My name is Rachel. I can't tell you my last name, or where I live, or where I go to school. I can't tell you these things because I have enemies. Real enemies. Not the kind of enemies most people have, where they want your Job, or your car, or your money. My enemies want me dead. Or worse. Crazy, huh? But it's true. And that's not the weirdest bit. My enemies aren't normal humans. They aren't even human at all. My enemies are aliens.
At this point you are probably doing one of two things. Either you are now backing away from the crazy talk slowly because this is the first of these books you have read (in which case... Really? Who just starts reading a book series in the middle? Go read #1. It will save everyone a lot of time), or you read the series in the order they were meant to be read in like a normal person, and your reaction was more along the lines of yes, okay. Get on with the story already. So I guess I'll cut the intro short here.
Cassie and I were hanging out in my room. Cassie was sprawled on the floor, flipping through a magazine absentmindedly. I couldn't see the article she was reading from here, but knowing Cassie, it was probably advice on how best to cram a pill down the throat of an angry badger. Don't laugh. I've seen her do it.
I was standing by my closet, doors wide open. Around my feet was a mess of clothing. One side was more or less a loose jumble, with a pile for each different type of clothing. Except clogs, I guess. For some strange reason, I had not thought to make a clog pile. Possibly because I owned only one such pair of footwear, and it was currently sitting on the shelf of shame in my closet. Behind the hideous sweater I had somehow allowed my dad to believe would be a perfect gift for my birthday. And come on dad, I know most guys are shopping impaired, and yes, I did ask for a sweater, but really? All sweaters are equal, but some sweaters are more equal than others. And that sweater was waaaaay down the equality curve. Anyway, the clogs were a gift. Don't ask.
I was holding up two shirts for Cassie to inspect. Which she was not doing. Possibly because she was worried that if she looked away from her article, it might hurt some poor, innocent, theoretical future badger. I cleared my throat. "Cassie? Red or green?" "Hmm?" She gave the shirts a cursory look. "For our backpacking trip? Neither." I squinted at the offending shirts. What's wrong with them? I can see how the tank top might be a bit impractical, but what's wrong with the other one?
"It's one of those shirts that button up in the front with snaps." she said. I blinked. It was, to say the least, odd for Cassie to give fashion advice. I mean, that girl thinks fashion is deciding which animal sick stain goes with which over-sized flannel lumberjack shirt. No sense of style. "Pearl snaps." I said. "Why are pearl snaps suddenly a fashion no-no?" "Because", Cassie said, " 'Pearl snaps' mean your not going to have a relaxing time." "That", I said, "Makes absolutely no sense. Whatsoever." Cassie grinned at me, obviously enjoying my confusion. "Alright", I said, tossing both shirts onto the bed, "Enlighten me." "Cassie looked at me, more serious now. "Pearl snaps are easy to get out of quickly. You want clothes you can get out of quickly if you're considering having to do some sudden morphing. If you're considering sudden morphing, your not relaxing." She smiled again. "We want this to be a yeerk free trip. No morphing outfits. No tempting fate with pearl snaps. Just some good old hiking, camping, and trying to untangle Ax from his s'more.
We both laughed at the image, especially since we knew it would probably be accurate. "We need to get away from all the stress in our lives for a bit." "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to detract from the fun." I said. "Now, what should I wear?" Cassie raised her eyebrows. "Your asking me?" she grinned, shrugging, as if mystified by the fact that I would still ask for fashion advice. "How about those clogs your aunt sent you? We both collapsed into gales of laughter.