Here are the first lines of a book I started today, The Girl Who Fell from the Sky, by Heidi W. Durrow; so far, the story is so great, I keep stealing time from other things to read “a few chapters more.”
‘You my lucky piece,’ Grandma says. Grandma has walked me the half-block from the hospital to the bus stop. Her hand is wrapped around mine like a leash. It is fall 1982 in Portland, and it is raining.”
What follows is the intriguing story of how Rachel “fell from the sky,” which was witnessed by one boy in the apartments, but is speculated upon by many.