Visitors Page 2

  “Are you okay, Ben?” Jeff asked me.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Rikki’s such a jerk,” Summer said. “Why does she always pick on Ben?

  Dennis shrugged. “That’s just her way of kidding around.” He grinned at me. “Maybe she likes you, Ben.” Laughing, he made his way into the school.

  “You know what I don’t like about Dennis?” Summer asked.

  “Everything?” Jeff said.

  Summer laughed. “Yeah. You guessed it. Everything.”

  I’d known Summer and Jeff since first grade. I liked Summer the minute I saw her. So I wanted to impress her. And the best way to impress a girl, my first-grade brain told me, was to shove a pea up my nose.

  Summer laughed at my little stunt. Jeff thought it was gross.

  Then I tried to blow the pea out—but it wouldn’t budge. So Summer slapped the back of my head until it popped out, all mushy and green.

  The sight made Jeff puke—all over the lunch table. Summer couldn’t stop laughing.

  That was six years ago. The three of us had been best friends ever since.

  Summer was tall with a round face, a snub nose, pale blond hair to her shoulders, and freckles all over her face, arms, and legs. Her skin was so pale she could hardly go out in the sun without turning lobster red. But she didn’t care about suntanning. Mostly she cared about field hockey, basketball, and soccer.

  Jeff was her twin brother. They weren’t identical, but they looked a lot alike. Jeff wasn’t quite as tall as Summer, but like her he was pale and freckly.

  He wasn’t nearly as athletic as she was. He liked playing video games better than sports. And he was kind of shy. Summer wasn’t afraid of anybody.

  The bell rang. Summer, Jeff, and I stepped inside the school and walked down the hallway toward my locker. “Five minutes till social studies.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I’ve got something to show you. I found proof. Finally! Proof that aliens have landed. You—you’ve got to see this. It’s unbelievable!”

  I reached into my backpack and pulled it out. The thing I’d found in the woods the day before.

  I held it up for Summer and Jeff to see. “Well?”

  They stared at it and gasped. “I don’t believe it!” Jeff whispered.

  “You’ve proved it!” Summer cried. “You’ve really proved it this time!”

  4

  “You’ve proved that you’ve totally lost your mind!” Summer said.

  I was holding a smooth, slightly sparkly oval-shaped white rock. It fit neatly into the palm of my hand.

  Summer felt my forehead as if taking my temperature.

  Jeff took the rock from me. “This has got to be the most ordinary rock I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well…yeah,” I said. “It looks ordinary. But what about the tones? Don’t you hear the tones?”

  Summer threw a long, freckled arm around my neck. “Sure, Ben. The tones.”

  I stared at her and Jeff. “Are you kidding? You really can’t hear it?”

  Jeff shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he admitted.

  I couldn’t believe it. I heard a noise coming from the rock. That was what had made me pick it up in the first place.

  I’d been out in the woods walking Biscuit. I started down a path I’d never explored before. And as soon as I stepped on that path, I heard a strange noise.

  It was a ringing tone. Kind of like if someone hits a tuning fork, or one of those triangles they play in the school band.

  I stopped and listened. Biscuit’s ears perked up. She could hear it, too.

  What was it? What was making that sound?

  And that’s when I found it. I picked it up. It was a simple-looking rock. But strange, eerie tones were pouring from it.

  And I knew I wasn’t imagining it because Biscuit heard it, too. She couldn’t stand to have the rock too close to her head. It seemed to hurt her ears. She whined and started to paw at the dirt in a strange, crazy way.

  “Stop kidding around,” I said to Summer and Jeff. “Listen.” I held the rock next to Summer’s ear. “Don’t you hear it?”

  She shook her head. “Give it up, Ben.”

  Jeff grabbed the rock and held it to his ear. “Sorry, Ben. It’s a dumb rock. Is this some kind of joke, or what?”

  Another bell rang. I opened my locker and grabbed my social studies book. I shoved the rock back into my backpack.

  “I can’t believe you don’t hear that sound,” I said. “I can hear it so clearly. Biscuit heard it, too—I swear!”

  Summer tugged on my arm. “Come on, Ben—we’ll be late for class.”

  I slammed my locker door shut and we headed for social studies. Why can’t they hear it? I wondered. Is there something wrong with them?

  We reached Mr. Kazaki’s social studies class and stepped inside just as the final bell rang. We sat down in the back of the room.

  “Today is the deadline for your term paper topics,” the teacher announced. “I hope you’ve all decided what you’ll be writing about.”

  He began to call on kids in the class, going alphabetically. Mr. Kazaki did everything alphabetically. Since my last name was Shipley, I always had a long wait before he got to me.

  “Larkin, Jeffrey,” Mr. Kazaki called out. “What’s your topic?”

  “The history of the Aztec Indians,” Jeff answered.

  “Excellent choice,” Mr. Kazaki said. “Larkin, Summer?”

  “The rise of women’s sports in the last thirty years,” Summer said.

  “Good,” Mr. Kazaki said. “Lester, Martin?”

  My hands began to sweat as I waited. I knew what my topic was going to be. I also knew what everyone’s reaction to it would be.

  “Shipley, Benjamin? Your topic?”

  “Alien visitors,” I replied.

  The class burst out laughing. Mr. Kazaki frowned.

  “You did your last paper on that topic, Ben,” he said. “In fact, you did your last two papers on that topic. You’ll have to pick another topic this time.”

  “But I have more evidence now!” I protested. “I know I can prove that aliens have visited this planet. Just give me a chance!”

  The class roared with laughter now.

  A boy named Chris Miller said, “Hey, Shipley, did your mother put something funny in your cereal this morning? What a wacko!”

  Summer leaped to her feet. “You take that back!” she shouted at Chris. “Ben is not a wacko! He knows what he’s talking about!”

  “Miss Larkin, sit down!” Mr. Kazaki shouted. “Or I’ll send you out in the hall. You too, Mr. Miller.”

  The room began to quiet down. A few people snickered.

  I could feel my face get red and hot. I sound like a lunatic, I realized. They all think I’m nuts.

  “Quiet!” Mr. Kazaki slammed a book on his desk. The laughs simmered down to a few giggles.

  “Ben, you have until tomorrow to find another topic for your paper,” Mr. Kazaki warned. “I think you’ve wasted too much time with your alien quest.”

  I opened my social studies book and buried my face in it, fuming. What was his problem? Why couldn’t I write about what I wanted to write about?

  When I glanced up, I caught Summer watching me intently. I scribbled a note on a piece of scrap paper. It said, “Thanks for believing in me. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  When Mr. Kazaki turned away to face the board, I slipped the note to her.

  She unfolded the scrap of paper and read my question. She sighed and glanced over at me. She shrugged.

  I’ll convince her, I thought. Somehow I’ll show everyone.

  At lunch, I pulled the rock from my backpack and set it down in the middle of the table. “Let’s try this again,” I said to Summer and Jeff.

  This rock was the best clue I had ever found. I was desperate for my friends to understand what it meant.

  The rock was beeping loudly. A dull, steady tone.

  BEEEP BEEEP BEE
EEEP.

  I pushed it across the table toward my friends. “Now do you hear it?” I asked.

  The lunchroom was as noisy as always. A girl dropped her food tray, and everyone laughed and clapped. Some kids were singing an old Beatles song loudly at the next table.

  But I could hear the beeping from the rock loud and clear.

  Summer and Jeff stared at the rock.

  “Well?” I demanded.

  Before they could answer, Rikki appeared. She set down her lunch tray and snatched the rock off the table. “Where did you get this?” she demanded.

  I made a grab for it. “Give it back, Rikki.”

  She grinned at me. “Go get it!” she cried. She tossed it across the lunchroom to Dennis.

  Dennis jumped up from his table and made a one-handed catch. “Keep away!” he cried. “Keep away!”

  I ran between the tables. Made a wild dive for the rock—just as Dennis heaved it to Marky Polster, one of his friends.

  “Give it to me!” I shouted. “I need that!”

  Marky tossed it to Maryjane Douglas. Maryjane tossed it back to Rikki.

  Rikki held it in front of her, waving it at me. “Come and get it, Ben. Come on!”

  The rock was ringing and beeping, making a shrill whistling sound. Couldn’t they hear it?

  I leaped at Rikki. Swiped at it. She pulled it out of my reach—and heaved it out the open lunchroom window.

  “NOOOO!” I wailed.

  I could hear the uproar of laughter and shouts as I dove out the window after it.

  I landed on my elbows and knees in the tall grass at the side of the school. Where was it? Where?

  I frantically searched, pawing at the grass. I listened for the beeps and whistles.

  Silence.

  Moving carefully, slowly, an inch at a time, I searched everywhere. I covered every blade of grass, every chunk of dirt.

  Gone.

  The rock was gone. Vanished. Disappeared.

  My proof was gone.

  Breathing hard, sweat pouring down my forehead, I turned. And saw Rikki through the window.

  She was staring out at me coldly. A strange smile on her face.

  Did she know what she had just done?

  5

  I combed the grounds outside the cafeteria, but turned up nothing. My rock was gone. Totally missing.

  What’s wrong with me? I wondered. How did I end up being the guy that everyone picks on?

  I used to have a lot of friends. But it was hard to keep my friends when I became interested in aliens.

  Why did I have such a strong feeling that aliens had been to Earth? I don’t know. But the older I got, the more desperate I became to find out the truth.

  A few years ago, I discovered the chat rooms on the Internet. There were a lot of other believers out there like me.

  Some of them were crackpots, but others had interesting stories to tell. The more I read, the more convinced I became.

  And the more eager I became to meet an alien. To communicate with someone from another planet.

  And one by one, my friends started to avoid me. I understood why. But there was nothing I could do.

  The only people who stayed by me were Jeff and Summer. But now even they were starting to get tired of my alien talk.

  I made one last search of the ground. Then I made my way back into the building.

  I had a little time left before my next class. So I grabbed my backpack and went up to the third floor, to the photography room.

  Ms. Crenshaw, the photography teacher, was also a friend of mine. She was a believer, too. And she was always eager to listen to my stories about aliens.

  I don’t know if she believed in aliens or not. But she never made fun of me or said that I was crazy. “Maybe you’ll be the first person in history to photograph an alien,” she said.

  My parents had given me a digital camera for my last birthday. I carried it with me in my backpack.

  I opened the door of the photography room. Ms. Crenshaw was standing at a light table, looking at slides. She glanced up when I walked in.

  She was tall and pretty young, I guess. She looked artsy, especially compared to most people in Bitter Lake. She wore her black hair short and her lipstick very red, and lots of big, jangly jewelry.

  “Hey, Ben.” She smiled at me. “I was just looking at the slides from the last photo project. Yours are definitely the most interesting.”

  She beckoned me over to the light table. It was covered with slides that kids in my class had taken. I’d borrowed my dad’s camera and taken a few shots of Biscuit. I’d posed her in front of my computer to make it look as if she were surfing the Web.

  “A lot of kids took pictures of sunsets on the lake and trees in the snow,” Ms. Crenshaw commented. “But your photos are really funny. They have personality.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my new camera. “Look what my parents gave me,” I said.

  “A digital camera!” She took it from me and looked it over. “You’ll be able to take all kinds of cool shots with this.”

  She grinned at me. “Maybe you’ll snap your first photo of an alien with this camera, Ben.”

  “Maybe,” I said. And then the words burst out of me: “I found proof, Ms. Crenshaw. I know that aliens have landed.”

  Her smile faded. “Proof? What do you mean, Ben? What did you find?”

  “I found a stone. It looked like an ordinary stone. But it made sounds. It had to be some kind of transmitter. From outer space.”

  Ms. Crenshaw grabbed my arm. Her eyes widened. “Where is it?” She asked. “Show it to me.”

  “I—I lost it,” I said.

  She continued to stare at me. She let go of my arm. “If you find it, I’d love to see it. I…I’m very interested.”

  I thanked her. “Most people just think I’m crazy,” I said. “You’re the only one who will listen.”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy, Ben,” she said softly. “But be careful, okay? Be careful who you show these things to.”

  The bell rang. I said good-bye and hurried to class.

  All the way, her words repeated in my mind. Be careful who you show these things to.

  What did she mean by that?

  6

  When I got home from school that day, I found Will in the kitchen with a girl his age, eating an after-school snack.

  Mom wasn’t home from work yet, but she always left a snack for us in the fridge. That day it was apples with some cheese and crackers.

  Biscuit sat on the floor at Will’s feet, licking up the crumbs he dropped.

  “Hi, Will,” I said, opening the fridge. “Who’s your friend?”

  “I’m Sophie Corcoran,” the girl said with her mouth full of apple. “My brother Dennis says you’re a weirdo.”

  Will sneered at me. “See, Ben? You’re famous!”

  “Can I see it?” Sophie asked. “Can I see your belly button? Dennis says it’s funny.”

  “Dennis is a weirdo,” I muttered.

  I grabbed my apple and a plate of cheese and crackers and took them upstairs to my room. I heard Will say to Sophie, “He’s going to check his messages.”

  “On his answering machine?” Sophie asked.

  “No,” Will replied. “On his alien machine.”

  Will and Sophie laughed.

  I went to my room, shut the door, and sat down at my computer. I crunched on my apple and logged on to the Internet.

  First I checked my e-mail. I don’t know why I bothered. Hardy anyone ever e-mailed me. That day was no different—zero messages.

  Then I started surfing the web, looking for new alien chat rooms. I thought I’d visited them all, but new ones popped up every day.

  People wrote about UFO sightings in the sky. They wrote about aliens landing in their backyard and about hearing aliens’ voices in their heads. They said they picked up signals from UFOs in the fillings in their teeth!

  Some people claimed t
o be aliens themselves. But I could usually tell they were fakes. There was always some detail that gave them away. Like the guy who said he’d flown to Earth from Jupiter on Santa’s sleigh.

  I had a feeling he was making that up.

  I kept hoping I’d find the jackpot—a chat room set up by real aliens. Where they could talk to each other, maybe from spaceship to spaceship. I’d know it if I saw it. I might not understand the language they spoke, but…

  There were more people than usual in the chat rooms that day. I started reading some of the messages.

  Zandor’s prediction is correct. I’ve been reading my star charts and watching the skies carefully. There is definite alien activity going on. We will see an invasion within one week—I’m sure of it. The major question is—where?

  —Professor George Grant

  I live in Toronto, Canada, and I’ve suddenly been plagued by swarms of mosquitoes. In January! It’s about twenty degrees here! I know that swarms of insects out of season is one of the signs of an alien invasion. What should I do? How should I defend myself if they come here?

  —Mary N.

  The messages in the chat room were wilder than usual. A lot of people seemed convinced that aliens were coming.

  Could Zandor be right?

  I thought about the space rock. If aliens have been here before, I thought, maybe they’ll come back. They might be coming to Bitter Lake within a week!

  I logged off the Internet and turned on my alien machine. I’d built a radio antenna the summer before and connected it to my computer.

  I programmed it to send a signal out into space twenty-four hours a day. It said, “Welcome…welcome…welcome…”

  I wasn’t sure if the aliens could understand my message. And I didn’t know how they would answer me if they did. Would a message appear on my e-mail? Would I hear their voices?

  I also had headphones connected to my computer. The antenna brought in signals from space. Maybe the aliens would try to talk to me through the antenna! If they did, I didn’t want to miss it.

  I wore those headphones as much as I could. I did my homework with them on. I watched TV while wearing them. Sometimes I even slept in them. I would have worn them all day long if I could have.