Numbers Book 1

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  • Engels
  • Hardcover
  • 9780545142991
  • 01 februari 2010
  • 325 pagina's
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Rachel Ward

"Rachel Claire Ward, AM (born 12 September 1957) is an English-born Australian actress, film director, television director, and screenwriter.

(Bron: Wikipedia. Beschikbaar onder de licentie Creative Commons Naamsvermelding/Gelijk delen.)"

Samenvatting

Fifteen-year-old Jem knows when she looks at someone the exact date they will die, so she avoids relationships and tries to keep out of the way, but when she meets a boy named Spider and they plan a day out together, they become more involved than either of them had planned.

Productspecificaties

Inhoud

Taal
en
Bindwijze
Hardcover
Oorspronkelijke releasedatum
01 februari 2010
Aantal pagina's
325
Illustraties
Nee

Betrokkenen

Hoofdauteur
Rachel Ward
Hoofduitgeverij
Chicken House

Overige kenmerken

Editie
1
Extra groot lettertype
Nee
Product breedte
140 mm
Product hoogte
32 mm
Product lengte
216 mm
Studieboek
Nee
Verpakking breedte
141 mm
Verpakking hoogte
29 mm
Verpakking lengte
217 mm
Verpakkingsgewicht
445 g

EAN

EAN
9780545142991

Reviews

1 review
1
0
0
0
0
  • Gewldig boek

    Positieve punten

    • Fantasierijk
    • Leerzaam
    • Mooi vormgegeven
    • Grappig
    • Spannend
    • onverwacht
    • Grappig
    • Spannend
    • onverwacht
    Toon alleen de eerste 3 punten

    het gaat om een verhaal met interessante plot wendingen.
    het gaat erom dat je in jezelf moet geloven

    hier een stuk uit het boek:

    Suddenly, she jerked the pushchair to a halt and swung it round to face her. She crouched down and held both sides of the frame with her hands, making a cage with her body, clutching so tightly I could see the cords in her arms standing out, the bruises and pinpricks more vivid than ever. She looked me straight in the eye, the fury clear in hers.

    “Listen, Jem,” the words came spitting out of her face, “I don’t know what you’re going on about, but I want you to stop. It’s doing my head in. I don’t need it today. OK? I don’t need it, so just…bloody…shut…up.”

    Syllables stinging like angry wasps, her venom fizzing all around me. And all the time, as we sat there eye-to-eye, her number was there, stamped on the inside of my skull, 10101998.

    Three years later, I watched a man in a scruffy suit write it down on a piece of paper, “Date of Death: 10.10.1998.”

    I’d found her in the morning. I’d got up, like normal, put my school things on, helped myself to some cereal. No milk, because it stank when I got it out of the fridge. I left the carton on the side, put the kettle on and ate my Cocopops while it boiled. Then I made Mum a black coffee and carried it carefully in to her room. She was still in bed, kind of leaning over. Her eyes were open, and there was stuff, sick, down her front and on the covers. I put the coffee down on the floor, next to the needle.

    “Mum?” I said, even though I knew she wouldn’t reply. There was no one there. She was gone. And her number was gone too. I could remember it, but when I looked in her dull empty eyes I couldn’t see it any more.

    Vond je dit een nuttige review?
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