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By Jerry Spinelli

He's a boy known as Jew. Gypsy. Stopthief. Runt. satisfied. speedy. Filthy son of Abraham.

He's a boy who lives within the streets of Warsaw. He's a boy who steals meals for himself and the opposite orphans. He's a boy who believes in bread, and moms, and angels. He's a boy who desires to be a Nazi a few day, with tall glossy jackboots and a glowing Eagle hat of his personal. till the day that all of sudden makes him switch his brain. And while the trains come to drain the Jews from the ghetto of the damned, he's a boy who realizes it's most secure of all to be nobody.

Newbery Medalist Jerry Spinelli takes us to at least one of the main devastating settings imaginable--Nazi-occupied Warsaw of worldwide warfare II--and tells a story of heartbreak, desire, and survival throughout the vivid eyes of a tender orphan.

From the Hardcover variation.

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It was the size of a walnut and it was wrapped in thin golden foil. I peeled off the foil. It was a piece of chocolate-covered candy. I broke it open. It was a cherry. Red juice spilled onto the ground. I ate it. I licked my fingers. It was no hazelnut buttercream, but it was close. When I looked up, the little girl was on the step. ” she said. “Yes,” I said. “But my favorites are buttercreams. ” “I planted it in the spring,” she said. “I planted a potato seed. It was supposed to be a potato. But nobody picked it when it was time to dig potatoes.

Uri felt around, found a place. ” I slept. I dreamed I was standing underwater. A waterfall maybe, or a faucet, splashing in my face, my eyes. I struggled to breathe. I woke up. Above me, at the edge of the rubble, stood a boy with schoolbooks strapped over his shoulder, blue sky above him, a boy laughing, urinating in my face. ” Uri shouted, and threw a brick. The boy vanished. 39 We went from that place to another, and another. We slept in many places. All were cold. Sometimes I awoke with snow in my ear.

My eyes popped open, though in the blackness there was nothing to see. ” I blurted. Uri snorted. ” 24 7 Those were the good times. Our icebox, our cellar shelves, were full of food. We ate peaches in brandy and peanut butter and caviar sandwiches. We ate apples and lemon Danish and cheese puffs and hickory-smoked trout. We ate candy all day long. My favorite was buttercream with a hazelnut inside. There was usually only one to a candy box and often not even that, and I was not good at telling them on sight.

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