Secret Powers for the Young: The Maries Reunite

By Stella Nguepnang

Four girls, Alyssa, Isabella, Victoria, and Hope embark on a journey to reunite their mothers after they were separated in a fight, when the girls were infants. Now, the situation escalates when the girls are forced to complete a mission or lose their lives due to their knowledge of a top secret corporation called Secret Powers for the Young (SPY). Will these girls be able to succeed this mission or will the fates of their moms end in catastrophe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491818893

Stella Nguepnang

Stella Nguepnang is a fourteen year old writer. She started writing Secret Powers for the Young when she was twelve. When she is not writing or at school Stella enjoys tumbling, playing her drums and piano, hanging out with her friends and holding her cute Winter White Hamster, “Snow White,” which she shares with her twin sister, Sonia. She has two older sisters, Marlene and Elvire; her parents are Jeannine and Isaac. Stella continues to enjoy writing poetry and stories. You can see Stella on social media as Stella Nguepnang on Facebook and StellaN1999 on Twitter and Instagram.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter  1  Alyssa Smith

Chapter  2  Isabella Le

Chapter  3  Victoria Quick

Chapter  4  Hope Stewart

Chapter  5  Confusion

Chapter  6  Weird Encounter

Chapter  7  Parents

Chapter  8  Stylist

Chapter  9  Phase 1

Chapter  10  Forever

This book is dedicated to…

My middle school teachers:

Ms. Samantha Candia, Ms. Claire Copps, Ms. Maggie Jones, Ms. Kristyn Menna, Ms. Amanda Plunkett, Ms. Karen Robertson, and more.

My family friends:

Mr. Tappa Roger and Mrs.Tappa Felicite, Jennifer Amabilia Garcia, and more.

The Nguepnang family:

My sisters: Sonia (twin sister), Marlene and Elvire.

My parents: Jeannine and Isaac.

My Grandma: Helene Wakam and more.

Prologue

M ore than a decade ago, there were four mothers that were best friends. They had grown up together, went to college together, fell in love and got married all around the same time too. These mothers even had one beautiful daughter of their own all in the same week.

When their daughters were eight months old, they took them to a fair. As they toyed with everything and played games, they grew tired and sleepy.

They passed a hypnotist who begged them all to come near. The mothers accepted gleefully but begged her to not do anything to their children. I would just like to give your daughters these nice bracelets, she notified them smirking.

The mothers accepted the bracelets with flower charms on each of them. She insisted on a certain colored bracelet for each girl. When the mothers asked if she had given them to any other person, she truthfully stated that she had not.

Little did they know that what was given to their daughter would reunite them, after a huge quarrel erupt between the mothers!

Chapter 1

ALYSSA SMITH

P rada or Gucci, Louis Vuitton or Dolce; these are only a few of the designer clothes that draw out to be a maze in my closet. But of course, my mother repeatedly says, The Smith only shop at the best. She also insists because she knows these designers like family.

Why does she know such high and famous people? That is because she is an international model and actress, her name is Isabella Smith.

I am her daughter, Alyssa Marie Nicole Smith. I get some of my looks from my mom, though the magazines say I look just like her. John Smith, my dad is who I get my shiny red hair and sparkling green eyes from. He owns the Smith Mall and the brand new Smith Park.

My dad likes to work with big projects and such. The Smith Mall was handed down to him, from my Grandpa Jason, who retired many years ago. My dad made a point to move over here, from our New York City penthouse to a little area in Calabasas, California that had a castle estate. Weird! Of course, it took a while, but two years later and here we finally are.

Even after spending the last days of my fifth grade school year packing up my room, I felt quite calm. The way one would feel after a huge day at the spa, like the girl days my mom usually drags me to.

Laying indolently on my new king size bed, looking across the room to my vanity seemed pretty ordinary and methodical in the summer morning. What made me suddenly apprehensive was the new room. It felt otherworldly; or like some irony.

I wake up and look around the room, wishing to find my previous square shaped room, where I had been living since I was born. But instead, I ball up my hands into a fist and rub my closed green eyes, living the moment in hope that I was dreaming. No! I am having a nightmare. That is exactly what this is, a nightmare!

The scene of my new round shaped room did not go away. I released my nails from the skin of my palm, and bit my bottom lip; urging myself not to scream; this is real.

Moving was not that much of a joy either; I was not able to see the part that I was most worried about, because I was on a flight. Thankfully, my parents had already ordered the movers to span out everything like it used to be in my past New York room.

Everyone tried to convince me that this move would be worthy of all the hype, even my dad. The tiny parts of the journey where I had not been unconscious, my dad would keep talking about how the estate would be completely what we needed.

At that time, I did my best to laugh at my brother’s never ending jokes, trying to keep the devilish worrisome thoughts out of my question polluted mind, and my usual go-to plan to zone out again into what seemed to be the only answer; sleep.

When tears started threatening to spill out of my glistening eyes at the thoughts, I harmlessly slapped myself slightly on the forehead, scolding myself for even thinking about the past. I need to think more about now, the present. From now on, I am going to make sure this summer ends up as one of my best memories.

So, with that motivation, I wiped my eyes and swung my legs around. As I bent over to slip on my thick light green, feather slippers that had mysteriously showed up there while I was sleeping.

My mom was not here today, so I did not bother trying to look ‘presentable’ and totally went against her rules, making notice to not make my bed. The next thing I knew before I could stand up, my stomach growled; I guess that is what you get when you sleep through dinner.

I dashed downstairs and sat on the couch slipping and sliding the whole way. This had been a favorite activity of my brother and me, since I had my mother’s stylist take the rubber off of the bottom of our slippers.

I scanned the room, looking at the furniture that the movers had arranged so strictly, as if my mom’s orders really got to them even in her absence.

I do not really know why, but the next thing that came out of my mouth was uncalled for. It was finally summer, so I giggled. Next year, I am going to middle school, Yahoo! Am I pensive today or what? One second I am close to tears, the next, I am pained in the stomach, not only because of my hunger, but also because of the merriment.

I heard a frightened scream, Goodness child, you scared me.

My favorite maid Ella called. Get up, eat your breakfast and change into your most adorable clothes you cute little girl. You know you should be ready for school. She was so out of it, not really having a social life; she did not notice that it was the start of summer.

Her statement about me being a cute little girl was another thing that altered my face at the moment. Ella thinks all kids are cute, I mean who does not. That fact did not matter though, I could not tell that to my blushing cheeks. As an instinct, I bowed down my face to seclude my rosy cheeks. I also told myself that with my light red hair, if I reddened it too much I would look like a plump tomato.

As Ella walked passed me and stared, I realized I had zoned out in a way that possibly looked like I had been ignoring her.

Abuela, abuela, I answered, It’s fine; summer has started. I called her abuela, which means grandma because we were really close. She let her glowing hair fall in front of her face, as she let the broom sweep away the dust under the chair next to mine. She was living proof that my mother’s color product she had given her was working.

The elderly England native and I both did not have the knowledge on how to speak the Spanish language. I have always called her grandma, our recent language change would not be too terrible.

Ella was a soft, rare kind of lady. Unlike most of the elderly I had encountered, she was hyper and quick on her feet! She never judged or teased me about the things that I was not comfortable with.

That is why Ella was the first person I thought of, when my brother gossiped to me. He had heard our parents conversing from their master bedroom, regarding the cross country move.

Ella, who was nicknamed Cinderella by Jason and me when we were little, happily decided without hesitation to follow us over here.

Uh, abuela, I asked. Let’s go to the mall or something, you know since my mom bailed on me? I often feel bad for her. Her husband died because of some sickness ten years ago, he literally was all she had. Sometimes at night, she would tell me stories about him and his smart funny comments that he always said.

She interrupted my thoughts, Honey, you know your mom cares about you, she spoke as if she did not like the situation. She just could not be here because of that runway show that started earlier, it was planned.

Just for Jason and me, at the end of the school year, my mom plans a party that will quote on quote, Will give a brand new definition to the word ‘party.’ But then again, she says this for about every party the woman makes.

My mom, otherwise known to the rest of the world as a stunning beauty, has a whole quarter section of her heart, brain, and free time devoted to making parties. When she makes each of them, she always comes up with some rational excuse for party planning.

Everyone knows it is not always one hundred percent for the fun of others as she puts it. But of course, no one dares questioning or interfering. My dad once told me that, With your mom, it is smarter to just believe what she tells you, and after thinking about it, he is kind of right. He also mentioned that she means no harm, a lot. What does that mean?

I remember when the tiny sentence played with my curiosity. Three years ago, I was a naive seven year old and about to find out. It was another morning before another ‘summer break off’ party and my mom was in a heated fight between herself and a tortured omelet on her favorite pan.

43167.png

As mom tried to wedge the poor spatula between the omelet and the pan surface, a frustrated modulation flowed from her lips. Did she know she had not used cooking oil?

After clearing my throat for a few minutes, I decided to speak up, Mom? It came