Where were all the great adventure books for kids when we were growing up? I’m talking about books for the 10-14 year old reader. I’m talking about stories we could have identified with when we were that age. A difficult age. Not really a child but not an adult. There have always been lots of stories for little kids. What happened to the interesting books when we were in fifth through ninth grades?
RESCUING
MARA’S FATHER
A
Middle Grade Science Fiction Adventure
Blurb:
Her father is gone! Taken by the Queen of Compara’s agents. Mara has to rescue him before the Queen tortures and kills him.
Instead of the
kind, loving father she’s always known, he’s become demanding, critical, with
impossible expectations—not just as Father but also as the only teacher in their
frontier outpost. Mara would rather scoop zircan poop than listen to another
boring lecture about governments on Central Planets. Give her a starship engine
to take apart or, better yet, fly, and she’s happy. Now, he’s gone.
Never mind, they’ve
had a rocky road lately.
Never mind,
Father promised she could go off planet to Tech Institute next month when she turns
fifteen, where she’ll learn to fly starships.
Never mind, she
ran away because she’s furious with him because he reneged on that promise.
Father is her only parent. She has to save him.
Along with her best friend, eleven-year-old Jako, and his brother 15-year-old Lukus, Mara sets off to find her father. Her mentor, old spaceport mechanic, seems to know why the Queen captured Father. In fact, he seems to know her father well. But, does he tell her everything? Of course not. He dribbles out info like a mush-eating baby. Worse, he indicates he’ll be leaving them soon. And Lukus can’t wait to get off our planet. Mara’s afraid they will all leave, and she’ll be on her own. Despite her fears, Mara has to rescue her father.
Excerpt:
“There you go
again.” I ignore Father’s startled look. “Why does everything have to be so
hard? You used to make learning fun.”
“You were a
child then. You are almost an adult. You must try harder.”
“I do try. It’s
boring. Why can’t you teach interesting stuff like Basco does? He doesn’t
lecture me. He doesn’t tell me I’m not good enough.”
A pained look
crosses Father’s face. “That is different. When you work with him at spaceport,
you work with your hands. I am trying to teach you to think, to analyze, to
make—”
“What difference
does it make now? I’m going to the Tech in three tendays.”
He takes a deep
breath. “I know you have been looking forward to going—”
No. He wouldn’t. “Don’t you tell me I
can’t go.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean it.” I
fist my hands on my hips. “You are not going to tell me I can’t go. You can’t.
I’ll be fifteen in three tendays. I’m going.” We’ve had a lot of arguments, but
I’ve never defied him before.
“You may be old
enough to enroll in the Institute. You still need parental approval.” He lets
that sink in.
I’m stunned
speechless. Not for long. “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t punish me like that.”
“Mara, you must
obey me on this. You must stay here. You will pay attention in class. You will
apply yourself.”
“Like Perfect
Lukus? Maybe you wish he was your son instead of a stupid girl like me.”
His eyes widen. “Mara.”
My eyes burn. I’m
going to cry, like a stupid girl. “I can’t believe you would forbid me to go to
Tech just because I’m not a perfect student in your stupid class. You don’t
love me. I’m probably not even your real kid.”
My words hang
between us. My chest heaves. I clench my teeth, so I don’t start bawling. I can’t
believe he won’t let me go to Tech. Worse, I can’t believe I blurted out the
horrible thought that has been festering in the darkest corner of my mind for
several tendays.
I wait for him
to tell me I’m wrong. That he does love me. That I am his child.
Father slumps
into the chair I abandoned. I’ve never seen such a look on his face. Like he’s
been kicked in the stomach by a hican. For a sec, before he sat, I thought I
saw something else in his eyes. Guilt? Couldn’t have been. He doesn’t care
enough to feel guilty about forbidding me go to Tech.
I’m ashamed of
my outburst, ashamed that I revealed my worst fear—the fear that he isn’t my
real father. We’ve argued before, but I always kept my fear a secret. Now, he
knows. I can’t bear to look at him, to see reproach in his eyes. I race into my
bedroom and slam the door. I force myself not to throw myself on my bed and
cry.
Instead, I lean
against the door and try to control the anger I just spewed in the kitchen,
anger still rising up inside me. Anger at myself for letting my temper get the
best of me. Anger at Father for not letting me go to Tech. Anger at him for not
denying my accusation, for not taking me in his arms and saying, “Of course, I
love you. Of course, you are my child.”
Anger at him for
not coming after me.
If he did come,
he would probably tell me again how I don’t try, how I don’t measure up. I’m not
sticking around for another lecture. I grab my jacket. My trousers are heavy,
but the shirt won’t be enough in the chilly evening. I search under my bed for
my emergency pack—the one Father insists I keep ready at all times, ever since
the riots. I grab it and slip out the window. Automatically, I close it behind
me so critters can’t get in. I don’t have a plan. I just know I don’t want to
see Father for a while.
How I envy kids the wealth of
books available today, the adventures they can have by reading.
