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This story begins Emma Jean Lazarus opens a door.



Jan 01, 30 July EMMA-JEAN LAZARUS FELL OUT OF A TREE by Lauren Tarshis, Dial, MarchISBN:"It had been nearly two and a half years since Emma-Jean had climbed, but the motions came right back to her, as if they had been programmed into her limbs.

She shimmied up the skinny trunk like her father had taught her, keeping her knees tight together/5. May 15, Verified Purchase. Tarshis, Lauren. Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell Out of a Tree. Dial Books for Young Readers, Emma-Jean Lazarus is in the seventh grade at William Gladstone Middle School where she observes rather than interacts with her classmates.

Her father, who died in a car accident a couple of years ago when she was only 10, had been a successful mathematician who /5(43). Feb 11, Emma-Jean Lazarus is strange–strange as in extraordinary, remarkable, and singular.



How does she do so after his death?



Like her father before her, Emma-Jean finds people to be complicated and relationships to be messy. Emma Jean spends most of her time with adults like her mom, her English teacher, her neighbor Vikram, the school custodian or Henri, her parakeet. Yet, when she encounters kind. The next afternoon, Emma-Jean was about to leave through the side door of the William Gladstone building when Mr.

Petrowski’s voice caught her attention. He was speaking in an angry tone, and Emma-Jean sensed that there was a matter requiring her attention. She followed the sound of his voice until she came to its source.





Emma-Jean took only a few sips of her soup before packing up and seeking her favorite outdoor spot: a bench on the edge of the soccer field. This location placed her out of the range of errant basketballs and beneath the branches of her favorite oak tree.

Emma-Jean admired the oak, which had thick twisting branches that reached up into the blue. Emma-Jean hoped not. She hated to think that any member of the William Gladstone staff would behave in such a way. No. Mr. Petrowski had been driven- quite literally- out of the bounds of rational thinking by his problems with the car dealership. The sound made Emma-Jean’s head ache.

It was the worst sound Emma-Jean had ever heard. It was worse than slamming lockers or the screeching of car tires. This was the sound of misery.

Of grief. Of things you couldn’t control. Emma-Jean had heard a sound like this once before in her life. When her father died, Emma-Jean herself had made this.





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