The Girl with the Silver Eyes
4/5
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About this ebook
Katie Welker is used to being alone. She would rather read a book than deal with other people. Other people don’t have silver eyes. Other people can’t make things happen just by thinking about them!
But these special powers make Katie unusual, and it’s hard to make friends when you’re unusual. Katie knows that she’s different but she’s never done anything to hurt anyone so why is everyone afraid of her? Maybe there are other kids out there who have the same silver eyes…and the same talents…and maybe they’ll be willing to help her.
Willo Davis Roberts
Willo Davis Roberts wrote many mystery and suspense novels for children during her long and illustrious career, including The Girl with the Silver Eyes, The View from the Cherry Tree, Twisted Summer, Megan’s Island, Baby-Sitting Is a Dangerous Job, Hostage, Scared Stiff, The Kidnappers, and Caught! Three of her children’s books won Edgar Awards, while others received great reviews and other accolades, including the Sunshine State Young Reader’s Award, the California Young Reader’s Medal, and the Georgia Children’s Book Award.
Read more from Willo Davis Roberts
Scared Stiff Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The View from the Cherry Tree Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Baby-Sitting Is a Dangerous Job Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMegan's Island Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5What Could Go Wrong? Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Hostage Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Kidnappers Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Old House Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsSurviving Summer Vacation: How I Visited Yellowstone Park with the Terrible Rupes Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Pet-Sitting Peril Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
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Reviews for The Girl with the Silver Eyes
238 ratings9 reviews
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This had a flip side of Village of the Damned run up, with a sudden, now I have friends ending. As I really didn't like VotD and the environments Katie endures are so hostile, I wasn't really enjoying this much, then it ended. If I'd read a review or so I would have known it wasn't an adult novel nor quite what is now going as YA - high body count ending in cuddles - so I was reading it as an adult novel about a young girl, which it pretty much is until the last couple of chapters.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Book worm nerds with telekinesis!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I forgot about this book! It was awesome. I still sometimes think I might be telekinetic if I just tried hard enough.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This was a fast, cute read. Never read it as a kid, though from the reviews on here, looks like everybody else did!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This was my absolute favorite book in 6th grade and I still enjoy it today. Back then I liked the fact that Katie was telekinetic. Now I think her search to finding other kids like herself is the best part of the story.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The story of a pre-teen girl with telekenetic powers who tries to find others like herself. A favorite among my junior high readers.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This story will resonate with children and teens who long to be special, but also to be understood. Katie doesn't understand why people can't accept her with her unusual intelligence and ability to move small objects with her mind. She longs to find others like herself.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Written by Mary, age 12: I loved the book. It was suspenseful. The characters were well written. I particularly liked the main character Katie - I could empathize with her. I wish she had made this book into a series.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This was a gift from my mother and immediately it was the cover I enjoyed. This story is about a girl who grows up feeling separated from people and not understanding why. Because of this, she is very reserved, quiet and perceived as withdrawn. Despite Katie feeling differently about herself, she does not put up too much of an argument. Her character is very thoughtful and she is trying to find connection despite her resentments. Her eyes are mistaken for a blue grey at first, but as you get closer, they are actually silver.As the story progresses, she has an ability, a power of telepathy. When she moves with her mother and her mother's outlandish, but good natured boyfriend, she begins to meet people around her and form relationships. She finds that she really cares for others despite knowing how different she is.It's not long until she meets a boy with silver eyes too and the story really takes off. More action at this point and an exciting, uplifting finish that suggests a feeling of belonging.A good young adult reader that combines fantasy with realism.
Book preview
The Girl with the Silver Eyes - Willo Davis Roberts
1
KATIE SAT ON THE SMALL balcony of apartment 2-A, looking down over the front sidewalk. There was no yard, except for a narrow strip of grass between the parking lot and the street. Nowhere to play. Her mother had been concerned about that, for though there was a park two blocks away, she did not want Katie to go there alone.
So for the moment she sat on the balcony, looking through the iron bars that formed the sides of it, and watched the activity in the street.
Katie had always lived in the country, and she had liked that. This seemed interesting, however, and it was a nice street. It was wide and shaded with big trees, and most of the time there wasn’t a lot of traffic. Except when people were going to work, of course, the way they were now.
She saw Miss Katzenburger emerge from the front door below and head toward the street. Katie hadn’t met her yet, but she knew who she was. She’d seen which apartment she went into—3-B, one floor up—and had looked at the nameplate beside the door.
Miss Katzenburger had red hair and was quite pretty. Katie admired pretty people, like Miss Katzenburger and her mother; she wasn’t pretty herself. Even if she hadn’t had to wear horn-rimmed glasses, she knew that her face was plain. Her hair was an ordinary color, a sort of pale tan that was not quite blonde and not quite brown, and as straight as it was possible for hair to be. When she grew old enough to have a choice, she thought she might like to be redheaded, like Miss K. Or, her second choice, blonde like her mother.
Hey, Joy, wait a minute!
Katie pressed her face against the cold bars to see who was calling after Miss K. Oh, him.
She had met Mr. Pollard. He lived in 3-A, right across from Miss K., and she’d collided with him on the stairs last night, her first whole day at The Cedars Apartments. He had dropped some papers he was carrying, and Katie had stepped on them, after which he had sworn at her. And then, when she had said nothing except, I’m sorry,
and stared at him, Mr. Pollard quickly snatched up his papers and edged around her, almost running the rest of the way down.
The way people often ran away from her, Katie thought. She’d wondered if it would be different in the city from the way it had been at home, near Delaney. Oh, they didn’t always run, exactly, but when they looked into her face they often backed away, muttering things she couldn’t understand, and hurried in some other direction.
Mr. Pollard, who was nearly bald on top even though he wasn’t very old yet, didn’t see her now. He caught up with Miss K., and their voices carried clearly to the little balcony over their heads.
I’m afraid I’ve missed my bus; could you give me a lift?
he asked.
Sure,
Miss K. agreed. She had a nice voice. I have to pick up my girl friend, Angie, on the way.
That’s OK. Just so I get downtown. I had to stay up for hours last night, redoing all those papers that brat walked on, and I overslept.
Katie tightened her fingers on the bars. It had been just as much his fault as hers that they’d run into each other; he had been running, too. Why were so many things her fault?
They had stopped, just a few yards out from the front edge of the balcony; she could see the tops of their heads, one a beautiful mass of red-gold curls, the other with a few strands of hair combed across the bald spot.
Wait a minute, have I got my keys?
Miss K. dug around in her handbag. What brat are you talking about? The little girl in 2-A? I thought she looked like a cute little owl, with those glasses. The quiet type. I doubt if she’ll be any trouble. Oh, here they are!
Miss K. held the keys up, jingling them. Katie always thought of people by their initials; it was easier, especially when they had names like Katzenburger. Mr. P. shifted his briefcase to the other hand. Did you look at her? At her eyes?
Miss K. stopped jingling the keys. No. What about them?
They’re silver. And they’re weird, she’s a weird kid.
Silver eyes?
Miss K. looked at him more closely. Mr. Pollard, you haven’t been drinking, have you?
Of course not! Look at the kid the next time you see her—she’s got funny eyes, I tell you! And I thought you were going to call me Hal.
They started walking toward the cars in the parking area. Miss K. owned a light blue Pinto; Katie had seen her get out of it yesterday afternoon.
They were almost there when Mr. P. gave a howl of mingled pain and rage, and doubled over, grabbing for his ankle. Then he turned and looked back toward the building.
His eyes met Katie’s, and there was fear and anger in them. He swore again, loudly enough so she could hear it. I told you, there’s something strange about that kid. I nearly broke my ankle.
Miss K. stared at him in amazement. "Well, I can see that, but what did she have to do with it? You tripped over a rock!"
Yeah! Yeah, I got hit in the ankle by a rock that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. It just sort of . . . sort of slid right out in the middle of the sidewalk and smacked me!
He was still glaring at Katie as he rubbed at his injured ankle, hopping on one leg, then balancing himself against a light post.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! You can’t possibly be blaming a child for that?
Miss K. unlocked the car door and regarded him in exasperation.
There wasn’t any rock on the sidewalk a minute ago, was there? Did you see it, a minute ago? Did you ever see a rock on the sidewalk before?
Well, no,
Miss K. admitted. But they’re all around the edges of the flower beds; something must have knocked one loose.
What?
Mr. P. demanded. "What was near it? It moved just now, just in time to connect with my ankle bone! And she’s up there, watching us."
Miss K. lifted her gaze to the second floor balcony. For a moment their eyes locked over the distance between them. Katie’s face didn’t change expression. She could see Miss K. thinking it over, and then she said, She’s only a cute little girl.
Cute? Are we talking about the same kid?
Mr. P. turned and stared at her too, angry and baffled. I don’t know how she does it, but there’s something about her.
Well, if you want a ride with me, come on,
Miss K. said, and they got into the Pinto and drove away.
Katie sat watching two men from the apartment house across the street, men who didn’t pay any attention to her. And then she remembered the rock that was still in the middle of the sidewalk, and she stared at it, very hard, until it began to move. It slid slowly at first, and then, as Katie’s power built up with increased effort, it spurted off the rest of the way and lodged somewhat crookedly in the edge of the flowerbed.
Katie had known, long before she learned that by thinking about moving things she could actually move them, that she was different from other kids. She knew it partly because the adults around her said so.
She had lived with her mother and father until she was nearly four, and she remembered that, though they had both been kind and affectionate, they had sometimes been puzzled by her behavior.
She never cries!
Monica Welker had said, on more than one occasion, when Katie was listening. "I didn’t want a fussy baby, but even when she was only an infant, she never cried! At first I was terrified that there was something wrong with her—mentally, I mean. It wasn’t long before we could see that wasn’t so—and then she went almost too far the other way. I mean, Katie’s so bright that sometimes she frightens me!"
Katie, considering that, thought Monica rather confused. First she was afraid her baby was retarded, and then was equally afraid because she was intelligent.
She had, when she was little, called her parents Mama and Daddy. But now Monica didn’t seem like her mother at all. Her parents had gotten a divorce when she was three, almost four years old, and her mother had gone to work and couldn’t keep her, so she’d gone to live with Daddy and Grandma Welker. But then Daddy had gone away to work somewhere else, and she had lived with just Grandma; and Grandma, too, thought she was peculiar. While she lived with Grandma, Monica had come to see her sometimes, but it was clear Katie made her nervous.
Of course, part of that, Katie realized, was her own fault. When she knew that some of the things she did were things no other kid she’d ever met could do, maybe she should have stopped doing them. At least where other people could know about them, anyway. But it was like having an itch and not scratching it. When she wanted to move something, the compulsion was too strong to resist; usually, she’d already done it by the time she thought about the consequences.
Like the time her grandma had hurt her leg and was muttering about not wanting to leave her Social Security check in the mailbox for fear those nasty Johnson boys would steal it on their way home from school. They often went along peeking into everyone’s boxes to see what was there, and more than once they’d scattered mail in the ditches beside the road.
I don’t think I can walk that far,
Grandma Welker had said, rubbing at the knee she’d twisted when she slipped on the cellar steps.
I could go get the check,
Katie offered.
No, no. I don’t want you to go out there alone in this bad weather. You know what happened the last time.
The last time a man had stopped and asked her if she wanted a ride. He was a perfectly nice man, Katie knew he was, and she hadn’t gotten into the car, and the man had simply smiled and driven away. Katie had tried to explain that it was only that he thought she was a long way from home, and it was cold and raining, and he was kind. But Grandma Welker was convinced he was a child molester.
Katie was a little vague about what child molesters actually did. But she knew it was something unpleasant, and she had sense enough not to get into a car or walk away with a stranger, for heaven’s sake. Grownups told you and told you things, and then they acted as if you didn’t have any brains at all, even when they admitted you were bright.
So, not wanting to upset her grandma, Katie had said no more. But when the old woman was busy peeling potatoes for supper, Katie sat in the window seat in the dining room and concentrated on the mailbox. The door of it stuck, and for a few minutes she thought it wasn’t going to come open. But then it did, and she lifted the tan envelope that the government check always came in, wafted it noiselessly through the air, opened the door, brought it in, and deposited it on the dining room table.
Grandma Welker found it when she came in to set the table. She let out a sort of yelp, like old Dusty when someone rocked on his tail, and almost dropped the plates she was carrying.
Where did that come from?
she demanded.
Katie turned from the window seat, pulling her short skirt down over her knees to cover the scabs. What?
she asked innocently.
My check! My Social Security check!
Katie simply stared at her blankly.
Did the mailman bring it up to the house?
He must have,
Katie decided, seeing an easy way out. Only her grandma couldn’t leave it at that.
Did he give it to you? Did he knock on the door?
Katie stared. She knew it bothered the adults around her, the way she could keep her small face perfectly expressionless, yet it seemed the safest thing to do most of the time.
After a moment, her grandma gave up and took the check away, muttering under her breath.
Maybe, Katie thought, it would have been better to risk having the Johnson boys steal it than to have saved her grandma the walk to the mailbox.
It had taken her a while to learn to be careful about what she moved. She knew the name for the moving, now; she’d read it in a book. Telekinesis. That meant that she was able to move objects from one place to another without touching them. At first she hadn’t realized that she was the only one who could do it. But when people got upset or excited about it, it didn’t take her long to catch on.
There had been a time when Grandma Welker had been busy in the kitchen and had spoken to Katie over her shoulder. I need a clean hanky. Be a good girl; run upstairs and get me one out of my top bureau drawer.
And Katie, who was curled in the rocking chair munching on an apple and reading Call of the Wild, paused long enough to slide open the bureau drawer, mentally search out the handkerchief, and waft the square of linen down the stairs and into Grandma’s apron pocket.
Katie! Did you hear what I said? Run upstairs—
There’s a hanky in your pocket,
Katie said, spitting out a seed and looking up long enough to see the amazement creep over her grandma’s face when she felt in the apron pocket.
Why, I declare, there wasn’t one there a minute ago . . .
She looked suspiciously at Katie, who was again engrossed in her book.
I could see the edge of it sticking out,
Katie said. Grandma Welker said no more, but the suspicion remained, unspoken.
As time went on, this peculiar ability of Katie’s made more and more problems between them. When Katie learned how to turn off the light from the wall switch after she’d gotten into bed and turn the pages of her book without touching them (she didn’t mean to do that when someone was watching her, but sometimes she forgot)