Vicky Austin is filled with uncertainties about everything. Her parents call it Vicky's ""difficult year."" But fourteen-year-old Vicky is not so consumed with her problems that she can't enjoy the exciting adventures of her family's summer cross-country camping trip. In the course of their travels Vicky meets Zachary, an intriguing but troubled boy who latches on to Vicky. And still another boy, Andy, altogether different from Zachary, soon becomes his rival. Far from the comfort and security that the family has always known, and in spite of the trials they encounter on the road, the Austins enjoy each other and the sights from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back again. And for the first time Vicky feels the mixed emotions of friendship and love.
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Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)
September 01, 2008
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Excerpt from The Moon by Night by Madeleine L'Engle
The Moon By Night
It was John's voice and he was calling for me. I suppose somewhere on the inside of my mind I realized it, but with the outside of my mind all I heard was the constant crying of sea gulls and the incoming boom of breakers. I hadn't even seen that the early morning sun had moved across the sky, and the tide had pushed the waves closer up to my feet. I'd forgotten that there was any such thing as time, and almost why I'd come sliding down the steep path to the cove and climbed up on the sunbaked rock.
I wanted to be alone and I wanted to think. Indoors there was excitement and confusion and I guess a lot of happiness. I was the only one who seemed to be unhappy because nothing would ever be the same again. Up to a few days ago my life (and fifteen years is quite a considerable hunk of time--well, I'm not quite fifteen, but I'm on the way) had been all of a piece, exciting,sometimes, and even miserable, but always following the same and simple pattern of home and school and family. And now it was all being thrown away, tossed to the four winds. I wanted to leave all the chatter and babble and be alone to sort things out. Just a few minutes alone down at the beach--was that so very much to ask?
Now even the outside of my mind couldn't confuse John's angry shouting with a sea gull's squawk. I looked up. He was scrambling down the path, but much more slowly than usual, because he was dressed in grey flannel slacks and a freshly ironed white shirt and was carrying his jacket over his arm. I waved at him.
He sounded furious. "Vicky! Victoria Austin! Get up here! Don't you know what time it is?"
Of course I didn't know what time it was. I'd left my watch with my clothes when I put on my bathing suit. I wouldn't dare use that as an excuse with John, though. He knows perfectly well that I can tell by the sun, that I can tell by the tide. What he wouldn't know was that I had been lost in time, and that my few minutes had stretched out to what was obviously over an hour and I hadn't even realized it.
I jumped off the rock onto the soft sand instead of climbing down. We've always jumped off the rock, so maybe what I was doing at that moment was hanging on to my childhood instead of trying to leap out of it the way I usually do. I hurried across the sand and started up the almost vertical path that leads to the top of the bluff. There's a winding road you can take, full of hairpin bends, but we've always taken the path cut down through the scrubby bushes. The bushes were very useful in helping me topull myself up the path quickly, and in keeping me from looking at my rightfully enraged older brother. He had climbed back up to the top of the bluff and was standing there waiting for me. When he spoke his voice was coldly angry. "Have you no sense at all? We've been looking for you for the last half hour. With everything there is to do why do you have to pick this particular day to go mooning off by yourself?"
I didn't answer. He was right and I was wrong and there wasn't any point in shouting in the face of that calm fury. I stared down at my bare feet as I hurried along the dusty road.
A hundred yards down the road was my grandfather's house, if you can call it a house. It's an old stable painted a lovely barn red. The horse stalls are still there but now they're all filled with shelves of books, so it's more like a library that somebody lives in than a house. There's one bedroom with Grandfather's huge four-poster bed, and up above the stalls is a loft with six army cots.
I ran ahead of John, into the stable, hoping I could rush through and up the ladder to the loft without seeing anybody. But of course the first person I saw was my father. I practically knocked him down in my hurry.
He grabbed me by both elbows. "Vicky, your mother has needed every bit of help she could get this morning and you simply went off without a word to anyone. Now get up to the loft and get changed and please do not keep us waiting."
John tries to copy Daddy when he's angry. He couldn't have a better model. I mumbled, "I'm sorry, Daddy," and scurried up the ladder. It seemed odd not to have to climb over the recumbent body of our Great Dane, Mr. Rochester, who usually spent most of the time when we were at Grandfather's lying at the footof the ladder and being miserable because he couldn't climb it. But that was part of it all, part of the reason I'd wanted to go down to the beach to look at the ocean and rest my eyes where the ocean and the sky became one. This time Mr. Rochester wasn't with us.
Up in the loft Suzy and Maggy were standing in front of the mirror, preening. Suzy's my younger sister, and Maggy's just a year older and has lived with us for the past couple of years, but won't after today. Another reason.
Suzy and Maggy are just about the same size and Suzy is a buttercup-colored blonde, and Maggy's hair is blue-black. Up until this winter people used to look at me pityingly when I was with the two of them. But Uncle Douglas always said I was an ugly duckling type, and suddenly with my fourteenth birthday all my angles and sticky-out bones and unmanageable hair seemed to come to some sort of agreement and I no longer felt wistful if I happened to look into a mirror when Suzy and Maggy were around. As a matter of fact, I enjoyed mirrors very much.