Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Stolen
    Stolen
    Stolen
    Ebook75 pages41 minutes

    Stolen

    By John Wilson

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    On a visit to a seaside town in Australia, fifteen-year-old Sam meets Annabel, who works at the local museum.

    Annabel's interest in history is infectious, and Sam soon finds himself eager to hunt for the remains of a famous shipwreck that is thought to be hidden nearby. When a storm exposes a structure, Sam and Annabel are convinced it's the fabled ship. Soon all of the museum staff are at the site to check it out. But the same storm also destroys the museum's power and, when the alarms aren't working, someone steals the museum's most treasured artifact, worth millions. Sam and Annabel are convinced they can help and search for the thief. They soon begin to suspect that there may be a link between the fabled shipwreck and the recent theft.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateApr 1, 2013
    ISBN9781459803787
    Stolen
    Author

    John Wilson

    Qualified in agricultural science, medicine, surgery and psychiatry, Dr John Wilson practised for thirty-seven years, specialising as a consultant psychiatrist. In Sydney, London, California and Melbourne, he used body-oriented therapies including breath-awareness, and re-birthing. He promoted the ‘Recovery Model of Mental Health’ and healing in general. At Sydney University, he taught in the Department of Preventive and Social Medicine, within the School of Public Health. He has worked as Technical Manager of a venture-capital project, producing health foods in conjunction with the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO). Dissenting from colonial values, he saw our ecological crisis as more urgent than attending urban distress. Almost thirty years ago, instead of returning to the academy, he went bush, learning personal downsizing and voluntary simplicity from Aboriginal people. Following his deepening love of the wild through diverse ecologies, he turned eco-activist, opposing cyanide gold mining in New South Wales and nuclear testing in the Pacific. Spending decades in the Australian outback, reading and writing for popular appreciation, he now fingers Plato, drawing on history, the classics, art, literature, philosophy and science for this book about the psychology of ecology – eco-psychology – about the very soul of our ecocidal folly.

    Read more from John Wilson

    Related to Stolen

    Related ebooks

    Children's For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Whoa! How Embarrassing!

      Sep 6, 2023

      I was out having lunch with my older brother and two of his friends. One of them is very cute and I always get a bit shy when he’s around. I was trying not to make a mess while I ate, but when I took a bite out of my burger the whole thing fell apart

      3 min read

    • Article

      CELEBRITY Gossip

      Feb 2, 2022

      Ever since her music career has taken off fans have been wondering whether Olivia Rodrigo will return for season three of Disney’s High School Musical, The Muscial, The Series. Well, wonder no more because Olivia has confirmed that she will be back f

      2 min read

    • Article

      Just like MAGIC

      Nov 14, 2021

      Just like MAGIC
      2 min read

    • Article

      Whoa! How Embarrassing!

      Mar 5, 2020

      Whoa! How Embarrassing!
      3 min read

    • Article

      Totally EMBARRASSING

      Oct 10, 2021

      Totally EMBARRASSING
      2 min read

    • Article

      Sweet Sorrow

      Aug 19, 2019

      Sweet Sorrow
      8 min read

    • Article

      Cliffhanger

      Sep 1, 2019

      Cliffhanger
      7 min read

    • Article

      Summer Beach Reads

      Jan 10, 2021

      Summer Beach Reads
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Periodic Stranger

      Mar 2, 2017

      My roots are in a hilltop village west of Matera, where rabbit and boar run riot in the fields. Figs, apricots, and pears hang in heavy clusters, at eye-level and within easy reach. There, the local girls are famous for their calves, made firm and st

      21 min read

    • Article

      The Periodic Stranger: When exile becomes home.

      Dec 12, 2013

      My roots are in a hilltop village west of Matera, where rabbit and boar run riot in the fields. Figs, apricots, and pears hang in heavy clusters, at eye-level and within easy reach. There, the local girls are famous for their calves, made firm and st

      21 min read

    • Article

      J. Jezewska Stevens

      Dec 15, 2017

      The party was a failure. I can’t even tell you what a failure it was. There are no words. Only a great pain in my chest when I wake up. On the veranda. It’s better when I sit in the chair. Oh, but then I can see around. The gauzy curtains, pushed by

      15 min read

    • Article

      Quiet COURAGE

      Mar 3, 2021

      Quiet COURAGE
      6 min read

    • Article

      Ghost Girl, Banana

      Aug 21, 2023

      By the time I was 25, there were only two things I remembered about Mumma. The first was that she smelled of watermelons, the second was that we were happy. We’d taken our father’s name of course, but a name is only half a story. The other half exist

      6 min read

    • Article

      A Puzzle Of Nostalgia

      Aug 26, 2022

      A Puzzle Of Nostalgia
      5 min read

    • Article

      Life In The past Lane

      Aug 27, 2021

      Life In The past Lane
      5 min read

    • Article

      Selkie

      Feb 3, 2022

      Selkie
      10 min read

    • Article

      Bubblegum

      Apr 9, 2020

      What little conversation there was in our cell had mostly to do with who might have called the cops.

      19 min read

    • Article

      Albie Bum

      Oct 17, 2020

      Albie Bum
      9 min read

    • Article

      Benji Webbe

      Dec 7, 2021

      Skindred ruled British festivals in 2021. From the Download pilot to Bloodstock and beyond, the Welsh ragga-metallers were a resounding highlight (in a run of notably homegrown line-ups), building on a long-standing reputation for having more fun wit

      3 min read

    • Article

      Into the Woods

      Oct 26, 2023

      Into the Woods
      6 min read

    • Article

      Maybe It Won’t Be That Bad

      Dec 9, 2019

      Maybe It Won’t Be That Bad
      4 min read

    • Article

      The Sound Of Bongo

      Oct 2, 2019

      The Sound Of Bongo
      4 min read

    • Article

      Splash

      Feb 9, 2018

      Splash
      6 min read

    • Article

      A Lost Cause

      Dec 6, 2020

      A Lost Cause
      9 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      Mar 1, 2024

      I was trying to look a little less like myselfand more like other humans, humans who belonged, so I put on a skort.Purchased in another life, when I had a husband and wrote thank-you notes and held dinner parties,the skort even had its own little poc

      6 min read

    • Article

      Tomorrows

      Mar 15, 2022

      The night, as most nights, was like a dream. At ten, once I’d fed the dog the last scraps off the stove. Once I’d cursed the cat for scratching up my mama’s antique furniture, then welcomed him back into my arms. Once I’d slicked my hair into a ponyt

      26 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Stolen

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Stolen - John Wilson

      Chapter One

      Warrnambool! What kind of name is that for a place? And what am I doing here?

      Well, I know the answer to the second question. I’m here because of Dad—Mom and Dad, really. If Mom hadn’t decided to change her name to Acacia and go searching for the space to find herself, my parents wouldn’t have split up. Dad wouldn’t have accepted a job in Australia, and I’d be back struggling through eleventh grade at Dover Bay Secondary.

      Not that that would be a bunch of fun. It’d be a gray, rainy January on Vancouver Island, and I’d be fighting to pull myself up to a B in math while trying to handle all the usual garbage that being sixteen in a big high school throws at you. But I’d be with my friends. I’m not a real outgoing person. It takes me a long time to build up a few good friends. Now they’re at the other end of the earth, and I’m walking along a beach at Warrnambool, worrying about starting at a fancy private school in Adelaide in a couple of weeks—we have to wear uniforms! And I’ll have to begin the find-friends routine all over again. At least it’s not cold and rainy here—the weatherman’s calling for thirty-eight degrees this afternoon. But hot weather doesn’t do anything for loneliness.

      I kick an old piece of black driftwood ahead of me. I’m walking along the edge of a line of grass-covered sand dunes. To my left, the featureless beach stretches down to where the ocean waves roll in, foaming and crashing as if angry that they can’t climb higher toward me. Beyond that, there’s nothing until you reach Antarctica. At least there’s somewhere more boring than Warrnambool.

      I catch up with the piece of driftwood and give it another kick. That’s when I hear the counting—3.141592653589793… Well, it’s not really counting, because the numbers aren’t in any sequence I can spot.

      I look around. The voice must be coming from behind the dunes. As far as I can see in either direction along the beach, there’s only one old guy and his dog. Neither of them is counting.

      I stumble through the soft sand up the dune face. Normally, I wouldn’t go looking for someone talking to themselves, but the numbers are so weird. They’re still going on and making no more sense—…238462643383279…

      At the top of the dune, I see the girl. She’s not tough to spot. Bright red hair like hers would stand out a mile away. She’s sitting cross-legged in the hollow between my dune and the next one. She is wearing green cargo pants and a loose, long-sleeved khaki shirt. There’s a tattered blue backpack beside her. Her eyes are closed and she is still listing numbers—…5028841971… Have I stumbled upon some kind of math wizard? Maybe she's mumbling some kind of magical spell. I’m about to return to the beach when the girl stops counting, opens her eyes and stares up at me.

      Hello, she says, without a hint of embarrassment.

      Hello, I reply. Then my throat and brain dry up. Like I said, I’m not an outgoing person. Fortunately, the girl is.

      I was just sitting here reciting Pi, she says, standing, brushing sand off her pants and picking up her backpack.

      Pie? I ask.

      Sure, she says, coming up the dune toward me. You know—Pi, the basis of everything.

      Oh, you mean Pi, the mathematical number.

      The girl smiles, and I feel my cheeks flush. My name’s Annabel. She arrives at my side and holds out a hand.

      I shake it. I’m Sam. Up close, she is striking. Her hair falls straight halfway down her back and almost glows in the low sun. Her eyes are an odd gray color and stare at me confidently. Her mouth curls up on one side, making it look as if she is permanently amused by something. She’s a good four inches taller than me, and I’m only a couple of inches under six feet.

      Like a mouse mesmerized by a snake, I stare up at her until she looks down, and I realize I’m still holding her hand. I drop it hurriedly and mumble, Why were you saying Pi out loud?

      Because it’s cool. Do you want to hear me recite some of it?

      Okay, I say, not entirely sure that I do.

      Annabel closes her eyes and rattles off numbers, much faster than before. 3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974944592307816406286…

      That’s impressive, I say, interrupting the flow that sounds as if it could go on all day.

      Annabel opens her eyes. I can keep going, she offers.

      That’s okay. How many digits have you learned?

      I’m up to three thousand two hundred and thirty.

      Wow, I say, partly in awe and partly in realization that my guess about her being a math wizard was correct. "That’s a lot

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1