A Space Girl from Earth (The Kyroibi Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  A Space Girl from Earth

  The Kyroibi Trilogy

  Book One

  by

  Christina McMullen

  A Space Girl from Earth

  Copyright © 2017, Christina McMullen

  All rights reserved.

  Unauthorized distribution or reproduction is strictly prohibited.

  The following is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and brands are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living, dead, or the living dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Illustration & Artwork by Missy Sheldrake

  Title Layout & Design by Christina McMullen

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Dedicated to anyone who has ever felt different or weird. Your uniqueness is beauty and the world is a better place for it.

  Chapter 1

  Ellie stared at the message on her screen, wondering what possessed her to check her email right before a final exam. A final exam for a class she was on the verge of failing, no less. Already, Professor Stafford was setting out exam books, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes from her mother’s infuriatingly cryptic message.

  “Miss Whitmore, would you please put away your computer? The exam is about to begin.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Ellie stammered as she closed the laptop with trembling hands. Professor Stafford set an exam booklet on the corner of her desk with a disapproving frown before moving on to the next student, unaware or perhaps simply uncaring that she was visibly shaken.

  At least, Ellie reminded herself, this would be the last exam of the semester. She could question her mother later, but now, she had to focus. With a deep and cleansing breath, she threw herself into the exam, but the compounds and formulas were as elusive and baffling as ever. Even if she hadn’t been distracted by the message, this was not her first attempt at Organic Chemistry and the class hadn’t been any easier the second time around.

  Let’s hope the third time’s a charm, Ellie thought darkly as she slipped the completed exam into the box on Professor Stafford’s desk and attempted to quietly leave the exam room unnoticed.

  “Miss Whitmore?”

  Unfortunately for Ellie, doing much of anything unnoticed was next to impossible. She cringed inwardly, taking a moment to compose herself before turning to meet the sour expression on the instructor’s pinched face. Despite standing nearly a full foot taller than the gaunt and stooped Professor Stafford, Ellie found him intimidating.

  “There is yet another hour allotted for the completion of this exam. Are you certain you don’t want to double check your answers?” He asked the question with the same scolding and superior tone one might use when chastising a toddler for sneaking cookies before a meal. “With all due respect, Miss Whitmore, your grades have been nearly as abysmal this semester as last. You need a minimum of a B in order to bring your GPA up to a passing grade.”

  Ellie’s apologetic smile was thin and strained.

  “I understand, sir, but I’m afraid I could sit in the exam room all day and it would make not a bit of difference. I’ll just have to try again in the fall.” Or switch to a major that doesn’t require this bleeding class, she added silently.

  Professor Stafford’s frown deepened, as did his obvious displeasure. “You do realize that a failing grade will go on your transcript, Miss Whitmore, do you not?”

  “Of course. I am planning to hire a tutor this summer and fully expect to take the class again,” Ellie began, but Professor Stafford continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Other instructors may be inclined to forgive academic incompetence for a brush with celebrity, but I, for one, will not give special favors to anyone.”

  For one stunned moment, Ellie stood completely speechless, but it didn’t take long for her shock to turn into wary disgust.

  “I would never expect any professor to give preferential treatment to a student simply because of who their parents are,” she said, affecting an icy tone despite the flush of embarrassment creeping over her cheeks. “I’ll see to it that I find a competent tutor.”

  Without waiting for a reply and knowing she wasn’t likely to get an apology, Ellie spun and stalked from the building before Professor Stafford could get in another barb about who she was. It was nothing new and it was not uncommon, but it was hurtful nonetheless. Never once, not even as a small child without boundaries, had Ellie expected anyone to give her special treatment simply because of her social status. Yet it seemed as if there were some people, many to be honest, whose assumptions held stubbornly despite lack of substantiation.

  If she was half as entitled as people assumed, Ellie doubted she would have even bothered with university, let alone a difficult science curriculum. After all, she’d been provided for her entire life and as soon as she reached the magical age of twenty-one, she had access to a trust fund that afforded her just enough money to live in excess for a couple of lifetimes.

  But the thought of merely existing, even in the lap of luxury, didn’t sit well with Ellie. She understood and did not take for granted the rare position of wealth and privilege that she had been born into. Instead she hoped to use her status to influence real change in the world and with a double major in environmental engineering and social sciences, she hoped to one day do more than just inspire. Of course, without a passing grade in organic chemistry, she would have to rethink at least part of her planned career path.

  Ellie hadn’t even noticed when she left campus and found herself several blocks away. Heading into the constant bustle of Midtown Manhattan with her head clouded by worry would have been asking for trouble and she chastised herself for letting Professor Stafford’s comments get under her skin. She ducked out of the ever-present flow of traffic and took out her phone.

  It was mid-afternoon. Her mother’s email said she would be in the city by evening. For Isa Whitmore, that could have meant anything from afternoon tea to past midnight. Ellie didn’t even have to check her British Airways app to know there were at least eight flights her mother could have booked. That is, if she was coming in from London at all. With their careers, it was not unusual for Ellie to lose track of where in the world one or both of her parents were at any given time.

  Thank goodness for Julian, she thought as she checked her text messages. Julian Bond, her mother’s personal assistant, had sent her the flight information and expected arrival time, as well as a personal note that made Ellie bristle.

  I know your penchant for wandering the city alone, Ellie, but I must insist that you await us at your mother’s Midtown condo. I cannot stress how important this is.

  Julian was typically pleasant, and more than pleasant on the eyes in Ellie’s opinion, but he had an infuriating tendency to treat Ellie as if she was a child in need of supervision. To be fair, all of her mother’s assistants had treated her similarly, but the biggest difference w
as that most of them were women and closer to her mother’s age. Julian was barely an adult himself, having accepted the position fresh out of university a mere four years prior.

  She knew he meant well, but after the unpleasant encounter with Professor Stafford, Ellie imagined she could detect condescension underscoring the admonishing text and closed the app without reply. Besides, even if her mother’s flight landed on time, Isa would not arrive at the condo until late in the evening. There was no way Ellie was going to sit around brooding and alone for six hours. Instead, she hailed a cab and gave the driver an address across town.

  Within thirty seconds, she regretted the decision.

  “I know you!”

  The cab driver squinted at her in the rear view mirror instead of paying attention to the insane midday traffic. “You’re Isa’s daughter, aren’t you? Ellen, right?”

  “Ellie,” she mumbled with a polite smile, but the driver wasn’t listening. Instead, he was rambling on about her mother, as if she’d somehow missed the fact that the internationally famous supermodel known mononymously as Isa, was beautiful. Ellie couldn’t open a magazine or walk through Times Square without seeing her mother’s signature pout staring back at her.

  “And isn’t your old man Rick Whitmore?”

  “He’s my stepfather,” she mumbled and immediately felt terrible, cursing her mother’s cryptic email and the confusing feelings it had stirred within her. Richard Whitmore was an acclaimed film director and as much a household name as his wife, but to Ellie, he had always just been Dad. He and Isa had married when Ellie was very young. So young that she did not remember a time before Richard was in their lives. Although he too had older children from a previous marriage, Richard had always treated Ellie as if she was his biological daughter, a kindness that she did not take for granted.

  “It’s too bad about your face.”

  Until that point, Ellie had been content to let the star-struck driver ramble on about her parents. She hadn’t truly been listening and it was easier to get lost in her own thoughts and not appear aloof or rude since he wasn’t trying to make small talk. But the comment, directed at her and of a personal nature, brought her attention back to the present.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Those spots. You know, you ain’t a bad looker otherwise. I bet if you got those removed you’d be almost as hot as your mom.”

  To say that Ellie had an unusual appearance was something of an understatement. She had been fortunate enough to inherit an enviable share of her mother’s best features, though she had to admit, surpassing Isa’s statuesque height of six feet by several inches before the age of fourteen had felt more like a curse. Undoubtedly, she was a stunning beauty, but Ellie’s natural grace was overshadowed by a peculiar condition that seemed tragically unique to her.

  Hundreds of mysterious white dots peppered her skin and formed strange geometric patterns that almost looked like deliberate designs. Unlike freckles, the spots were uniform in size and a brilliant white that stood out rather prominently against her dark complexion. The most striking patterns and highest concentration spattered across Ellie’s high cheekbones and smooth forehead. Isa claimed publicly that her daughter suffered from a rare form of Vitiligo, but Ellie was positive her mother was simply trying to rationalize something that could not be easily explained. After all, she’d spent a small fortune on makeup specifically intended to cover every skin problem imaginable, yet the spots remained.

  Which in turn made Ellie a curiosity. Oddly, she didn’t mind the out-there tabloids speculating that she was an alien or a demon from another dimension. She didn’t even mind that the Weekly World News claimed her markings to be the price her mother paid for eternal youth. No, it was the more grounded in reality gossip news outlets that usually caused her the most distress. That people had a tendency to speak of her condition openly, judging her appearance without regard to her feelings hurt more than she would ever admit. She knew it wasn’t just her. All celebrities were fair game, objects to be judged, and not living, breathing humans with the capacity to feel. The driver’s comment only served to reinforce this truth and Ellie’s mild irritation turned quickly to anger.

  “You can pull over here,” she instructed with only the briefest shadow of civility, relieved to finally see the familiar architecture of the east side neighborhood where she still maintained a thin measure of anonymity. Normally, she would have bought the cab driver’s silence with a substantial tip, but after the comments about her face, Ellie wasn’t feeling particularly generous and opted to pay the exact fare instead.

  She lingered by the dusty display window of an ancient beauty shop, feigning interest in a display for a skin cream that was at least as old as she was, and waited until the cab pulled away and out of sight. Just to be safe, she stopped in and browsed a couple of the vintage clothing stores that defined this particular block before ducking into a particularly flamboyant shop called Dragulous. She smiled and waved at the woman behind the counter, who winked back, concluded her customer’s transaction, and followed as Ellie ignored the ‘Employees Only’ sign and slipped into the tiny and overstuffed stockroom.

  “I saw you loitering down by Mable’s. Another super fan or a creeper?” Bethany grunted as she threw her weight against the stubborn lock on the back door and made a mental note to pick up WD-40. With an ear-splitting screech, the bolt slid free and the battered steel door swung outward, revealing the trash strewn alley.

  “Both,” Ellie replied, pulling a face. “And a massive dick.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bethany teased with an exaggerated wiggle of her eyebrows.

  “I said he was a massive dick, you pervert.” Ellie stifled a giggle before hopping off the loading dock and into the alley below. “See you in a few?”

  “You know it, but I’m going to be a little late tonight. I’m sure he knows, but can you remind Vito for me? Miss Shirley’s coming by right at five.” She rolled her eyes dramatically before narrowing them at Ellie. “Be careful back there.”

  “I always am. You’re the one I worry about.”

  Bethany flexed one incredibly well defined bicep and raised her eyebrows.

  “I ain’t the one with the paparazzi up my butt. I’ll lock back up as soon as you get to the corner.”

  “You better,” Ellie called and headed toward the next block. When she got to the corner, she turned around and waved, not leaving until she heard the echoes of the beat up metal door slamming down and the squeak of the locks jamming back into place.

  Chapter 2

  Despite the intense smell of grease, the ever-present garbage trucks noisily emptying the ever-present trash, and the very real possibility of some pretty big rats lurking in the shadows, Ellie found a certain comfort in New York’s dank back alleys. She relished the virtual silence as traffic noises faded into the distant background and the constant chatter of passing conversations disappeared. Certainly, there was danger. She didn’t dare traverse the narrow two blocks between Dragulous and MochaMoka after dark, but in the thin trickle of afternoon sunlight, she took comfort in the seclusion and knowledge that she was in no danger of a photographer popping up out of a garbage can like a bad cartoon.

  Still, when the sun slipped behind a cloud and temporarily threw the narrow passage into an artificial twilight, Ellie was grateful to see a familiar and comforting figure in the distance. Vito, the owner of MochaMoka, stood out on the loading dock, smoking a cigar and staring at his phone with a distracted frown. At the sound of Ellie’s muffled footsteps on the crumbling cobblestones, he looked up, stubbed out his cigar, and stowed the phone in his front pocket.

  “Don’t you got an exam today?”

  “It’s over.”

  “Already?”

  “For me at least.”

  Vito shook his head and reached down to give Ellie a hand as she hoisted herself up onto the loading dock.

  “I thought you said you needed this class?”

  “
Do I have another dad now?”

  “Hey, I just worry about ya, kid.”

  Ellie blushed. “I know, and thanks. I appreciate it and I know I’m going to have to take the class again, but right now, I just want to start my summer break.”

  “Fair enough,” Vito said with a nod, but added, “I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this, but I got a call from the walking cadaver earlier.”

  “Oh?” Ellie tried to act casual, but her stomach automatically twisted. The cadaver was Vito’s nickname for Julian, based on his stiff, British mannerism. He’d figured out early on that Ellie was fond of spending her free time at MochaMoka and warned her about the dangers of wandering New York. Between Vito and Bethany, they’d convinced Julian that the bar was probably one of the safest places in the city. He promised Ellie he would keep her whereabouts from her mother, who would have made far too big of a fuss over the matter. “And what did Julian want?”

  “He asked me to tell you to go straight to your mother’s place after class.”

  “What? That’s just… How could he?” Ellie sputtered, thinking about the condescending text message she’d ignored, but her anger turned to worry as she thought again about the message from her mother.

  Vito chuckled at her. “I told him how you were gonna react to that.”

  “So what, are you gonna kick me out now?”

  “Nah. I also told him you were a grown woman who could make your own decisions.”

  “Thanks for that, at least,” Ellie grumbled.

  “Ah, I’m sure he means well,” Vito said, sneaking a look at his phone. “Go on and let Gertie get ya set up. I gotta wait for those knuckleheads from distribution to come back.” He made a rude gesture at his phone. “They took my liquor order down to some trinket shop and left me with six boxes of Lady Liberty key chains. Can you believe that? Who buys this junk, anyway?”

  “Only about a million tourists every day,” Ellie answered, grinning as she plucked her own keys out of her backpack and showed him a miniature Statue of Liberty that clacked against an Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, and countless other well-known landmarks in miniature form. In fact, there were more tchotchkes on her keychain than keys. “They’re a big money maker. Maybe you should hang a few by the register and make a few extra bucks,” she teased.