Alien in My Pocket #3 by Nate Ball Page B

was filled with lemonade and goldfish.
    But at least my shoulder didn’t hurt too badly.
    I wondered if my little bike rack incident would make the yearbook. That’d be so embarrassing, but also kind of cool if they gave my accident a whole page.
    Luckily, classes were about to start when the ambulance finally arrived, but a decent-sized crowd had still hung around. I remember hearing the mix of different voices as I lay wedged between two bikes.
    â€œIs he dead?” someone wondered.
    â€œWho taught that idiot how to ride a bike?”
    â€œDon’t be mean—maybe he’s blind.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous, why would a blind kid ride a bike to school?”
    â€œWho is it?”
    â€œI think it’s Shane Kerr.”
    â€œNo, that’s Debbie Finster,” another kid corrected her. He sounded so sure. “Her dad is my dentist.”
    â€œOh, yeah, that was Debbie for sure,” a girl said sadly. I took particular interest in her use of the past tense.
    Principal Luntz was the first adult on the scene. “I should have known it would be you, Zack McGee,” was all he said. He shook his head at me with a frown, as if I had meant to pop my arm bone from its socket just to avoid a spelling quiz.
    The ride in the back of an ambulance was pretty what you’d expect: it smelled like medicine, you couldn’t see where you were going, and they didn’t play music. Apparently, a dislocated shoulder doesn’t merit using the siren, which was a little disappointing.
    Now here I was, in my bed, my baseball season ruined—and I had a combination lemonade stand and aquarium open for business in my head.
    I hadn’t seen the hamster-sized alien who’d made me late in the first place since I got home. He was probably hiding. Amp knew he’d get an earful when he came out. I didn’t remember dozing off, but I must have.
    I dreamed of crows chewing the brakes off my bike as I served them cups of cold lemonade poured directly from my nose.
    Maybe we should start breaking those big white pain pills in half.

    Â 
    T he most annoying thing about living with an alien is the impact it has on your sleep.
    Since Amp’s crippled spaceship dented my bedroom wall, getting a good night’s sleep had become about as likely as catching a one-eyed unicorn that burps rainbows and farts lightning.
    On the planet Erde, there’s no such thing as sleep. Amp doesn’t understand why I need it. He ignores my complaints about being woken up all the time. It’s like living with a misfiring cuckoo clock.
    But thanks to the mind-bending pain pills, I actually had a full night’s rest. Even a four-inch-tall alien on my chest couldn’t wake me before I was ready.
    â€œIt’s about time,” Amp said in his strange, high-pitched voice.
    â€œThanks for your concern about my arm,” I said with a sigh.
    â€œYes, I see you have a boo-boo.”
    â€œA boo-boo? I almost died!”
    â€œThat device on your arm doesn’t indicate a severe injury,” he said, stroking his chin.
    â€œOh, thanks a lot, Doctor Amp,” I said. “I have a rash I’d like you to take a look at when you’re done.”
    â€œWhoa! Grumpy . . .”
    â€œYou’re to blame for all this, you know.”
    â€œMe? What did I do?”
    â€œYou made me late for school.”
    â€œHow exactly did I do that?”
    â€œLet’s start with the fact that your people are about to invade Earth. That doesn’t help.” I ran my fingers through my hair with the hand from my good arm. “Plus, somebody stole the brake cables on my bike. That’s why I crashed.”
    I waited for sympathy, but Amp was silent. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You look gassy. Please don’t fart right now. I’m not sure I can run away.”
    â€œYou rode your bike?” he said in a faraway voice. “You never ride your