Greg Moore. “Invitation” Young Adult Novella excerpt-continuation

 Gretchen was a toddler back then, and he single-parented her using extended hour day-care.  Precise and calculating, he used the time he bought with extended day-care to convert his garage into a sophisticated lab, where his disrupted experiments resumed. She had no interest in her father’s work.  Neighboring parents, aware of her father’s LAUSD exit, restrained their kids from playing with the “…mad scientist’s albino kid” as if an experiment went wrong had knocked the color from her skin. Numb with isolation, Gretchen beamed hopefully of late.  She’d finally fought her dad out of home-schooling her—she’d be soon enrolling into public school!

     It had been 8 long, strange years, but she recalled vividly how much she’d loved playing every day with other preschoolers. How hard on her it was to be snatched from her daily outing to staying home every day, to never having to sit still for her mom to wash and style her hair, check her teeth after brushing, help her bathe and get dressed before leaving the house to go to pre-school where she’d have so much fun. So never mind, Gretchen thought, that the transition into public schools would cost her two grade levels, even with her testing high for aptitude. Per LAUSD, she displayed “…marked stagnation of developmental affect…” for her age, and that for her well-being, “…we’ll start off with kids closer to her emotional development level”. 

“It’ll be rough, Shrimp.” 

“White dad; albino daughter.  Mean kids’ll heckle you to tears.”

“Who cares about you being white?   Even I know that’s no big deal.  You’re a relic, Dad.”

“Not me, Shrimp.”  Bogart arose from the barstool on which he’d sat and stretched his long arms, which now met at his fingers clasped behind his head like a black man during a routine traffic stop.  “It will never be about me.  It’s you.  Mean kids go all out to hurt your feelings.”  Six-foot two and fit, Bogart’s crewcut grayed about the fringes, belying the easiness which shone in his blue eyes. 

     
     Gretchen sat still on her bar stool, her legs hanging and crossed at the ankles, an elbow resting on the bar.  “Just the same, though, Daddy.  Isn’t it?”  Gretchen sensed that she’d won her case.  She daydreamed of attending public school:
      I’ll have to get a boyfriend.  Not that I want one.  But, whatever…just to be like everybody else—that’s all I want. 
     Her eyes, bluish indoors, blinked red now with excitement over her chalk-white cheeks.  
     “You’re scared, daddy.  But I’m not.  I don’t care if they don’t like me.”  She wondered was she telling the truth.   “I just want to be around other kids.”
     “But…what if they give you a hard time?”
     “Why, Dad?  Why do they have to give me a hard time?  Why don’t you believe they’ll accept me?”
      A deep breath, Bogart shook his head, and rested his hands weakly on his waist.  “Because you’re Albino, Shrimp.  You’re Albino.  Ignorance might not let them accept you.” 

******

     “No Deidre,” Ducky says.  Deidre, spade in hand, black hair pulled back in two braids for real labor, ready to break up the caked soil beneath her padded knees with her gardening tool.  
     13 with brown eyes, her spindly body made her look smaller than she was.   “God, I know you got me”, Ducky said as Deidre looked up at him in wonder.
     “What did I do wrong?” 
     “Nothing, little Acorn,” Ducky replied using her nickname.   He crouched to scan their plot of unkempt dirt centering the traffic triangle near Van Ness Park.   This was to be the Hyde Park Heroes (the kids decided on their group’s nickname) first beautification job.  
     A brief five yards all around, the island was set up to divide the traffic between south and southeast bound drivers where Van Ness and Slauson Avenues meet.  
      Initially, a City of Los Angeles and Rapid Transit District joint project, to “improve traffic while beautifying South L.A.”, the project was abandoned shortly after the concrete was finished, and the bed for the plants was seeded.
      An eyesore the last two years, it was the Hyde Park Heroes’ serendipitous fortune to find this high-profile stage for their first job.     
     “Nothing, Deidre!”  Ducky answered.  Deidre frowned a bit and stood up.  Her spade-wielding hand hung at her side.   ‘You’re doing fine”, You’re just a little ahead of your help.”  A faint smile on Deidre’s face.   “We’ve got to crack that hard surface with the forks first”, Ducky continued.  “Tim and his guys get the first crack at that— afterward,  Jimmy and I will soften it up some.  That way we all learn how it’s safely done.”  Deidre nodded.    “Because, Heroes, whether we transform one hundred ugly dirt patches into pretty gardens, or we fail to improve a single one, the most important thing is what?”  Panning the faces of perplexed children like a group counselor, Ducky awaits a response. 
     Tilly, a tall dark girl with her hair tied back beneath a scarf, maturing fast at 14, said “…Is that we give it our best effort?”   Heads turn toward each other, nodding.  

     “Excellent Tilly!”  Tilly smiles wide.  “But…” Ducky started, “…even sincerity is second only to safety!”  Nods accompanied by mild groans from the group.  “Rule number one is that no one gets hurt.  This is a rough job at the very beginning.  After that, it’s careful work, but when we start seeing results, it gets fun as well.  Alright?”
     “Alright!”, a uniform reply from the group, the young faces all smiles now.  Passing drivers honked their horns, cheering Ducky’s group as they knelt to rip out crabgrass, and snatch up scorched weeds with gloved hands.  Big Ducky himself, the old hard-court hero, shoved his peak shovel deep to break up old soil and make room for the new.
     There were twelve of them in all, Ducky and Jimmy the grown-up leaders, three girls, Deidre, Tilly, and Alice, and seven boys, Bobby, Tim, Elgin, Jermaine, Walter, Ferdinand, called ‘Ding’, and Angelito, called ‘Lito”.  Keen to do a good thing, they were set to make an enduring change, to put their spirited impression on the cityscape, to give rise to trees and foliage that would blossom and bless new generations.