Kayleigh is the next kick-butt female protagonist a la Buffy, Katniss, & Tris! Mean girls are going down! The ancient secret society of shapeshifters will meet their match! Girl Power!
The Morphosis.me Files
A Fatal Family Secret (#1)
A Treacherous Social Game (#2)
A Perilous Blood Allegiance (#3) May 2019
A Noble Clan Legacy (#4) TBA
A Fatal Family Secret (The Morphosis.me Files, Book #1)
If you could change anything about yourself, what would it be?
On the first day of high school, Kayleigh wishes she could be taller, curvier, and cooler. But when she discovers she’s a shape-shifter, she bites off more than she can chew. Overnight, she becomes a target, and surviving the school-year means defending herself against cyber-bullies, learning to control her new-found powers, and hiding from the ancient secret society that kidnapped her mother. Morphing has consequences, and Kayleigh begins to realize that being able to change into anything can mean losing herself in the process.
MAY 26, 2015
I didn’t think I’d be writing again so soon, especially with the amount of 9th grade homework that they’ve piled on already in one week, but I need some…something I don’t know what. It’s hard to describe, but I feel like things are changing and I’m scared.
Before you start lecturing me as Professor Dad did, “Katherine, change is an inevitable part of life that we need to accept,” I want to clarify. I get that 9th grade is a year of changes. New school, new kids, new level of homework torture. I also understand that I dislike change. It is unpredictable and scary. I would rather things stay semi-miserable but certain.
Except for puberty. That change I would welcome, because I’m fourteen and I seem to be behind. Bridget (my best friend, remember?) is already tall with certain
body parts features curves assets that boys find appealing. Not that I’m totally boy-crazy but I just don’t like feeling like I’m still a child.
Back to the changing, though. I feel like there is something changing inside of me, or maybe it’s something in the air, hovering near by, that will change me. Like I said, it’s hard to describe…and unpredictable and scary. Although maybe not completely scary this time, and that is also a change. I feel a tinge of excitement around the edges that gives me goosebumps. The fun kind you get while riding a roller coaster or you get walking through a spooky house on Halloween. Thrilling.
Speaking of Halloween, which also happens to be two weeks after my 15th Birthday, I need help picking out a costume. I know I shouldn’t already by obsessing, it’s over a month away, but all the stores are already advertising. Like they advertise “Back to School” in the middle of the summer. For my Birthday, I would like a decidedly female figure, the bullying to be over, and any change that is going to happen to be finished quickly.
Is that too much to ask?
I miss you,
I gave it a week, and the 9th grade isn’t any better.
Dad did see my last post and complained about my word choices. “There is a fine line, Katherine,” he said in his serious Professor voice, “between appropriate vernacular and vulgar slang.” I thought he would make it take me down until he just mumbled something (he has a Puerto Rican accent so I don’t always catch all the words) about how he shouldn’t read them anyway. He’s a college history professor, so dates are more important to him than words, perhaps.
Such as the day you disappeared.
Back to the 9th grade, for now. As soon as I got on the bus last week, someone yelled “Hey look, it’s Kayleigh Pee-pee!” and everyone laughed (or at least it felt like everyone laughed). Personally I think it’s sad they’re stuck with Kindergarten humor. Bridget, however, stood up quickly and yelled “Oh yeah, ask me arse!” which I think made everyone go quiet just because they didn’t know it means “Shut up” in Irish slang. I wonder what Dad would think about the use of the word “arse” on a school bus.
Bridget has been my best friend since about the time you left. She told the kids to “stuff it” when they started calling me names, and she’s only gotten more vocal since then. She never turns her Irish temper on the offensive, though, only uses it to defend me. I’m sure she only defends me because you are Irish, but I am grateful for Bridget’s tall imposing figure and piercing blue eyes. The fact that we don’t always understand the words she uses, but we certainly understand the tone, is just an added bonus.
I do wonder, though, why now? I haven’t had any problems with them for a while, and suddenly I’m a target? I try not to let it make me feel small and insignificant, but it is hard to ignore a bus full of chanting students. I am petite for my age, or maybe not “for my age” but in general, as you were. Since most students are physically towering over me, therefore, when they get in my face it’s hard not to feel like an ant about to be squished. Why the bullying all over again?
Must be High School.
I’m sure that if “Professor Dad” catches site of this entry he’ll make me come up with a more appropriate word to describe the 9th grade. I am convinced, however, that proper vocabulary aside, “sucks” is the most accurate word. High School Sucks.
Today is the first day of school, although I had to go to orientation last week. I guess they thought that the shock of going into High School needed an introduction. We went from being the oldest in Middle School to being the youngest in High School. We get the crappy lockers, the cramped hallways, the worst schedules, the oldest classrooms. Small Fish, Low on the Totem Pole, the Omegas…you get it.
To add to the Suckage, Emma started bullying me again. Remember her? She’s the one that invented “Kayleigh Pee-Pee” when we were in Kindergarten. Personally I think it could be considered kinda racist since it makes fun of my hyphenated last name, although that would be giving her too much credit.
This journal assignment could be worse even if it is an assignment before school even started. Who ever heard of an assignment before school starts? Some joint assignment between the English Department and the Guidance Counselor, Dr. Stanley. He could have insisted we write to “Dear Diary,” but since he didn’t specify, I am writing to you, Mom, wherever you are.
I miss you,