An NPR Best Book of the Year * The stunning sequel to the critically acclaimed, #1 New York Times bestseller Dear Martin. An incarcerated teen writes letters to his best friend about his experiences in the American juvenile justice system.**

An unflinching look into the tragically flawed practices and silenced voices in the American juvenile justice system.

Vernell LaQuan Banks and Justyce McAllister grew up a block apart in the Southwest Atlanta neighborhood of Wynwood Heights. Years later, though, Justyce walks the illustrious halls of Yale University . . . and Quan sits behind bars at the Fulton Regional Youth Detention Center.

Through a series of flashbacks, vignettes, and letters to Justyce--the protagonist of Dear Martin--Quan's story takes form. Troubles at home and misunderstandings at school give rise to police encounters and tough decisions. But then there's a dead cop and a weapon with Quan's prints on it. What leads a bright kid down a road to a murder charge? Not even Quan is sure.

"A powerful, raw, must-read told through the lens of a Black boy ensnared by our broken criminal justice system." -Kirkus, Starred Review

Praise for DEAR JUSTYCE:

An NPR Best Book of the Year!
A Bank Street Best Children's Book of the Year!

"An unforgettable tour de force of social-justice and activist literature." —Booklist, starred review

"A powerful, raw must-read told through the lens of a Black boy ensnared by our broken criminal justice system.” —Kirkus Reviews, starred review

“Stone tackles the American juvenile justice system and its unjust persecution of Black boys in this gritty, powerful sequel to Dear Martin.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review

"This book expands the conversation about systemic racism to include young men of color who don’t fit the demands of respectability politics.... A nuanced perspective on the juvenile justice system." —*SLJ

*“[An] emotionally intense follow-up to the William C. Morris Debut Award finalist Dear Martin.” —Shelf Awareness

“Teens can relate to the feelings of alienation, loneliness, and confusion that lead Quan to make many of the choices that he does, even as the book explores the various ways our current justice system disenfranchises young people of color.” —The Horn Book

“[This] layered, painfully timely sequel about racism, police brutality, and incarceration will hit you hard.” —Hello Giggles

Praise for DEAR MARTIN:

"Powerful, wrenching." —John Green, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Turtles All the Way Down

"Absolutely incredible, honest, gut-wrenching. A must read!" —Angie Thomas, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Hate U Give

"Raw and gripping." —Jason Reynolds, New York Times bestselling author of Long Way Down

Autorentext

Nic Stone

Klappentext

Includes an excerpt of Dear Martin by the author.

Leseprobe

1

Doomed

Vernell LaQuan Banks Jr. remembers the night everything changed. He d fallen asleep on the leather sectional in Daddy s living room while watching Lemony Snicket s A Series of Unfortunate Events (the movie), and was dreaming about Count Olaf--who d gotten a tan, it seemed, and looked suspiciously like his mama s boyfriend, Dwight--falling into a pit of giant yellow snakes like the one from Montgomery Montgomery s reptile room. Screaming bloody murder as he got sucked down into the scaly, slithery quicksand.

Quan s pretty sure he was smiling in his sleep.

But then there was a BOOM that startled him so bad, he jolted awake and fell to the floor.

Which wound up being a good thing.

Next thing Quan knew, more police officers than he could count were pouring into the house with guns drawn.

He stayed down. Hidden.

Wouldn t ve been able to get up if he tried, he was so scared.

There was a commotion over his head--Daddy s room.

Lots of thumping. Bumping. A yell (Daddy s?). Muffled shouting.

Get down! Put your hands in the air--

Oww, man! Not so tight, you tryna break my arm?

Wham. BAM!

Walls shaking.

Was the ceiling gonna fall?

Then the tumult shifted to the left. He heard Daddy s door bang against the wall, then what sounded like eight tons of giant bricks tumbling down the stairs.

Slow down, man! Damn--

Keep your mouth shut!

Quan closed his eyes.

Chill out, man! I m not resisti--

There was a sharp pain in Quan s shoulder as his arm was suddenly wrenched in a direction he was sure it wasn t supposed to go. A thick arm wrapped around his midsection so tight it squeezed all the air out of him . . . or maybe it all flew out because of the speed with which his body left the ground.

He couldn t even scream. Looking back, that was the scariest part. That his voice was gone. That he couldn t cry out. That he d lost all control of his body and surroundings and couldn t even make a sound to let the world know he wasn t feelin it.

It s how he feels now as he jolts awake in his cell at the Fulton Regional Youth Detention Center, unable to breathe.

Quan tries to inhale. And can t. It s like that cop s still got him wrapped up and is squeezing too tight. No space for his lungs to expand.

Can t.

Breathe.

The darkness is so thick, he feels like he s drowning in it. Maybe he is. Maybe Quan can t draw breath because the darkness has solidified. Turned viscous, dense and sticky and heavy. That would also explain why he can t lift his arms or swing his legs over the edge of this cotton-lined cardboard excuse for a bed that makes his neck and back hurt night after night.

What Quan wouldn t give to be back in his queen-sized, memory foam, personal cloud with crazy soft flannel sheets in his bedroom at Daddy s house. If he s going to die in a bed--because he s certainly about to die--he wishes it could be that bed instead of this one.

He shuts his eyes and more pieces of that night fly at him:

Daddy yelling

Don t hurt my son!

before being shoved out the front door.

The sound of glass breaking as the unfinished cup of ginger ale Quan left on the counter toppled to the floor. His foot hit it as the officer with his dumb, muscly arm crushing Quan s rib cage carried Quan through the kitchen like Quan was some kind of doll baby.

The sudden freezing air as Quan was whisked outside in his thin Iron Man pajamas with no shoes or jacket . . . and the subsequent strange warmth running down Quan s legs when he saw Just. How. Many.

Police cars.

There were.

Outside.

Barking dogs, strainin