National Book Award nominee Lisa Graff (A Tangle of Knots) deftly captures that brief moment in childhood when you’re young enough to believe in magic while also coping with very real, serious life concerns in her latest novel, Far Away, about a girl must decide what to believe in—and whom to trust.

CJ Ames has been on the road for pretty much all of her 12 years. She’s traveled to all 48 contiguous states on a huge tour bus with her Aunt Nic, who has developed a growing reputation as a medium. Nic’s ability to communicate with the spirit world comes in handy for CJ since her mother, Aunt Nic’s sister, died when CJ was a newborn. Fortunately for CJ, she’s been able to maintain a closeness with her mother thanks to Aunt Nic’s gifts.

But when Aunt Nic reveals that her mother is being drawn “Far Away” and will no longer be able to communicate with the living, CJ is distraught. Along with a new friend, she follows a series of mysterious signs that, she hopes, will help her find a tether that can draw her mother’s spirit back to her. But what she finds is something even more profound—and more devastating.

Far Away is a novel about learning to appreciate the truth, even when it’s not pretty, and knowing when to trust in portents—and when to trust the knowledge in your own heart.

In author Lindsey Stoddard’s brimming-with-life novel, Right as Rain, white sixth-grader Rain Andrews’ mother is a neuroscientist who studies the brain, but she can’t fix her family’s broken hearts after Rain’s beloved older brother, Guthrie, is killed in a car accident. Stoddard tackles grief head-on in her moving, uplifting portrayal of learning to live and embrace life amid loss.

Determined to make a fresh start, Rain’s mom takes a new research job at Columbia University, moving the family to an apartment in Hamilton Heights and leaving behind virtually all of their belongings in the Vermont town that Rain adores. Rain’s grief-stricken dad is seriously depressed and stays in bed for much of the day, while Rain feels responsible for Guthrie’s death because she helped him sneak out of the house on that fateful night―the details of which are gradually revealed in short chapters intertwined with the main narrative. But Rain’s dad, who works in construction, has taught her that “If you take down a weight-bearing wall without setting up a system of support beams, the whole weight of the house will collapse down on you. But if you build up a strong system of support beams, you can take the weight right off.”

While Stoddard set her equally sensitive first novel, Just Like Jackie, in a small Vermont town, she excels at portraying the rich diversity of Rain’s new Latinx neighborhood, where she realizes that “even though my skin doesn’t match any skin here . . . I’m not sticking out.” Rain’s teacher is quietly understanding, and she befriends Nestor, a homeless man. She also finds support at Ms. Dacie’s place, an afterschool program that welcomes all. Rain’s main salvation is running, and before long, she becomes part of a championship relay team that brings new friendships with Amelia, who has a stutter; Ana, who has lived in poverty; and her Dominican neighbor, Frankie.

Stoddard has woven a rich cityscape and plot, and while a few threads feel a bit predictable, she doesn’t settle for easy answers as Rain and her family navigate the complexities of rebuilding a life in the midst of grief. 

We often speak of history as a thing with a particular size and shape, as if it were concrete, like a textbook you could grasp in your hands. But history is amorphous. With every story told, it expands and with every story forgotten it recedes.

In the popular imagination, the struggle to end racial segregation in American schooling revolves around one event—the Supreme Court’s historic 1954 ruling in Brown v. Board of Education, which outlawed segregation in public schooling.

But if you’ve studied American history, you might remember the story of Governor Orval Faubus of Arkansas, who, three years after Brown was decided, ordered the Arkansas National Guard to prevent African-American students from attending Little Rock Central High School. And even fewer people will remember the story of 12 African-American students who first integrated the all-white Clinton High School in Clinton, Tennessee, in 1956.

Though Clinton High was the first public high school in Tennessee to be integrated (and according to most accounts, the first public school in the South to be integrated), its story has been all but forgotten. This is even more ironic given that, in 1956, when it was occurring, the integration of Clinton High made national headlines.

But This Promise of Change is the story of Clinton High’s integration, written by one of the students who lived through it, Jo Ann Allen Boyce, and Debbie Levy. Written in a variety of verse forms and interspersed with clippings from historic newspaper articles and TV shows, This Promise of Change will grip young readers and reveal a part of the American civil rights story that has been neglected for too long. This is amust-read for Black History Month.

Alastair is an African grey parrot with dreams of a life beyond the pet shop he calls home. Fiercely dedicated to his sister, Aggie, he sometimes fails to notice how his protective instincts can be suffocating, or worse. When the two siblings are separated, Alastair must learn to adapt to change without plucking himself bald. Suddenly, for Alastair, The Simple Art of Flying never seemed so complex.

Debut author Cory Leonardo weaves together multiple character perspectives seamlessly. The widow who buys Alastair can’t understand why he keeps trying to escape when it’s clear some part of him likes her. Young Fritz, who buys Aggie, has his own complicated reasons for wanting to keep something precious alive. The animals at the pet shop have distinct voices and personalities, not unlike the farm animals in Babe, and while some are wise, others are less trustworthy.

There’s a fair amount of heartbreak in this story, but it’s balanced with bursts of slapstick humor, from escaped tarantulas to wild dance breaks with feathered boas. There’s also a clever twist where Alastair, who enjoys tearing paper, discovers poetry and begins composing his own verses based on what he’s currently “reading.” When this angry parrot learns to reconsider his rigid ideas, a new world opens up to him: One where he can finally be happy in the realization that wherever he is, he’s home.

“Don’t you let how nobody treats you in this world make you think that you ain’t worthy,” 12-year-old Henry’s grandfather tells him. It’s one of the many valuable lessons waiting to be discovered in Karyn Parson’s absorbing middle grade debut, How High the Moon, about a trio of African-American cousins trying to find their place in Alcolu, South Carolina, amid the turmoil of 1944 America and the Jim Crow South. Henry, 11-year-old Ella and 14-year-old Myrna all live with their Poppy and Granny. The standout narrator here is biracial Ella, who yearns to know her father’s identity and worries about the colorism she experiences as a result of her light skin tone. Ella soon joins her mother in Boston, where she’s working in the Naval Yard as a shipfitter while trying to make it as a jazz singer. Ella is excited by the prospect of living with her mom, and she’s eager because “Up there, colored folks could go anywhere they wanted.”

Parsons sensitively tackles important issues by weaving in real historical figures and details throughout this story. For example, Myrna has a crush on George Stinney, the 14-year-old African-American boy who was executed in Alcolu after being wrongfully convicted in the murder of two young white girls.

You may recognize Parsons as the actress who portrayed Hilary Banks opposite Will Smith on the 1990s sitcom “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,” but with How High the Moon, she proves her talent as an author, adroitly packing plenty of plot, characterization and feeling into this story. Begging worthy comparisons to One Crazy Summer and Brown Girl Dreaming, How High the Moon heralds an exciting new voice in historical fiction for young readers.

Twelve-year-old Nisha and her twin, Amil, know little about their mother, who died while giving birth. But Nisha yearns for her nonetheless, and at night, Nisha pours her feelings into her diary entries, which are written as letters to her mother. At first, she writes of daily events such as Amil’s etchings and their father’s long days working as a doctor. But it’s 1947, and India has just won its independence from Britain, and soon Nisha’s life will change in ways she never could have imagined.

India is about to be partitioned into two countries based on religion. India will be for Hindus, while Muslims will live in the new country known as Pakistan. Nisha’s home will be part of Pakistan, and because her father is Hindu, their small family must travel cross-country to India by foot. The toll of the arduous journey is most eloquently expressed through Amil’s physical deterioration rather than an impersonal accounting of miles and terrain, and this process is particularly wrenching for Nisha as her mother was Muslim. Nisha is by nature quiet and reflective, and her diary reveals her deep emotional attunement to her family.

Overall, the important historical and political events that drive The Night Diary are believably muted through the lens of a girl with little exposure to the larger world, making this uniquely personal story similar to other portrayals of young refugees such as Andrea Davis Pinkney’s The Red Pencil.

Sixth grade at Seaward Pines Academy means dealing with homeroom, lockers, switching classes and trying out for sports. For Merci Suárez, the start of the sixth grade means even bigger changes—not only school dynamics but friendship, boys, family and an eye that strays to the side, especially when Merci’s stressed. Because her father is a paint contractor (and not a podiatrist like popular girl Edna’s dad is), Merci attends the prestigious Florida private school on a scholarship. This year, to assist with tuition costs, the tween must serve as a Sunshine Buddy to a new student named Michael. And instead of spending time saving up for a new bike and showing off her soccer skills on the school team, she’s forced to act as the afternoon nanny for her younger twin nephews after the usual babysitter, their grandfather Lolo, becomes increasingly forgetful.

Author Meg Medina balances Merci’s tears and frustrations with middle school cliques—and the harsh reality of Lolo’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis—by highlighting the unwavering support of Merci’s Latinx family, who shares meals, stories and love in their row of three little pink houses. Merci draws on this support when an accidental mishap with Edna threatens to land her in trouble, and the spunky, resilient tween develops a deeper understanding of both herself and the differences between popularity and friendship. Although the changes in her life are uncertain, Merci also discovers that change can bring new opportunities. Medina expertly captures what it feels like to be in sixth grade, and readers will cheer on Merci as she rides through her adventure.

As usual, award-winning author Gordon Korman’s latest book is a satisfying glimpse into the world of middle schoolers. In The Unteachables, Korman gives us a sort of pre-teen version of To Sir, with Love—a class full of misfit kids that the education system has given up on and the teacher that fights through his own disillusionment to become the mentor the students need.

After 30 years as a teacher, Zachary Kermit is burned out and ready for retirement. But the superintendent, Dr. Thaddeus, wants him out before he can draw a full pension, so he assigns Mr. Kermit the class called SCS-8, or the Self-Contained Special 8th-grade class. Known as the “Unteachables,” Dr. Thaddeus hopes they drive Mr. Kermit to quit before the year’s end. Mr. Kermit knows it’s going to be rough, but he figures he’ll just keep his head down and coast until May.

He is not surprised by the students. There is the slow worker, Parker Elias, social dweeb Mateo Hendrickson, anger-management challenged Aldo Braff, ex-athlete “Barnstorm” Armstrong, potential bully Elaine Okafor, sleep-deprived Rahim Barclay, and new student Kiana Roubini. Through many hilarious and touching escapades, Mr. Kermit figures out that what he really has is a group that just needs help, patience and the recognition that, really, they may be the most teachable of any class.

Written in chapters that explore the viewpoint of each character, The Unteachables is a heartwarming story about not giving up on yourself or others. Another home run for Korman for which all of us, adults and children alike, can cheer.

Jennifer Bruer Kitchel is the librarian for a Pre-K through 8th level Catholic school.