This specific book - paperback, small, but so full of pages - was what my mother bought me when we first moved overseas. All of our belongings were still being shipped, and were not expected to arrive for another couple of months. I had already read through all of the books I had packed in my suitcase, and through the handful of books that we had mailed to ourselves. I can recall sitting on the hood of the lemon lot car my father had bought, watching my siblings at soccer practice, bored out of my skull. My mom came over with a BX bag and handed it to me. Twelve year old me was skeptical, but I took it, and this book was inside. Even more skeptically, I opened it up. Harry Potter was the best fantasy story, little me had thought so defiantly. But I needed books. I needed to read. So I did that. I opened up to the first page, "In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit...." I haven't looked back.

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