. And best friends don't disappear without saying anything. Which must mean that our best-friendship was in jeopardy.

By the end of the day, after checking my phone during every passing period and lunch, I still hadn't heard from him. I won't be the first to text, I swore.

And then, of course, I thumbed a message before I had a chance to talk myself out of it: I have your chemistry packet.

Text sent, I had nothing to do but wait for a reply. Because there was no way I was going to text him again.

Well, unless a whole hour went by without a word.


Will you just answer already?


Still no word.


You promised things wouldn't be weird.


Nothing.


Things are weird. Let's call a do-over. Last night didn't happen. OK?

Nothing.

Finally, at five o'clock, with my mounds of homework not yet begun, I called him and got a recording: "I'm sorry. But the number you are trying to reach is not in service."

I felt cold all over. And then I laughed. No wonder Henry hadn't returned my texts — his phone wasn't working! I should have known there was a good explanation. Henry wasn't a coward. Our friendship hadn't turned weird.

In my room, I found my laptop buried under last night's pajamas and booted it up, positive I'd find a message waiting. I didn't.

"I'm taking some homework over to Henry," I told my older brother, who was sticking three frozen burritos into our vintage microwave. Our kitchen, also vintage (which sounds so much better than old) was red-and-white tile. It looked like an In-N-Out Burger.

"Mm," he grunted, pressing in too many minutes. Peter was the king of the exploding burrito.

"Yeah, so tell Mom when she gets home."

"Mm."

Chemistry packet in hand, I let myself out the rickety gate that led to the horse and jogging trail behind our house. The trail wound around a murky pond and then led to a street that led to another street that led to Henry's house. By the time I reached what Henry called the Fortress (picture light sensors and triple locks and a security system with video cameras), I was sweaty and dusty and out of breath.

Though it was big, Henry's house was not what I would call pretty. In fact, it was what I would call ugly. All hard angles and sharp lines, the Fortress was painted an icy white and roofed in blue metal. The gray-blue trim helped, but not much. The one soft touch that Henry's parents had added, red roses under the windows and salmon bougainvillea along the sides, had been planted for security purposes only. An intruder would think twice before braving those thorns. The bees were a bonus.

I climbed the familiar steps to a front door so big that it never failed to intimidate me. Or maybe it was the discreet video camera mounted above the door that made me squirm. I ran a hand over my sweaty forehead and pushed the doorbell. Chimes echoed: Ding-DONG. Ding-dong-DING. Averting my eyes from the video camera, I looked instead at the weatherproof sign planted among the red roses: A-1 SECURITY. ARMED RESPONSE.

It did not make me feel better.

I waited for footsteps. Don't let it be his mother. I was still wearing what I'd worn to school: a rock band T-shirt, denim miniskirt, and artfully torn black tights. Mrs. Hawking would not approve.

No one came. But maybe Henry had his headphones on. Maybe he was watching TV.

I pushed the doorbell again, listened to the dings and the dongs. Still no answer.

The late-afternoon sun reflected off the windows. Not that I could have seen inside anyway; Henry's parents kept the blinds drawn at all times. A flash of color caught my eye: A stained glass sun-catcher, shaped like a shooting star and attached with a suction cup, hung between the blinds and a living room window. That was new. Or maybe I'd just never noticed it before. How like Henry's parents to put something pretty (well, pretty-ish; actually, it was kind of tacky) behind the window blinds, where they wouldn't even see it.

Finally, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. In all the time we'd been friends, I'd never called Henry's home number. There had never been any reason to. Besides, I wouldn't have wanted to risk talking to Henry's parents. ("May I ask who is calling? ... Oh. Daisy." Here his mother or father would insert a disapproving silence. "Henry is rather busy right now.")

But Henry's parents were clearly out of the house. The phone rang four times, and just when I expected a machine to pick up, it rang a fifth time. And a sixth. After eight rings I gave up and slipped the phone back into my pocket. Despite the heat, I shivered.

I shuffled down the steps, paused, and turned back one last time in the hopes that Henry would appear. But the door remained shut. The house appeared deserted, but then it always looked like that: mean and lonely.

As I made my way down the front walkway, I glanced over at the driveway. Not that I expected to see a car there — Henry's parents would never leave their vehicles potentially exposed to thieves and vandals and goodness knows what — but ...

I froze. A newspaper, wrapped in orange plastic, sat in the middle of the gray pavers. I crept toward it as if it were something alive. Something that might bite. A lizard, maybe. Or a rabid possum.

I tried to quiet my mind. Maybe it wasn't the daily paper. Maybe it was some kind of free circular tossed there during the day.

But no. Hands shaking, I picked up the bundle, reached inside, and pulled out the Orange County Register. I checked the date: today.

That was when I knew: Henry was gone.

CHAPTER 2

A DAILY PAPER in the driveway. So what? It doesn't seem like much, I know. But Henry's parents believed that a newspaper left out was an advertisement that no one was home. In other words, an invitation to thieves.

The Hawking family left town at least once a month to go camping or fishing or something else nature-related. Whenever they were gone, they paid a neighbor kid to take the paper away by seven in the morning. One time a kid didn't get it until eight thirty, and they fired him. How did they know he was late? Video footage, of course.

You'd think they'd just put their mail or newspaper on vacation hold. But no: Someone who worked at the post office or newspaper might have ties to a crime ring. Before you knew it, intruders would be crawling through their windows. (Assuming they could get past the thorns and bees.)

Henry thought it was funny that his parents were "bat-crap-crazy paranoid." Up till now, I had done my best to laugh along, but it was hard. Henry was the best friend I had ever had. I wanted to like his parents. I wanted them to like me. So far, it wasn't happening.

Now I had to wonder: Were they as crazy as we'd thought? Or had they known something all along?

"I'm worried about Henry," I told my mother, back in our red-and-white kitchen. She had just come in from her day job and was scarfing down a cup of soup before she headed off to teach a jewelry-making class.

"I'm sure he's fine," she said when I told her about the newspaper. "The universe will look after him."

That was one of my mother's favorite sayings, right up there with "Everything happens for a reason" and "Things have a way of working themselves out."

Peter wandered into the kitchen. "We're out of toilet paper again."

"Did you put it on the shopping list?" my mother asked.

"Yeah."

She shrugged. "Last time I went to the store, I forgot the list."


* * *

The next morning, my mother agreed to swing by Henry's house on the way to school. There were now two newspapers in orange plastic sitting in the driveway.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," my mother said.

I was, too. But I was terrified the explanation would be something awful.

By second period, AP European history, I was in such a frenzy that I broke down and spoke to Gwendolyn Waxweiler. "Have you heard from Henry?" I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked.

Gwendolyn, sitting on the other side of Henry's empty chair, dropped her gaze to the ends of my hair. Bored one day last summer, I decided to see whether cherry Kool-Aid really works as a hair dye. It really does, especially if you have previously lightened your hair with Sun-In. And the color doesn't come out. So now I know.

She said, "I haven't tried to make contact with Henry." That was the way Gwendolyn talked, as if she were from outer space and hadn't quite figured out normal human speech. She had known Henry for longer than I had — they had gone to the same small, private elementary school. Their parents were friends, and the families did stuff together. Like barbecues! And campouts! And ... killing defenseless animals!

No matter what I said, Henry would defend man's right to hunt: "At least these animals had a good life until they were shot. Unlike the cow that died for your hamburger." (Perhaps it was growing up in that In-N-Out kitchen, but as much as I wished I had the inner strength to go vegan, I loved nothing more than a Double-Double and fries.)

Still, whatever Henry's arguments about man-versus-animal, he seemed to fall suddenly ill every time his parents scheduled a hunting trip.

"He's just got a cold or something, correct?" Gwendolyn said, as our teacher, Mr. Vasquez, began his daily PowerPoint presentation.

I shrugged and turned my attention to the first slide:

THE BLACK DEATH
"The Plague"
1347–1351 first struck Europe
Death estimates: 1/3–2/3 of European population
Bacterial infection: now curable by antibiotics


Henry found history fascinating, but even though Mr. Vasquez was cool, I always left his class feeling slightly depressed, and not just because it involved a good two hours of homework a night. If our lesson wasn't about disease, it was about war. The kings and queens may have had a good time (as long as they kept their heads), but for the rest of the population in medieval Europe, life was miserable, and death came early, often, and in a whole bunch of disgusting ways.

Two seats away, Gwendolyn took notes with one hand. With the other, she fiddled with her thick braid. Gwendolyn's hair was strawberry blond. It would take Kool-Aid really well.

Usually, Gwendolyn ignored my existence entirely, but she kept glancing over at me. Finally, a few slides later ("Forms of the Plague"), when Mr. Vasquez paused to let us copy down some more depressing facts, she leaned over Henry's desk. "Does he not respond to your phone calls?"

"Phone's disconnected."

I copied the first line from the slide:

1. Bubonic Plague: Most common variant. Carried by rats; spread by fleas. Swellings (buboes) on neck, armpit, and groin. Mortality rate 30–75%. Typical life expectancy: one week.


"Have you been to his house?" Gwendolyn whispered.

I paused. Should I tell her about the newspapers? No. I wanted someone besides my mother to tell me that I was overreacting. That everything was going to be fine. Gwendolyn's family was just as bat-crap-crazy paranoid as Henry's. She'd tell me that the abandoned OC Registers were a sure sign of calamity.

"Yesterday afternoon," I said. "No one answered the door. But it was kind of early — his parents wouldn't even be home from work yet. And Henry could have been sleeping or listening to music or something."

She nodded, looking less than convinced.

I copied down the next line from the slide.

2. Pneumonic Plague: Attacked respiratory system. Spread by breathing infected air. Mortality rate: 90–95%. Typical life expectancy: 1–2 days.


"When did you last talk to him?" she asked.

"Night before last."

"And everything was normal?"

That was a weird question. Especially since Henry was so not normal the last time I had seen him. But how could Gwendolyn know that? Oh no. Now I was getting bat-crap-crazy paranoid. Maybe it was spreading, like the plague. Were there any flea-bitten rats around?

"Sure," I said. "Everything was normal. I guess." I copied down the third plague variant.


3. Septicemic Plague: Attacked the blood system. Mortality rate: near 100%.

"I'm sure everything is fine," I told Gwendolyn, willing my words to be true.

She didn't say anything, just twisted her strawberry-blond braid with renewed vigor.

"The universe will look after him," I added.

At that, she dropped her braid. "Are you kidding me? The universe looks after no one. We're all on our own."


* * *

Peter's beat-up little car, pale yellow with gray doors, was waiting in front of the school when I got out. Most of the time I walked home — it was just over a mile — but if it was hot outside, my mother would tell my brother to get me.

I grabbed the handle and pulled hard. The door creaked open. I slid into the bucket seat, which was black vinyl laced with pink leopard-print duct tape. The duct tape had come with the car, as had the Jesus stickers on the rear fender. Henry and I had spent a lot of time trying to visualize the previous owners.

"Need to stop for coffee," Peter mumbled, pulling away from the curb. His eyes were puffy. He needed a shave.

"Did you just get up?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not just just, but — whatever."

Another one of my mother's mottoes (there were hundreds) was "I trust my children to make the right choices." That worked okay for me. I chose hard work and responsibility. Which sounds incredibly boring, but there you go. Then there was my brother. After finishing high school in the spring, Peter had mostly chosen to binge on Netflix and sleep through lunch.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Last Place on Earth by Carol Snow. Copyright © 2016 Carol Snow. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company.
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.

Meet the Author

Carol Snow is the author of Bubble World and many other books for teens. She has also written five novels for adults. Originally from New Jersey, she now lives in Southern California with her husband and their two children. carolsnow.com

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The Last Place on Earth 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 6 reviews.
Backyard More than 1 year ago
I'm going back and forth between giving this three stars or four stars, and I'm thinking I'll give it four to offset all the two and three star reviews for the book. The problem with this book is that it is essentially two stories in one, and the one you read in the blurb is only the first half. I wouldn't take the novel at face value; if anything, I would say there is a good chance someone will underestimate how much there is to this. With that being said, it's a slow moving novel. It's character driven and has very little in the way of outside conflict. I would even go so far as to say that even though there is a rather large influencing factor surrounding our characters, that event takes a backseat to the relationships between everyone. I can't reveal too much without spoiling what the big event is in the book, but suffice to say that I couldn't care less about it. I was much more focused on the relationship between Henry and Daisy. It was one of the first times in a while that a budding relationship actually seemed realistic, complete with misunderstandings and miscommunication and resentment. I enjoyed it quite a bit. Quite a bit more than I thought I would, truth be told. This is the perfect book for younger YA readers and I think it'll find its niche.
TheThoughtSpot More than 1 year ago
I was lucky enough to be a Goodreads give-away winner of The Last Place on Earth by Carol Snow! This is a genre bending story about Henry, his family and his best friend, Daisy. Daisy is trying to find Henry. He has been missing and Daisy soon discovers that his family is missing also. Daisy is determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. I was relieved when Daisy confided in her brother Peter about her concerns and that she wasn't looking for him alone anymore. The mystery unfolds for the first third of the book and then the aftermath is dealt with. I enjoyed Daisy's personality and seeing how her relationships changed and grew as the story was told. The Last Place on Earth is realistic fiction and mystery wrapped up together with a dystopian edge; it's also a clean read!
greetingsfromkansas More than 1 year ago
What a delight this book was to read! Daisy is a funny, emotional, unique teenager who wants nothing more than to find her best friend who has vanished. Where on earth has Henry gone? I will not spoil it for you but it was a page turner. The first few chapters set the stage with character development. Then, we are swept into Daisy's world and the perils that she encounters. Great ending. I definitely did not want to throw the book across the room in the end. Carol Snow, I am waiting for your next book!
tammih More than 1 year ago
A delightful read. The main character Daisy is wonderful. This book is a treasure.
JennaSue More than 1 year ago
A fun, page-turning mix of mystery, romance and end-of-the-world thriller, The Last Place on Earth is one of those novels that's hard to categorize but that's almost impossible to put down once you start it. It tells the story of Daisy, whose best friend Henry disappears under mysterious circumstances, leaving only a note that says, "Save Me." She bravely (and maybe even a bit foolishly) heads out to find him — a quest that takes her deep into the California Redwoods, where she tries to follow Henry's trail, relying on her wits to survive. I loved Daisy as a character — she has few natural survival skills, but she's smart, and her witty sense of humor had me laughing even as I was biting my nails from the suspense. I don't want to give any spoilers, but I can say there were lots of twists and turns — including a big plot twist I didn't see coming. Five stars from me.
MissPrint More than 1 year ago
Daisy Cruz is used to her best friend Henry skipping school for unnecessary sick days. What she isn't used to is Henry not answering her texts and his entire family disappearing without notice. At first Daisy thinks maybe is has something to do with their last awkward encounter. But the longer Henry is missing, the more Daisy worries--especially when she finds a note on Henry's desk that says "Save Me." Was it a sudden relocation because of witness protection? An alien abduction? Something even less plausible? Could it have something to do with all of her classmates that are getting sick? Following Henry's trail leads Daisy into California's wilderness and straight to Henry's (and his family's) biggest secret in The Last Place on Earth (2016) by Carol Snow. The Last Place on Earth is a strange little book where the mystery surrounding a missing friend quickly morphs into a story about a plague, survival, doomsday preppers, and a really awkward first kiss. Heavy-handed exposition and erratic pacing unfortunately dilute the overall impact of an otherwise suspenseful and surprising story. Daisy is an enterprising and sincere narrator as her search for Henry moves in unexpected directions.Her humor and the "will they or won't they" romance she has with Henry keeps the plot moving and adds heart to this unusual story. The Last Place on Earth is has short chapters and numerous plot twists that make it ideal for reluctant readers and middle grade readers looking to transition into YA titles. An excellent choice for fans of survival stories and post-apocalyptic tales as well as readers who prefer their romances sweet and comfortably PG. Possible Pairings: Emmy & Oliver by Robin Benway, No Parking at the End Times by Bryan Bliss, Vivian Apple at the End of the World by Katie Coyle, The Distance Between Lost and Found by Kathryn Holmes, Since You've Been Gone by Morgan Matson, Starters by Lissa Price, Catch & Release by Blythe Woolston *An advance copy of this title was acquired from the publisher for review consideration*