Part 1 (1/2)
Sta.r.s.eed.
Liz Gruder.
This book is dedicated to:.
Casey Gruder, Kenneth Vinet, Patricia B. Smith & of course, Mom.
Your love, support & feedback were appreciated.
I love you all.
The folks at Wido: Karen, Summer & Allie.
Your encouragement and savvy made this book possible.
Thank you.
And to Sta.r.s.eeds everywhere.
May your hearts & minds awaken to your own awesome power to seed this world into a golden age of love, light and peace.
Chapter 1.
For as long as Kaila Guidry could remember, she wore caps with layers of black Velostat film hidden inside-a kind of plastic resembling double-strength garbage bags. Her mother never permitted Kaila to go hatless; her long blonde hair never hung freely under the sun. Hats of varied sorts were as common to Kaila as socks.
”Socks protect your feet,” her mom counseled. ”Hats protect your mind.”
As a kid, Kaila never questioned this dictum since her mother and grandmother also wore protective headgear and she had little contact with the outside world. But now, at sixteen, nearly everything her family did and thought struck her as completely r.e.t.a.r.ded.
They lived one step out of the Stone Age, shunning cable TV for a handful of snoozer local stations, chaperoning her Blockbuster DVD selections, and only permitting a computer a few months ago. Going online made Kaila painfully aware that an expansive universe existed outside her home on acres of land and forest, the nearest neighbor a mile away.
Other girls' families didn't jail them with only dogs and horses as companions. Other girls had pretty hair that they didn't hide and cover with loser hats. They went to movies, parties, and concerts. They had crushes. And rather than only far-off strangers accepting their Facebook friend requests-they had real, flesh-and-blood friends.
And her family thought they might placate her with a machine!
The pull chain on the kitchen ceiling fan clicked on the turning blades; its tap-tap-tap steadily kindling Kaila's aggravation. Outside, the Louisiana humidity burned hot as a boiler room. The silence in and around the old house made Kaila want to scream.
Her stepfather Mike, a Mississippi River tugboat captain, snored in an armchair in the living room adjoining the kitchen. Her Paw Paw, his head bald from chemotherapy, also dozed. Though they might sleep their lives away, Kaila would be d.a.m.ned if she'd rot in this mausoleum one more minute.
”I'm not wearing these stupid hats anymore!” Kaila ripped the gray baseball cap from her head and flung it away like a Frisbee. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders.
Her mother's thick gla.s.ses magnified the bags under her eyes while her unruly black ponytail escaped the protective confines of her own baseball cap. She s.n.a.t.c.hed Kaila's hat from the floor.
”Put it on,” she commanded.
”No,” Kaila shouted. ”You never let me go anywhere, do anything. I'm dying in this crypt.”
”Put this hat on now.”
”No.” Kaila narrowed her eyes. ”We're like freaking pioneers-we don't even have cable TV. It's ridiculous!”
Before her mother could respond, Kaila launched her true missile of intent. ”I don't want to be home schooled anymore. I want to go to a real school. I want friends. I want a life!”
Her mother wrestled with Kaila over the table, trying to force the hat on her head.
”Get off me!” Kaila pushed her mother.
The legs of her chair grated on the ceramic tiles. Under the table, Lucy, a black Labrador, yelped. Woofy, the other house dog, a small mutt with flaxen-colored fur, bolted and scrambled onto Mike's lap.
Kaila grew short of breath. She thrust out her four-fingered hand and with her right palm reached for her inhaler. She puffed and inhaled, holding the aerosol inhalant in her lungs. No wonder she couldn't breathe. All these old people were suffocating her to death.
Her grandmother Nan ambled into the kitchen. A large woman, she wore a lime-green blouse and a maroon bell-shaped hat that hid her white hair.
”Kaila,” Nan said. ”What's wrong?”
”I can't stand it!” Kaila cried. ”I'm stuck here like a prisoner in solitary confinement. I just can't-” She balled her fists, seething with pent-up frustration.
The globe light of the ceiling fan shattered. Gla.s.s shards a.s.sailed the kitchen table. Her mother shrieked. Mike and Paw Paw jolted upright from their naps.
Kaila winced. Lights tended to explode when her emotions ran high. She shot up, ran through the house to the back bathroom, and locked the door.
Her hair, which fell to the middle of her back, was the color of sunlight. She had the right to show it-like everyone else on this planet. Good riddance to that hot, itchy hat!
She lined her eyelids with a violet eye pencil she'd taken from her mother's dresser. The eyeliner enhanced the depth and electric blue of her huge eyes; it also drew attention away from her tiny nose and mouth.
”Kaila, you open this door,” her mother shouted.
Kaila stared at her reflection. She wasn't bad-looking. Maybe too large of a head. Was she really an ”egghead” like that boy had said in Wal-Mart? Seeing her three long slender fingers and a thumb on her left hand, the boy had also teased her as a ”claw-monster.”
She was different, but she wasn't a monster.
”Kaila!” Her mother pounded on the locked bathroom door.
Why couldn't her mother leave her alone? She'd shut her out, paint her eyelids with this cool silver metallic eye shadow and pretend she was getting ready for a date.
She'd fall in love, oh he was so d.a.m.n hot and fun and smart, made her laugh and understood her like no one here ever would. They'd run away-far away-to another world. . . .
Her stepfather banged on the bathroom door.
”Kaila,” Mike yelled. ”Open this d.a.m.ned door. If you don't, I swear I'll knock it down.”
Kaila went to the window, tried to unlatch it. The thing hadn't been opened in fifty years. A dormant fly buzzed near-death on the sill. It was trapped, seeing a tantalizing kaleidoscope outside world with its compound eyes.
”Young lady, open this door,” Mike called again.
”You're not my father. I don't have to listen to you.”