​November 30, 2004
Dear Diary,
Thanksgiving is over. And I'm still clueless as to who Derecho is.
We got to Aunt Miri's house early, around noon, because for whatever reason it's perfectly acceptable to eat Thanksgiving dinner at 2:30. Jackson was there. He was sitting at the kitchen table, peeling and chopping potatoes.
"I have to take it easy," he said as I joined him. "Mom treats me like a baby."
"Are you okay?"
Jackson shrugged. "I got a little worked up playing Dance Dance Revolution last night."
"With Macy?" I asked.
"Yeah. Hey, I heard your gas station got robbed. You okay?"
"A bit shaken up. I still work there and all." (I mean, I still need money for food. I'm not about to stop experimenting on myself just because I got scared. Jackson should be able to play Dance Dance Revolution without having to fall breathless into a chair after every round.)
"Yeah. Mom took the three of us food shopping, so we didn't find out until we got home and heard your mom's voicemail."
"All three of you?" I clarified.
"Yeah. George had to carry the turkey, and Macy just loves shopping in general. I just asked to come with because I was tired of sitting at home the whole time."
So scratch George and Macy off the list of suspects.
I mean, who else could it be? Someone from school? Who are the science nerds at school? Amy Kessinger, Ollie Cooke, that quiet guy who I think is named Sam. It might be him. Isn't it always the quiet ones who snap the loudest? And who am I forgetting? Derek, Asahel, Maggie. But those are only the ones in my grade. What if it's a senior?
I couldn't enjoy Thanksgiving dinner nearly as much as I normally do because I was thinking. I mean, I ate like a pig. I hadn't been legitimately full since I started experimenting on myself, and it felt so nice. But I hardly tasted anything, which was a shame, because turns out Macy is really good at making pecan pies.
School starts again on Monday. Hopefully, I'll be a little closer to figuring out who did it by then.
I've given up on finding a costume, but I found a scrap of blue fabric and made a mask out of it. I don't want to have to save someone from getting robbed again. But if I do, I want to have something besides a cleaning rag to conceal my identity. To be honest, it's a really cool mask. It covers my mouth and nose, then there's a slit for my eyes, and it covers the top of my head so my hair will hopefully be less noticeable. I feel like a superhero when I wear it. I want to help people with my powers. But things might go badly like they did at the robbery. Well, I guess they didn't exactly go badly. I was still able to help Mr. Harris, and I don't think Derecho got off with much cash. God knows Mr. Harris needs every penny he can get. He actually gave me $20 for defending him.
But if I fight Derecho again, I might die.
I guess I'll figure something out.
Kassie Kittredge, signing out!

BREAKING NEWS: We will be having a Facebook Live Stream event this Sunday, December 9, at 2:00 P.M. I hope you'll be able to come see us!
Anyway, onto the blog.
A few weeks ago, I was having lunch with Mom when she asked me, "What do you want to do for your birthday?"
I shrugged. I've come early to the realization that the best things in life aren't things, so as long as I have fruit snacks and a laptop, I'm happy. "I'll be eighteen," I said. "I should have a grown-up party. Go out to dinner, maybe invite all three of my friends to my house afterwards for cake and presents. That sort of thing."
"Live a little," Mom said as she took a container of Medjool dates out of the fridge. "You're only eighteen once."
"So?"
Mom leaned against our counter and looked at me, date in hand. "What about going to the Medieval Times in Dallas?"
Apparently, my eyes lit up before the logical part of my brain did. Mom smiled again. "You get free tickles during your birth month," she said.
"But it's too expensive for the rest of y'all," I objected. "Isn't it forty-some dollars a ticket? For three people?"
"Four people. We're bringing a friend."
"Mo-om!"
"I'll go book tickets! You go sign up for the email thing."
So we're going to Medieval Times. One of my three friends is coming, along with her sister and mom. When we found out that my aunt and uncle will be visiting from Chicago that day, we invited them to come with, too. So we might end up having to take two cars.
I don't know what I'm getting into. But I know I'm dressing up.
When I am exceptionally bored, I will make costumes. They're not for parties or plays or any special occasion. I just enjoy playing dress-up. My most recent foray into sewing was, unsurprisingly, a Norse ensemble. It looks halfway like a historical reenactment and halfway like a child's Halloween costume. I hope no one notices I used the ends of a can of cinnamon rolls for brooches, but the tablet-woven belt and nalbound pouch should make up for it.
Today was my first day off school for Christmas. So, in a spirit of freedom, I went to Hobby Lobby (and got there seven minutes before it opened) for a fabric remnant that cost $2.13 with tax. With the help of an online pattern and a YouTube tutorial, I made a hood to finish off the outfit. I haven't sewed it yet, but it'll look something like this:

Is that real wool? You can't find wool fabric just anywhere. I used calico. I'm cheap. I'm pretty sure that my cloak is made out of curtain fabric.
I'll post a picture of myself wearing the full ensemble as soon as I finish the hood. As for now, I need to fix my hair and head off to work. I get a new assistant teacher today, and I'd like to get all my prep done early so that we can socialize for a bit.
Which one of your birthdays was your favorite, Dear Reader? What made it so special? Let me know in the comments below! God bless, and don't forget to watch our Live Stream on Sunday!

​November 23, 2004
Dear Diary,
I was cleaning the bathrooms at Mr. Harris's gas station when I heard shouting in the front. At first, I hoped it was just Mr. Harris refusing to sell beer to an already-drunk customer (it's happened once before) until I heard a crackling voice say, "Open the safe!"
Now this was the scariest voice I've ever heard. It was worse than those robot-voices people get if they lose their voice boxes to throat cancer. It clicked and popped and crackled, and it made my hair stand on end.
I knew it was Derecho.
I grabbed a mop and, on my way into the hallway, realized I needed to protect my identity. So I grabbed a cleaning rag, tied it around my nose and mouth like a Wild West bandit, and took off.
Okay. Maybe I didn't take off. I wanted to have the element of surprise, so I snuck around, hiding behind a few displays, until I was able to smack this guy in the head.
He--or she, I couldn't tell--was dressed like a traditional bandit, completely in black, with a ski mask and tinted goggles. I couldn't see an inch of their skin or a strand of their hair. Just black, and tinted goggles.
I need to learn their costuming ways.
Anyway, I smacked them in the back with the metal handle of my mop (the plastic protective end fell off last week) and almost pinned them to the check-out counter. But Derecho whirled around, grabbed the mop, and almost--not quite--wrenched it out of my hands. I took the opportunity to drive my fist into their nose. If they were bleeding, I couldn't tell. I was too excited to see if the black of the ski mask was turning into a dark red or not.
And then they shocked me.
I don't know how they did it. But somehow, they took their electrical energy, shot it throught the metal mop handle, and shocked me. It should have given me more energy, but instead, it fried me. My chest hurt. My muscles hurt. My joints were killing me. But, fortunately, Derecho lost a good bit of their power and slumped over the checkout counter.
Mr. Harris grabbed Derecho's shoulder and asked me, "How did you do that?"
"Karate lessons." I wasn't exactly lying. I took two lessons when I was eight, before I decided I was more of a nerd than an athlete. But I felt like I was dying. My chest was cramping, getting more and more painful with every heartbeat, and I was dizzy.
While Mr. Harris was getting his phone out to call the police, Derecho punched him and bolted. I tried to run after him, but my bones and my joints and my chest were hurting so badly that I fell over. I think I blacked out for a second, because Mr. Harris was sitting beside me when I opened my eyes, and he's slow.
"You alright, kid?" he asked.
Not really. But I got up, finished cleaning the bathroom, and went to bed as soon as I got home. I told Mom I had a headache so she would leave me alone. I wasn't lying.
It's been two hours, and I think I'm better now. But I'm scared. I don't want to give a police statement. I don't want to test this serum on myself anymore. I don't want to face George or Macy again. What if it was one of them?
Thanksgiving is in three days.
I don't know what to do.
Kassie Kittredge, signing out.

Yep. Well, technically, I'm an after-school tutor. But I've officially graduated from my obligatory stint in a fast-food restaurant and am now working for a nonprofit organization.
I just finished my first week, and I love my kids already. I inherited a class of 12 middle schoolers from a church friend. Yes, they're a handful. But it's a wonderful handful, and watching them learn is worth it. I hope especially that I'll be able to instill a love of reading in them. I tried reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe out loud to them, but I made the mistake of taking them outside to do it, and I distracted them. I still have a lot to learn.
My new job has changed the way my days work. I now wake up earlier, get my school done by 12:30 (bear in mind that I'm still a full-time college student), scarf down some lunch, and work from 1:30 to 6:00, Monday through Thursdays. This means that I'll probably be blogging on Fridays instead of Thursdays (with the exceptions of school holidays--I get three weeks off for Christmas). But, God willing, I'll still be posting my short stories every Monday.

​November 21, 2004
Dear Diary,
No school for the week! And I did my first act of heroism! On Thursday, I purposefully left my water bottle in the gym so that I could go back, climb onto the rafters, and get down all the basketballs that are stuck in the ceiling. A few people noticed that we had more balls than usual on Friday and were happy about it. Mr. Mason the gym teacher was happy, too. He was going to have to buy more balls, but now he'll be able to replace the volleyball net instead.
I've been able to experiment a bit more with my frogs, and I'm getting closer to figuring out the maximum dosage. I gave myself a bit more serum and figured out that I can get energy not only from thunderstorms, but also from static electricity. This means that a few trips down the slide at the park gives me the energy of a can of Red Bull. Shuffling through the carpet works, too, but not as well.
The only downside to using static as a power source is that it really messes with my hair. I've been having to keep it braided, or else I look like a porcupine doing a war dance. And if I touch something metal after powering up with static, I can lose my energy fairly quickly. I need some insulated gloves or something.
Work on the costume is coming slow. I've been trying to save up my earnings from the gas station so I can buy and redesign a Haloween costume, but I've ended up spending most of it on food. Mom and Dad took me to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet last night, and I think I ate half the store. Mostly beef and broccoli. And desserts. I love those little sugar-covered doughnut things.
Since school is out, I'm not much closer to finding out who Derecho is. Nor will I be, unless I go to Jackson's house and make it a point to spend time with George and Macy. That's so out-of-character for me that everyone's going to know that I'm up to something. I've been trying to think of decent excuses--Christmas presents, studying, the fact that Macy and I are both girls and we should therefore be making more of an effort to spend time together--but everything sounds so pathetic. Or maybe I'm just being hard on myself.
Jackson's trying to make Aunt Miri a blanket for Christmas. He's not even trying to surprise her. He asked her what colors she wanted it--she picked out red, orange, green, and yellow--and he crochets even when she's around. He doesn't talk about himself much, but he's been a little paler than normal, and he's not eating as much. Mom says I shouldn't worry so much about him--she thinks I'm stress-eating because of him when it's actually because I'm starving. But I do worry about him. I never know which holiday season is going to be his last. And that's why I need to get the maximum dosage figured out in time for Christmas. I guess it'll be my present to him. And maybe the whole family, because Jackson means so much to everyone.
Kassie Kittredge, signing out!

Thanksgiving is a good day for a lot of things. For eating food, visiting family, and watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. And, most importantly, for giving thanks.
But it's really not the day to be reading or writing blogs.
Tell me your favorite part of today in the comments below! And, because I'm genuinely curious, let me know what your favorite kind of pie is. I've made it easy for you. God bless you, dear readers, and don't forget to Like us on Facebook!

​November 17, 2004
Dear Diary,
Okay. Something's up. I definitely have an arch nemesis. And I'm pretty sure it's either George or Macy.
I really don't think it's Jackson. Or maybe I just don't want to believe it's Jackson. Either way, I'm guessing it's either George or Macy.
Evidence against Macy: she did better in P.E. than I did. Granted, I haven't been using my powers to their fullest extent in P.E., just so I don't raise suspicion. I try to keep myself somewhere around fourth place and pretend to be winded afterward. But Macy--who used to be every bit as lazy as I was--somehow is now the fastest runner in school. When asked about it, she said it was because she'd taken up running outside of school so she didn't want to gain holiday weight. Which is exactly something Macy would say. I'll bet she'll still stay away from the pecan pie at Thanksgiving.
Evidence against George: he's more into science and would be better able to understand the serum and how to use it. Also, remember that graffiti last week that said "Derecho was Here"? Turns out, a derecho is a fancy word for a long line of thunderstorms. George wants to be a meteorologist, mainly so he can sit in a chair and mess with computer stuff all day and not get in trouble if he's wrong about something. Derecho is exactly the kind of name he'd come up with. Or help Macy come up with. What if they're both Derecho?
Oh, speaking of names, I finally have one of my own! I was at Jackson's house and Uncle Pete said something about paying the "leccy bills" in that cute English accent of his. He meant the electric bill. Leccy is eccentric, just like me, and pronounced almost like "lucky," which is something I'm going to have to be in order to catch this Derecho guy (or girl). So I'm settled! All I need now is a costume. We're going on Thanksgiving break on Wednesday, so I'll have plenty of time to work on it. Not that I can sew. Maybe I'll just find a discount Halloween store and alter a costume I find there. I have money now. I've been helping Mr. Harris at his gas station after school. I alternate between cleaning the bathrooms, the back room, and the walk-in refrigerator, but I get $5 for half an hour's work, just because Mr. Harris is getting older and slower and I save him at least 45 minutes. I'm going to ask him about working on Saturdays.
Jackson's all right, I guess. He still doesn't participate in P.E., which I guess is for the best. But I hate seeing him want to run with the rest of us and not be able to. He's excited about Thanksgiving, though. He wants to make the gravy.
Oh. Thanksgiving. All my family's going to be at Jackson's house...which is more than likely also Derecho's house...this is going to be an interesting holiday season. All those little family quarrels we usually always have--Mom getting onto Aunt Miri for not using essential oils the right way, or Dad arguing politics with Uncle Pete and Uncle Roger--all that's going to seem like nothing. Because we'll have Leccy and Derecho sitting at the same table, eating the same turkey, complimenting Cousin Aggie on her stuffing. And then, afterward, heading outside to see who's stronger.
Kassie Kittredge, signing out!

I woke up to the first heavy frost of the year outside my window. It's not much, considering that it's already snowed in northern Illinois where I used to live. But pretty impressive for Texas.
With cold weather comes all sorts of ways to adapt to it. One of my favorite neighbors insists that anything below 50 degrees is too cold to go walking in; one of the delivery drivers at Domino's won't wear long pants until it's in the 20s. Comparing all these cold-weather wimps to the people of Illinois...well, let's just say it's rather humorous.
60 degrees: Northerners wear long pants and short sleeves, although shorts and sandals are fairly common if it's sunny. A jacket might be worn if it's cloudy or windy. A southerner, on the other hand, will be wearing long sleeves and possibly a light jacket.
50 degrees: Northerners switch to long sleeves and pants, although you might spot the occasional teen wearing shorts, and light jackets are not uncommon. Southerners break out the hats and light gloves.
40 degrees: Northerners wear light or midweight jackets and might drive with the windows open. Southerners go to Tractor Supply for parkas.
30 degrees: It is officially cold outside. Northerners wear heavy jackets or parkas depending on their metabolism. Children and teenagers will still try to check the mail or feed the dog barefoot and without a jacket on, although their mothers will scold them for it. Southerners dress like they're going on an Arctic expedition.
20 degrees: Northerners wear parkas and occasionally two pairs of socks. Southerners refuse to leave the house if at all possible; school will be canceled with any measurable snowfall.
10 degrees: Northerners begin to limit their outside activities but are still seen chopping ice off their driveways. Southerners are virtually housebound.
0 degrees: Temperatures of this degree are rare in the south, but can occur, especially if wind chill is factored in. At this point, Northerners will begin to skip church. They might not walk their own dogs, but they will bundle up to walk the neighbor's dogs if they are getting paid for it. Common articles of clothing include long underwear, snow pants, parkas, hats, and mittens so thick the hands are rendered virtually useless. Southern life as we know it ceases to exist.
But here's the thing about life in the south: winter comes in bursts.

It will be fifty one day. Then thirty the next. It might stay in the thirties all week but warm up into the sixties by the weekend. My weather app says that it's supposed to be 67 on Saturday and 49 on Sunday, only to warm back up to 62 by Tuesday. Texas is either bipolar or drunk. Either that or it's compassionate, trying to bring on winter but forever relenting after seeing the misery of its people.
When do you bring out the winter coats? And are you going to buy Where the Clouds Catch Fire (by clicking on the "Purchase" tab above) for anyone on your Christmas list? Let me know in the comments below! God bless you, dear readers, and don't forget to like us on Facebook!

​November 10, 2004
Well, there's already a superhero named Electra. I'll have to keep thinking, but nothing sounds as good. I obviously can't use Flash, and there's a Disney movie called Bolt. It's a shame this serum didn't give me any creativity.
Jackson's doing a bit better now. He's starting to look forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas, and he's wondering what to make for presents. His parents and my parents will obviously like anything he makes. He enjoys making pot holders--the weaving kind that little kids make, but he does a really good job of making them--but he's already made so many that he wants to do something else. Grandma's teaching him how to crochet, so maybe he can make some oven mitts to go with his pot holders. But Grandma says he needs to start by learning how to do something simple. Like pot holders. Oh well. Jackson's a fast learner--he'll be making blankets before long. Aren't blankets just big pot holders? I guess it depends on how fancy you make it. But I know Aunt Miri gets cold all the time, and she'd really like a blanket.
I should probably tell Aunt Miri and Uncle Pete about the serum before Jackson has another bad spell. But I don't want to right now. Part of me keeps hoping he doesn't need the serum, that he'll get better on his own. But he's been sick since he was a baby, so I guess he'll need something to change.
Oh, and before I forget, I noticed some graffiti on the school building. It said "Derecho was here" in black spray-paint. It was pretty high up, above the second-story window. I don't know if it's part of some early senior prank or what, but anyone has to be stupid to get up that high. And pretty strong.
Heck, even with my serum, I don't know if I'm that strong.
I don't think anyone's stolen my serum recipe. And even if they did, they wouldn't know how to use it. I did use it as the basis for my science project last year. I called it a reverse robotic process--instead of giving robots more humanlike qualities, it was giving humans more robotic qualities. All the boys were into it, of course. But I hadn't even thought of making a serum at that point. All that came later. All I knew was that, if there was any way to increase the body's ability to use electricity, it would make us stronger.
Part of me thinks that it would be awesome to have an arch nemesis. But the other part of me is scared. Arch nemeses tend to cause a lot of destruction, and I really don't want people to get hurt. I just need to get my serum idea to a doctor--maybe anonymously, somehow--and get Jackson taken care of. Then I'll grow up a bit, graduate high school, get my degree, and perfect my serum. If no one's stolen it by then. Even if it means supporting whoever's taken off with it, if it's the best way to go about things, that's what I'll do.
But I need to see who Derecho is first. And I need a superhero name! I'll have to start going by Anonymous if I can't think of anything soon.
Kassie Kittredge, signing out!

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my getting a driver's license. And what better way to spend it than with a spin in my new car?
I'm too busy for that, unfortunately. But it would be a good idea.
Yes, I finally have my own car. For those of you who are into cars, it's a 2016 Toyota Corolla. For the rest of us, it's red. I've never been into cars. I like exploring them, looking for features like electrical outlets and hidden storage, but when people start talking about powertrains and cylinders and stuff like that, I tune out.
My car is pretty cool. She has heated seats and a sunroof, and she gets good gas mileage. And she's red. My family has a "thing" for red cars--my parents' minivan is red, and so is my grandparents' SUV. When my dad got a pickup last year, he was tempted to get a red one but ended up going with silver. I'm glad.
I suppose my being an introvert has a lot to do with my feelings towards cars. A car means you're going somewhere. Going somewhere means trading my cozy bedroom, unlimited snacks, and laptop for social skills and adult responsibilities. Like work. And shopping. I went to Walmart on Tuesday and forgot to use the $2-off coupon that was attached to my mascara, but that's a story for another day. Besides, a car is just a thing that will stop working someday, or else I'll trade it in when I need more than one car seat in the back.
I was comfortable using Mom's minivan for the longest time. Heck, I still am. But it gets frustrating when I'm eating dinner at 4:30 in preparation for my 5:00 shift at Domino's and Mom still isn't back from Aldi with the groceries. I start to worry. Will Mom be back in time? Will I be late? Finally, at 4:38, Mom pulls in the driveway. We toss the groceries onto the kitchen island, and I dash off to work at a quarter to 5, praying I don't hit any red lights.
I don't have to worry about that anymore. Neither do I have to pay $20 for a half tank of gas that might last two weeks, if we're lucky. Nope! My car gets nearly twice the gas mileage of our minivan, especially if Mom drives. Dad says she drives like a racecar driver.