By Lisa Graff
Albie isn't the smartest child, or the best at anything, he's always almost, and this is the quiet, big-hearted year he starts to figure out that almost is still worth a lot.
Albie is a fifth grader in New York City who is not good at the things everybody seems to measure. He's not fast at reading, numbers slide around on him, and he just got asked to leave his fancy private school. His father wishes he were sharper; his mother wishes she knew how to help. Then along comes Calista, a new after-school babysitter who's an art student and sees Albie clearly, and doesn't try to fix him. Over one ordinary, hard, funny year, with a best friend on a reality TV show and a bullied classmate he has to decide whether to stand up for, Albie slowly learns that being the child who almost gets there is not the same as being nothing at all.
This book meets two children at once: the one who quietly believes they're not good at anything, and the one who's never had to think about what that feels like. Albie tells his own story in short, unfussy chapters, and because he isn't the hero of any obvious adventure, your child stays close to the small daily business of a child trying his best and coming up almost. It's gentle in the way it's written but it doesn't pretend the ache isn't real, which is why it lands so hard. A wonderful read-aloud, because Albie's flat, funny honesty is even better out loud, and because a grown-up nearby makes the tender parts easier to carry.