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Runaway Max / Brenna Yovanoff.

By: Yovanoff, Brenna.
Material type: TextTextSeries: Stranger things ; 3.Publisher: New York : Random House, [2019]Copyright date: ©2019Description: 232 pages ; 22 cm.Content type: text Media type: unmediated Carrier type: volumeISBN: 9781984895950 .Uniform titles: Stranger things (Television program) Subject(s): Families -- United States -- Fiction | Friendship in adolescence -- Fiction | Psychic ability -- Fiction | Imaginary places -- Fiction | Young adult fiction | Paranormal fiction, American | Indiana -- FictionSummary: Before she became the Zoomer. Before the strangest night of her life. Before Hawking and the Upside Down. Max Mayfield doesn't fit in. She isn't soft or frilly like her mom wants her to be. And she'd rather spend her days at the arcade than anywhere else. At least back in California she had friends, and her dad was only a bus ride away. But then Max's mom married Neil, and her stepbrother, Billy, entered the picture. Now Max and her new family live in Hawkins, Indiana. Her stepdad calls her Maxine, Billy is out of control, and her mom can't change things. Max keeps thinking she's found friends to replace the ones she left in California, but they all put up walls as soon as they start to feel vulnerable. That is, until Max discovers just how serious -- and strange -- things in Hawkins really are and finds herself the newest character in a bizarre story featuring demodogs, a dangerous Mind Flayer, and a real live Mage. Max is going to have to make some serious choices if she's going to save Hawkins from the darkest parts of the Upside Down.
Item type Current location Collection Call number Status Date due Barcode Item holds
Teenage Fiction Davis (Central) Library
Teenage Fiction
Teenage Fiction YOVA Available T00817815
Teenage Fiction Davis (Central) Library
Teenage Fiction
Teenage Fiction YOVA Available T00817813
Total holds: 0

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

Don't miss this gripping, emotional prequel to the hit Netflix series, Stranger Things ! The never-before-told backstory of the beloved Dig Dug maven, Max Mayfield, written by New York Times bestselling author Brenna Yovanoff. <br> <br> This must-read novel, based on the hit Netflix series, Stranger Things, explores Max's past--the good and the bad--as well as how she came to find her newfound sense of home in Hawkins, Indiana.

"An official Stranger things novel"--Front cover.

Before she became the Zoomer. Before the strangest night of her life. Before Hawking and the Upside Down. Max Mayfield doesn't fit in. She isn't soft or frilly like her mom wants her to be. And she'd rather spend her days at the arcade than anywhere else. At least back in California she had friends, and her dad was only a bus ride away. But then Max's mom married Neil, and her stepbrother, Billy, entered the picture. Now Max and her new family live in Hawkins, Indiana. Her stepdad calls her Maxine, Billy is out of control, and her mom can't change things. Max keeps thinking she's found friends to replace the ones she left in California, but they all put up walls as soon as they start to feel vulnerable. That is, until Max discovers just how serious -- and strange -- things in Hawkins really are and finds herself the newest character in a bizarre story featuring demodogs, a dangerous Mind Flayer, and a real live Mage. Max is going to have to make some serious choices if she's going to save Hawkins from the darkest parts of the Upside Down.

14+ years.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

<opt> <anon I1="BLANK" I2="BLANK">The floor of the San Diego bus station was mostly cigarette butts. A million years ago, the building had probably been fancy, like Grand Central or those huge places you see in movies. But now it just looked gray all over, like a warehouse full of crumpled band flyers and winos. It was almost midnight, but the lobby was crowded. Next to me, a wall of storage lockers ran all the way down to the end. One of the lockers was leaking a little, like something had spilled inside and was dripping out onto the floor. It was sticking to my shoes. There were vending machines on the other side of the lobby, and there was a bar over in the corner, where a bunch of skinny, stubbly men sat smoking into ashtrays, hunched over their beers like goblins. The smoke made the air look hazy and weird. I hurried along, close to the lockers, keeping my chin down and trying not to look obvious. Back at my house, when I'd imagined this scene, I'd been pretty sure I'd be able to blend into the crowd, no problem. But now that I was here, it was harder than I'd pictured. I'd been counting on the chaos and the size to cover me. It was a bus station, after all. I didn't figure I'd be the only one here who was still too young to drive. On my street or at school, I was easy to overlook-- twelve years old and average height, average shape and face and clothes. Average everything except for my hair, which was long and red and the brightest thing about me. I yanked it into a ponytail and tried to walk like I knew where I was going. I should have brought a hat. Over at the ticket windows, a couple of older girls in green eyeshadow and rubber miniskirts were arguing with the guy behind the glass. Their hair was teased up so high it looked like cotton candy. "C'mon, man," said one of them. She was shaking her purse upside down on the window ledge, counting out quarters. "Can't you cut me a break? I'm barely short. Only a buck fifty." The guy looked sarcastic and bored in his ratty Hawaiian shirt. "Does this look like a charity? No fare, no ticket." I reached into the pocket of my warm-up jacket and ran my fingers over my own ticket. Economy from San Diego to LA. I'd paid for it with a twenty from my mom's jewelry box and the guy had barely looked at me. I walked faster, sticking close to the wall with my skateboard under my arm. For a second, I thought how badass it would be to set it down and go zooming between the benches. But I didn't. One wrong move and even a bunch of late-night dirtbags were going to notice I wasn't supposed to be here. I was almost to the end of the lobby when a nervous ripple went through the crowd behind me. I turned around. Two guys in tan uniforms were standing by the vending machines, looking out over the sea of faces. Even from across the station, I could catch the glint of their badges. Cops. The tall one had fast, pale eyes and long, skinny arms like a spider. He was pacing up and down between the benches in that way cops always do. It's a slow, official walk that says I might be a creepy string bean, but I'm the one with the badge and the gun. It reminded me of my stepdad. If I could get to the end of the lobby, I could slip out to the depot where the buses pulled up. I'd slide into the crowd and disappear. The scuzzy guys at the bar hunched lower over their beers. One of them mashed out his cigarette, then gave the cops a long, nasty stare and spit on the floor between his feet. The girls at the ticket window had stopped arguing with the cashier. They were acting really interested in their press-on nails, but looked plenty nervous about Officer String Bean. Maybe they had the same kind of stepdads I did. The cops waded out into the middle of the lobby and were squinting around the bus station like they were looking for something. A lost kid, maybe. A bunch of delinquents up to no good. Or a runaway. I ducked my head and got ready to blend in. I was just about to step out into the terminal when someone cleared his throat and a big, heavy hand closed around my arm. I turned and looked up into the looming face of a third cop. He smiled a bored, flat smile, all teeth. "Maxine Mayfield? I'm going to need you to come with me." His face was hard and craggy, and he looked like he'd said the same thing to different kids about a hundred times. "You've got people at home worried sick about you." Excerpted from Stranger Things: Runaway Max by Brenna Yovanoff 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.</anon> </opt>