Project Jackalope Read Online Free Page A

and ready to go by the time Mom and Dad were up for breakfast. And as tired as I was, I was definitely looking perkier than Mom.
    “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
    Mom’s eyes were red and watery, and she had a pile of used tissues in the trash can next to her. She shrugged. “Allergies, I guess,” she said.
    “Your mom came into contact with something that really set her off,” Dad said, padding over to the table with a glass of juice for her.
    “That’s too bad,” I said, a frozen smile on my face. Because I knew exactly what must’ve set Mom off.
    I told you about Killer, my rat with the pink eyes? Well, what I didn’t tell you is that Killer was my rat for a grand total of maybe three days. That’s how long it took for us to figure out that Mom was massively allergic and to find him a new home. He lives with Keisha Albright now, and answers to Sweetums. She brought in a picture of him last year. He was wearing a pink bow around his neck and posing in a Barbie Dream House. I don’t like to talk about it.
    If Mom can’t handle a puny white rat like Killer, she definitely wouldn’t be able to handle a freaking jackalope. I cussed at Professor Twitchett in my head and grabbed my jacket.
    “I figured I’d better go in early. Do some research for my project.”
    Mom nodded, bleary-eyed, and waved me away as she staggered off into their bedroom, Dad following behind her with the box of tissues.
    “Okay then. Bye!” I swung my backpack over my shoulder and headed for the door. I’d flushed Twitchett’s note down the can, shut the jackalope up in my hamper again, and chucked the empty whiskey bottle into the Dumpster under my window—perfect shot, too. (The jackalope seemed to have eaten the Dixie cup.) The plan was to track Agatha down before school, ask her where Twitchett was, and get rid of that thing.
    But, of course, plans change. Mine changed the minute I opened my door and came face to face with Mr. Jones.
    I think I handled the situation well. I immediately slammed the door in his face and locked it. It was an impulse and I went with it. So sue me.
    I leaned against the door and tried to figure out what to do. I knew I only had a minute or two, tops, before hewormed his way inside the apartment. And once he was inside again, it wasn’t going to be easy to get rid of him. And I wasn’t going to let him find that jackalope. Forget about the whole mythological creature thing—Mom would kill me if she thought I had a secret pet.
    There was only one thing I could do. I rushed back into my bedroom and emptied my backpack onto the floor of the closet. Then I marched over to the hamper. I didn’t even think about what I was about to do—I just did it. Which was good, because if I’d thought about actually touching that crazy antlered killer, I think I would’ve puked in my gym shoes.
    Taking a deep breath, I opened the hamper, reached in, and had that puny jackalope around the middle before he’d even realized what I was doing. He squeaked and waggled his legs angrily, but thankfully he simmered down pretty quickly. Which was lucky for me, because it’s not easy to act cool when your hand’s a bloody stump.
    I set the jackalope down carefully inside my backpack and slowly zipped it up, ready to jump back and out of the way if he went after me. But he didn’t—he just eyedme angrily, probably plotting the best angle for jumping up and lopping off the top of my skull. Those antlers were a huge problem, too—they made a couple of nasty-looking holes in the backpack when I tugged on it a bit to get it shut. Not a good sign. I had just finished zipping it up (except for the new “breathing” holes in the top) when I heard Dad talking to Mr. Jones at the door.
    I pressed myself up against the wall next to my door and peeked out, listening so hard my ears practically bled.
    “I’m sorry, he’s left for school already, but come inside, please.” Dad ushered Mr. Jones into the living room. I