Alien in My Pocket #5: Ohm vs. Amp (3 page)

Retreat and Rethink

“H
as the Erdian invasion started, or what?” Olivia grunted as she climbed through her bedroom window.

“Amp says no, but when was the last time he was right about anything,” I said, standing just outside her window.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Amp said from my pocket.

I quickly scanned the starry sky once more for Erdian spaceships. I saw nothing. “Seriously? Half the time you don't know what you're talking about.”

“I beg your pardon,” Amp called out from my pocket. “I object to that. I'm telling you that it's not the invasion. The timing is all wrong.”

“Says the guy who recently stole my bike's
brakes and ended up breaking my arm,” I said.

“You didn't break it,” Olivia corrected from inside. “You separated your shoulder.”

I hoisted myself up onto Olivia's windowsill. “Whatever! Amp said they'd never find him. A-million-to-one odds, he assured me.”

“I don't remember saying that,” Amp mumbled.

“And now you've barfed in my pocket. It's starting to feel moist in there. Could anything be grosser than alien puke?”

“What if you're wrong about the invasion, Amp?” Olivia asked, jumping from her desk to her bed. “We're going to need a lot more firepower than a single homemade marshmallow launcher.”

“I don't know,” I said, “that thing seems pretty deadly.”

A minute ago we had slipped through the loose plank in the fence between our two backyards, but the side door to her garage was locked. Her dusty, crowded garage was where we usually chatted about things like the survival of the human race and preventing alien invasions. Now, with nowhere else to go, we retreated
through her bedroom window.

Thankfully it was on the first floor.

“It is not an invasion,” Amp grumbled from my shirt pocket as I stepped onto Olivia's desk, which sat conveniently just under her window. “Remember, that light was purple, not yellow.”

“What light?” Olivia asked.

Amp popped up from my pocket and grumpily waved off Olivia's question. He smacked his lips. “Does anyone have a mint? I have vomit breath.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. She began reloading her marshmallow launcher with a giant bag of marshmallows she apparently kept under her bed for just such an occasion. “Mind getting down, Zack? You're standing on my book report.”

“We have a book report due?” I whispered, lifting up my left foot.

“It's not due until next week,” she said.

“And you're already done? Boy, this night just keeps getting stranger.”

Olivia and I are in the same class at school, but when it comes to homework, Olivia is in a class all her own.

“We need to do something pronto, guys,” Olivia said, now sitting on her unmade bed, fully-loaded marshmallow launcher in her lap. “Amp, who was in that rocket ship?”

“His name is Ohm,” Amp said.

“He's a very tense Erdian guy who looks just like Amp,” I said, climbing carefully down from Olivia's desk and sitting in her chair. “They're twins.”

“What?” Amp said, kicking me through my shirt. “Ohm looks nothing like me! I'm quite
handsome compared to him.”

“Really? You look like clones,” I said, plucking him from my pocket and placing him gently on Olivia's book report.

“It doesn't matter what he looks like,” Olivia said. “Zacky, there's a strange alien wandering around your house.”

“I shut my door,” I said quietly.

“We have to go talk to him,” Olivia announced, standing up.

Amp groaned and looked at the ceiling. “I just wanted to finish my movie.”

“We're not going anywhere until Amp tells us who that guy is,” I said.

“He's the last person I wanted to see,” Amp groaned.

“Is he your dad?”

“My dad? Of course not!”

“Your cousin?”

“No.”

“Uncle? Sister? Brother? Dance instructor?”

“No. No. No. And no.”

“Is he your favorite Erdian movie star?” Olivia asked, with a hopeful smile.

“WHAT? No! That's ridiculous. Please stop guessing. My head is starting to hurt. Ohm is not my cousin, uncle, or dance instructor.” Amp sighed. “He's like your PE teacher at school, but bossier, louder, and stricter.”

“You've seen Ms. Lutter,” Olivia scoffed. “There's no way any Erdian is worse than her!”

Amp's tiny shoulder slumped in defeat. He pulled down on his antennas. He sighed heavily. “Let's see, I'm trying to think of the right word in English. I guess you could call Ohm my boss, or trainer, or the captain of my team of scouts.”

“So,” Olivia said, summarizing, “your drill sergeant, Mr. Ohm, has shown up to kick your mini booty all over the Earth for screwing up your mission.”

Amp groaned nervously. “He's gonna scream into my antennas all night long.”

“But hold on,” I said. “What if Amp's wrong? What if this Ohm character is just the first Erdian to show up? There could be Erdians dancing in the streets in a few minutes.”

“Why would they be dancing?” Amp asked, shaking his head in confusion.

“Zack's right, Ampy, we can't stay over here hiding,” Olivia said. “We need to figure out what this Ohm is up to.”

“And I have to make sure he doesn't leave my room and get turned into a chew toy by Mr. Jinxy,” I said, standing.

Amp looked miserable, like he was about to cry. “I guess you're right. But could you at least leave your food bazooka here? It sends the wrong message.”

Olivia looked down at her marshmallow blaster. She shrugged and tossed it on her bed. I flinched, thinking it might accidentally fire off another round.

“Hurry,” I said. “I can't have my mom finding an alien in my room. She won't even let me have a tortoise.”

Amp sighed before he disappeared into my pocket, looking more a shade of gray than blue.

Sugar Bust

W
e crept silently through the back door of my dark house, down the silent hallway, and halfway up the stairs when my mom called out my name from the kitchen.

“Zackary Frederick McGee, get in here.”

Olivia and I froze.

Calling me by my full name was never a good sign.

It must have been well after midnight by now and well past visiting hours.

Olivia grabbed my wrist and squeezed it. “What is she doing up?” she whispered. Her face was just inches from mine, but it was so dark on the stairs I couldn't see her expression.

“Wait here,” I said. I pulled Amp from my pocket and placed him in her hand. I took a deep breath and made my way into the dim kitchen,
which was lit only by the small light above the stove. Mom was sitting at the table with her back to me.

“Hey, Mom, what are you doing up?” I said as casually as I could.

“I could ask the same of you,” she said coldly, not turning around. “Sit down, Zack.”

A million thoughts raced through my mind. Did she know Olivia was standing on the stairs? Or that she was holding a squirming alien? Or, even worse, could she have walked in on Ohm and been zapped repeatedly?

I had no idea what she knew, so I decided to play dumb, which, sadly, comes pretty naturally to me.

“What's up?” I said, flopping into the chair opposite her.

That's when I saw something that made me accidentally squeak in panic. Piled high on the table in front of my mom was a mountain of marshmallows, at least fifty of them. And scattered throughout this spongy pyramid of sugary goodness were a few dozen SweeTart wrappers and half-eaten rolls of Ritz Crackers.

My mind spun, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

“Not only are you sneaking around in the middle of the night, your room is covered with marshmallows. I stepped on them when I went in there. Pretty gross, Zack.”

“You went in my room?” I yelped.

“You're sneaking food into your room.”

“Those marshmallows are not technically mine.”

“They're everywhere, Zack. And I found the hole in your window screen. Is that how you're sneaking in all this junk food?”

“What? No! That hole is . . . well, yes, the marshmallows did come through that hole, but it's—”

“And these candy wrappers?”

“Those aren't mine either, you know, like, legally.” Even as I said it I thought I sounded ridiculous.

“And then there's that smell.”

“Smell?”

“I smelled smoke in there, young man.”

“Smoke? Really?”

“A burning smell.”

“Well, doesn't most smoke have a burning smell?”

“Don't get smart with me.”

Smart? I was playing dumb. I tried my best to look confused. “I have no idea what smell you're talking about.”

“Are you cooking eggs in your room?”

“Eggs? What? Seriously, Mom? Do you think I'm running a truck stop in there?”

“Maybe! You tell me, Zack. I was overcome with the smell of rotten eggs in my own son's room.” Her eyes got watery, either from emotion or the act of recalling the smelly egg smell. “I actually gagged—in my own house!” she continued. “Cooking eggs in your room? That is not safe. You're putting your whole family in danger.”

“What? I was not cooking eggs. Trust me. It's probably just my baseball cleats under my bed or something, covered with some kind of sock mold or toe fungus.”

I instantly knew what the smell really was. It was Ohm, making my mom think she was smelling rotten eggs. It was an Erdian mind trick, not unlike a skunk's defense, but you only think you're smelling something disgusting. Amp had done this trick to me before.

The terrible smell was overwhelming, and a great way to get rid of someone. But it was also something I could not easily explain to Mom without blowing the whole aliens-are-in-your-house-right-now thing.

I squirmed in my chair. At least it sounded like she hadn't seen the new dent in the wall above my bed. That was something to be thankful for.

“And there's a big dent in your wall,” she said. “I can't imagine what that is from.”

“I think Olivia did that,” I muttered. Talk about throwing your best friend under the bus. I could swear I heard Olivia grunt in protest outside the kitchen.

Mom stared at me with a mixture of anger, puzzlement, and disappointment—the big three. “I'm calling my sister tomorrow. Your aunt Joni is a dietician and she can help you see the error of your ways.”

“Most of that isn't even mine,” I protested, staring at the mountain of empty calories in front of me.

She shook her head at me. “Marshmallows? SweeTarts? Ritz Crackers? Rotten eggs? I'm speechless, Zack!”

“Speechless? Oh, you seem to be doing okay.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Watch your tongue, Willy Wonka. I don't want to find any more wrappers or walk in on you roasting marshmallows.
Or cooking a Denver omelet. Got it?”

I wanted to argue, but couldn't stop thinking about the strange alien up in my room and the possibility that we were just minutes from a global invasion.

And I couldn't explain a single thing without blowing Amp's cover, or think fast enough to come up with a half-good lie.

That's when I saw Olivia poking her head in the kitchen doorway right over my mom's shoulder. She was waving at me to come urgently. Her teeth were clenched. Her eyes were bugged out.

What now?

I did a fake yawn and said I was sorry. I got up, gave Mom a half-hearted sideways hug, and told her I'd clean up the mess in my room. “Don't worry, my diet isn't as bad as it looks.”

She didn't hug me back, which was good, because if she had, she might have seen Olivia waving like a lunatic just a few feet behind her.