Girl Power
GIRLS OF HARBOR VIEW
Melody Carlson
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen.
For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
— 2 Corinthians 4:18
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Epigraph
Girl Power
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
Mystery Bus
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
About the Author
Other books in the growing faithgirlz!Tm series:
Copyright
About the Publisher
Share Your Thoughts
Girl Power
chapter one
“Hey you!” boomed a voice from down the street. Morgan’s head jerked around just in time to see three boys on bikes, about a block away, but quickly speeding straight toward them.
“Oh, no,” groaned Carlie. “It’s them!”
“Ignore the jerks,” Morgan told her new friend. Then she stuck out her chin and continued to walk at the same casual speed. “And slow down, Carlie. You know they’re just trying to scare us.”
It was the first time the two girls had walked home from school together, and Morgan had hoped it was the beginning of a new friendship.
“Hey, who said you could walk down our street?” hollered that same grating voice. A bike tire skidded to a halt right next to Carlie. On it sat redheaded, freckle-faced Derrick Smith. He always reminded Morgan of an overgrown turnip with a bad butch. Unfortunately, he was the self-appointed leader of this new gang of seventh-grade bullies.
“Ignore!” Morgan hissed to Carlie as she continued to walk, humming a tuneless song that was meant to inspire confidence. Then she noticed Carlie’s dark eyes grow wider as another boy screeched up, right next to Morgan this time. It was Jeff Sanders, of all people. A third boy Morgan didn’t recognize cut off the girls from the front. Morgan glared at Jeff, wondering what he was doing with this crowd. Normally, he seemed like a pretty nice guy. She looked him square in the eye, and to her relief, he glanced away uncomfortably.
“Why don’t you guys get a life and leave us alone?” Morgan said in her bravest voice.
“Cuz you’re on our turf!” Derrick sneered at her and then thumped Carlie on the shoulder. She jumped away from him, bumping into Morgan. “And we don’t like sharing our turf with trailer trash,” he said, laughing loudly right in poor Carlie’s face.
“Leave her alone!” yelled Morgan. Now Carlie looked scared. Hopefully she wasn’t going to fall apart. Morgan wasn’t sure that she’d be able to defend both of them.
Then, to Morgan’s surprise, Carlie threw back her shoulders, put her hands on her hips, and glared at Derrick. “Back off!” she yelled. Morgan stared at her new friend, certain that flashes of lightning had just shot from Carlie’s eyes.
“That’s right,” said Morgan. “You guys need to just chill.”
“And keep your filthy hands off me, or you’ll be sorry!” Carlie shook a clenched fist at Derrick.
Morgan admired Carlie’s nerve, but she hoped this girl didn’t have anything crazy in mind. Two sixth-grade girls against three seventh-grade boys didn’t stack up very well. Just then Morgan noticed a man across the street. He was slowly wheeling his trash can out to the curb. He looked even older than her grandma, but the presence of a nearby adult renewed her confidence.
“You don’t own this street, Derrick Smith!” She spoke loudly, hoping to draw the attention of the old man. “What’s your problem, anyway? We’re just minding our own business, and you guys are acting like total jerks.” It seemed to be working, because the man by the trash can was peering across the street at them.
She shook her finger at Jeff now. “And I don’t get you, Jeff. I mean, you used to be nice to me, and your mom’s pretty good friends with my mom. What’s up with that?”
“Come on, Derrick,” said Jeff in an offhanded way. “I thought you said you had something to show us anyway.”
“All right,” said Derrick. “This time, we’ll let you girls off with just a warning. But I don’t want to see you on our turf again.” Then he peeled out, and the other two boys followed.
Carlie’s eyes were still bright with anger. “Those stupid creeps! They act like they own the whole neighborhood. This is the second time this week I’ve been pestered by them. Who do they think they are, anyway?”
“My mom says they’re ‘wannabes.’” Morgan kept her voice calm as she started walking again, but she felt sort of wobbly inside, and her knees were a little shaky. Of course, she wouldn’t admit she was frightened to Carlie. Not right now anyway. She didn’t know the girl that well yet. Besides, Morgan liked for people to think she was brave. It made her feel safer somehow.
“What’s a ‘wannabe’?” asked Carlie as she paused to readjust her backpack strap.
“Kids who want to be like someone else, like these guys ‘wannabe’ like a gang. Didn’t you notice they all had similar kinds of jackets? Kinda like a real gang.”
“So what’s the difference between ‘wannabes’ and real gang members? They both dress alike and they both push people around.”
“Yeah, maybe there isn’t much difference. I don’t know for sure.”
“It’s funny,” said Carlie as they continued walking. “My parents moved away from Southern California—before us kids were even born—just to get away from junk like this. Now here we are in this little podunk town in Oregon, and it’s the same old, same old.”
“So … uh … were you scared, Carlie?”
“Yeah, sure. In fact, I was really scared at first. Then I just got real mad. I imagined my dad hunting down that Derrick kid and teaching him a thing or two. That made me feel a whole lot better. Man, you were really cool, Morgan.”
“Well, I was scared too. I just tried not to show it. I wish those guys would get a clue. That’s the second run-in I’ve had with them this week too. I can’t imagine putting up with that kind of crud all summer.”
“Me neither.”
Morgan looked up at the cloudless blue sky. The morning fog had burned off now, and there was hardly a breeze at all. “And this weather could almost make you think that summer’s really here.”
“I know.” Carlie smiled. “I can’t believe there are only two weeks of the school year left. I can’t wait for summer vacation and hanging out on the beach—all that fun in the sun.”
Morgan laughed. “Well, girl, it’s plain to see you haven’t lived on the Oregon coast during summertime yet. Or else you’d know that summer and nice weather don’t always go hand in hand around here. Didn’t you guys just move here a couple months ago?”
“Yeah, we came up here from northern California. My dad got laid off from his old job, and my uncle wanted him to come up here and work on his fishing boat. We’ve been here since the end of March.”
“I’ve been hoping to get to know you,” Morgan said, trying to think of why she hadn’t reached out to this girl sooner. “But you usually zip off right after school. And I never see you playing outside around the trailer park.”
“That’s ‘cause I usually watch my little brothers after school. But
today Mama’s at Tia Maria’s house, so I get a break.”
“Who’s Tia Maria?”
“My aunt Maria. Tia is Spanish for ‘aunt.’”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t have any aunts. But I have a grandma. We’re living with her right now—until my mom’s business takes off better. Our house is at the west side of the park, near the entrance. You can go through our backyard straight over to the dunes, and then the Harbor is only about a ten-minute walk from there.”
“Cool. Our house is close to the front too, just a couple of spaces down from you.”
“I know. I saw you move into the Porter’s old place. I kind of like to keep track of who lives where at the park. I was even thinking about getting a paper route, but you have to be thirteen, and I won’t be until July.” Morgan stopped and pointed up ahead. “Look, it’s those stupid jerks again. It looks like they knocked down that new girl, what’s-her-name. We better go help.”
They both started running, and Carlie easily kept up. Once again Morgan felt surprised by this girl. Up until today, Morgan had assumed that this girl with the pretty curls and cutsie clothes was too prissy to be a very good friend for her. But today she was seeing a whole different side of her.
When Morgan and Carlie reached where the new girl had been knocked down, Amy Ngo was there too. Amy was helping the downed girl to stand. The girl’s jeans were muddy and torn, and her face was streaked with tears. She let Amy help untangle her from her bike then stood and wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, looking down at her bike.
Morgan bent over to pick up the bike, and Carlie knelt to examine the front tire. “It looks like you might have a bent wheel,” she said with a frown.
“What happened?” asked Morgan.
“I saw the whole thing,” exclaimed Amy Ngo importantly. Some of the kids called her Amy “Ngo it All.” She’d skipped a grade and was the smartest kid in their class, as well as the teacher’s pet. But worst of all she seemed to like for everyone to know it too. Morgan had always kept a safe distance from this girl.
Amy continued her take on the accident as if she were testifying in court. “It was that Derrick Smith. He’s the leader of that gang of delinquent boys. Jeff Sanders and Brett Johnson were both with him. But it was primarily Derrick who was harassing Emily. I was about a block behind her and it looked like she was getting away from them, but then the boys were all around her, and the next thing I knew, Derrick poked a stick right into Emily’s front tire, and she flipped over into that puddle.” Amy paused to catch her breath. “What a mess!”
Morgan looked at Emily now—so that was her name. Leave it to Ngo it All to know that too. The knee where Emily’s jeans had torn was bleeding and looked pretty bad. Hopefully it wouldn’t need stitches. Morgan had gotten stitches in her foot last summer after she’d stepped on a broken bottle in the sand. Along with a tetanus shot.
“You should probably clean that knee up, Emily,” she suggested. It felt strange to use her name since they hadn’t officially met … well … other than when Miss Thurman introduced her in class. But that shouldn’t count since, as usual, Morgan hadn’t been paying too close of attention. “I’m Morgan,” she continued. “And I live in Harbor View too. You’re in my class at Washington.”
Emily nodded then tugged at the torn part of her jeans as if to put them back together again. “My favorite jeans,” she said a little desperately. “Ruined.”
“It’s your knee that looks ruined to me,” observed Morgan. She wondered about Emily’s priorities.
“Oh, no!” Emily cried as she looked all around. “I lost my house key! I must have dropped it when I fell.”
So all four girls searched all around the ground, but without any luck.
“It’s probably in the bottom of that puddle,” suggested Amy, poking around with the stick that Derrick had used to trip up Emily’s bike.
“I don’t think we’re going to find it,” said Carlie.
“I can’t get into my house,” said Emily, who looked once again on the verge of tears.
“Well, you need to take care of that knee right now,” said Morgan firmly as she took Emily by the arm. “Come on over to my house, and my grandma can clean it and bandage it for you.” She glanced at the other girls. “You guys come too. Carlie, you bring her bike. And you get her backpack, Amy.”
The funny thing was that the girls followed Morgan’s orders without even questioning what gave her the authority to tell them what to do. And within minutes they were walking into her house.
“Grandma, these are some of my friends,” began Morgan as the four girls all piled into her living room. Then she pointed them out, one by one, introducing them to her grandma. “And this is my grandma, Mrs. Evans,” she finished.
“Pleasure to meet you, girls.”
“And Emily had a wreck on her bike,” Morgan continued. “And she lost her key and is locked out of her house. I thought maybe you could look at her knee, Grandma.”
“Come on in here, child,” said Grandma kindly, just exactly how Morgan knew she would. “Sit yourself right down, and I’ll clean up that scrape.”
Emily looked uncomfortable as she climbed onto the kitchen stool. Her face was pale and kind of pinched-looking. Morgan wasn’t sure if it was from the hurt knee or just the strangeness of everything. To be honest, it was kind of strange for Morgan too. She’d never really had any friends inside her house before, and now suddenly here were three girls she hardly knew that she’d just introduced as “her friends.” Was that crazy or what?
Just then Morgan remembered how she’d specifically asked God to send her a friend. It was after a sermon at her church just last week. The pastor had challenged the congregation to ask God for the impossible. At the time, it hadn’t seemed even slightly possible that Morgan would ever find one single friend to hang with. Now she had three. Or so it seemed.
chapter two
Emily tried not to flinch as Morgan’s grandma gently cleansed the dirt from her knee. More than anything, she was determined not to cry. She’d already shamed herself once by crying when those stupid boys knocked her off her bike. Then to meet these three girls while she was blubbering like a baby … It was just like the nightmares she’d had about moving here. They probably thought she was a real dork.
She studied Mrs. Evans’s wrinkled face as she carefully dabbed some ointment on the wound. Emily had never been this close to a black person before. Suddenly, she wondered why people called them blacks. This woman’s skin was actually light brown, just about the same shade as a copper penny that had darkened with age. And her hair was white and soft looking, pulled back away from her face and knotted into a bun. But it was her eyes that drew Emily’s attention. The color of a Hershey bar, they had a look of kindness in them. Emily instinctively liked Morgan’s grandma, but at the same time she felt cautious too. Where she came from, blacks and whites didn’t mix much. Her mother had always told her that everyone was “the same beneath the skin,” but her dad had said it wasn’t so. Her dad said a lot of other things that she’d rather forget, but he was far away now. Even so, she felt relieved that he didn’t know about Morgan and her grandma, or the other girls for that matter.
“There’s some peanut brittle in the pantry, Morgan,” Mrs. Evans called over her shoulder as she taped a square of gauze over Emily’s wounded knee. Morgan had loaned her a pair of shorts to wear while her knee was being bandaged, but now Emily felt slightly embarrassed as she looked down at her pale, skinny legs.
“Why don’t you pour yourself and your friends some milk to go with it?” Mrs. Evans finished securely taping the bandage then smiled at Emily. “There now, sugar. How’s that?”
“Good. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Evans.”
“Oh, why don’t you just call me Grandma,” she said. “Mrs. Evans sounds so formal to me. When I was a little girl all my friends called my grandmother Grandma, and I liked that. You don’t mind sharing me, do you, Morgan?”
Morgan shook her head as she poured four glasses of milk. “Fine with me.” Emily liked how Morgan’s long, narrow braids swung when she moved her head.
“I’ll give your trousers a quick rinse-off, Emily,” Grandma said as Emily slid off the stool. “Then I’ll toss them in the dryer for a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” Emily whispered as she pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears.
“Here’s a place for you,” said Morgan, pulling out a chair for Emily. Emily felt even more self-conscious as she joined the other girls at the small dinette table. The three of them quietly munched and sipped their milk, casting quick glances at one another. Emily wondered if it was because of her. Maybe she shouldn’t be sticking around.
Suddenly, she felt like an intruder. Maybe these three had been friends for a long time, and maybe they didn’t want her to be here with them. She watched Amy delicately nibbling on a small piece of peanut brittle. She didn’t know if Amy was Chinese or Japanese or what, but she thought she had the most beautiful skin she’d ever seen. It looked as smooth as a porcelain doll. And her shiny black hair was cut as straight as a knife’s edge right across her forehead. The sides were just as even, as if each hair had been carefully measured and cut to perfection.
Across the table from her, Carlie set down her empty milk glass and leaned forward. “We need to do something about this gang,” she said in a hushed tone. “Should we tell our parents about them, report them to the authorities, or what?”
No one said anything, and Emily felt certain that she didn’t want to be the one to tell on them or report them. Mostly, she just wanted to forget the whole stupid thing. But what if Carlie was a tattletale kind of girl? She studied Carlie’s neat white blouse with pink flowers embroidered on the collar. It looked as if someone had just ironed it. Her long, thick curls fell over her shoulders, almost like a cape. Yes, thought Emily, she might be the type to tattle.
“No, we don’t want to tell,” stated Morgan, glancing over to where Grandma had settled back into the living room, intently watching the Oprah show on TV. To Emily’s relief, Carlie nodded in agreement and Morgan continued. “Tattling will just get them really mad at us. And then they might try and get revenge. We don’t need that.”
Girl Power Page 1
