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Solving Zoe
Solving Zoe
Solving Zoe
Ebook183 pages2 hours

Solving Zoe

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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Zoe Bennett feels lost at her fancy private school.

She's not the star drama queen like her sister, or a brainiac math genius like her brother. Luckily her best friend, Dara, is just as content as Zoe is to stay in the shadows -- or is she? When Dara gets a part in the school musical, Zoe feels abandoned. What's worse, Zoe's practically being stalked by the weird new kid, Lucas. Then Lucas accidentally drops his notebook and Zoe finds it's written in symbols and numbers -- it's complete gibberish. Yet she sees her name in there, plain as day. Now Lucas is telling her she's a natural code-reading genius -- or some kind of mental freak.

As Zoe's daydreaming lands her in trouble at school, anonymous notes start to appear in students' lockers, and Zoe is the number one suspect. Solving word puzzles may come easily to her, but now there's more at stake -- will Zoe be able to solve her way out of this?

With plenty of wit and insight, Barbara Dee has created this fresh, funny story of a girl who discovers that fitting in sometimes means standing out.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 21, 2009
ISBN9781439164020
Solving Zoe
Author

Barbara Dee

Barbara Dee is the author of fourteen middle grade novels including Unstuck, Haven Jacobs Saves the Planet, Violets Are Blue, My Life in the Fish Tank, Maybe He Just Likes You, Everything I Know About You, Halfway Normal, and Star-Crossed. Her books have earned several starred reviews and have been named to many best-of lists, including The Washington Post’s Best Children’s Books, the ALA Notable Children’s Books, the ALA Rise: A Feminist Book Project List, the NCSS-CBC Notable Social Studies Trade Books for Young People, and the ALA Rainbow List Top Ten. Barbara lives with her family, including a naughty cat named Luna and a sweet rescue hound named Ripley, in Westchester County, New York.

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Reviews for Solving Zoe

Rating: 3.833333291666667 out of 5 stars
4/5

24 ratings5 reviews

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    It was lovely. I felt like I was Zoe. When things went wrong I felt the way I do if things are going wrong for me
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I think that this book was a great book. It talks about relationships with friends from both genders. It wasn't the best book though. There is a lot of learning in it from having a good friend relationship go into the garbage and reading cipher, Though reading about how to read cipher is cool , you wouldn't expect this from this book.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    This has a theme similar to so many I have recently read. Zoe starts middle school and realizes things change. Boys become interested in girls. What made this book so different from my other recent reads is that Zoe loves breaking codes. This was an okay book for me but not something I would re-read. It was well written but not a topic I could really sink my teeth into. I will recommend this to my ESOL class because we just finished a couple of stories that involved codes.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Zoe isn't a math genius like her older brother, or a drama superstar like her older sister. Zoe doesn't really HAVE a passion. She just likes pizza. But Zoe goes to the Lorna Hubbard School, a progressive school where students study things like Robotics, or African Drumming, and everyone is on a first name basis with their teachers. Zoe is increasingly more worried that she doesn't have a passion and might not belong at Hubbard. When she finds the weird new kid Lucas' notebook, written entirely in secret codes, HE thinks her passion is cryptography, but Zoe doesn't want anything to do with it. When anonymous mean notes start appearing in students' lockers, Zoe is blamed. Her friends stop talking to her, and the only comfort she finds is with the lizards she babysits after school. Will Zoe be able to solve her way out of this social crisis?
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Zoe's sixth-grade year at a Brooklyn school for gifted students is marked by changing relationships with her fellow students and teachers, recognition of her talent for cryptography, and a greater awareness of her passion.

Book preview

Solving Zoe - Barbara Dee

1

At first Zoe didn’t notice that the boy at the end of the table was writing down every word she said.

She barely noticed him at all, the way his blond hair flopped into his face as he sat hunched over what looked like a small notebook. Probably he was just some applicant taking notes about the lunchroom: Burgers at the Lorna Hubbard School extremely gross, or something brilliant like that.

And anyway, why would Zoe pay attention to some kid she didn’t even know, when she was finally, after an endless morning, getting to see her best friend, Dara Grosbard? The only class they had together this year was gym, and that didn't even count, because you had to spend the whole time dodging basketballs or jogging breathlessly around the track. So the one place they could talk was the ear-splitting Hubbard lunchroom, where you really had to concentrate to have a meaningful conversation.

God, Zoe, this is absolutely disgusting, Dara was saying as she chomped on a chili dog. You sure you don’t want a bite?

Positive, Zoe answered. She opened her bag of Lay’s potato chips and dumped them onto her tray. Usually there were twelve chips per bag; if she did it just right, she could fit all twelve into her tuna fish sandwich. For crunch, she used to explain to horrified onlookers. Of course, by now everybody knew all about Zoe’s sandwich weirdness and didn’t even ask.

So how was Chinese today? Zoe said, poking in the last of her chips. Did he make you talk?

He always makes us talk. I should have taken a normal language, like French.

"French? You think French is normal?"

Okay, maybe not, Dara agreed. But if I took French, at least we’d be together for one measly class besides gym. Sigh.

Zoe smiled. Dara was always saying things like sigh and gasp, as if she were attaching smiley faces, or frownies, to all her sentences. But at least that way you knew what she was feeling, Zoe thought as she took a crunchy bite of sandwich, then a cooling sip of chocolate milk.

Suddenly she felt a light poke from behind.

Are these seats taken?

She turned her head. Surprisingly, it was Allegra Hillenbrand, who insisted on being called Leg, along with her bodyguard, Paloma Farrelly. They were both really good dancers, two of the best in Hubbard Middle Division.

No, they’re free, Dara was saying nicely. If you can squeeze in.

Zoe gave Dara a look that meant, Do we have to? But either Dara didn’t notice or else she didn’t think she had a choice. She pushed aside her chili dog and slid over to make room, so that Leg and Paloma wouldn’t have to sit too close to the unknown boy with the notebook.

Leg smiled at Dara. So, she said. Have you officially signed up yet?

Signed up for what? Zoe asked. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the boy turn a page in his notebook and write something quickly.

Nothing, Dara said. It’s stupid, Zoe.

No, it’s not. It’s brilliant, Leg insisted.

Zoe glanced at Dara. What is?

Nothing, Dara said again. Her gray-blue eyes narrowed in embarrassment. Leg thinks I should try out for the musical.

The musical? Zoe said. "You want to?"

I’m not sure. Dara nibbled on her thumbnail. Maybe.

Oh, you’re totally sure, Dara, Leg said. You said so right before Chinese. She flipped her shiny chestnut hair over one shoulder, her gold hoop earrings catching the light. Besides, why go to an amazing school like Hubbard if you don’t take advantage, blah blah blah. You should encourage her, Zoe.

"Do you want to? Zoe repeated, trying to ignore Leg. Because nobody should force you, Dara."

Nobody is, said Paloma.

Sigh, Dara said. The thing is, Zoe, I think I might want to try out, but I’m terrified. You know what Izzy always says.

Zoe nodded. Zoe’s sixteen-year-old sister, Isadora, was the star of almost every Hubbard production, but even she always complained about tryouts. She called them cutthroat, and how could they not be, really, with all the gifted and talented kids strutting around this amazing school? And the thing was, Dara was shy—talented but shy. And also tiny: not the best combination, especially when you were expected to stand onstage and sing into a blaring microphone.

Poor Dara, Zoe thought. She doesn’t know what she’s in for.

Paloma laughed. Well, look at it this way, Dara. You probably won’t even get a part, so there’s nothing to worry about, right?

You shouldn’t say that, Zoe said, her dark eyes flashing. Dara’s actually an incredible singer. If she wants a part, she’ll get one.

Well, yeah, Zoe. Obviously.

So if it’s obvious, Paloma, you shouldn’t tease her like that.

It was just a joke, Dara said gently. Never mind, Zoe.

Zoe realized then that all three girls were looking at her, and Paloma was smiling. She felt like a complete moron, all of a sudden.

Okay, then, Leg said finally. I guess our work here is done. See you later, Dara. Then she and Paloma walked away, taking dramatic turned-out steps, as if to remind everyone in the lunchroom that they were both really good dancers.

Zoe took a small bite of her tuna-and-potato-chip sandwich. You want me to come with you to tryouts? she asked.

"Oh, definitely not, Dara said. You hate all that stuff, Zoe. It would make you crazy to sit there. Besides, we’d probably just look at each other and start laughing hysterically. She reached over and took a sip of Zoe’s chocolate milk. I’ll just meet you afterward, okay? If you don’t mind waiting a tiny bit."

Of course I don’t mind, Zoe said, surprised this was even a question. Why would I? Suddenly she remembered something. I’ve got Isaac’s after school today. I really can’t be late.

Oh, you won’t be, Dara promised. I’ll be like ten or fifteen minutes.

Well, ten or fifteen minutes probably won’t make much of a difference, Zoe thought. And even if Dara refused to come inside, they’d have the walk over together. And of course they’d have the walk back to Zoe’s.

Okay, great, she said cheerfully. I’ll meet you in the lobby.

And then a strange thing happened. The blond floppy-haired boy at the end of the table looked right into Zoe’s eyes, the very second she finished speaking. Then he stuffed his notebook into his pocket and walked rapidly out of the cafeteria.

And Zoe couldn’t say why, but she knew right then that he’d been eavesdropping on the entire conversation. And possibly worse than that: possibly writing it all down in that little spiral notebook, although of course at that point she didn’t have any proof.

2

Leg was right: Hubbard really was an amazing place. And Zoe Bennett knew perfectly well that she didn’t deserve to be there.

Her sister, Isadora, deserved to be there. So did her ninth-grade brother, Malcolm, who was a jerk half the time, but also a genius in math.

The school was perfect for them: a sprawling expanded brick mansion once belonging to some famous Brooklyn socialite, where superstar kids could study Robotics and African Drumming, and never have to deal with grades or report cards or bells or red pens. Even the teachers were amazing—published authors, semi-famous artists, and fresh-out-of-excellent-college types with nose rings and blue hair. You called them all by their first names. They were like friends, Zoe often thought, except in reality.

Lunch was over, and Zoe was in Math class. She watched her Math teacher, Anya, write three Do Nows on the whiteboard, the way she always did at the start of class. Anya was maybe the coolest-looking teacher at Hubbard, with a blue-black raptor tattoo on her left bicep, and a big red Pegasus on her left calf. But for all her coolness, she still had bossy rules, like always making you show your work, even if the answer was completely obvious. And by the time Zoe had copied down the three Do Nows each day and pretended to show work she’d never even done, her brain would be flying in all directions at once, like one of those swirl paintings you make in neighborhood street fairs. She’d start doodling in her Math notebook, and then she’d have some fascinating thought, and the next thing she’d know, the period would be over and she wouldn’t have finished the second Do Now.

This was Zoe’s latest fascinating thought: Every number was actually a color. Not in some silly random paint-by-number way, but in a real way that made its own sense. Zoe wasn’t in charge of that sense; she didn’t wake up one morning and decide, Today I’ll assign colors to the first nine digits, tra-la-la. She just gradually realized that whenever she thought of the number four, her mind would be bathed in a beautiful sky blue. And whenever she considered the number five, she’d see a deep vivid emerald green. Pretty soon she had a whole rainbow of numbers worked out in her head:

1 = White

2 = Light blue

3 = Red

4 = Beautiful sky blue

5 = Deep vivid emerald green

6 = Orange

7 = Yellow (Bright yellow, not sick yellow)

8 = Purple

9 = Chocolate Brown

She didn’t have it all worked out yet; she didn’t know, for example, what happened when you got to ten. But for now she was happy just doodling with the few Prismacolor pencil stubs she’d secretly fished out from the bottom of her backpack: first a red tornado (all angry spirally 3s), then a beautiful sky blue sailboat (the sail obviously a 4), then a bunch of purple clouds (big gentle billowy 8s). Doodling-by-numbers was lots of fun, a painless way to get through Anya’s boring class.

Two nights ago at dinner, Zoe had casually mentioned the number-color theory to her family. That had been a mistake.

I don’t get it, Zoe, Malcolm had said. "You mean if I say a number, some color pops into your head?"

Well, yes.

So, what pops into your head if I say two thirds? Or negative three trillion? Or 3.14159?

Oh, Malcolm, said Isadora. Will you please just give her a break?

No, no, I’m really wondering.

I don’t see numbers with decimals, Zoe explained patiently. I’m talking about ordinary digits. One through nine.

Malcolm snorted. But you can’t limit it to the first nine digits. That makes no mathematical sense.

Why not? asked Dad, winking at Zoe.

Because if you say something like, okay, three equals pink—

It doesn’t, Zoe said. Three is red.

Whatever. Then when you perform any operation on three—

I’m not a doctor, Malcolm!

"I mean a mathematical operation. When you combine it with another number, you’re changing the value in a way that can’t possibly correspond to your whole color theory, right?"

Zoe put down her fork. I don’t understand a word you’re talking about, Malcolm. All I said was—

I know, I know. Two equals blue.

"Light blue. Four is sky blue."

Isn’t sky blue the same as light blue? Isadora wondered.

Oh no, Zoe said quickly. "Sky blue is pure blue, like if you close your eyes and think of the word blue. Two is sort of a pale aquamarine. It’s totally different."

Blue is my best color, Spencer announced. He was three years old, and he didn’t even have his colors straight. I want ketchup.

Please, prompted Mom.

Pleasepleaseplease.

I’ll re-explain my point, said Malcolm, gesturing with his fork.

"Actually, Malcolm, you’re completely missing the point, Zoe said, her voice starting to squeak a bit. All I meant—"

Was that numbers equal colors. Yeah, I know.

Malcolm, watch that tone, warned Mom. It’s bordering on hostile. And Zoe, calm down, get your hair away from your food, and eat your salad.

Isadora made a face. Speaking of salad, she said to Mom, did you buy a different kind of ranch dressing? This one tastes funny.

It’s lower fat, Mom said, examining the label. I think it tastes fine.

Dad cleared his throat. Getting back to Zoe’s number theory, he said meaningfully. Malcolm made another snorting sound.

Zoe could feel her cheeks burn. Never mind, Dad. It’s not important. Can we please just drop it?

"Why

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