September 30, 1992, somewhere in the middle of flyover country
New place, new friends?
Nine-year-old Jamie Lloyd, a tall, skinny third grader with brown hair and brown eyes so dark they appeared black, stared out the car window at the never ending corn as it whizzed past..
They were moving.
To Illinois.
Jamie had never been to Illinois.
Her mother, Laurie, pretended Illinois didn't exist, and got real mad when Daddy said that he wanted to move to Illinois from California.
This caused an explosion.
Daddy eventually convinced Mommy that a smaller school and new children would help Jamie socially. That, and moving to a small town would help him avoid another heart attack. Jamie's mom, a criminal trial lawyer for L.A. County, countered with, "Wouldn't it be easier if you just quit smoking?"
Which led to yet another fight.
(If Jamie concentrated hard enough between her eyes, she could see a tiny white ball of light that only got brighter as they went.)
After seeing the picture of the new house waiting for them in Illinois, Jamie looked forward to moving: the girls in her old school hated her for no good reason, boys picked on her, and teachers sent her to the office for things she didn't start. Moving might mean friends and a nicer teacher.
And a puppy. Or maybe, JUST MAYBE, a kitten.
And a real yard to play with whatever it turned out to be in. For all the money her lawyer parents made, Jamie had lived her entire life in a cramped little condo on the sixth floor. A yard would be like a park, only it would be HERS.
And if she could have a pet that wasn't a goldfish, maybe this year Mommy would let her dress up and go trick 'r treating on her birthday, which was, you guessed it, Halloween.
(No, she won't, came the peevish reply from the ever-growing orb. Trust me on this one.)