Rose (Shooting Stars Series #3)

Rose (Shooting Stars Series #3)

by V. C. Andrews


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When she danced, she could dream...

Beautiful and talented, Rose was the apple of her father's eye. But when he is tragically taken from her, his carefully hidden secrets destroy the only life Rose has ever known -- and lead her into a world of luxury unlike any she has imagined. Rose is whisked off to a prestigious private school, while her mother falls into a hateful whirlwind of wealth and greed. But a most unlikely person will show Rose the true meaning of family -- and give her the courage to follow her dream....

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780671039950
Publisher: Pocket Books
Publication date: 09/15/2001
Series: Shooting Stars Series , #3
Pages: 185
Product dimensions: 4.18(w) x 6.77(h) x 0.58(d)

About the Author

One of the most popular authors of all time, V.C. Andrews has been a bestselling phenomenon since the publication of her spellbinding classic Flowers in the Attic. That blockbuster novel began her renowned Dollanganger family saga, which includes Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and Garden of Shadows. Since then, readers have been captivated by more than fifty novels in V.C. Andrews' bestselling series. V.C. Andrews' novels have sold more than one hundred million copies and have been translated into sixteen foreign languages.

Date of Birth:

June 6, 1923

Date of Death:

December 19, 1986

Place of Birth:

Portsmouth, Virginia

Place of Death:

Virginia Beach, Virginia

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One: Daddy

I always believed there was something different about my father. He was whimsical and airy, light of foot and so smooth and graceful, he could slip in and out of a room full of people without anyone realizing he was gone. I don't think I ever saw him depressed or even deeply concerned about anything, no matter how dark the possibilities were. He lost jobs, had cars repossessed, saw his homes go into foreclosure. Twice, that I knew of, he was forced to declare personal bankruptcy. There was even a time when we left one of our homes with little more than we carried on our very selves. Yet he never lost his spirit or betrayed his unhappiness in his voice.

I used to imagine him as a little boy stumbling and rolling over and over until he stopped and jumped right to his feet, smiling, with his arms out and singing a big "Ta-da!" as if his accident was an accomplishment. He was actually expecting applause, laughter, and encouragement after a fiasco. He once told me that when he received a failing grade on a test in school, he took joy in having a bright red mark on his paper while the other, less fortunate students who happened to have passed had only the common black. Defeat was never in his vocabulary. Every mistake, every failure was merely a minor setback, and what was a setback anyway? Just an opportunity to start anew. Pity the poor successful ones who spent their whole lives in one town, in one job, in one house.

Daddy, I would learn, carried that idea even into the concept of family.

He was a handsome man in a Harrison Ford sort of way, not perfect, but surprising because his pastel blue eyes could suddenly brighten with a burst of happy energy that made his smile magnetic, his laughter musical, and his every gesture as graceful as a bull fighter's. He stood six feet one, with an unruly shock of flaxen-blond hair that somehow never looked messy, but instead always looked interesting, making someone think that here was a man who had just run a mile or fought a great fight. He was athletic-looking, trim with firm shoulders. He never had the patience or the discipline to be a good school athlete when he was young, but he was not above stopping whatever he was doing, no matter how important, and joining some teenagers in the neighborhood to play a game of driveway basketball.

Daddy's impulsiveness and childlike joy in leaping out of one persona into another in an instant annoyed my mother to no end. She always seemed embarrassed by his antics and depressed by his failures, yet she held onto him like someone clinging to a wayward sailboat in a storm, hoping the wind would die down, the rain would stop, and soon, maybe just over the horizon, there would be sunny skies. On what she built these sails full of optimism, I never knew. Maybe that was her fantasy: believing in Daddy, a fantasy I thought belonged only to a young and innocent daughter, me.

Or maybe it was just impossible to be anything but optimistic around Daddy. I truly never saw him sulk and rarely saw him look disgusted. Of course, I never saw him cry. He wasn't even angry at the people who fired him from his jobs or the events that turned him out of one opportunity after another. It was always a big "Oh, well, let's just move on."

At least we remained in one state, Georgia, crisscrossing and vaulting towns, cities, villages; however, it soon became obvious that Daddy anticipated his inevitable defeats. After a while -- our second mortgage failure, I think -- we stopped buying and started renting for as short a period as the landlords tolerated. Daddy loved six-month leases. He called every new rental a trial period, a romance. Who knew if it was what we wanted or if it would last, so why get too committed? Why get committed to anything?

Of course, Mommy flung the usual arguments at him.

"Rose needs a substantial foundation. She can't do well in school, moving like this from place to place. She can't make friends, and neither can I, Charles.

"And neither can you!" she emphasized, her eyebrows nearly leaping off her face. "You don't do anything with other men like most men do. You don't watch ball games or go out hunting and fishing with buddies and it's no wonder. You don't give yourself a chance to build a friendship, a relationship. Before you see someone for the second time, you're packing suitcases."

My father would listen as if he was really giving all that serious thought and then he would shake his head and say something like, "There's no such thing as friends anyway, just acquaintances, Monica."

"Good. Let me at least have a long enough life somewhere to have acquaintances," Mommy fired back at him.

He laughed and nodded.

"You will," he promised. "You will."

Daddy made promises like children blow bubbles. At the first suggestion of approaching storm clouds, he blew his promises at us, perfectly shaped, rainbow-colored hopes and dreams, and stood back watching them float and bob around us. When they popped, he just reached into his bag of tricks and started a new bubble. I felt like we were all swimming in a glass of champagne.

Bursting through the front door at the end of his workday, whatever it happened to be, he cried out his wonderful "I'm home!" He bellowed like someone who expected everything would be dropped. Mommy and I would come running out of rooms with music blaring behind us. She would put down her magazine or book, or stop working on dinner. I would leap from my desk where I was doing homework or spring from the sofa where I was sprawled watching television, and we would rush into the hallway to hug him and be hugged by him.

That stopped happening so long ago, I couldn't remember if we had ever done it. Now when he bellowed his "I'm home," his voice echoed and died. He still greeted us with his big, happy smile, looking like someone who had returned from the great wars when all he had done was finish one more day of new work successfully enough not to get laid off.

At present, he was a car salesman in Lewisville, Georgia, a small community about forty-five miles northwest of Atlanta famous for its duck ponds and its one industry, Lewis Foundry, which manufactures automotive cast-iron braking components and employs over seven hundred people. Small housing developments sprouted up around it and from that blossomed retail shops, a mall, and four automobile distributorships, one for which, Kruegar's, Daddy worked selling vans and suburban vehicles and Jeeps.

How Daddy found these places was always a mystery to us, but for the past two years, which was a record, we had been living here in a small house we rented. It was actually the most comfortable and largest home we had ever owned or rented. It was a Queen Anne with a gabled roof and a front porch. It had a small backyard, an attached garage, a half-basement, and an attic. There were three bedrooms, a nice size dining room, a kitchen with appliances that still functioned, and a modest living room. Since we didn't have all that much furniture anyway, it was quite adequate for our needs, and the street was quiet, the neighbors pleasant and friendly.

Everyone liked Daddy pretty much instantly. He was so outgoing and amiable, always greeting them with a smile and a hello full of interest. Daddy was a glib man. He could stop and talk politics, economics, books and movies, and especially hunting and fishing with anyone. He always knew just enough to sound educated on an issue, but not really enough for any deep analysis. He hadn't gone to college, but he knew how to agree with people, to anticipate what they felt and thought, and find ways to escort them down their paths of beliefs, making them think he was a sympathetic voice, in sync with whatever theory or analysis they had. Mommy always said Daddy missed his calling. He should have been a politician.

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Rose (Shooting Stars Series #3) 3.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 12 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Rose was a great book . I think out of all four characters she is my favorite or maybe Honey . Im not too sure :-) After reading Rose this was a huge difference from the previous Ice. I would pretty much recomend this book to any girl over ten . Rose's afther dies , their penniless , and they have to move in with an 'lady' to take care of Evan. I'm being pretty vague with this because I don't want to spoil the book for you.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Walks in with blaze.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
You too Barkstar
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
I have read a lot of V.C. Andrews books over the past 4 years and every time I go through the list of her books that I've read I always come back to this one. Not only is it one of the worst, but the plot is so old and repetitive that it wasn't a suprise that Rose's dad dearly departed and she moved into a big grande house with some mysterious people who turn out to be her relatives. It's all weird and twisted, but in the end everyone gets what they deserve and of course the main character is prized with leaving to fulfill her dreams of stardom or what not. Everything always ends up peachy keen for the girl with the perfect everything even during times of disaster. Again not a good read at all.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I'm getting tired of these V.C. Andrews girls 'falling' into money like they do. Why are they always rich at one point or another? Let's try something else here, okay?
Guest More than 1 year ago
It's another V.C. Andrews book, what can I say? The books were better when Andrews actually wrote them.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Rose is about a girl who loses her dad and gains a brother. Somewhere along in the book it starts getting a little similar to V.C. Andrews' Runaways. Rose sounds a lot like and has the same expiriences as the lead character Brooke. The material is played again, but in different times and states.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Rose was a good book. When her Dad is tragically taken away from her. She and her Mom have nothing left for them.But, when secrets that her Father had tightly sealed and locked away for years come bursting through their dooor. Their overwhelmed with the new life handed to them. But, even when her Mother seems distant and caught up in all the glamour, Rose is still herself. No matter what the cost. Again V.C. Andrews has written a book for all girls to read.
Guest More than 1 year ago
The main character Rose really starts to sound like every other girl character in V.C. andrews. She is heroic, adveturous, and romantic in one. But so was Brook in 'Runaways'. I think next time Mrs. Andrews needs to be more creative.