Realistic Fiction Books For 12 Year-olds Novels & Stories

A/N: All the contents inside this fantasy novel it is only the fruit of the author's imagination, same names, places. experiences, happenings, and others are just coincidently written. Enjoy reading and Read at your own risk. START As an innocent child, I also wanted to live a normal life in a world where I just wanted to have friends and be given a chance to play with my dolls with other children. At the age of twelve, there was nothing to do with each stroke of my dolls. Seemingly mad talking plastic children's toys.

The bookshelf was just as tall as Andrew so he could easily access the books there. The bookshelf had all sorts of books, ranging from fictional novels to nonfictional novels, to educational novels and textbooks. Her eyes caught titles like; The Redwall series by Brian Jacques, Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink, The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros and a lot more. Even the Encyclopedia was in his bookshelf. And there was also some novels on the basis of business and finance. The book the lad was currently reading was The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie.

She asked before Mr Martins audibly cleared his throat. "Uhm. The book" He turned to Zach. "The book you're holding unto from the library?" Then Zach pulled out a significant novel from his jacket trying his best to shield the title from Regina- -the title that was clearly shown on the other sides, the voices in your head. -a psychological true life thriller about a young boy with the gift of hearing dead people's voices. And Zach had wandered, if there was a chance--it was his gift, and if maybe his was paranormal.

I'm not fat actually ( you should also know this since you've seen my pictures before). Speaking of...when am I going to see one of yours? It's not exactly fair that I have not the slightest clue as to what you look like, at least. I still think you're an old psycho, but that happens a few times, and that's when I start over thinking P.S, you wouldn't want to see me overthink, really. I'm literally a character from these adolescent novels like "diary of a wimpy kid" or "dork diaries."

EZRA'S POV ★ Where could she be, huh? What's happening? Can someone explain it to me? First, it was Rosa passing out at the cliff, and now, a girl getting stuck. Rosa was here a few minutes ago, telling me to make sure the girl gets treated including her parents, and now, I can't find Rosa. She was right here before me. “I need to meet Mirabel…it's not something a wolf like me will have the idea of but I think a witch should know. Everything is just so strange.”

Those are the species that I am most interested in right now. Excitement courses through me as I make my way to the fictional section. This section is way smaller, only filling up a small fraction of the entire bookshelf. It seems our boy Ethan has a clear theme he is most interested in. Most of the books are about dragons, and the remainder have titles relating to war. Although I am not necessarily a pacifist, I am not particularly interested in reading books that contain wars. So, I pull out a book named “Princess Aria”.

“Whatever this is. Fantasy? Romance? Giant doorstops with dragons on the cover?” I gasped dramatically. “Did you just insult The Name of the Wind?” “I have no idea what that is,” he admitted with zero shame. “But I’m willing to be educated.” I grabbed his sleeve and tugged him toward the shelves. “You seriously don’t read fiction? At all?” “Not unless you count playbooks,” he said, trailing after me. “I’m more of a highlights-and-scouting-reports kind of guy.” “That’s tragic.” I ran my fingers along the spines of well-worn books, pulling one free. “Okay, this, this was my favorite when I was ten. Anne of Green Gables.”

We eventually fell asleep side by side, looking up through the small window at the stars, planning all the adventures we'd have that summer. ~0~ Summer before Fifth Grade "You read too much," I said, flopping down on Avy's bed where she was curled up with yet another book. "You don't read enough," she shot back without looking up. "Reading is boring." "Reading is fun. This book is about a girl who can talk to animals." "That's dumb,” I snorted. “Animals can't talk." "It's called imagination, Bryce. Maybe you should try it sometime." I grabbed the book out of her hands and held it above my head, just out of her reach. "Maybe you should try going outside sometime."

"Proximity matters more than access." Her eyes search my face. Looking for lies. For calculation. For proof this is strategy instead of truth. "Why did you send the book?" "She's yours." The honesty scrapes. "That means—" I stop. Start differently. "Four-year-olds who call strangers princes deserve dragon stories." A sound escapes her throat. Half laugh, half sob. "I'm terrified." Her voice fractures on the word. "You'll meet her. See what real life looks like with a four-year-old who isn't yours. Remember that Victor's sons don't do complicated."

The group homes where older boys taught me to fight and survive. "I was twelve when I decided I'd never be powerless again," I say, staring into the fire. "There was this kid, Charlie. Bigger than me, and meaner too. He liked to take things from the smaller kids, food, money, whatever they had. One day, he took a book from a girl, Sarah. Just to be cruel. She was crying, begging for it back." "What did you do?"