Alien in My Pocket #3 Read Online Free Page B

the car. There’s no escape, no distractions, and you can’t even hope to get sent to your room.
    â€œWhy’s it my fault that Taylor is playing hooky?” I argued.
    â€œNot hooky!” Mom exclaimed. “He ran away!”
    â€œHe left a note,” Dad reminded me. “He blamed you.”
    â€œHe didn’t blame me,” I corrected him. “He only said I knew why.”
    â€œSo then: Why?” Dad growled for the fifth time.

    â€œI 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.”
    â€œWell, this is a fine mess you’ve got us into.” My dad simmered as he white-knuckled the steering wheel.
    â€œTaylor 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.”
    â€œHe’s my baby,” Mom said. She was starting to cry now, which made me feel so much worse.
    â€œHe sure is acting like one,” I mumbled under my breath.
    â€œYou’ll have some answering to do later,” Dad growled, staring me down in the rearview mirror.
    â€œCan 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.
    â€œEven 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.
    â€œPrincipal Luntz is such a nice man,” Mom finally commented, looking out the window as we zipped by homes and stores.
    â€œNice?” I yelped. “Principal Luntz is a total doozle,” I said.
    â€œWatch the language,” Dad said.
    â€œLanguage?” I cried. “That’s not even English!”
    â€œYes, 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.
    â€œCan we at least pick up some burgers and fries?” I asked. “I’m starving.”
    â€œYou are so insensitive,” Mom snapped at me, her eyes red with worry.
    â€œWhat?” I said. “I’m not insensitive; I’m starving.”
    â€œCan 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.
    â€œMaybe 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.
    â€œI told you,” I grumbled inside the empty car. “That pest should have to chip in for all the gas we just wasted.”

09
    No Promises
    â€œW hat do you mean you’re