102

I’ve been seeing 102 everywhere lately, and honestly… when Matthew Cordell writes, I don’t hesitate. I just dive in. This one arrived yesterday, and it stayed with me long after the last page.

Cordell does something quite remarkable here. The number 102 is not just a detail—it quietly threads itself through the entire story. A fever. A time. An address. A pattern. And somehow, it never feels forced. It feels lived in.

My Grade 3s were immediately drawn in. They lingered over the illustrations and those loose, expressive lines that feel almost like they’re breathing and even began making connections to other works, especially Evergreen. That kind of comparison doesn’t happen unless something truly lands.

At its heart, this is a simple story. A boy, George, sent home with a fever of 102. A mouse in the kitchen. A mother trying to do the sensible thing. And then… something shifts. At 1:02, the story opens up.

What follows feels like a fever dream in the best way; quietly magical, slightly disorienting, deeply human. The mouse, the memory, the soup with 102 beans… it all comes together in a way that doesn’t shout for attention, but instead asks you to sit with it.

And that’s what I admire most.

This isn’t a book that explains itself. It trusts the reader. It leaves space in a classroom and that space is everything.

Because that’s where the thinking begins.