Annie Wu Saves the Future

Annie Wu Saves the Future

Sandra McDonald

Copyright 2012 by Sandra McDonald

Smashwords Edition

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Books by Sandra McDonald

Boomerang World

Diana Comet and Other Improbable Stories

Annie Wu Saves the Future

The Outback Stars

The Stars Down Under

The Stars Blue Yonder

Books as Sam Cameron

Mystery of The Tempest

The Secret of Othello

The Missing Juliet

Kings of Ruin

This book may be victim of typo elves. If you spot any errors, please let me know at www.sandramcdonald.com and I will give those elves a piece of my mind. I will also correct the error and send you a replacement e-copy. Thank you! Elves are lovely creatures but somewhat troublesome.

Table of Contents

Copyright

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

About

Connect

Chapter 1

My name is Annie Wu, and I’m not a secret princess. You know, the kind of girl who comes home one day to a find a fancy limousine at the curb filled with strangers bearing Important Secrets. I’m not even a pretend princess like my sister Meghan, who wears pink clothes and sleeps on pink sheets and plans on wearing pink to the Junior Prom. Pink is for little kids or older sisters, but definitely not for me.

Which makes the pink rhinestone tiara in my hands one of the most atrocious Christmas gifts ever. Not just pink, and not just glittery: it has LED lights that blink when you put batteries in it and it cranks out bad pop music. It’s an insult to princesses and good taste all at once.

It’s not personal, says my best friend, Stephanie Mercer, as we trudge home from school in the endless Seattle rain. You just had bad luck. Do you want my book?

I’m really tempted—even a boring history book about Ancient China is better than a pink tiara—but Stephanie pulled it fair and square in our class grab bag.

No, I say reluctantly. It’s okay.

Stephanie splashes through a puddle. Don’t worry. I’ll bring you back something cool from Hollywood.

That’s another reason I’m depressed. Twenty minutes ago we started school vacation. Tomorrow, Stephanie’s mom is taking her to sunny Southern California for ten whole days to do all the touristy things like the Walk of Fame and the La Brea Tar Pits. They’re going to see a TV show taped live, and probably lunch at a really expensive restaurant or two. Mrs. Mercer invited me, too, which would have been awesome except for one big problem.

I’m afraid to fly. Totally, completely terrified.

Hide-under-the-bed-like-a-whimpering-puppy kind of terrified, that’s how bad.

No one knows except Stephanie. I can’t tell my family, because that would hurt Dad’s feelings. He’s a safety engineer at an aerospace company. Our library at home is full of books about lift and aerodynamics and he’s won enough awards to cover a wall.

But what goes up must come down. In big fiery pieces, with people screaming all the way.

That’s how gravity works.

Mom says I sometimes have an overactive imagination.

Annie. Meghan glares back at me from her cool crowd on the sidewalk up ahead. Don’t dawdle. Mom’s taking us shopping.

Your sister’s always so bossy, Stephanie says.

And she snores, and she takes my stuff without asking, I say. At least we’re not blood relatives.

Did I mention I was adopted? Which is, I know, a bad sign. In books or movies the adopted kid is always the one who turns out to be the missing heir to the throne of some country no one’s ever heard of. But my birth parents died when I was little in China. The Wu family—Mom and Dad’s grandparents immigrated here to America a long time ago—adopted me.

I’m not the missing heir to anything.

Stephanie and I reach the corner between her house and mine.

Call me on New Year’s Eve, she says.

Okay. Don’t forget my souvenir.

What would you like?

Anything that’s not pink.

Stomping through puddles for the rest of the way home, I try not to mope about the fact that our vacation is three weeks long. That’s three weeks without Science Club (I’m the president) and homeroom with Mr. Lumsden, who tells chemistry jokes and makes vinegar-baking soda volcanoes. I’m so busy being depressed that I almost bump into Meghan, who has stopped outside our house. Her friends have gone into their houses so it’s just the two of us in the drizzle.

What’s the matter? I ask.

She nods toward the big black car at the curb. Who’s that?

I get a bad feeling.

The passenger door opens and a smiling, elderly man steps out. He’s African-American and looks very distinguished in a gray suit and raincoat. He doesn’t seem to mind that he has no umbrella and is getting wet.

Miss Meghan, he says, nodding to my sister. Then his smile gets bigger. Miss Annie. A pleasure to meet you.

My bad feeling gets even worse, like that time I ate bad chicken and had a stomachache for a week. Salmonella is no joke.

The front door behind us opens. A woman’s voice says, Annie. There you are.

That’s not Mom. It’s my Great Aunt Zan. She’s tall and stern, gray and wrinkled. I heard Dad once call her that old battleship, which isn’t a compliment. She only visits once a year, usually around Easter. I don’t know why she’s here now, standing in the doorway in a black raincoat, rain hat, and ugly black eyeglasses.

My parents appear in the doorway behind her, smiling those smiles parents wear when they have news their kids aren’t going to like.

Come inside, girls, Mom says cheerfully. I made some hot chocolate.

Dad scratches at his beard, something he only does when he’s nervous. Aunt Zan brought her friend there, Mr. Collins. And she brought Christmas cookies.

Meghan mutters, Bet they taste like rocks, because she’s no fan of Aunt Zan, either.

Mr. Collins bows to us graciously. He extends his arm toward the house. After you, ladies.

So we go inside and sure enough, Mom and Dad and Aunt Zan and Mr. Collins tell us the secret they’ve been keeping my entire life.

The good news is that I’m not a secret princess.

My story is a lot stranger than that, and it all began when a spaceship crashed into the Grand Canyon.

Chapter 2

If you’ve never seen the Grand Canyon in person, then you should stop what you’re doing and go visit right now. Before Mom and Dad took us in the camper last summer, I’d only seen pictures and IMAX movies of it. In person, standing on the edge and looking down into this big giant abyss, you’re seeing millions of years of time and rocks and colors. Way down at the bottom there’s the Colorado River, like a dark blue snake. The river carved all of that out of the rock; that’s how powerful water is. It’s why you should never leave the bathroom sink faucet running when you’re not there.

The first time Mom and I ever went camping, it was the Grand Canyon, Dad says now. Meghan, you were too young so you stayed home with grandma.

We’re all sitting around the living room. The adults have the comfortable sofa and chairs, so Meghan and I are stuck sitting on the floor. Aunt Zan’s red sugar cookies are on a glass plate in the middle of the coffee table. No one is eating them.

Mom picks up the story. We camped at the bottom of the canyon for three days. On our last morning, we woke up to the sound of a baby crying. We unzipped the tent, and went over to the river, and there you were, Annie. A tiny little tiny baby.

All the adults stare at me, like I’m supposed to remember this.

I was in the water? I ask.

Mom shakes her head. You were in a cradle on the riverbank. The cradle was made of silver metal and had blue blinking lights all around it.

Perhaps we should show them, Mr. Collins suggests.

Aunt Zan ignores him. She taps her right shoe impatiently. It’s one of those ugly black orthopedic shoes that old people like to wear. Annie, that cradle was a lifepod. It was ejected from a spaceship that had crashed into the canyon. Mr. Collins and I represent the crew of the ship, and we need you to return now.

For a moment everything is really quiet. The only noise is the Christmas music on the radio in the kitchen, sounding really far away.

Meghan scrunches up her face. Is this some reality TV show where you try to convince your family of the strangest possible thing, and then you all win a lot of money? Because I don’t think we’re going to win.

No one answers her. They’re too busy looking at me.

I have to go do homework, I announce, getting up off the floor. It’s true, because during Christmas break I’m supposed to do two book reports. I like book reports. Maybe I’ll write three or four.

Meghan doesn’t want to be the only kid in a room full of crazy adults. She stands up right beside me. I have to paint my nails. See you later.

Mr. Collins says, again, We should show them.

Which is when the whole room goes dark and the Grand Canyon appears two feet from my face.

#

It’s not the real Grand Canyon, of course. It’s a floating hologram, so real that I almost reach out to touch the rock. The air smells like pine trees, and the water gurgles like real rivers do. I expect it to flow down onto the rug any minute now.

In the hologram movie, Mom and Dad are bending over something I can’t quite see. Mom’s hair is longer that normal and Dad’s skinnier than he is now.

Who would leave a baby out here? Hologram Mom asks.

I don’t think they left her, says Hologram Dad.

They move aside enough for me to see the cradle. It’s silver and blue, like Mom said. A baby—I guess that’s me—is inside, crying under a pink blanket.

Of course it had to be pink.

That cradle can withstand fire, water, cold, heat and the vacuum of space, Aunt Zan explains from here in the living room. It saved your life.

In the hologram, Mom is saying, We have to call the police.

Hologram Dad looks unhappy. Did Martha and Clark Kent call the police?

Oh, great. My parents rescued me because they thought I was Superman. If there’s anything worse than being a princess, it’s being a superhero. Everyone knows that. Superheroes have all these amazing powers but terrible personal lives.

Turn this off, I say, and to my surprise the hologram vanishes right away.

Aunt Zan folds her hands primly in her lap, and Mr. Collins watches me as if waiting for further commands. Mom and Dad look worried, as if I’m going to freak out.

It’s okay to be a little upset,