Home Alone by Todd Strasser, John Hughes Page A

like a character from Dynasty . But then, she was a clothes designer and worked in the fashion business.
    "I don't want any calls while I'm away," Kate was saying. "I'm not going to France so I can spend the holidays on the phone."
    Kevin ran into the room. He knew his mother hated to be interrupted while she was on the phone, but he was mad at her because she hadn't taken him to Santa's Village that day to see Santa Claus. Besides, this was more important than some dumb phone call.
    "Uncle Frank won't let me watch the movie," he shouted. "If the big kids can, why can't I?"
    "Shush," Kate said. Then to the phone she said, "We put Ralphy in the kennel . . . what? No, Ralphy's the dog. I gave them the office number in case there's a problem."
    "But Mom . . ." Kevin tugged at her dress. "It's not even an R movie. Uncle Frank's just being a jerk."
    Kate put her hand over the phone. "If Frank said no, I say no."
    "That's not fair," Kevin shouted, but his mother ignored him. Kevin saw that her dresses were laid out on the bed, waiting to be packed for the trip. He flopped down on the bed.
    "Kevin!" Kate snapped. "Get off there!"
    Kevin slid off the bed, making sure a few of his mom's dresses slid onto the floor, too. Kate's eyes widened with anger.
    "Get out of here!" she shouted.
    "Hang up the phone and make me," Kevin shouted back.
    In the middle of this, Kevin's father Peter stepped out of the bathroom. He was a handsome man. with short black hair. He'd just come home from the office, and was still wearing his business shirt and tie.
    "Kate?" he said. "Where's the voltage adaptor thing?"
    "I didn't have time to pick one up," Kate replied. "And I wish everyone would stop interrupting me when I'm on the phone."
    "How am I gonna shave in France?" Peter asked.
    Kate didn't answer. Kevin headed for his father. If he Couldn't get his mother to say yes, maybe his dad would.
    "Dad," he whined. "Nobody'Il let me do anything."
    "I'll let you do something," his father said. "Go pick up your Micromachines. Aunt Leslie stepped on one and nearly broke her neck."
    "And I found him in the workroom before, fooling around with the blowtorch," Kate said from across the room.
    Squealer, Kevin thought. Suddenly he decided it was time to leave.
    "Wait a minute," his dad said sternly. "What have I told you about that? That torch is for grown-ups only. Never, ever play around with it."
    "But Buzz showed me how," Kevin said. Before his father could reply, Aunt Leslie came in. She was Uncle Frank's wife and chubby like him. She talked with a real squeaky voice.
    "How come Uncle Frank won't let me—" Kevin began to ask, but Aunt Leslie held up her hand.
    "In a minute, Kevin," she squeaked.
    " In a minute, Kevin ." Kevin imitated Aunt Leslie's squeak.
    "Kevin!" Peter shouted, glaring at his son. "Out! Right now!"
    Kevin stuck out his tongue and left.
    Harry Lyme stepped onto the McCallisters' front porch and rang the doorbell. The policeman's uniform he'd rented from the costume shop was tight around the neck and too short in the arms.
    A blonde girl about fourteen years old opened the door. "Can I help you?" she asked.
    "Yes, are your parents home?" Harry said, stepping into the foyer.
    "Yeah, but they don't live here," Tracy replied.
    Harry scowled. "Huh?"
    Just then Heather passed by, lugging a suitcase.
    "Hey, Tracy," she said. "Did you call for the pizzas?"
    "Buzz did," Tracy answered. "By the way, my dad said an American hair dryer won't work in France. Is that true?"
    France, thought Harry with a smile.
    "You need a voltage adaptor," Heather told her.
    "What's that?" Tracy asked.
    "Ask your mom," Heather said.
    "Excuse me," Harry said to Heather. "Are your parents here?"
    "My parents live in Paris," Heather said. Now a younger girl with glasses joined them.
    Big family, Harry thought, imagining all the TVs they must have.
    " Bonjour , Mr. Policeman," the younger girl said.
    "Wrong, Sondra," Heather said. " Bonjour means good day. It's evening