In Plain Sight

By Laura Langston

Fifteen-year-old Megan "Cause Queen" Caliente is president of the political science club and likes to make her voice heard.

But after the protest she organized on the Las Vegas Strip takes an unexpected turn, Megan is suddenly wishing she could disappear. When her mother comes to pick her up at the police station, Megan learns, to her horror, that her whole life has been a lie. Her father is a convicted terrorist, responsible for the deaths of more than two hundred people, and her mother has been living under an assumed name for fifteen years. Megan's mom is taken away in handcuffs, and Megan is expected to return to her regular life under the supervision of her aunt. But everyone, students and teachers alike, is treating her differently now. Cruel accusations and gossip, as well as persistent reporters, follow her everywhere. Worried that she is destined to follow in her father's footsteps, Megan, with the help of the charismatic Matt Mendez, the only person at school who hasn't turned on her, decides to track down the father she thought was dead and get some answers.

This short novel is a high-interest, low-reading level book for teen readers who are building reading skills, want a quick read or say they don’t like to read!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
• Release date: Mar 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781459814189

Laura Langston

Laura Langston is the author of several books for children and adults. Lesia’s Dream recently won for the Kobzar Literary Award, Canada’s newest national book award. It was also nominated for three other children’s choice awards. Mile-High Apple Pie, her recent picture book, was nominated for the OLA’s Blue Spruce Award; The Fox’s Kettle was nominated for a Governor General’s Award for Illustration; and Pay Dirt! was nominated for the Red Cedar and Silver Birch Awards. A former writer and broadcaster for the CBC, Laura Langston also writes regularly for Canadian Gardening magazine and has authored a book on herb gardening. She lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

Book preview

Chapter One

My father is a terrorist. For years I didn’t know. I thought he was dead. I still wish that sometimes. That I didn’t know. Because the things you don’t know can save you. And the things you do know can blacken your soul.

But on Tuesday afternoon, as we protest on the Las Vegas Strip, I’m hours away from learning the truth, and my soul is still pure. My intentions, however, aren’t exactly honorable. The us secretary of defense is arriving at Caesars Palace in a few minutes, and I want to create enough of a scene to make the evening news. We need the exposure for our cause.

Stop the drones! I shout as our group marches down the sidewalk in front of the casino. Drone strikes kill! We weave around tourists carrying bags and cameras and cold drinks. Most visitors look away, but some check us out. The cops are watching us too. A couple are smirking.

Ground the drones! Jenn yells, waving her sign above her head. Out on the street, a car horn honks.

Thirty of us take up the chant. Ground the drones! Ground the drones!

Sun burns the top of my head. The handle on my protest sign is slick with sweat. My shirt is sticking to my back. It’s warm for March, close to eighty degrees in the shade, but I don’t care. The warm weather means more people were willing to skip school for today’s demonstration. Including jokester Matt Mendez.

I watch him saunter down the sidewalk ahead of me, laughing with Brad and a few of his buddies. When word got out that Matt was driving to the Strip for today’s demonstration, a pile of guys jumped into his van. They don’t care about the cause. They just want to be with happy-go-lucky Matt. Everybody does.

We reach The Forum Shops and turn around. A redheaded tourist wearing a blue Only in Vegas T-shirt toasts us with his can of Coors Light. Relax! he yells. Life’s too short to waste on causes.

If your life doesn’t count for something, it counts for nothing, I holler as we march past him.

Amen! Jenn flaps her sign in his face. The movement catches him off guard. He stumbles. One of the street cops looks over and frowns.

A camera operator with News 3, the local nbc affiliate, gets it all on tape. He’s been following us down the sidewalk, but I haven’t seen any reporters, which is disappointing. I thought for sure they’d show up, especially for the defense secretary. They’re either waiting by the front entrance, which we can’t do because the casino is on private property, or they don’t care about our demonstration.

We need to make them care. We need to keep that camera operator filming us too. I start up the chant and signal the others to do the same. Drones fly and children die! If we yell loud enough, maybe a reporter will show up or maybe the defense secretary will hear us when he drives by.

In fifteen minutes, he’s going to address isuas, the International Symposium on Unmanned Aircraft Systems, that’s being held this week in Las Vegas. As president of our school’s political science club, I decided to rally my friends and fellow club members and organize a protest. I’ve planned another protest for Friday afternoon when the conference ends too.

If I don’t get a drink of water right now I think I’ll die. April’s sign flops as she fans her face with her hand. You didn’t tell me it would be this hot.

Jenn, our club vice-president, gives her a disgusted look. She tolerates April, but they aren’t exactly friends. How were we supposed to know the fog would burn off this afternoon? She marches ahead of us. End the drone wars now! she shouts.

I hang back with April. She only came because she wanted an excuse to ditch math. I’m fine with that. The more bodies we have, the better. Drones kill! I wave my sign in the air and try to make eye contact with a middle-aged couple admiring the neatly clipped shrubs in huge white pots. They look past me.

I need to go inside and check my mascara, April says. April adores makeup as much as I adore current events. I’m pretty sure it’s running.

I look at her. A faint blue smudge surrounds both eyes. It’s not running. It’s not. It’s smudging. Besides, you can’t leave now. The defense secretary will be here any minute. And that camera operator is filming.

Not me, I hope. April’s been hiding her face with her sign whenever the guy points his camera at us.

She isn’t a risk taker like Jenn and me. Maybe because her parents are accountants and lead quiet and predictable lives. On the other hand, my mother is a freedom-loving artist who always talks about listening to your heart, and that hasn’t helped me any. She hates that my heart told me to join the political science club. She wishes I’d take up photography or something else artistic. She should be happy I’ve joined a club at all. That my big love is current events, not parties and weed.

My dad wouldn’t want me on the news, April adds.

My mother wouldn’t want me on the news either. Luckily, she never watches tv, so I have nothing to worry about.

I spot Matt jumping up and down making monkey noises beside a hop-on, hop-off tour bus. Three of his buddies are doubled over with laughter. Beside me, April giggles.

I’m pissed off. Why can’t he be serious for once in his life? I’ve spent days organizing this event. I don’t want Matt Mendez ruining it.

Come on, Megan, April says. He’s just having fun.

"He can have fun later. This is serious. Hundreds of innocent people die every year because of drone strikes.