Alien in My Pocket #3 by Nate Ball

01
    Shipwrecked
    I bet when you imagine somebody who has been shipwrecked, you think of a really skinny guy with a scraggly beard, eating bananas on a tiny island.
    I know I would have before Amp arrived.
    Amp is the alien who got shipwrecked in my room.
    I kid you not.
    Amp crash-landed on planet Earth through my bedroom window. His spaceship smashed my bedroom wall and landed on my bed. I had to cover the blackened dent in my wall with a baseball poster so my mom didn’t see it. I still haven’t really explained the black stains on my sheets.
    But those are the least of my problems. Now I have a blue alien not much bigger than my fist secretly living in my room. Imagine trying to keep that a secret! Not easy, especially since instead of bananas, my stranded traveler only eats Ritz crackers and SweeTarts. Seriously, there’s only so many rolls of SweeTarts a kid can buy without people starting to get suspicious!

    You might think living with your own little alien dude is fascinating and incredible and amazing—but you’d be wrong. It’s like sharing your room with an annoying little brother. A little, blue, three-fingered brother from another planet. I already have a little brother from this planet. And trust me, one little brother is more than enough.
    â€œDid you fart?” my alien houseguest asked, interrupting my homework—again.
    â€œ Whoever smelt it dealt it,” I mumbled, not looking up from my math homework.
    â€œHow dare you?” Amp replied in his high-pitched voice. “You know my body uses energy much too efficiently to require the release of leftover gases.”
    â€œOh, come on,” I groaned.
    â€œI am offended, Zack. I’m simply noting that suddenly your room smells funny.”
    â€œYou’re always floating air biscuits and then pointing fingers.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by ‘air biscuits’?”
    â€œOh, you know. A barking spider. A cheese squeeze. A thunder muffin. A seat tweet.”
    â€œI can honestly say I have no idea what you are talking about.”
    I put down my pencil and turned to look at him. “I am saying you release cloud monkeys all the time then act all mystified as to why it smells like burning tires in here. Face it, you fluff quite frequently because of that crummy diet of yours.”
    â€œI am still puzzled as to why my affection for Ritz crackers and SweeTarts troubles you so much.”
    â€œ It wouldn’t be so much of a problem if you didn’t walk around like a crop duster, leaving a trail of toxic alien farts behind you.”
    Amp was quiet for a second. He sat down on the alarm clock next to my bed and squirmed. I think he was trying to give me some alien stinkeye, but it just made him look even more gassy. “You can’t prove a thing.”
    I rolled my eyes and turned back to my word problems. “Silent but deadly.” I sighed.
    â€œI heard that.”
    â€œGood,” I whispered. “You little fart factory.”
    â€œI heard that, too.”
    The walkie-talkie next to my math book sud denly crackled to life. “Earth One, this is Earth Two. Over.”
    Olivia.
    Olivia is my best friend and next-door neighbor, and she’s the only other person on the planet who knows about my secret roommate.
    I picked up the walkie-talkie and pushed the Talk button. “This is Earth One. Read you loud and clear. What’s up? Over.”
    I stared at the walkie-talkie, waiting.
    â€œI’m coming over. Over.”
    â€œOver? Oh, roger. Over,” I said awkwardly.
    â€œWhat?” Olivia responded after a few seconds. “I’ve got SweeTarts. Over.”
    â€œOh, goodie, dinner,” Amp said from behind me.
    â€œYou mean SweetFarts? Over.”
    â€œFunny. Over.”

    Then I heard the doorbell ring downstairs.
    It was time for our daily meeting about getting Amp back home. We hadn’t met in three days, though, so our daily meeting might