Books Like Bridge To Terabithia Novels & Stories

I wandered through the compound until I found myself in the library, as usual. I browsed the shelves for a while before pulling out a thick book about the northern territories. The book was old, the pages yellowed and crinkled with age, but the hand-drawn illustrations were still beautiful. I got comfortable in one of the chairs near a window and began to read. Most of the content was about trade routes and pack histories, but one chapter caught my attention. It described the far northern mountains—the ones beyond the Thornwood, where no one ever set foot.

I punched the bridge of my nose and rubbed my temples, telling the stress that had chained me to release me from it's shackles. Jade's turn and she told a story that had already been written by some author known as Godwin Hosanna Aga. The book was named in the deep and it was about some girl named Hephzibah and it was pretty interesting and scary the way my baby sister had told it with a touch light under her chin, illuminating her face and weird canines. "And that is, in the deep!" Jade screamed, stomping her feet on the floor and howling like a wolf.

After we got something to eat we spent a little time with Connor before I went to the library at the back of the house and Asher went out of the packhouse to do other work that needed tending to. The library was full of basic novels that I loved to read. But it's also full of history books about werewolves, vampires, witch's and faeries. So I grabbed everything I could find on faeries and I put them on the table and I sat on the couch going through them one at a time.

When they got there the library was a dream library big, bold, and with lots of books my favorite. My eyes widen as we entered the room seeing the section of shelves with thousands of books in between. On top where the roof was a glass dome on top just like the greenhouse. With the dome help bring the natural light into the building showing the tiniest details the shelves had details of all types of animals frogs, deer, birds, and others. Books flying from all directions. While some to other students and some to different shelves to sit on either the top shelves or in one of the mini compartments that were inside the shelves.

I tell him. “I agree, I could not fault him. I think we are done discussing Twisted Games, let us move on Twisted Lies, which is actually my favourite book out of all them,” Blake says. I think about my favourite book and I say to him, “My favourite book is actually Twisted Games, I really love Rhys and Bridget.”

I glance at the cover of the book she slid across the counter: a Catherine Bybee novel. “Oh, wow, Mathilda. You’re a fan of Catherine Bybee?” I smile, genuinely impressed as I open the ledger. “It’s refreshing to see a teenager with such classic taste. Most girls your age are glued to their phones, but here you are, diving into a good romance.”

I need to take time. I remember the small room I entered last time. I slowly opened the door and turned on the lampshade. The books on the table were still scattered. I tried to look and read each one of them. These are all interesting books. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a lot more. I tried to find something that might help me, but I found nothing.

She wasn’t the kind to dart ahead like other kids. No, Myra moved slowly, her eyes tracing each shelf as though the books might lean down and whisper secrets meant just for her. I could already picture it—the way her lips would part when she found a story she liked, her quiet murmur as she read, as if every word was a drop of honey she had to savor before setting it free. We’d chosen three books, two nature guides and a brightly illustrated story about forest foxes. Suddenly her steps slowed. Her fingers loosened in mine.

Alana let go of our hands, darting toward the children’s section at the end of the hall. Suddenly, it was just the two of us. Standing side by side in the narrow aisle of classic literature. Gareth tucked his hands into his pockets, scanning the spines of the books with a quiet, respectful interest. "What do you usually go for, Claire?" he asked softly. His voice seemed to blend into the hum of the air conditioning. I ran my fingers along the worn spines of the hardcovers. "The classics. Jane Austen, the Brontës... anything with beautiful prose and a happy ending. I suppose I like the escape."

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