Lily and Dunkin

Review by Booklist Review

*Starred Review* I guess everyone has secrets, 13-year-old Tim muses, and his secret is known only to his family and his best friend, Dare. Born a boy, Tim knows he is really a girl named Lily. And then there is her new friend Norbert, whom she has nicknamed Dunkin (acknowledging his passion for Dunkin Donuts). Dunkin has a secret, too: he is bipolar. Though not ready to make her transition public, Lily bravely begins to make gestures in that direction: painting her fingernails, wearing lipstick, and so on all this despite the bullying she receives from the boys she dubs the Neanderthals. Meanwhile, Dunkin has made their middle-school basketball team and, to ensure he has the energy to play, goes off his meds. The two young teens tell their increasingly compelling stories in alternating first-person chapters. Though both stories are emotionally powerful, Dunkin's comes perilously close to eclipsing Lily's, but nevertheless both characters are irresistibly appealing, and Gephart beautifully manages their evolution. Though in less skillful hands this might have turned into a problem novel, it is, instead, a thoughtfully and sensitively written work of character-driven fiction that dramatically addresses two important subjects that deserve more widespread attention.--Cart, Michael Copyright 2016 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

With humor and great sensitivity, Gephart (Death by Toilet Paper) juxtaposes the efforts of two eighth-graders-one struggling with gender dysphoria, one with mental illness-to establish new identities for themselves. Determined, gentle, and self-aware Tim was "born with boy parts" but identifies as a girl, preferring the name Lily; already "out" to her family and best friend Dare, Lily is both excited and terrified about reactions to a more public transformation. Meanwhile, mercurial newcomer Norbert hates his name-but loves the nickname Lily gives him, Dunkin, which alludes to his favorite haunt-and keeps deep secrets, even from himself. Their friendship develops slowly as Dunkin, desperate for acceptance, gets swept up by an intolerant basketball-playing crowd. Gephart sympathetically contrasts the physical awkwardness, uncertainty, and longings of these two outsiders during a few tightly-plotted months, building to a crescendo of revelation. Strong, supportive women accept these teens as they are, while their fathers struggle mightily. Despite an overly tidy resolution to Dunkin's story and Lily being a bit too perfect, it's a valuable portrait of two teenagers whose journeys are just beginning. Ages 10-up. Agent: Tina Wexler, ICM. (May) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 5-8-Lily and Dunkin have a chance meeting just before entering eighth grade and sense an immediate connection; both harbor deep secrets. Gephart expertly weaves the characters' separate but similar struggles with school, family, and society with concurrent narratives. Lily was assigned male at birth but has always felt she is a girl; she's pressuring her family to give her hormone blockers as she races toward puberty. Her dad is the holdout, wanting only to protect his child from ridicule and danger. Norbert (who hates that name but loves Dunkin Donuts) has bipolar disorder and has been forced to move in with his grandma after something mysterious happened to his father. During school, a group called the "Neanderthals" attack Lily with insults and bullying, while courting gigantic Dunkin into strengthening their basketball team's chance at a championship. Lily also gets wrapped up in the city's decision to cut down her favorite tree, while Dunkin begins skipping his meds in order to perform better on the court. The conclusions are both satisfying and provocative. The narration provided by Ryan Gesell and Michael Crouch is excellent. Also exceptional are the author's personal notes at the end about how and why this important story came about and Pat Scales's thought-provoking discussion questions. VERDICT Listeners who enjoyed Jazz Jennings's Being Jazz or Holly Goldberg Sloan's Counting by 7s will appreciate this unique tale, a timely novel suitable for any middle school kid who feels different.-Deb Whitbeck, formerly at West Ottawa Public Schools, Holland, MI © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Horn Book Review

Eighth graders Lily Jo and Dunkin both dislike their birth names (Timothy and Norbert, respectively) and struggle with the ways they feel their bodies betray them: for trans Lily because others assume she is a boy, and for bipolar Dunkin because he needs mood stabilizing and antipsychotic medication. While their tentative friendship is repeatedly tried by bullies, Gephart delivers an optimistic novel full of hope and heart. (c) Copyright 2017. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Girl       Lily Jo is not my name. Yet.   But I'm working on that.   That's why I'm in the closet. Literally in my mom's walk-in closet, with Meatball at my heels.   I scratch under Meatball's chin, and his tiny pink tongue pokes out the side of his mouth. He's adorable like that.   "Practice," I tell Meatball. "Only six days until school starts." I have to do this. I can't. Have to. Can't. I almost feel my best friend (okay, my only friend), Dare, push me toward the dresses.   Thinking about my plan for the first day of eighth grade makes my stomach drop, like I plunged over the crest of a roller coaster at Universal Studios. I'm sure not one other person going to Gator Lake Middle is dealing with what I am, probably not one other person in the entire state of Florida. Statistically, I know that's not true, because I looked up a lot of information on the Internet, but it feels that way sometimes.   Meatball's wagging his stubby tail so hard his whole body shakes. I wish the world were made of dogs. They love you one hundred percent of the time, no matter what.   "I've got one for you," I tell Meatball as I pull a hanger from the rack. "The past, the present and the future all walk into a bar."   I examine the summery red fabric. The tiny white flower print. I remember being with Mom when she bought this dress.   "Ready for the punch line?"   Meatball looks up at me with his big brown eyes, dark fur falling into them.   "It was tense."   Silence.   Holding the dress to my chest, I say, "The past, the present and the future all walk into a bar. It was tense. Get it?"   Meatball tilts his head, as though he's trying hard to understand. I scratch under his chin to let him know he's such a good dog and I'm a total dork for telling a grammar joke to an animal.   Then I focus on the dress.   "These are lilies of the valley," Mom said, pointing to the flowers when we were in the store. She held the dress to her cheek for a moment. "Those were my favorite flowers when I was growing up in Burlington, New Jersey. We had them in the garden in front of our house, near the pink azalea bushes. They smelled so good!"   I sniff the flowers now, as though the tiny, bell-shaped blossoms will smell like anything other than a dress. "I'm glad Dad's at Publix," I tell Meatball. "And Mom's at her studio. Gives me time to put the first part of my plan into action. The practicing part."   Half of me is so excited I could explode. It feels good to finally be doing this. The other half--where other people's voices jam together in my brain--is terrified. Excited. Terrified. Yup, those are the right words.   I take off my pajamas and let the dress slide over my head and body. The silky lining feels smooth and soft against my skin. It's hard to get the zipper up in the back. I consider going to Sarah's room and asking for help, but decide to do it myself, even though I know she'd help me.   When I was little, I tried on one of Sarah's old dresses and loved how it felt. How I felt in it. When Mom came home from work that day, she laughed and made me whirl and twirl. Even Dad laughed. Back then.   "What do you think?" I ask Meatball while I twirl, feeling the skirt of the dress drift up, then back down against my legs.   Meatball barks.   "I'll take that as an approval."   He barks again.   "Or you might have to pee."   I slip into Mom's sandals, barely believing my feet have now grown as large as hers, but they have.   In her full-length mirror, I see how the top of the dress bags out. If only I had something up there to fill it out, like Mom and Sarah do. I consider grabbing one of Mom's bras and stuffing it with socks, to see how it would look. How it would feel.   A blaring car horn shatters my thoughts.   Meatball barks.   Scooping him under my arm, I put my face up close to his. "Come on. Let's help Dad carry in the groceries."   He licks my nose.   "Oh, Meatball, your breath is so bad."   He nuzzles into my arm.   "But your heart is so good." I kiss the top of his head. "Hope Dad remembered Pop-Tarts. Breakfast of champions."   As we rush down the stairs, I hear Sarah's bedroom door open behind me. When we reach the bottom, I let Meatball down, then hurry to the front door and fling it open.   Dad's bent over, grabbing bags from the trunk of his car. I walk down the path to help. It's so bright and sunny, I have to shield my eyes with my forearm, but I can make out the back of Dad's T-shirt: The King Pines. I laugh out loud, realizing it was probably supposed to read The King Pins for one of the local bowling teams. Dad and his mom, Grandmom Ruth, run a T-shirt screen-printing business--We've Got You Covered--and sometimes orders get messed up.   Because Dad hates to waste anything, we all end up wearing his mistakes. My favorite was when a group of senior citizens asked Dad to make matching shirts for their upcoming vacation with the words The Bus Trippers. Dad goofed on the spacing, and the shirts ended up as The Bu Strippers. He had to redo the whole order. Those shirts got tossed, though, because Dad said there was no way any of us were wearing those rejects. It's funny how one little letter can make such a big difference to the meaning.   Grandpop Bob, who started the business with Grandmom Ruth about a million years ago, used to say, "Words have the power to change the world. Use them carefully."   After two years without him, I still miss him and his wise words.   I'm reaching my hand out to help when Dad turns toward me, each of his hands loaded with grocery bags.   I hold my breath, hoping Dad understands how much this means to me. Hoping that this time will be different, that--   "Timothy! What the hell are you doing?"   I deflate like a week-old balloon. Practicing, Dad. I'm practicing being me.   "You know the rule," he says, letting out a huge breath. "You can't be outside the house dressed like that." Dad shifts the bags in his hands. "Where's your mother?"   I let my arms fall slack to my sides. I wouldn't have the energy to carry in the groceries now, if I wanted to. And I certainly don't have the energy to answer Dad. He should know Mom's at her yoga studio. It's not my job to remind him of her schedule.   "Go back in the house, Tim." Dad sounds like the air has leaked out of him, too. I hate that I caused it. "What if one of your classmates sees you? Imagine how they'd make fun of you when school starts. Get in now. Go."   They already make fun of me, Dad.   He looks around. "Someone's coming. Hurry."   I glance along the sidewalk. Someone is coming. A boy, carrying a Dunkin' Donuts bag and grooving to some music only he can hear. I love the way he doesn't seem to care how he looks, dance-walking outside like that. He could be in a commercial for Dunkin' Donuts: "happy-looking, doughnut-carrying boy." I wish I felt that happy. I wish--   "Go!" Dad says.   I should walk back inside. Make it easier for Dad. Make it easier for myself.   But I don't.   Excerpted from Lily and Dunkin by Donna Gephart All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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