Finding Jupiter | Rowe, Kelis

Lange Beschreibung
Sparks fly when Orion and Ray meet for the first time at a roller rink in Memphis. But these star-crossed souls have a past filled with secrets that threaten to tear them apart before their love story even begins. Found poetry, grief, and fate collide in this powerful debut.

Ray: Just once I d like my birthday to be about me, and not the day my father died. I want to be Ray Jr., the tall girl from Memphis with the poetry beats and the braids that stay poppin . And when I meet Orion at the skating rink, that s exactly who I am. He pulls my hand, and instead of being defined by my past, he races me toward my future.

Orion: When I dive into the pool, it s just me and my heartbeat. There s no dad, no dead sister, and no distracting noises. But I can t hold my breath forever. And since I met Ray, I don t want to. The closer we get, though, the more I see I m not the only one caught in her wake.

With a lyrical blend of found poetry and poignant prose and the addition of black and white illustrations, this stunning debut captures young Black love and a decades-old family secret that may shatter a romance that feels written in the stars.

Rezensierung
'Rowe leaves readers with a story that features three- dimensional characters who are beautifully flawed and unerringly honest. A love story that deserves to be told. Booklist

'Packed with introspective prose, emphatic characters, and undeniable romantic chemistry.' Publishers Weekly

'Rowe strikes the perfect romantic balance, keeping just enough dramatic realism to temper the idyllic sweetness of Ray and Orion s blossoming relationship but still allowing their love to unfold tenderly.' -The Bulletin

'Lush and lyrical, Finding Jupiter shows us both the healing and transformative power of love. A galaxy-bright debut.' Laura Taylor Namey, New York Times bestselling author of A Cuban Girl s Guide To Tea and Tomorrow

Self-affirming and deeply moving. Rowe tenderly reminds us that it takes courage to love and love to heal. J. Elle, New York Times bestselling author of Wings of Ebony

'A sparkling debut! Liara Tamani, author of All the Things We Never Knew

'A relevant, heartwarming love story for a generation it will gut you and then put you back together again.   Kristen R. Lee, author of Required Reading for the Disenfranchised Freshman

With cinematic storytelling, undeniable chemistry, and a fresh set of authentic characters, this story left me feeling comforted, inspired, and grinning ear to ear. Joya Goffney, author of Excuse Me While I Ugly Cry

Buchausschnitt
ONE
Ray
22 DAYS

I m finding poetry in the pages of The Great Gatsby this summer. My copy from middle school has started to fall apart, so I ve ripped out my favorite set of pages and have glued some of the finished pieces into my journal. Gatsby s life was utterly unfair, and it came to an end because of circumstances that were far out of his control. I can relate. For my found poetry, I m drawn to the parts of stories where the writing is on the wall and there s nothing anyone can do about it. Gatsby s goose is cooked. He ll never get what he wants most.
What do I want? Just once I d like today to be about the day I was born, not the day my father died. 
Sitting in the tree house he built for me, I push away thoughts of him dying while I was entering the world. I unravel my turquoise earbuds, start my James Taylor Essentials playlist, and try to focus.
A calm washes over me as I study the page that I ve taped to a larger piece of white paper. On this page, Tom Buchanan is closing in on Gatsby s lie, quizzing him about his days at Oxford as Daisy interjects about a mint julep. Shit s about to hit the fan.
Mr. Nobody.
I write it in pencil on the side of the page. I go back to the top of the page and scan, waiting to find words about Mr. Nobody. I list them as I go.
smiling, snapped, politely, content, desperately, nowhere, alone . . .
I read the list over and over again, until some words fall away and others seem to float above the page. With each pass, more words join in, calling out to me as the poem makes itself known. Then, finally, the found poetry has found me.
Smiling faintly,
I ll wait desperately to please Mr. Nobody.
Me, with him,
Standing alone.
I draw cloudy circles around the words that call to me, in order as they appear on the page. An image of a girl standing alone comes to me and I begin to sketch. When I m done, I ll use black ink pens, oil crayons, and a Sharpie to finish it, but that will have to wait. It s almost time for me to pick up my roommate, Bri, from the airport. In three years of boarding school, this will be her first time coming here. I m excited to see her, but nervous, too. My neighborhood is worlds away from her fancy Maryland digs.
I m almost finished packing my things away when I hear Momma s voice.
I pretend not to hear her. I know she s standing at the foot of the tree-house ladder, but I wait for her to call twice before I shuffle to the entrance and look down. I keep my headphones on, on purpose.
She smiles at the sight of me, which has the annoying effect of making me smile back. She taps her ear. I take the hint but make a show of stopping my playlist and tugging at the cords, popping one of the earbuds out of my ear.
Happy birthday, baby. She holds up my favorite tumbler, purple with pink stars, filled with fresh lemonade.
Thanks, Momma. One second. I toss my pencil pouch into my backpack and climb down the ladder. She kisses my cheek as I take the cup.
I can t wait to see what you re working on. I ve always been amazed at how you turn those words into art, she says.
I take a sip of lemonade and avoid making eye contact with her.
You excited about Bri coming today?
Yes, I mumble as I remove the other earbud and wrap the cord around my cell phone.
What time you planning to head to the airport?
I shrug and check the time on my phone before shoving it into the back pocket of my jean shorts.
You call yourself trying to give me the silent treatment or something with all these short nonanswers? There s a smile in her voice.
Maybe. I take another indignant sip of lemonade.
Momma chuckles and pinches my cheek