Excerpt from The Very Long, Very Strange Life of Isaac Dahl by Bart Yates, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Father left for work and Mama returned to bed for a while, then rose again to get Agnes and me ready for school. Agnes got swatted for dawdling when Mama told her to get dressed, and she was still pouting when Mama kissed us and shoved us out the door. As usual, my best friend, Bo, was waiting on the porch, smiling as if somebody had just told him the funniest joke ever, even though his nose was running and his lips were blue from the wind.

"How many times have I told you not to stand outside in the cold, Bo Larsson?" Mama snapped. "Use the brain the good

Lord gave you and come in the house next time, hear?" "Yes, Mrs. Dahl," Bo stammered, teeth chattering.

She reached out in exasperation and roughly tugged his cap over his ears. "You're lucky you still have all your fingers and toes, child," she said. "Run along now, all of you."

We obeyed, Agnes dragging her feet as a form of protest until we were well out of Mama's sight, then she brightened and sped by us. She pretended to dislike Bo, but not even Agnes could pull off a ruse like that. Bo was by far the most handsome boy we knew—his dimpled, freckled face and big green eyes made every girl in town dote on him, including my sister—but more than that, he was also the best-natured soul on earth, and there was nobody in the canyon who didn't adore him.

"You don't need to be afraid to come in the house, Bo," I told him. "Mama won't bite."

He flushed. I couldn't blame him for being scared: Everybody was scared of my mother. She wasn't mean—far from it— but she had a tongue in her head and wasn't shy of using it. (Agnes was sounding more like her all the time, and I dreaded the day the pair of them teamed up on me, one per ear.) Still, Mama loved Bo, just like the rest of us, and I think it bothered her to know he couldn't see that.

"You have any of your Valentine's candy left?" I asked.

"Agnes stole all mine."

"I didn't either!" Agnes yelled over her shoulder.

Being different genders, my sister and I weren't identical twins, of course, but we may as well have been: We both had blond hair, blue eyes, thin faces, and square chins. We also liked a lot of the same things—books, music, stories, puzzles, card games—so people were surprised that we squabbled as much as we did. Part of it was simple jealousy: I was annoyed that she was smarter than me, and she resented that most people liked me better than her. I suspect the main reason we butted heads all the time, however, was that we were so much alike, and both of us enjoyed nothing more than yanking each other's chain.

Bo dug in the pocket of his thin brown coat and gave me a Tootsie Roll. He was shorter than me by a couple of inches, but I was skinny as a fish line and he was stocky and powerful. He already had a hint of his father's massive shoulders—his daddy, Sven, worked in the mine with Father, and Father said he'd never met a stronger man—as well as the beginning of Sven's barrel chest and thick calves. Bo could carry me on his back for blocks, and if I was dumb enough to wrestle him, I'd end up facedown in the dirt and hogtied before I even knew how I got there.

Agnes drifted back, staring at the Tootsie Roll I'd just unwrapped. "Can I have half?"

"Sure." I popped the whole thing in my mouth and stuck out my tongue to show it to her.

"You're a jackass, Isaac," she said, running ahead again.

"You should be nicer to your sister," Bo said mildly.

"She should be nicer to me." We stepped around a drift of snow in front of Fergus's General Store and a dried horse turd hit me in the face: Agnes had deadly aim. I stumbled and fell, but Bo caught me before I hit the ground.

"Dang you, Aggie!" I sputtered. She was already twenty feet ahead, laughing her fool head off.

I wiped my face with snow, swearing. A clump of slush had wormed its way inside my coat collar, too, and was wiggling down my chest, beneath my shirt. I could tell Bo was trying not to laugh and I almost said something mean, then realized he wouldn't think of laughing if I hadn't deserved it. He helped clean my face, his mittens gentle on my cheeks and forehead.

Excerpted from The Very Long, Very Strange Life of Isaac Dahl by Bart Yates. Copyright © 2024 by Bart Yates. Excerpted by permission of A John Scognamiglio Book. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.