parents.
Will made fun of me enough already. I knew he’d never take me seriously.
I couldn’t tell my parents about it, either. Every time they caught me on the computer chatting with other believers, they threatened to take the computer away from me.
So I tried to hide my obsession from them. They wouldn’t have been too happy to hear about what I’d found.
Dad pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “Well, I’ve got to get to work,” he said. He had an office in town, selling commercial real estate. Mom worked with him part time.
He mussed my already messy brown hair. “Have a good day at school, Ben.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He walked to the foot of the stairs and called up to my mother. “Honey! I’m leaving!”
Biscuit trotted back into the kitchen with the troll doll in her mouth. She stopped and dropped it at my feet.
“Thanks, girl,” I said, patting her. I picked up the doll and stared at it. Biscuit scampered away.
Will bounded into the room and grabbed the box of cereal.
“Checking the doll for alien markings?” he teased. He reached into the box of cereal, pulled out a handful of sweet pink O’s, and stuffed them into his mouth.
“At least I don’t eat like a monkey,” I shot back.
“Ha ha,” he fake-laughed, spitting half-chewed cereal on the table.
We were only one year apart. He was in sixth grade, I was in seventh. But we never got along very well. We were just different from each other.
We both had dark hair, but his was straight, black, and shiny. He had freckles sprinkled across his nose, which turned up at the end.
My hair was curly and coarse, and my face was pale, with no freckles. But the main difference between us, I thought, was that I was a nice guy. I didn’t want to bother anyone. Will was a brat, through and through.
“Hurry up, boys.” Mom swept into the room, picking up dirty dishes and dropping them into the sink.
She wore jeans and a T-shirt, and her hair was tied in a ponytail. Her hair looked so blond it was almost white. But I knew she colored it. I saw a box of hair-coloring stuff in the trash can in her bathroom once.
“Will,” Mom said. “Do you have all your things together?”
Mom was always after Will to be more organized. He was basically a flake.
Not like me. Organization wasn’t my problem. Just the opposite.
“Will?” Mom prodded. “Did you hear me?”
Will glanced up from the cereal box he was reading. “What? Yeah, I heard you. My backpack is upstairs.”
“Well, go up and get it,” Mom said. “Go on.”
Will dropped the cereal box on the table and hurried upstairs. I picked up the box, neatly folded the wax-paper wrapper, closed it, and put it away in the cupboard.
“Thanks, Ben,” Mom said.
I reached into my backpack and touched it—the proof I’d found the day before. Maybe I couldn’t show it to Mom or Dad or Will. But I knew Summer and Jeff, my two best friends, would want to see it.
I had been trying to convince them for a long time that aliens exist. I knew it for sure. I was certain that aliens had been to Earth. They could have landed in Summer and Jeff’s backyard. In anyone’s backyard.
But now, at last, I had the proof I needed. And I had to show it to someone—fast.
Before the aliens attacked.
I started toward the door. But a shrill scream from upstairs stopped me in my tracks.
I froze. And heard another scream.
“Oh!” Mom’s mouth dropped open. “That’s Will!” she cried.
2
“Mom! Mom!”
Will’s screams rang through the house.
I let out a frightened gasp. And led the way upstairs to see what was wrong.
We found Will in his room. Biscuit cowered in the corner, her tall tucked between her legs.
Mom grabbed Will and hugged him. “Will! What is it? What? What’s the matter?”
“Murderer!” Will screamed. “Biscuit is a murderer!”
Biscuit shook guiltily in the corner.
“What are you talking about?” Mom asked. “What did she do?”
“She ate Godzilla!”
Will made fun of me enough already. I knew he’d never take me seriously.
I couldn’t tell my parents about it, either. Every time they caught me on the computer chatting with other believers, they threatened to take the computer away from me.
So I tried to hide my obsession from them. They wouldn’t have been too happy to hear about what I’d found.
Dad pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “Well, I’ve got to get to work,” he said. He had an office in town, selling commercial real estate. Mom worked with him part time.
He mussed my already messy brown hair. “Have a good day at school, Ben.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He walked to the foot of the stairs and called up to my mother. “Honey! I’m leaving!”
Biscuit trotted back into the kitchen with the troll doll in her mouth. She stopped and dropped it at my feet.
“Thanks, girl,” I said, patting her. I picked up the doll and stared at it. Biscuit scampered away.
Will bounded into the room and grabbed the box of cereal.
“Checking the doll for alien markings?” he teased. He reached into the box of cereal, pulled out a handful of sweet pink O’s, and stuffed them into his mouth.
“At least I don’t eat like a monkey,” I shot back.
“Ha ha,” he fake-laughed, spitting half-chewed cereal on the table.
We were only one year apart. He was in sixth grade, I was in seventh. But we never got along very well. We were just different from each other.
We both had dark hair, but his was straight, black, and shiny. He had freckles sprinkled across his nose, which turned up at the end.
My hair was curly and coarse, and my face was pale, with no freckles. But the main difference between us, I thought, was that I was a nice guy. I didn’t want to bother anyone. Will was a brat, through and through.
“Hurry up, boys.” Mom swept into the room, picking up dirty dishes and dropping them into the sink.
She wore jeans and a T-shirt, and her hair was tied in a ponytail. Her hair looked so blond it was almost white. But I knew she colored it. I saw a box of hair-coloring stuff in the trash can in her bathroom once.
“Will,” Mom said. “Do you have all your things together?”
Mom was always after Will to be more organized. He was basically a flake.
Not like me. Organization wasn’t my problem. Just the opposite.
“Will?” Mom prodded. “Did you hear me?”
Will glanced up from the cereal box he was reading. “What? Yeah, I heard you. My backpack is upstairs.”
“Well, go up and get it,” Mom said. “Go on.”
Will dropped the cereal box on the table and hurried upstairs. I picked up the box, neatly folded the wax-paper wrapper, closed it, and put it away in the cupboard.
“Thanks, Ben,” Mom said.
I reached into my backpack and touched it—the proof I’d found the day before. Maybe I couldn’t show it to Mom or Dad or Will. But I knew Summer and Jeff, my two best friends, would want to see it.
I had been trying to convince them for a long time that aliens exist. I knew it for sure. I was certain that aliens had been to Earth. They could have landed in Summer and Jeff’s backyard. In anyone’s backyard.
But now, at last, I had the proof I needed. And I had to show it to someone—fast.
Before the aliens attacked.
I started toward the door. But a shrill scream from upstairs stopped me in my tracks.
I froze. And heard another scream.
“Oh!” Mom’s mouth dropped open. “That’s Will!” she cried.
2
“Mom! Mom!”
Will’s screams rang through the house.
I let out a frightened gasp. And led the way upstairs to see what was wrong.
We found Will in his room. Biscuit cowered in the corner, her tall tucked between her legs.
Mom grabbed Will and hugged him. “Will! What is it? What? What’s the matter?”
“Murderer!” Will screamed. “Biscuit is a murderer!”
Biscuit shook guiltily in the corner.
“What are you talking about?” Mom asked. “What did she do?”
“She ate Godzilla!”
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