Life on Mars Read Online Free
Author: Jennifer Brown
rescue line.
But just as the figure made it almost to the tree line, my foot involuntarily jerked forward and knocked into the flashlight, dislodging the magnifying glass from its tape and sending it thunking down the eaves. It landed with a clatter on the porch below.
I winced and tried to push myself tighter against the wallof the house as the man froze in place. Maybe he wouldnât notice. Maybe he wouldnât notice. Maybe he ⦠who was I kidding? Of course he was going to notice.
He turned and looked up at me. Thatâs when I caught a glimpse of his face and nearly passed out. His eyes were sunken. He glared. And scowled. Scowled and glared, with a hint of murderous evil eye.
I held my breath.
I couldnât move. My heart was beating in my throat and my knees were knocking together. I was certain that this was going to be the last time I ever looked at Mars, mostly because dead people didnât tend to do a whole lot of anything. I couldnât seem to rip my gaze away from the creepy dark figure even though he was hands-down the scariest thing Iâd ever seen in my whole life (and that included the time I walked in on Vega putting some sort of hair-removing foam on her upper lip).
And then he turned, pulled his hood farther up on his head, and disappeared into the woods.
It was as if heâd never been there at all.
But I knew he had.
Because I could scrub my eyeballs with Cassiâs super scratchy loofah a thousand times, and Iâd still never get that terrifying face out of my head.
3
The Face-Eating Zombie Constellation
The next day, I answered the door to find Tripp crouched on my front porch rubbing his shin. I couldnât count how many times Iâd found Tripp this wayâgrimacing, massaging a knot on his head or sucking on a jammed finger or hopping around on one foot.
Tripp had a real name. Itâs just nobody could remember it anymore. It may have been Roberto. Or maybe I just imagined it being Roberto because Tripp had freckles and red hair and he didnât look anything at all like a Roberto, so thinking of him as a Roberto was kind of funny.
Actually, it may have been Jason.
Or Todd.
Once I asked his little brother Dodge what Trippâs real name was and even he couldnât remember. Come to think of it, he couldnât remember what his real name was, either. But he did agree that thinking of Tripp as Roberto was funny.
It didnât matter what Trippâs real name was, anyway. Everyone called him Tripp. As in:
Tripped over the teacherâs desk on the first day of kindergarten and made her spill her coffee down the front of her dress.
Tripped and fell into the pond surrounding Monkey Island at the zoo on our first-grade field trip, causing the zookeepers to have to shut down Monkey Island for two hours so they could calm down the freaked-out monkeys. Which actually kind of made him a rock star for all of first grade.
Tripped on the first day of middle school and landed on a ketchup bottle, which squirted right into Amber Grahamâs hair. He was officially no longer a rock star after that.
Tripped and broke his wrist/thumb/ankle/tooth/collarbone/sliding glass door/aquarium/Grandmaâs prized china plate collection.
Tripp and I had been part of a best friend trio with Priya since preschool, when he fell into me and knocked me face-first into the sandpit. You would think being best friends with such a klutz would be embarrassing, but actually it wasnât. I managed to look really graceful and cool while I was around Tripp. Like a gazelle leaping through the forest. Except that Iâd found that comparing yourself to a gazelle leaping through things made people look at you funny and say that youâre weird, so I tried not to do it too often.
âI hit that thing,â he said when I opened the door. He pointed toward a moving van at the house that separated hishouse from mine. The house had been empty for months, ever
But just as the figure made it almost to the tree line, my foot involuntarily jerked forward and knocked into the flashlight, dislodging the magnifying glass from its tape and sending it thunking down the eaves. It landed with a clatter on the porch below.
I winced and tried to push myself tighter against the wallof the house as the man froze in place. Maybe he wouldnât notice. Maybe he wouldnât notice. Maybe he ⦠who was I kidding? Of course he was going to notice.
He turned and looked up at me. Thatâs when I caught a glimpse of his face and nearly passed out. His eyes were sunken. He glared. And scowled. Scowled and glared, with a hint of murderous evil eye.
I held my breath.
I couldnât move. My heart was beating in my throat and my knees were knocking together. I was certain that this was going to be the last time I ever looked at Mars, mostly because dead people didnât tend to do a whole lot of anything. I couldnât seem to rip my gaze away from the creepy dark figure even though he was hands-down the scariest thing Iâd ever seen in my whole life (and that included the time I walked in on Vega putting some sort of hair-removing foam on her upper lip).
And then he turned, pulled his hood farther up on his head, and disappeared into the woods.
It was as if heâd never been there at all.
But I knew he had.
Because I could scrub my eyeballs with Cassiâs super scratchy loofah a thousand times, and Iâd still never get that terrifying face out of my head.
3
The Face-Eating Zombie Constellation
The next day, I answered the door to find Tripp crouched on my front porch rubbing his shin. I couldnât count how many times Iâd found Tripp this wayâgrimacing, massaging a knot on his head or sucking on a jammed finger or hopping around on one foot.
Tripp had a real name. Itâs just nobody could remember it anymore. It may have been Roberto. Or maybe I just imagined it being Roberto because Tripp had freckles and red hair and he didnât look anything at all like a Roberto, so thinking of him as a Roberto was kind of funny.
Actually, it may have been Jason.
Or Todd.
Once I asked his little brother Dodge what Trippâs real name was and even he couldnât remember. Come to think of it, he couldnât remember what his real name was, either. But he did agree that thinking of Tripp as Roberto was funny.
It didnât matter what Trippâs real name was, anyway. Everyone called him Tripp. As in:
Tripped over the teacherâs desk on the first day of kindergarten and made her spill her coffee down the front of her dress.
Tripped and fell into the pond surrounding Monkey Island at the zoo on our first-grade field trip, causing the zookeepers to have to shut down Monkey Island for two hours so they could calm down the freaked-out monkeys. Which actually kind of made him a rock star for all of first grade.
Tripped on the first day of middle school and landed on a ketchup bottle, which squirted right into Amber Grahamâs hair. He was officially no longer a rock star after that.
Tripped and broke his wrist/thumb/ankle/tooth/collarbone/sliding glass door/aquarium/Grandmaâs prized china plate collection.
Tripp and I had been part of a best friend trio with Priya since preschool, when he fell into me and knocked me face-first into the sandpit. You would think being best friends with such a klutz would be embarrassing, but actually it wasnât. I managed to look really graceful and cool while I was around Tripp. Like a gazelle leaping through the forest. Except that Iâd found that comparing yourself to a gazelle leaping through things made people look at you funny and say that youâre weird, so I tried not to do it too often.
âI hit that thing,â he said when I opened the door. He pointed toward a moving van at the house that separated hishouse from mine. The house had been empty for months, ever
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