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Informationen zum Autor Trudi Trueit knew she’d found her life’s passion after writing (and directing) her first play in fourth grade. Since then, she’s been a newspaper journalist, television news reporter and anchor, media specialist, freelance writer, and is now a children’s book author. She has published more than forty fiction and nonfiction titles for young readers and lives near Seattle, Washington. Klappentext What's worse than your little sister being smarter than you? Her being more popular, too. But sibling rivalry might just become sibling camaraderie when cliques get out of control.The Sister Solution ONE The Ninth Ring of Saturn “I SEE SATURN!” EDEN SQUINTS, and her cinna mon brown eyes disappear beneath lashes plumped to the max with glittery mascara. “I think.” A second from biting into my taco, I freeze. And wait. And wait. A chunk of salsa plops onto my plate. I can’t stand it any longer. “Well?” “Yep. It’s her. Saturn is buying a salad with app—no, pear slices.” A wave of fear—a tsunami of terror, actually—surges through me. Saturn is our code for Patrice Houston, the most popular girl in the eighth grade. If she’s at the salad bar, it means I have less than thirty seconds to tame my lion’s mane of red hair, shrink four inches, get my ears pierced, buy some new clothes, and make over my entire personality. Twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight . . . Eden and I gave Patrice the name Saturn because she has rings of friends circling her. The closer friend you are, the closer you get to sit to her at lunch. Eden Tran and I are in one of the outer rings. Okay, the ninth and last ring. Sometimes, she’ll talk to us on her way to her table if we don’t have food in our mouths or are wearing something cute and if she hasn’t broken a nail, failed a test, or had a fight with the boy she likes. I know that’s a lot of “ifs,” but when you’ve been working your way toward the inner orbit for seven months the way Eden and I have, you take whatever you can get. Once, when Eden was absent a few months ago, Patrice invited me to sit with her group at lunch. It was my first time in the first ring. I ended up right beside Saturn. We were so close Patrice nearly knocked over my apple juice. It was beyond epic. However, I hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when I knew something was wrong. Patrice’s pretty face was all caved in. I watched her stab about a hundred holes into her baked chicken before, finally, getting up the nerve to ask, “Is everything okay?” “I’m in a colossally bad mood,” she hissed. “Anything I can do?” “I doubt it. I have a dumb photography assignment due in Hargrove’s class. We’re supposed to do a study of humanity, whatever that means.” I couldn’t believe it! Not only did I love photography, but I’d had Hargrove for art last semester. I knew what the assignment was, and what he was looking for, and what he was looking for were pictures with emotion. Was it possible that I, the ordinarily average Samantha Eleanor Tremayne, could help the supremely popular Patrice Houston? I whipped out my cell phone. I explained the assignment and started showing her pictures I’d taken so she’d understand what to do. Her face brightened. Scrolling through some of my best shots, Patrice said the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me. She said, “You’re a great photographer, Sammi.” I wish she would have said it loud enough for the whole first ring to hear, but you can’t have everything. Patrice even let me snap a selfie of the two of us before lunch ended. I’ll never forget that as long ...
