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    Future Flash
    Future Flash
    Future Flash
    Ebook135 pages2 hours

    Future Flash

    By Kita Helmetag Murdock

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    About this ebook

    For as long as she can remember, Laney’s been having future flashes”visions of the future that she sees when she makes physical contact with another person. Left on a doorstep as a baby, Laney’s past has always been cloudy to her, despite the clarity with which she can see the future. Her caretaker, Walt, claims to be her father, but Laney has a nagging suspicion that he isn’t quite telling her the entire truth. And when a new kid, Lyle, moves to her small town, Laney is dreading meeting himshe almost always gets a future flash when first meeting someone new and they aren’t always good. Unfortunately, her meeting with Lyle isn’t just bad; it’s painful. Engulfed in flames, Lyle’s future flash is the worst Laney’s ever experienced. But what does it mean? Is there anything Laney can do to change the future? And will she be able to save Lyle not only from a firey death but also from the merciless class bully without becoming a victim of his antics herself?

    In this thrilling and imaginative middle grade novel from author Kita Helmetag Murdock, follow Laney as she works against the clock to understand her past and prevent the disaster looming in the future. Aimed at readers ages 8 to 12, the book encompasses important themes such as identity, bullying, friendship, family relationship, and more. Kids will identify with Laney, who is a bit of an outsider but also has a good moral compass, and will love her supernatural abilities. Parents, teachers, and librarians will see the value in the themes discussed and in the positive outcome of the book with a very hopeful tone.

    Sky Pony Press, with our Good Books, Racehorse and Arcade imprints, is proud to publish a broad range of books for young readerspicture books for small children, chapter books, books for middle grade readers, and novels for young adults. Our list includes bestsellers for children who love to play Minecraft; stories told with LEGO bricks; books that teach lessons about tolerance, patience, and the environment, and much more. While not every title we publish becomes a New York Times bestseller or a national bestseller, we are committed to books on subjects that are sometimes overlooked and to authors whose work might not otherwise find a home.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSky Pony
    Release dateJun 3, 2014
    ISBN9781628739534
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      Book preview

      Future Flash - Kita Helmetag Murdock

      Chapter One

      MY FIRST MEMORY IS OF THE COLD. I WAS strapped into my car seat, but whatever car I’d arrived in had long since taken off. I don’t remember the car or who was in it, just the car seat, rocking back and forth on the stoop. The sky was dark, the road empty, and the concrete front stoop was cracked and icy. I was barely a year old and alone in the world.

      Walt doesn’t know that I can remember that far back. But I do remember. I remember the scratchy pink blanket and how it hadn’t kept me warm even before I kicked it off and out of reach. And I remember Walt, only I didn’t know his name yet, walking up the sidewalk and standing in front of me, his breath making puffy white clouds in the air.

      What on earth? he asked. He looked around but saw that same empty road I’d seen. He stared at me for a minute, shaking his head. Then he picked up a yellow envelope from the stoop and tore it open with his thumb. He pulled out a matching yellow sheet of paper and his face crumpled as he read it. He sank down next to me, facing the road. He held his head in his hands, and I could hear him each time he exhaled, blowing out the cold night air with force, as if to rid it from his body.

      When he finally stood, his eyes were red, and he stuffed the envelope and paper in the pocket of his navy blue parka with shaky hands. He considered me for a while, adjusting his baseball cap a few times as if maybe that would solve something. Then he took his parka off and placed it over me.

      As soon as his warm hand touched my arm, I closed my eyes and saw an image of the future flash before me. It was the first time I can remember that happening, which is probably why I remember the day on the stoop so well. There is a certain clarity to the present on the days when I see the future—the days when I have what I’ve come to call a future flash. It was a quick image and, though it would happen eleven years in the future, it was as clear as the stars above me. I saw Walt and me, sitting at a kitchen table together, drinking coffee and hot chocolate and eating muffins. I knew right then that I didn’t have to worry about being left out in the cold anymore, and I giggled with relief. Walt looked down at me and smiled. When I didn’t stop, he started laughing, too. Then he brought me into his green wooden house. The house I now call home. We’ve never talked about that night or how I know that he found me on a stoop and that he’s not really my dad.

      I mention this today because this morning Walt and I are eating some of Carmen’s blueberry muffins and drinking coffee and hot chocolate at the kitchen table and everything, down to the stain on the left sleeve of my black hoodie to the crumb of muffin on Walt’s chin, looks exactly as it had when I saw it all those years ago. That’s how I know something important is going to happen. Whenever I experience one of my future flashes, it means I’m going to have an interesting day.

      Of course, at the moment Walt is making the morning as boring as possible by drilling me on fraction problems at breakfast.

      You know this one, Laney, he says, giving me an encouraging smile. But I’ve been thinking about car seats and cold nights and have no idea what he asked.

      Don’t worry, Walt. I studied this time, I reply, gulping down the end of my hot chocolate before slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I lean over to brush the muffin off his chin and kiss his scratchy cheek. Just wish me luck!

      You don’t need luck, Laney. It’s all up here, he replies, tousling my hair.

      I tug at a piece of my short ink-black hair. Really? Math is in here?

      Ha-ha. Get to school or you’ll miss the test.

      Chapter Two

      IF I CUT THROUGH THE FIELDS AND FARMLAND behind our house, the walk to school should take fifteen minutes, but I always end up stopping at Tabitha’s along the way. She has dozens of cats, all females, and they lounge on her back porch in the sun like ladies by a pool, only moving to roll over and stretch from time to time. On an early fall day like today, Tabitha’s usually out there too, watering some of her plants, with at least one cat twirling around the mismatched socks on her feet.

      Good morning, Laney! she calls out, her purple glasses flashing in the sun. Come sit and have some tea with me and the girls! Tabitha can’t remember that I need to go to school, even though I tell her every time I stop by her house. I pause next to her porch to scratch a skinny gray-and-white-striped cat with a crooked tail.

      Is this one new? I ask her.

      Got her at the shelter yesterday, Tabitha says, brushing back a wisp of her long blue-gray hair. One of these days they’re going to cut me off, but you know I just can’t stand to think of them in those cages. The small cat licks the back of my hand and begins to make a rumbly motor sound.

      What’s her name?

      Why don’t you name this one? Tabitha offers, leaning down to water a row of potted herbs.

      Really? I scoop up the feather-light cat. She climbs up my shirt and onto my right shoulder. A print of my favorite Frida Kahlo painting hangs on the wall of my tree house, the one where she looks stately with two parrots in her arms and two on her shoulders.

      How about Frida? I suggest.

      Tabitha looks up from her watering. It’s different. I like it.

      Frida nibbles at a piece of my hair.

      Come sit for a while, Tabitha insists.

      I’ve gotta get to school. I gently pull Frida off my shoulder and place her on the porch. She protests with a loud meow before joining the other cats. I imagine a different day ahead of me, one where I skip school and sit in the sun with Tabitha and her cats, sketching pictures of the cats in my notebook while Tabitha drinks lavender tea and embroiders on the porch. Instead I wave goodbye and continue on my way through the field to school, the right shoulder of my sweatshirt dusted in gray fur.

      It’s not until I’m almost there that I remember Mrs. Whipple’s announcement yesterday about getting a new kid in our class. This has never happened, as far as I can remember. Thornville is a sleepy town of just over a thousand people and Thornville K–12 is the town’s only school. I’ve been in class with the same seven boys and four girls since Kindergarten. Nearly all of their parents work for the chicken factory and it’s the kind of job you take because you grew up in Thornville. No one moves here hoping for a better life.

      I drag my feet, even though I’m already at risk of arriving late. When I meet someone for the first time, I almost always have a future flash. This can be fun or unsettling, depending on what I see. I try to think optimistically. Maybe I’ll see a future friend. Against the odds, I hope for a girl, one who loves art and who comes from somewhere exotic and far away from Colorado—somewhere like Los Angeles or New York City. I imagine seeing a future flash of us spending our afternoons together in my tree house, painting and drawing. Of course I’d have to take down all the pictures of my other future flashes. I wouldn’t want to explain those to anyone. But I’d take them down for a friend.

      When I get to our classroom, the boys are beside themselves with excitement. They’re hoping for another boy, of course. They talk even louder than usual and keep eyeing the door. Their dream of having an even number of boys for their football games at recess could finally come true.

      When the bell rings, everyone rushes to find a seat. One seat remains empty.

      Where’s the new kid? Axel shouts, and just like that the door opens.

      The new boy stands in the doorway with an apologetic smile. He’s no football player. His scrawny body would be better suited to stand in for the goal post. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt with the periodic table of elements on the front and bright orange hair sticks up all over his head. As if that wasn’t enough to place him permanently on Axel’s bully list, he’s covered in freckles. I mean covered, like he was dipped in butter and then rolled in a bowl of freckles. For a moment everyone is so fascinated with his freckles that they don’t recognize that this is not what anyone was hoping for. Then he sneezes. Twice. And it’s like someone let the air out of a balloon. The whole class deflates.

      Oh, maaan, Axel groans, putting his face down on the desk. Mrs. Whipple shoots him a dirty look. He bangs his head against the desk until she raps on it with her fingers and tells him, Enough.

      This is Lyle, Mrs. Whipple announces. To her credit, her toothy smile never wavers.

      Hi guys, he greets us with a little wave before walking over and sinking down in his seat. Mrs. Whipple doesn’t bother with further introductions. Even she knows it would be painful for everyone involved.

      Instead, she says, Welcome to seventh grade, Lyle! Then she faces the board and points to our schedule. I’m sure you’re all happy that you have P.E. first period today. So, before you get too settled in, let’s line up and head down to the gym!

      I glance at Lyle as I stand up. He’s taking his time to push in his

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