The Left Behinds: The iPhone that Saved George Washington - Softcover

Potter, David

 
9780385390590: The Left Behinds: The iPhone that Saved George Washington
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0385390599 ISBN 13: 9780385390590
Verlag: Yearling, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

Percy Jackson fans will embrace this humorous time travel adventure, the first in a series, about an iPhone malfunction that sends three kids back to 1776 in time to rescue George Washington.

On Christmas Day, Mel finds General George Washington lying dead as a doornail in a stable. But Mel knows that George Washington must cross the Delaware River, or the course of American history will be changed forever.

Could Mel’s iPhone have sent him back in time to 1776? And can Mel and his schoolmates, know-it-all Bev and laid-back Brandon, come to the rescue? Perhaps, with a little help from two colonial kids and Benjamin Franklin himself.

Debut novelist David Potter cleverly combines time travel, humor, and American history in this fast-paced adventure. For American Revolution enthusiasts, there's information about historical reenactments, additional reading, and websites.

Praise for THE LEFT BEHINDS: THE IPHONE THAT SAVED GEORGE WASHINGTON
“Sequel, anyone? Let’s hope so, because the concept of bringing an iPhone into the past is just too cool to stop at one episode… This is Magic Tree House all grown up, and kids who once loved that time travel conceit will be delighted all over again.” –The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
 
“A skillful blend of humor, history, mystery, and adventure makes for a fun, fast-paced tale that will leave readers a little wiser.” –School Library Journal
 
“History and humor collide.” –Booklist
 
“A new twist on time travel.” –Kirkus Reviews

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

David Potter developed a love for American history as a boy growing up near Morristown, New Jersey, where George Washington spent the winters of 1777 and 1779. He was inspired to write The Left Behinds while taking his children to the annual Christmas reenactment of Washington’s Crossing the Delaware. He lives in Pennington, New Jersey, with his wife and two sons. You can visit David online at davidpotterbooks.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter at @DPotterBooks.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

ONE
I’d like to start at the beginning--believe me--but the problem is I don’t know when it began and I don’t know when it will end. I only know the middle, which is now, or more specif ically ten minutes ago, when someone shot General George Washington stone-cold dead.
And today is Christmas Day.
“This is not cool,” says Brandon. “George Washington is only, you know, the Father of the Country.”
Bev says: “Really, Brandon? You think?”
We’re in a stable, I guess you’d call it. This little house for horses. There are stacks of hay, saddles hanging up on a wall, bunches of rope, and a god-awful stench. We’re peering into one of the horse stalls, where General George Washington is lying dead. Wearing his greatcoat, and under that his buff-and-blue uniform. Black boots up to his knees. In the middle of his chest is a large red bullet hole.
I don’t have to tell you what that looks like, do I?
It’s Brandon, me, and Beverly. Beverly is the only Beverly I’ve ever met. I know Emmas, Avas, Chloes, Abigails, and Olivias, but no other Beverly. It’s a name that’s gone out of fashion, like Herbert or Phyllis or Marge.
Bev’s sort of the smart one, though. And Brandon’s sort of the dumb one. He speaks with a slow slacker drawl and brags that he’s failing every class, but Brandon’s no dummy. He just likes to play it that way, for the laughs he gets.
None of us are laughing now. Before us, dead as ye olde doornail, is the guy who’s supposed to become the f irst president of These United States.
They’re even going to name the capital after him.
And the plan for tonight is a little surprise raid on a bunch of Hessians that are camped out in Trenton, across the Delaware River. Which they’re hoping will turn the tide, because up until now, things haven’t been going so great for this little thing they’ve been having called a revolution. As a matter of fact, the whole deal was close to being a total fail. Washington had lost every battle he’d been in up to this point. The British had taken New York, kicked the Continental Army out of New Jersey, and were on their way to conquer Philadelphia. Worst of all, Washington’s men were set to pack up and clear out--their enlistments were over at the end of the year, which was, like, seven days away.
So for Washington, it was one of those now-or-never kind of situations. Do something now, or get hanged later. And, as far as the revolution goes, that would be the end of that. We’ve learned all about it at school. Or at least we learned how things are supposed to turn out. Washington’s Crossing of the Delaware was only supposed to be, you know, like the most important turning point of the entire Revolutionary War. I mean, if it didn’t succeed the United States wouldn’t even exist. But it’s going to be pretty tough for anything to turn out right if the main guy happens to be--you know. Dead.
“Man,” Brandon says. “Would you check this out?” He leans down to make a closer examination.
“Brandon, watch it,” Bev says. “Don’t touch . . .”
“The evidence?” Brandon says. “What do you think this is, CSI or something?” Then he grabs a straw--a piece of straw, that is, from the ground--and dips it in.
In . . . you know. The bullet hole.
Which kind of grosses us out. And kind of fascinates us at the same time. Brandon holds up the straw. It’s red now. Glistening with warm red blood
Then he asks the question we’ve all been thinking. “Is this . . . um . . . body . . . really George Washington? The George Washington? Or is it one of those reenactor dudes?” Now this question might not make a bit of sense to you, but it makes perfect sense to us. Kind of.
“I have a very strange feeling,” I say. “I have the strangest feeling I’ve ever had in my whole life. I know that’s not a reenactor dude. Guys, I am one hundred percent positive we are looking at the real George Washington himself.”
“Yeah, well, let’s check,” Brandon says, and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a crumpled dollar bill. He unfolds, looks at it, and then looks at the face on the ground. “It’s gotta be him,” Brandon says. “It’s a perfect match. He’s the real deal, all right. But he’s also dead. Way dead.”
“Boys,” says Bev. This is how Bev always talks to us, as if we’re just one blobby entity, not two distinct individuals. And trust me when I tell you, we couldn’t be more different. We don’t form any kind of entity. We’re not even friends, exactly. We’ve all just been kind of . . . thrown together.
The Left Behinds, is what we’re called. We know that’s what they call us, because we heard them. In the Dining Hall. One Dining Hall lady said to another Dining Hall lady, “Don’t worry about it, we’ll just have leftovers for the Left Behinds.” Then they both cackled up a storm, it was so funny. They stopped mid-cackle when they saw me and Bev looking at them, holding our lunch trays, and ever since then they’ve had trouble meeting our eyes, as if we’ve done something to be ashamed of. Look--our parents are busy, all right? They’re really, like, successful people, okay? And it’s not as if we haven’t been home for the Christmas holidays before. I’ve been to twelve of them, all in a row.
“Boys,” Bev says. “I don’t think we should be messing around with this. As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to think we should get ourselves away from here. As fast as humanly possible.”
“Away from where?” Brandon says. “This place, or this century?”
You see? I told you Brandon wasn’t so dumb.

TWO
My name is Mel. It’s not really Mel, which would be short for Melvin, which is even more old-fashioned than Beverly or Herbert, but that’s what people call me. I’ll tell you this much: It’s my initials. M and E and L. But I’m not going to say my real name. You might have heard of it, because it’s the same name my father has, and I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of him. He’s super busy, remember? And successful. So I’ll go by Mel, and let’s leave it at that.
You might have heard of Bev’s mom too. She’s a star of stage and screen. Currently appearing six nights a week and twice on Sundays in a play in Los Angeles. Which means Bev has to stay behind with us, because Mommy Dearest doesn’t want her daughter around when she’s “performing.” Which, according to Bev, is only morning, noon, and night.
Her father is a famous actor dude from Argentina, but he’s like completely out of the picture, and always has been. I found this out after Googling Bev’s mom, but don’t tell anyone, because Googling people behind their backs is so uncool. Everyone does it, though. What’s even more uncool is getting caught.
I know all this about Bev because of Google and because I tend to overhear her when she’s on her cell phone--I mean, it’s not like she talks to me at all. Bev, says Bev, hates all of it: Broadway, Los Angeles, stardom, paparazzi, TMZ, ET, the whole celebrity thing. It’s all so totally pointless. And now that her mom’s on the downslope of her career--the play’s in Los Angeles, after all, not Broadway--there’s less and less paparazzi, TMZ, and ET. So her mom is now becoming a former celebrity, which is even worse.
If...

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Verlag
Yearling
Erscheinungsdatum
2016
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0385390599
ISBN 13 
9780385390590
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
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Verantwortliche Person
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