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Then my mother did something that I think moms must have been invented for. She hugged me hard and kissed me on the forehead. She knew exactly what I needed somehow. Then she pinched my cheek, which she always does. I’ve never understood it, but I let her get away with it every time.
Chapter 17
“OKAY, GUYS,” I said with a yawn. “Thanks for all your help. And counsel. I’ve got a big day ahead. Murderous aliens to catch, you know.”
“Daniel,” said my father. “You’re not ready for Number 6. I wouldn’t have been ready for Number 6. Even your mother and I working together would be no match for this fiend.”
“Wait a second. No way!” Pork Chop said as my mom put her arm around her shoulder. “We can’t leave now! There’s still five minutes of my show left. I’ve never even seen this episode before. I want to see what happens to Sideshow Bob. Mom!”
But then they were gone, and I clicked off the TV set.
I stood for a moment, taking in all the peace and quiet. And loneliness, I thought, looking at the empty plates on the counter.
And fear.
And paranoia.
After I finished cleaning up, I decided to crash right there on the couch.
I closed my eyes-and almost instantly I saw The Prayer. “Ergent Seth will destroy you,” he said. “Go back to Portland. Join the circus. Get a girlfriend if you can. Get an identity, Daniel X. Have a life. For a little while. Until I come for you.”
Great. Now my biggest enemies were parenting me. Guess that’s what can happen when you’re all alone in the world.
Chapter 18
I DIDN’T SLEEP very well that night, barely an hour. No big surprise there, I guess. Who needs sleep anyway?
It was a quarter to eight the next morning when I reached Glendale High School. I wanted to try to blend into the community, and especially avoid a truant squad run-in like the one in Portland. So I decided I’d better at least sign up for school.
Plus, I’m sure I didn’t want to admit it then, but maybe The Prayer’s words in my dream were starting to get to me. Until I come for you.
I stopped by the front steps, taking in the swirl of relatively carefree students unloading from the buses and minivans. I was a little skittish, but also excited at the thought of hanging out with people my own age.
I hadn’t been to high school in, well, ever, actually.
“Hi, I’m Daniel Hopper,” I said to the secretary behind the counter in the main office. “My mom said she faxed over my paperwork. Is it okay?”
The middle-aged woman checked a clipboard on the desk behind her.
“Oh, yes. Here you are, Daniel. Did you bring documentation from your last school?”
Not likely. “Right here,” I said, handing over a forged birth certificate and Social Security card. The previous records I’d invented were from a fictitious private school in Haneyville, Kentucky.
“Welcome to Glendale High, Daniel,” she said, pointing at a door beside her. “Go inside and see Vice Principal Marshman. He’ll help you schedule your classes.”
Chapter 19
I THANKED THE SECRETARY and opened the vice principal’s door in a cautious, respectful way. Mr. Marshman was a wide, flabby, middle-aged fellow, and the school’s head football coach, I gathered from the framed articles covering the wall behind his wrecking ball of a head. He was on the phone when I entered. “I know you booked the bus for the debating team, Leopoldo. But how many times are my guys going to get the chance to go to UCLA and watch the Bruins practice? I gotta go. End of debate. You lose.”
“Hi, I’m -” I started as he hung up the phone with a bang.
“I know exactly who you are, son,” the vice principal said. “Around here, students speak to staff, and especially me, only when spoken to. Let me see your records.”
I handed them over. “Sure.”
“Not one sport?” he said with a shake of his head. “I see you did get perfect attendance. I bet they gave you a shiny blue ribbon and everything back in Kentucky,” he said, laying on the sarcasm.
Was it me, or did the vice principal have some kind of anger management issue? I let out a breath, trying not to take his attitude personally. I like to give everybody a second chance.
“You do well academically,” he said with a snort. “What’s your favorite subject?”
Since I had the encyclopedic power to telepathically access human knowledge, that was a tough call. I noticed Civil War books on a shelf behind his desk.
“History, sir,” I said.
He turned and stared at the Civil War books on his shelf, then back at me with a who-do-you-think-you’re-fooling look.
“What a coincidence,” he said, letting my records drop to the desk.
I glanced out the window behind him. Under a pure blue sky, palm trees were softly swaying in the seventy-two-degree Southern California breeze.
And I chose to attend school why again?
“Okay, history buff. I’ll bump you into first-period Advanced Social Studies. The one I teach,” he said, standing, as the bell rang.
Call me overly paranoid, but I wondered if maybe Mr. Marshman was somewhere on my List.
Chapter 20
SO THIS WAS HIGH SCHOOL-not too bad, not too good, could have been a lot more stimulating. I was coming out of bio lab, my last class of the day, when I brushed against a ski
Then I heard his thoughts in my head. Ugh. My sneakers are so six months ago. Everybody’s checking out my shoes. Everybody’s looking at me! Don’t look at me. Please!
I shook my head like a swimmer trying to get water out of his ears. I guess I was tired and my telepathic mental filters were shot. The thoughts of the students swirling around in the corridor were leaking into my head.
Well, well. Amanda’s definitely flirting with me, I overheard a good-looking jock in a football jacket think as he winked at a pretty girl. Back at you, baby.
I quickened my pace, trying to get out of there. I can promise you that knowing everybody’s secrets is nowhere near as cool as it sounds.
First day’s over, and I haven’t even talked to anybody, I suddenly heard in my head, and it wasn’t my own voice. I don’t want to do this anymore. I hate this school.
I stopped suddenly, looking around to see whose thoughts I’d just intercepted.
I spotted a tall, black-haired girl trying to lift a bulky backpack while also balancing a clarinet case. She turned around and I saw her face.
What felt like an invisible wall toppled over on me. She was really cute. Her eyes were amazing. So why was she so sad?
“Hi,” I said, stepping in her direction. “Sorry to bother you. Uhmm, could you tell me where the library is?”
“No idea,” she said quietly as she averted her eyes from mine. “I’m new here.”
I shrugged. “So am I. Say, could I give you a hand with those books? I’m Daniel. Not that you asked.”
She actually smiled, a half smile anyway. “I’m Phoebe Cook,” she said. Those eyes of hers were deep blue, flecked with silver. Gorgeous-and friendly. “So do you have a last name too, Daniel?”
I paused. Of course, I had a fake last name, but it never really feels like me somehow. It felt a little strange to say it to someone as genuine as Phoebe.
“Daniel Hopper.”
“Nice to meet you, Daniel Hopper. I actually could use some help. Just to get my locker back open,” Phoebe said. “Frankly, I don’t know if I can lug all these books home.”
I slid her bag off the floor and onto my shoulder.