About the Author

Ingrid Lee

I was born in East York in 1948, the daughter of a Canadian soldier and his Dutch war bride. I graduated from the University of Toronto and became a teacher of lots of things, but mostly of art and English. I guess I have taught thousands of Toronto's great kids over the years and they have taught me too.As a child I read widely. I liked all sorts of fairy tales and animal stories by authors like the Brothers Grimm and Thornton Burgess. Maida's Little Shop by Inez Haynes Irwin was also a favourite. I have two children, Katie and Mackenzie, who gave me ideas for stories while they were growing up. Kate had a little plastic guy and I wrote a set of books about this toy from two different perspectives. Sometimes I get ideas from things I do. I like to build sand sculptures on beaches and I wrote a picture book once about finding a dragon shape in the sand. Other ideas seem to fall into my lap when I'm busy with something else. If I don't commit those to paper right away, they vanish. I'd like to do some art for one of my books. Sometimes when I can't sleep, I draw or paint a bit of a scene from one of my stories. Maybe I'll be brave enough to submit these to a publisher one day. I still live in Toronto, in a little bungalow with lots of big maples and a skunk or two. Mackenzie is here with his dog, and my daughter Katie often comes to visit.

Books by this Author
Cat Found

Cat Found

edition:Hardcover
also available: eBook Paperback
tagged : cats
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Excerpt

From Cat Found

Billy looked down at the plywood crates again. He bent close and called, "Cat. Hey, cat."
The stray practically rushed into his arms.
Billy didn't know what to do. He stood up with his hands full of cat. Cat hair stuck to his shirt. Black powder smeared his skin. Billy looked around for some help. People hurrying by paid him no mind. They had their dinners to think about. He was just a dirty boy with a dirty cat.
The cat felt so light. Billy could feel its heart beating out of time.

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Dragon Tide

Dragon Tide

by Ingrid Lee
illustrated by Soizick Meister
edition:Hardcover
also available: eBook
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Excerpt

It was early morning. A stranger knelt by the edge of the sea, scooping armfuls of dark wet sand into a pile. Every so often she leaned back and hunched her shoulders. It was hard work.

Soon the sun drew others to the beach. Two children ran past the girl, peppering her skin with sand. They cried out when the cold surf stung their feet.

The girl packed the sand down gently, leaving palm prints in the hill that rippled beneath her fingers. She cupped and coaxed the sand. Suddenly a sleepy eye stared back. When the children turned to look, it winked at them lazily.

They blinked.

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George Most Wanted

George Most Wanted

by Ingrid Lee
illustrated by Stephane Denis
edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
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Chop, chop! Bits of the night flew everywhere. George tried to steer the rocket, but he had no hands. How could he steer the rocket without his big strong hands? He stepped on the brakes, but he had no shoes. How could he stop the rocket without his shiny red shoes? George looked down. His jumpsuit was gone. His body was gone. And so was his rocket. All he saw was a big dark planet. He was going to crash!

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George the Best of All

George the Best of All

by Ingrid Lee
illustrated by Stephane Denis
edition:eBook
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George, the Best of All!

George, the Best of All!

by Ingrid Lee
illustrated by Stephane Denis
edition:eBook
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Excerpt

George stood up in the saddle and waved his hand in the air. He went up and down, up and down. The lights of the night sky glittered in his eyes. He would get himself a hat. He would get himself a pair of silver spurs to match his silver saddle. He would blaze a new trail clear across the country!

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Maybe Later

Maybe Later

by Ingrid Lee
illustrated by Gabrielle Grimard
edition:eBook
also available: Paperback
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One day, Johnny stuck his nose in his grandpa's closet and found a bottle. It was made of dark green glass. A sandy cork was plugged in the top. The sand was as hard as cement. Johnny took the bottle to the sunroom where his grandpa was snoozing. He jumped on the sofa. "What's in the bottle?" he demanded. "Well now, that's a puzzle," his grandpa said. "I never did figure that out." Johnny held the bottle up to the sun. A shadow lurked inside the green glass. There was something inside for sure.

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The True Story of George

The True Story of George

by Ingrid Lee
illustrated by Stephane Denis
edition:eBook
also available: Paperback
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Up! Up! He climbed through the sky on a wave of white water. The wave licked the big sky like a giant tongue. It was the greatest wave in the sea and he, George the Brave, George the Steadfast, rode the wild thing.

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Thief Girl

Thief Girl

edition:eBook
also available: Hardcover Paperback
tagged : law & crime
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Chapter 1 "#31, no onion," I repeated mechanically from behind the counter. "No hot sauce. That'll be $4.26. Five minutes." The woman ordering the food fussed over the coins, cobbling together change from pockets and pouches. I threw the money in the drawer quickly, before she could change her mind. I knew she wouldn't be satisfied with her choice. All the signs were there, the anxious rereading of the menu and the side-glances at the plates of other people in the food court. The food would be too slimy. There would be too many strange vegetables. She should have stuck to the chow mein, or maybe some potstickers with plum sauce. So what? It was none of my business. All I wanted to do was grab Tommy and go home. I had a history paper due in the morning. Another customer headed for our stall. Badluck, I thought to myself. It was Mr. Finch, one of my teachers from Oak Ridge High, the one to blame for the history assignment that loomed over me. He must have come straight from school. He was still dressed in his old wool jacket, the sleeves dipped in chalk. "Wah!" my mother exclaimed from the cramped kitchen. She nagged at me in Mandarin. "Avvy, pay attention. This order ready to bag." Normally if I saw someone I knew at the foodand-trinkets court, which was hardly ever, I'd slip out of our stall and head past the bakery toward the tunnel, the wide mouth that separated us from the big mall. There, I could hide among the shoe shops and clothing stores. Too bad escape was out of the question this time. I kept my head down, bagging hot orders and taking new ones. Maybe Mr. Finch wouldn't recognize me. "Fried rice with egg, no pork, please," Mr. Finch said. He patted the pocket of his jacket. "I seem to have forgotten the wallet. Good thing I keep a spare bill." I nodded, keeping my face angled toward the cash register. He moved aside and stood patiently by Madame Cho's bakery next door. As soon as my mom scooped the rice meal, I bagged it, doing my signature twist to the plastic ends, nestling them inside each other. "Chopsticks?" I asked. "No," he replied. "Thanks anyway." "You're welcome," I mumbled. Serving Mr. Finch in our food court was a bit of a jolt. The neighbourhood where I lived was a community of immigrants. Oak Ridge High was some distance away, across a rail bridge and through a maze of suburban streets. It was definitely part of the older, richer side of town. I only attended the school because the apartment building where we lived straddled some municipal line. For the next forty minutes, orders came faster than spatters of fat. "Beef with black bean and rice noodle." "Moo Goo Guy Pan." "Vegetable Lo Mein." I operated on automatic. My mother and father kept up a constant barrage of words while they worked. They drained noodles and tossed shavings of meat and vegetables back and forth in the woks of the cooker. The noise of the food court, the drone of our old fan, and the sizzling grease added to the din. When my brother Tommy arrived from school, he made everything worse. Tommy never could settle down and stay quiet. "Where's your books?" my mother nagged. "How you going to live in a big house if you don't do homework?" She grabbed a highlighter and some papers. "Here. Put yellow line on Heavenly Meal Special, #6. Make important." Tommy deflated as if someone had poked him with a pin. He crouched behind the freezer with the pile of menus. Afterwards he folded them into pamphlets. I felt a little sorry for him. "So, where's your new friend?" I asked. "He's just stupid," Tommy said. He scribbled over one of the papers. I turned back to packing and rolled my eyes. It was always the same. My brother never kept a friend for long. He was a ten-year-old misfit. Right then he was wearing blue shorts, though summer was way over, and his legs stuck out like vermicelli. One knee was skinned. "Are those guys bothering you again?" I prodded in Mandarin as I took an order for pepper pork. I didn't hear him answer. The lady pacing between our stall and the bakery leaned over the counter. "Is my meal ready?" she whined. "I've been waiting at least fifteen minutes." I went to the kitchen to grab her order. My dad had put together her choices, three of them, in twoand- a-half minutes, tops. And she knew it. But I kept my face quiet. We never showed irritation to the customers. That was one thing my parents had drummed into me a long time ago. "Fork or chopsticks?" I asked, adding all the extras, the napkins and sauces. "Four forks," she said impatiently. My mother gave Tommy some hot rice with shrimp. It was a wonder he wasn't as fat as a blimp, the way she was always trying to get him to eat, coaxing him with bean curd and shredded vegetables. But he stayed as thin as a stick. That's what my mother called him — her little stick-man. "Take some food to Mrs. Dong," she said, shoving a Styrofoam container at him. "She need to eat too." Tommy liked Mrs. Dong. He skipped happily across the

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