Jackpot | Stone, Nic

Lange Beschreibung
From the author of the New York Times bestseller Dear Martin--which Angie Thomas, the bestselling author of The Hate U Give, called 'a must read'--comes a pitch-perfect romance that examines class, privilege, and how a stroke of good luck can change an entire life.

Meet Rico: high school senior and afternoon-shift cashier at the Gas 'n' Go, who after school and work races home to take care of her younger brother. Every. Single. Day. When Rico sells a jackpot-winning lotto ticket, she thinks maybe her luck will finally change, but only if she--with some assistance from her popular and wildly rich classmate Zan--can find the ticket holder who hasn't claimed the prize. But what happens when have and have-nots collide? Will this investigative duo unite...or divide?

Nic Stone, the New York Times bestselling author of Dear Martin and Odd One Out, creates two unforgettable characters in one hard-hitting story about class, money--both too little and too much--and how you make your own luck in the world.

'Funny, captivating, and thoughtful.' --The Atlantic.com

Rezensierung
Praise for Jackpot:

'[A] hard-to-put-down, enjoyable read.' Booklist 

'Smart, humorous and hopeful.'  Shelf Awareness

'Stone delivers a thoughtful and polished novel about class, privilege, and relative poverty. Kirkus Reviews

A deftly constructed tale that is equal parts satisfying wish-fulfillment and light-handed lessons learned . This is a real winner. SLJ

'By turns romantic, funny, and surprising, the story explores how class, status, and money or lack thereof have the ability to limit or expand life opportunities, the choices we make, and our universal need for love and connection. The Horn Book

Praise for Dear Martin:

'Powerful, wrenching.'  John Green, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Turtles All the Way Down

'Absolutely incredible, honest, gut-wrenching. A must read!'  Angie Thomas, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Hate U Give

'Raw and gripping.'  Jason Reynolds, New York Times bestselling author of Long Way Down

Buchausschnitt
Mo NO Money, Mo Problems

Oh, the irony of counting out change for a fifty-­dollar bill while Mo Money, Mo Problems plays in the background. Sir, I m out of tens and twenties, I say. I ll have to give you fives and singles . . . is that okay?

It has to be, obviously.

The man smiles and nods enthusiastically. Perfectly fine, he says, dusting off the lapels of his (expensive-­looking) suit. Matter of fact, keep a couple of those singles and give me a Mighty Millions ticket with the Mightyplier thing. I ll slide a few of the other dollars into the Salvation Army bucket out front.

Despite my desire to snort ­I know one shouldn t judge a book by its cover, but based on the Mercedes-­Benz key fob lying on the counter, I d say this guy doesn t need two hundred and twelve million more dollars ­I force the corners of my mouth to lift. That s very generous of you, sir. Barf. Nothing like a cheerful giver!

The man takes his $43.74 in change, then grabs his mechanically separated meat stick and bottle of neon-­green Powerade. Thanks so much ­he looks at my name tag ­ Rico?

That s me! I chirp.

Hmm. Interesting name for a cute girl such as yourself. And what interesting eyes you have . . . two different browns! Now he s winking.

Oh God.

Thank you, sir. And thank you for shopping at the Gas n Go.

He tosses a Merry Christmas! over the checkout counter before rotating on the heel of his fancy shoe and strutting out like he just won the lotto.

Merry Christmas. Pfffft. Not much real merry about a ten-­hour shift on Christmas Eve. It ll almost be Christmas when I walk out of this joint . . . and then I get to spend thirty minutes walking home since the one public bus in this town stopped running hours ago. Good thing the crime rate in (s)Nor(e)cross, GA, is relatively low and it s not that cold out.

I look at my Loki watch ­a birthday gift from my baby brother, Jax, that I never leave home without despite how childish it makes me look. Ninety-­seven minutes to freedom.

It s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year comes pouring out of the speakers (note to self: ask Mr. Zoughbi who the heck made this playlist), and I drop down onto my stool and put my chin in my hand. Truth be told, the influx of holiday cheer really has been a nice reprieve. Seems like every day there s a new political scandal or gun attack or government-­sanctioned act of inhumanity or threat of nuclear war, but then Thanksgiving hit, and it felt like a collective exhale.

The bell over the door dings, snapping me back, and the cutest little old lady I ve ever seen makes her way toward the counter. She s tiny ­definitely under five feet and maybe ninety pounds soaking wet ­with dark brown skin and a little pouf of white hair. The Christmas tree on her sweater has real lights, and when I smile this time, it s for real.

Welcome to Gas n Go, I say as she steps up to the counter.

Why, thank you, dear. Aren t you just lovely?

Cheeks are warm. Well, you re looking pretty lovely yourself, madam, I reply.

She giggles.

I mean it. That s a gorgeous sweater.

Oh, you stop that, she says. And anyhow, shouldn t you be at home with your family? Take it from an old bird: you don t wanna work your life away, now.

I smile again. Yes, ma am. I ll be blowi