The Kids Alliance Chapter 1, By Makaila Odoom

Chapter 1

The Beginning Of Everthing

My name is Makaila. I’m fourteen years old.

I’m not some child genius or secret ninja or chosen one. I’m just me.
I like soccer, animals, acting, and snacks. (Especially cheese fries. Life-changing.)

I’m not loud, but I’m not invisible. I live somewhere in the middle, like the filling in an Oreo. I don’t usually start conversations with strangers, but I’ll wave if you say hi. Probably.

Right now, I’m in my room getting ready for soccer practice. Or trying to. My room is… uh… well, it’s mine. That should say enough.
There’s a white bunk bed with stairs instead of a ladder (because I value my shins), posters of every movie and show I’ve ever obsessed over, and random art taped to the walls from every school project I was ever too proud of to throw away.

My dresser looks like a tornado threw a birthday party on top of it. My closet is a no-go zone. My desks—yes, plural—are disaster zones. But they’re my disaster zones. Cozy chaos.

I’m FaceTiming Reina, one of my best friends. We met through our moms (Facebook moms unite), and somehow we’ve been stuck together ever since. In the best way.

“Hey, what are you doing this weekend?” I ask, brushing my ponytail into place. “Park trip with A?”

A = Abella, our other bestie. Literal sunshine in human form. She’s the kind of girl who always brings backup snacks and reminds you you’re amazing even when you forget.

“I’ll ask my mom,” Reina says. “Did A say she could come?”

“Yuppers! Fingers crossed.” I grin. “Okay, gotta run. Coach Ellie will straight-up hunt me down if I’m late again.”

“Bye, Makai!”

(Makai = my nickname. Pronounced Ma-KAY, not Ma-KYE. Please. I’ve suffered.)

I run down the stairs, almost barrel into my older brother Sam—seventeen, gym rat, annoyingly charming—and nearly cause a sibling pileup.

“WHOA,” he shouts. “Eyes open, Goofy!”

“I’m delicate!” I protest, laughing. He rolls his eyes but ruffles my hair. Big brothers are the worst. And the best. Don’t tell him I said that.

“You ready?” Mom asks, holding her keys. “Willa’s staying home today.”

Willa’s my two-year-old sister. Absolute menace. Cuteness weaponized. She once did a pull-up on the dining table. True story.

The drive to practice is quick. Peaceful. Normal.
Which is funny, because it’s the last time anything feels that way for a long time.