Pages for Littles

I don’t know what the title of this book will be. This is the kind of book it is: oh, wait. I already did that in my first post.

Darn. I tried to get the post box bigger, and that worked, but then it erased what I had been writing just now. But I guess I hadn’t written anything important yet, so I can just start from here. I’m going to just start the story, and then we’ll find out where it goes, ok? It’s after the link.

Amanda sighed happily, and put down the book. It was her favorite kind of book, a story about normal kids doing normal things. Some of the others thought this kind of book was really boring, and they kind of made fun of her for liking those best. They wanted adventures, or stories about problems or something. But for Amanda, the very best kind of book was where it was just perfectly normal kids, who didn’t have anything wrong with them.

Amanda kind of wished she could be just a normal kid, like the ones in her books. But there was a little problem, and it couldn’t really be solved. Because Amanda didn’t live in a normal house, and she didn’t have a normal life. Even though she was eleven, she didn’t go to school. And even though she lived in a house with a bunch of other kids and grown ups, they weren’t exactly her family.

The thing that was different about Amanda was, she wasn’t real. Not real, like someone who has a body, or regular kids in her books. Nope. She was a part of a multiple. So even though when she saw herself, she was a quiet eleven year old girl who wore her hair in braids down her back, when people outside saw her, she was in a grown up body.

So she didn’t get to go to school, because her body wasn’t eleven any more. In some ways, this was good, because school wasn’t perfect. But it meant she wasn’t normal. There weren’t any books she could read where the kids were just like her.

Amanda knew that was a problem for lots of kids. Maybe they had parents who were gay, or they were a different color from the people around them, or they had a disability, or something like that. But even those kids had books about them. Sure, they weren’t as good a lot of the time, but they were still there. But she couldn’t find any books about the kids who were just like her.

She sighed, and looked around her room. It was a pretty good room. The walls were a nice, pale blue. She had white curtains with ruffles on her windows. She had a big window seat, where she could curl up and read a book when it was sunny, and she had a bed with a bright patchwork quilt where she could curl up and read at night. Her desk had room for her various projects, and in one corner was the dollhouse she was a little embarassed to admit she still played with. Probably the teenagers would think she was a baby for still playing with dolls, but the grown-ups said it was perfectly fine.

Amanda got up to look out of the window. One of the good things about being part of a multiple was her room. For instance, this window: it would show any part of the yard, because her room could be anywhere in the house she wanted it to be. Kind of, anyways. Or maybe the house twisted. Amanda wasn’t sure how it worked, but she knew that if she wanted to look out over the back of the house, she could. And if she wanted to look out over the front of the house, she could do that, too.

This time, she was looking out the front. It was a nice view–a brick path leading up to the front door. There were flower beds on either side of it, and trees covering it. It was spring, and the flowers were just peeking up from the dirt, and the trees were just starting to get leaves. The nice thing about the front of the house was that there was hardly ever anyone out there. Amanda could sometimes pretend she was a normal kid, looking out over her normal front yard, when she looked towards the front of the house.