Read Alien in My Pocket #3 Online
Authors: Nate Ball
Alien in My Pocket #3 (4 page)
“Y
ou're not getting the gravity of this situation,” Mom said, turning around in the front seat to check on how upset I looked.
I've found that there's nothing worse than getting the third degree in the car. There's no escape, no distractions, and you can't even hope to get sent to your room.
“Why's it my fault that Taylor is playing hooky?” I argued.
“Not hooky!” Mom exclaimed. “He ran away!”
“He left a note,” Dad reminded me. “He blamed you.”
“He didn't blame me,” I corrected him. “He only said I knew why.”
“So then: Why?” Dad growled for the fifth time.
“I told you,” I said. “He's been listening in on me and Olivia. Spying on us. So we were just joking about spiders in the house. It was just a prank.”
“Well, this is a fine mess you've got us into.” My dad simmered as he white-knuckled the steering wheel.
“Taylor couldn't have gone far,” I said. “His legs are too short, he doesn't have a wallet, and he can't even make his own sandwiches yet.”
“He's my baby,” Mom said. She was starting to cry now, which made me feel so much worse.
“He sure is acting like one,” I mumbled under my breath.
“You'll have some answering to do later,” Dad growled, staring me down in the rearview mirror.
“Can we at least turn on some music?” I asked.
No response.
We were driving to Miles Tomlinson's house. He was Taylor's best friend. Mom kept calling their home number on her cell as she scanned the street. School wasn't out yet, so the streets and sidewalks of our neighborhood were deserted. Nobody picked up the phone at Miles's house.
“Even if he were there, I don't think he'd pick up their phone,” I said. It was true, but they didn't seem to care.
The car got quiet, and I listened to the engine roar as Dad hit the gas pedal again.
“Principal Luntz is such a nice man,” Mom finally commented, looking out the window as we zipped by homes and stores.
“Nice?” I yelped. “Principal Luntz is a total doozle,” I said.
“Watch the language,” Dad said.
“Language?” I cried. “That's not even English!”
“Yes, but I know what you meant by it.”
I threw my hands up at that one and just sat back and considered the possibility of running away myself.
It turned out that Taylor was not at Miles Tomlinson's house. Or Sutter Smith's. Or Jack Vollrath's. We also stopped by 7-Eleven, Donut Heaven, Big Eye Books, and the dog park. No sign of him.
“Can we at least pick up some burgers and fries?” I asked. “I'm starving.”
“You are so insensitive,” Mom snapped at me, her eyes red with worry.
“What?” I said. “I'm not insensitive; I'm starving.”
“Can it,” Dad said.
I rolled my eyes and listened to my stomach make noises like a newborn cat. We visited the bowling alley, Grogani's Electronics, the comic shop, and, for some inexplicable reason, the pet store.
No sign of the runaway squirt anywhere.
My parents seemed to get extra tense with every failed visit, so I kept my mouth shut.
Until I couldn't take it anymore.
“Maybe he's at home,” I finally said. “He's probably already given up on his whole run-away-from-home-to-get-more-attention scheme.”
My parents exchanged a look that told me they were shocked they had not thought of the same thing.
It was past our regular dinnertime when we pulled up in front of our house. Mom and Dad both jumped out and jogged into the house. I stayed in the car, slumped in the backseat. Somehow I knew he'd be here. Taylor just wasn't the runaway type.
They didn't come out to continue the search. That alone told me that Taylor was already home.
“I told you,” I grumbled inside the empty car. “That pest should have to chip in for all the gas we just wasted.”
“W
hat do you mean you're not done with my walkie-talkie?” I whisper-screamed before school on Friday morning. “The race is tomorrow morning, Amp! Principal Luntz wants us to report to the information booth by seven a.m.”
“I'm breaking new ground here, Zack,” he said, guarding the opening to my closet as best he could. “This isn't easy to do, you know. It's a tribute to Erdian know-how that I'm this close to making it work.”
“But you promised me you'd be done by now, you big blue fibber,” I said.
“I didn't âpromise,'” he said, making air quotes on the word
promise
with his mini, three-fingered hands. “I predicted I'd be done. Totally different.”
“Oh my gosh, Amp, I can't show up without my walkie-talkie! You can't get kicked off Young Volunteers! It's . . . it's like jail. You don't get thrown out of jail for bad behavior, they just make you stay longerâ”
I caught a glimpse of my walkie-talkie. I gasped. Half the components on the little green board inside the walkie-talkie had been popped off. Wires stuck up at odd angles, attached to nothing. Other important-looking parts were scattered on the carpet. I stared in horror. “What theâ? Did you blow it up, Amp?!”
“It's not as bad as it looks, Zack.”
“
No?
It's probably worse than it looks.”
“Don't worry,” he said, waving a casual hand at the destruction behind him. “I know where everything goes. Pretty much.”
I walked over to my bed and collapsed facedown onto it. I let out a groan. “I may be going to real prison when Principal Luntz gets his hands on me.”
“I'm not sure you understand how difficult this is,” he said from somewhere down on the carpet.
“Oh, I think I have a firm grasp of how difficult you are,” I bellowed into the blanket pressed to my face.
“No, not me! I'm talking about the device I'm constructing.”
I looked down at him. “Constructing? Seriously? I see a lot more demolition than construction in there, Dr. Frankenstein.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Frankenâoh, never mind! I forgot: Erdians have no sense of humor.”
“I don't see what's funny about this situation.”
“That's what I've been saying!” I glared at him.
“What's more important? Stopping an alien invasion on Earth, or having a walkie-talkie so people can find the portable toilets?”
“Hey, that's pretty dang important when you've gotta go,” I said. I sat up on the edge of the bed and considered my pint-size roommate. “Is there any way you can finish tonight and put everything back in its place by sunrise?”
“No.”
I grunted. “Aren't you going to even think about it? At least pretend to think it's possible?”
He stared at me. Then tapped his foot, scratched his head, and made a weird humming sound for over a minute. “Okay, I thought about it.”
“And?”
“No, I won't be done.”
I fell back on my bed and rested an arm over my watery eyes. “This may be more stress than a fourth grader can handle.”
C
LINK!
PLINK!
CLICK!
I felt like someone was tapping on my dream.
I was dreaming that I was emptying my pockets as fast as I could, but they were stuffed with a never-ending supply of hairy tarantulas, walkie-talkie parts, and crumbling Ritz crackers.
I was sure this was something my mom would label an anxiety dream.
So I didn't mind someone knocking on my dream. I stopped my frantic emptying and looked at the growing pile of spiders, electronics, and crackers. Then I woke up.
TAP! CLICK!
My window. The noise was coming from my window. I knew who was throwing pebbles against my window without having to look.
BANG!
Okay, now that one was a rock! What was she thinking?
I sat up. I stumbled to my window and yanked back the curtain. The sky was just starting to shake off the night, turning a soft violet color. I opened my window and leaned out.
The cold air hit me in the face like a cream pie.
“Whoa, you look like a dead rooster,” Olivia called from down below. She had come through a hole in the backyard fence and now stood on the wet lawn, hands on hips and walkie-talkie clipped to her belt.
“I was having a bad dream,” I mumbled. I started to shiver.
“I've been trying to call you on the walkie-talkie,” she said, unclipping hers and waving it in the air. “Why don't you answer?”
“Because Amp isn't done with it. It's still in a million pieces.”
“
What?
Are you guys crazy?!” she scream-whispered. “Luntz will not be happy. He already doesn't like you, you know.”
“I am aware of that,” I said softly.
“You better tell him I had nothing to do with tearing that walkie-talkie apart.”
“Don't worry,” I whispered. “We'll cook up some kind of excuse.”
“No,
you'll
cook up an excuse,” she said, flapping her arms. “Don't involve me in your destruction of school property. You know, it's often not the crime itself that gets people in trouble, it's the cover-up that follows that does you in.”
“Hold on,” I snapped. “There's no crime here. No cover-up. Just take it down a notch, drama mama.”
“Whatever,” she said, folding her arms. “I'll visit you in prison. I promise.”
I thought for a second. “I'll be down in two minutes.” I closed my window and dressed in ten seconds.
I looked into the closet. The walkie-talkie pieces were still scattered everywhere. Actually, it looked worse, which was truly startling considering how bad it looked last night. “Amp, you really messed me up on this one.”
“I'm almost ready,” a weary Amp called out from inside.
“Aaaagh,” I grunted, and stomped off.
Outside my room, the hallway was stacked on both sides with stuff from Taylor's room. He was still doing a complete cleaning, despite the fact that I had been forced to admit to and apologize for tricking him with Amp the spider. But my parents did take away his walkie-talkie receiver, so I considered the whole ordeal a partial victory.
I zipped down the stairs, jotted a quick note for my parents telling them I'd left early for the race, and headed out the door with visions of Principal Luntz's angry face dancing in my head.