The Wedding Planner's Daughter by Coleen Murtagh Paratore
	List Price:   $15.95 Unit Price:   $12.76 You Save:   $3.19 (20%) ISBN-10:   0689873409 ISBN-13:   9780689873409 Publisher:   Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Series:   The Wedding Planner's Daughter Ser. Category:   Family/Relationships Pages:   208 Format:   Trade Cloth
Subjects
CHILDREN'S FICTION
Description/Notes
Willa, a romantic girl who wants a father, tries to find a husband for her mother, Cape Cod's most popular wedding planner. Twelve-year-old Willa Havisham is a classics reader, a cherry-cordial eater, and quite possibly the world's worst wisher. But when she and her glamorous single mother, Stella, move to Bramble, Cape Cod, Willa's wishes are beginning to come true: She makes her first-ever best friend, Tina. She bonds with her hip, candy-making Nana. And best of all, steely Stella is falling for Willa's English teacher, Sam-he's perfect dad material! But before Willa can marry off her mother, or dance with her adorable crush, Joseph, a pit gets stuck in the wishing well.... Can Willa undo the damage before Stella misses her chance to say 'I do'? Find out as Coleen Murtagh Paratore unveils humor, hope, and lots of love in one hopelessly romantic modern fairy tale! Chapter 9: Beach Glass 'Hope' is the thing with feathers -- That perches in the soul -- And sings the tune without the words -- And never stops -- at all -- -- Emily Dickinson 'Nana!' I shout, bursting into Clancy's Candy. 'I need your help. I just ran into Sam Gracemore, literally, and I invited him for a picnic on Memorial Day.' 'Way to go, Willa,' Nana laughs. 'Now we're cooking with gas.' She hands me a piece of yellow-and-green-striped taffy. 'Try this. I'm calling it Lemmego Lime.' 'Mmmm, nice, Nana.' The smooth candy slides on my tongue and sticks to the roof of my mouth. 'Almost as good as Cabot's, but really, what should we do?' I love saying 'we.' It's nice having a matchmaking accomplice. And Nana's pretty clever for an old bat. That's what Nana calls herself, 'pretty clever for an old bat.' 'I'm glad you invited him, honey. That ought to get the beach ball rolling.' 'But Nana, Stella will be furious. She'll ground me for a week. And the Chatham soccer tournament is next weekend, and if I miss practice...' 'Tell Stella I invited him.' This would be one of Nana's 'little white lies that never hurt a sand flea.' 'No, I can't.' 'Sure you can. Tell Stella I ran into him in the Stop & Shop in Mashpee and the poor guy's cart was filled with frozen dinners and I felt sorry for him.' 'Okay, Nana. I'll try.' Nana ties up a bag of Lemmego Lime. 'Good luck, honey.' It's a perfect beach day, and Mother will be at the reception all afternoon. At home I make a tuna fish sandwich and pack a nectarine, chips, soda. I find my sunscreen, pull my towel off the line, then grab a sweatshirt in case it gets windy. Everybody talks about the wind on Cape. Northeast, southwest, gusty, gale. We've got as many words for wind as Eskimos have for snow. I throw my stuff in the basket of my bike and sail. You can get to Sandy Beach down ten different streets, but I always take Bluff because of the words. At the end of Bluff, just before the beach stairs, is an old black chalkboard. Today it says: Air Temp: 74? Sea Temp: 59? Life's a beach, enjoy. I always wonder who writes the messages. A lonely old fisherman? A retired teacher who still loves the chalk in her hand? Whoever it is, thanks. At the top of the stairs I rest my bike against a rock and bend down to smell the beach roses, the rugosas. The cinnamon-sweet pink flowers grow wild all over the Cape. And then there's the sea. There's something amazing about that moment when you first see the water. You may have seen it a thousand times before, but each time is brand new. It makes my heart sing, it's so beautiful. And they say once you fall in love with old Cape Cod, you never get the sand out of your sneakers. Today the waves roll calmly in and out. A red-striped umbrella flaps gently in the breeze. A curly-haired boy sticks a feather on a castle. A couple walk holding hands. A sailboat glides by. Terns scamper across the sand. One seagull lands and, like a relay, another takes off. Caw...caw...caw-caw-caw-caw-caw. I close my eyes and soak it in. Thank you. I spread my beach towel on the sand and open my lunch. Nectarine juice dribbles down my chin. The tuna fish is perfect. I make it the way Nana does, just plain with mayonnaise. Stella makes it with tarragon, curry, and raisins. Too foo-fooey for me. After lunch I walk along the water, sun shining on my face, searching for beach glass. Bottles left on the beach or thrown overboard get swept up by waves and smashed against rocks into small pieces. Over time the jagged edges are sanded smooth. I have an old mayonnaise jar on my windowsill filled with the beach glass I've collected over the years. Mostly greens, whites, and browns, some blues and reds. I call it my rainbow jar because it's very good luck to find a pebble of beach glass amid all the sand and shells and stones onshore. You The author of 'How Prudence Proovit Proved the Truth About Fairy Tales' married the hilarious and the heartwarming in this enchanting novel about a 12-year-old girl, the daughter of a single-mom wedding planner, who wishes for a stepdad.