APPLE
PAPERBACK
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1 The author wishes to thank Jeffrey Zuehlke for his help in preparing this manuscript.
For Wayne and Kathy And for Michael and Jake
Cover illustration by David B. Mattingly Art Direction/Design by Karen Hudson
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
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ISBN 0-439-07035-X
Copyright © 1999 by Katherine Applegate.
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.
SCHOLASTIC, ANIMORPHS, APPLE PAPERBACKS and associated logos
are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
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Printed in the U.S.A. First Scholastic printing, November 1999
My name is Marco.
But you can call me "Marco the Mighty." Or "Most Exalted Destroyer of My Pride." You can cower before my mighty thumbs and beg for mercy, but you'll be crushed just the same.
For I am the lord of the PlayStation.
Pick a game. Any game. Tekken. Duke Nukem. NFL Blitz. Whatever. Practice all you want. I'll still beat you. I'll crush you like Doc Martens crush ants. I'll -
"The phone's ringing," my dad said, setting down his controller.
"You can't stop now," I cried. "I was gonna score on this next play!"
2 "It's fifty-six to nothing," he muttered. "I'll forfeit this one."
"But-"
But he'd already picked up the phone.
"Hello? Oh, hi! How are you?" His voice was so sweet and sticky you could have poured it over pancakes.
"Oh, brother," I mumbled.
"I'm doing great," he continued, a big dopey smile on his face. "Marco and I were just playing video games. Uh-huh. Sure." He looked at me. "Nora says hi."
I nodded. I grabbed the remote control. Switched the TV back to cable mode and turned the volume up loud enough to drown out his voice.
My dad has a girlfriend. And I think it's serious. I'm used to this quiet, low-key, unexpressive guy. But ever since he started dating this woman, he's been Mr. Personality. Smiling for no reason. Singing in the shower. Laughing at all my lame jokes like I was Chris Rock. He's even developed this annoying habit of hugging me for no good reason.
I mean, I'm happy for him. Really. When my mom disappeared over two years ago, my dad lost it. For a long time, he was little more than a zombie. Sometimes I thought he'd never recover.
A few months back he pulled himself out of
3 it. Things went back to normal. Or as normal as my life could be - until he met this woman.
Your dad being in love with someone who isn't your mother is a pretty normal problem, I guess. I mean, he's old, but he's not exactly using a walker and getting seniors' discounts at the Steak and Ale. Maybe you've dealt with the same thing yourself. Maybe you're dealing with it right now. Maybe this problem makes you feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.
Yeah, well, boo hoo. Sorry, kids. But you have no idea about the weight of the world. 'Cause it's on my shoulders.
See, not only do I live with a lovesick father. I'm also trying to save the world from being enslaved by evil, parasitic aliens.
To which you respond, "Ooooookay, dude forgot his medication."
I'm not crazy. And not lying. I'm telling the truth.
They're called Yeerks. They're from another galaxy. Gray, sluglike creatures that slide into your ear, flatten out inside your brain, and take control of your mind and body. Forcing you to do anything they want. Anything.
Right now, their invasion is a secret. Very few people know about it. Most of the people who do are their slaves. We call them Controllers. I don't
4 know how many people the Yeerks have turned into Controllers. I don't think I want to know.
There are a handful of us fighting the Yeerks. A handful. As in four kids, an alien, and a red-tailed hawk.
Come to think of it, maybe I did forget my meds.
We call ourselves Animorphs. We have the ability to turn into any animal we touch. It may not sound like much of a weapon, but you'd be surprised. We've done plenty to hurt the Yeerks, and we're not through yet.
The Yeerks would love to get us. They'd love to make me and my friends their slaves so they could use our morphing powers to conquer the rest of the world.
That's why I don't tell you my last name. And that's why I won't tell you where I live. City or state. I want to stay anonymous. Anonymous equals alive. Maybe.
"Well, I really had a great time, too," my dad gushed into the phone.
As if the Yeerks aren't enough for me to deal with - this woman my dad has gone all Sweet'n Low for? She just happens to be a teacher at my school. My math teacher. Ms. Robbinette.
It's enough to make you want to ban parent/teacher conferences.
I turned the TV up a little more, hoping my
5 dad would get the hint and leave the room. He didn't.
There was nothing on TV worth watching. Lousy game shows. Corny old movies. Boring murder mysteries. Prime-time soap operas. But I continued to flip channels like a robot stuck on the same mindless function.
I stopped on a talk show I'd seen a few times before. Contact Point. It was hosted by some guy with a three-word name. William Roger Tennant.
Not your typical talk show. No audience. No guests. No comedy monologue. Just this Tennant guy, sitting cross-legged in a big comfy chair, surrounded by six-foot-tall Lava lamps, a bottle of designer water at his side.
People called in with problems, and he gave them helpful advice. There was something about the guy that made you want to like him. He was so relaxed. Like nothing could possibly bother him. And he seemed to be actually interested in what people had to say. Every caller was the most fascinating person he'd ever spoken to.
I don't know why I kept watching. I'm not a talk show kind of person. Maybe it was because I was hoping William Roger Tennant would say something to make me feel better. See, there's another complication to my dad's having a girlfriend. A serious one.
But William Roger Tennant didn't say any-
6 thing that made me feel better. He said something that made me even sicker than my dad's middle-aged Romeo impersonation.
A woman caller was complaining about being lonely. She was retired. Many of her friends had passed away in recent years. She was having a hard time meeting people.
William Roger Tennant listened intently to her complaint. Looked thoughtfully at the camera.
"Marie," he said, "I know a great place where you can make friends. It's called The Sharing."
7 T,
he Sharing?" I said, feeling a chill run up my spine.
"The Sharing?" the woman replied.
"Yes, The Sharing." William Roger Tennant leaned forward in his chair. Smiled hypnotically at the camera. "It's a wonderful organization," he said. "The Sharing is all about meeting people. Having fun together. Making the world a better place. It's changed so many people's lives for the better. I'm sure it could help you."
I stared hard at the screen.
The Sharing. Yeah, it was a place for people to get tog
ether and have fun. Go to barbecues. Sing songs. But William Roger Tennant had left out a key detail.
8 The Sharing is a front organization for the Yeerks. They use it to recruit humans. They get people to join, earn their trust, then turn them into Controllers.
My best friend Jake, the leader of our group? His brother Tom joined The Sharing a while ago. He's a Controller now. Mr. Chapman, our assistant principal, is also a member and a Controller. And you thought your assistant principal was evil.
And now this William Roger Tennant guy was on TV, recruiting innocent people for slavery.
William Roger Tennant. A smiling, bearded face. Light brown hair pulled back into a pony-tail. Faded jeans and a casual button-down shirt. Everything about him was laid-back. Easygoing. Cool.
But behind it all, behind those warm, smiling blue eyes, was an evil alien slug, bent on making every single human being on the face of the earth a helpless slave.
That's the scariest thing of all about the Yeerks. You can't tell just by looking who's a Controller and who's not.
"Why don't you tell me where you live, Marie?" William Roger Tennant said to the caller. "I'll give you the number of a Sharing group near you."
I had to call Jake. Didn't want to, but had to.
Didn't I?
9 Let it go, Marco, I told myself. You know how this ends up: all of us screaming and running and maybe this time not making it out alive. Let it go.
My dad hung up the phone, that goofy smile still stuck on his face. He sat down on the couch next to me and picked up his PlayStation gamepad.
"So, you ready to humiliate me some more?" he said.
I sighed. "I have to call Jake."
"Why?"
"Good question."
I used the phone in the kitchen to set up a meeting with the rest of the gang. In the carefully nonspecific way we set up meetings.
Now I had to think up an excuse to leave the house. It was eight o'clock on a school night. My dad had specifically set aside some time to hang out with me. I didn't want to hurt his feelings.
"So what do you want to do now?" he asked when I walked back into the living room. "You need help with your homework? Maybe we could watch a movie or something?"
"Uh, well," I sai d, "I have to go over to Jake's house. I left something there."
His smile faded. "Oh. Well, couldn't he just give it to you at school tomorrow? It's eight o'clock already."
10 "I need it tonight." I prayed he wouldn't ask what was so important. When you lie, it's always a good idea to have the details figured out beforehand.
"Well, okay," he replied, frowning.
"I'll be back in a little while," I mumbled.
I was about to walk out the door when he called to me. "Say, Marco?"
"Yeah?" I looked back at him, sitting on the couch, a very sad look on his face. It was a look I hadn't seen in a long time. It was the same look he'd worn for two whole years after my mom disappeared.
"Are you mad at me?"
I shrugged. "No, Dad. Why would I be mad at you?"
"I know you still think about your mom a lot," he began. "I just want you to know I do, too."
"I know," I said.
"It's just that it's been a long time," my dad continued. "I can't grieve forever. I-we - need to move on. I hope you can understand that. I mean, Nora's a nice person, isn't she?"
Maybe if I was a better son, I could have said something to cheer him up. But I'm not and I couldn't.
"Yeah. She's okay," I said. "It's just weird, that's all."
11 I shut the door behind me and tried to control the guilt.
Yeah, I wanted my dad to be happy. But there was a really big problem with the whole Nora situation.
My mom may not really be dead.
12 I took off my jeans, sweater, and shoes and stuffed them in a little cubbyhole I'd made in the corner of my garage. We never have figured out how to morph clothing, other than skin-tight stuff. Besides, a big bird of prey would look kind of conspicuous flying around in a pair of Levi's.
I tried to relax and focus on my morph. It was tough. I'd made my dad feel bad. I didn't like that. It wasn't his fault, any of it. How was he supposed to know his wife wasn't really dead?
Or at least, not for sure.
My mom, her body anyway, was Visser One. The original leader of the Yeerk invasion of Earth. My mom was a Controller.
She'd faked her own death when her assign-
13 ment on Earth was up. She didn't want to leave any open questions as to what happened to my mother. So there was a boating accident. And for two years my dad and I thought she was gone.
Then I learned the truth. No way I could tell my dad. And the truth was, she was as good as dead. Probably.
I'd seen her last on a blasted mountaintop. I'd led her there, me, her son, as part of a plan to take down Vissers One and Three.
The last I'd seen her she went off a cliff. No body had turned up, but that may have just been the Yeerks cleaning up their own mess.
For two years, dead. Then alive. And now?
It was a totally impossible situation.
I was almost glad to have this mission. As dangerous as it was bound to be. It would keep my mind off Dad and Nora and all the hopeless conflicts I was feeling over it.
I concentrated on the animal I wanted to morph. Osprey. Fish-eating bird of prey. Eyes like lasers. Six-foot wingspan.
And I felt the changes begin.
Morphing is totally bizarre. It makes even the wildest and creepiest movie effects seem ordinary. There's something about watching your entire body completely change its shape that never ceases to freak you out.
ZWOOOOP!
14 I was shrinking. Rapidly. From five feet to four. To three. To two. The garbage cans my dad had bought at Home Depot were as big as three-story buildings now. The push broom leaning against the wall was as tall as a tree.
My bare feet quivered. My toes began to merge, to melt together, the way cookies melt into each other in the oven when you put them too close together on the pan.
Five stubby toes became three long slender ones. A fourth toe sprouted out of each of my ankles. Then a long, sharp talon slithered out of each toe.
Next, my skin started to itch.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
The hairs on my arms started growing like superfast-growing grass. Then each long hair blossomed into a feather. Black feathers along my back. White feathers on my front.
Now my arms would transform themselves into wings. I would be able to fly. And as soon as the morph was complete, I could lose myself in the simple, straightforward mind of the osprey. At least for the time it took to fly to Cassie's.
Come on, come on, I urged myself. Osprey.
My eyes were supposed to go telescopic. Allowing me to spot glittering fish through reflective water.
They didn't. Instead, they began to grow
15 darker. Blurrier. Until I could see only dim shapes around me. A hazy combination of black, white, and gray.
My arms! They weren't becoming wings! What was happening? I felt them stretching out in front of me. The skin on my hands turning brittle, like armor. Fingers merging, becoming two barbed claws.
Something was wrong!
My face . . .
A pinprick on each cheek! Two long whisker-like hairs sprouted outward. Instinctively, I swept them in front of me, gauging the wind, the temperature, sensing my surroundings.
Antennae? Birds don't have antennae!
Dim eyes. Pincers. Antennae.
Lobster?
I was half-osprey, half-lobster?
A useless combination of mismatched parts.
I struggled to stand on the osprey's narrow legs. Dragged the lobster's heavy claws along the dirty garage floor. My antennae swept back and forth, faster and faster, desperately searching. For what?
Suddenly, the lobster's mind took over.
Panic! Fear!
Water! Where was the water!
I had l
obster lungs and gills. But I was nowhere near water.
16 No. NO! This couldn't be happening.
The lobster's panic was intense. Desperately I tried to fight it.
Come on, Marco. Settle down. Just morph out and everything will be fine.
Morph out!
17 "ts^^vJS1*;
It took half an hour to ride my bike to Cassie's parents' barn, aka the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic. A place where Cassie and her dad nurse sick and injured animals back to health.
Its walls are lined with cages. Pens and stalls house the larger guests. At any given time the barn is filled with all sorts of animals, from bald eagles to beavers to llamas. And like any barn, it's short on comfort and quiet, long on the aroma of sweet hay and animal feces.
But it is private.
I was still shaking when I went inside.
"It's about time you got here," Rachel growled. "I'm missing Felicity."
Rachel is tall, blond, and beautiful. At first
18 glance, she seems like a perfectly typical self-centered, spoiled teenage girl.
Here's some advice, kids: Don't judge a book by its cover. If the Animorphs were a hockey team, Rachel would be our goon. She's always the first one to start a fight. Always the last one to surrender.
«You mean we're missing Felicity,» Tobias added from his perch in the rafters. Tobias is what the Andalites call a nothlit. He stayed in his red-tailed hawk morph for longer than two hours. Stay in a morph for longer than two hours, and it's not a morph anymore. It's yours to keep.
Now red-tailed hawk is his normal form. Although thanks to the Ellimist, he can morph like the rest of us.
"Isn't that romantic?" I said mockingly. "Blondie and Bird-boy watching TV together. So Rachel munches popcorn and Tobias eats road-kill? Romance! Must be something in the air."
"What's your problem, Marco, not enough fiber?" Rachel snapped.
Cassie shot me a look of disapproval that made me wince.
Okay, maybe I'd been a little harsh. I'd make it up to Tobias later.
"We were getting a little worried," Jake added with a tad more diplomacy. "We were about to fly
19 out to your house to see if something was wrong."
Jake's the leader of our group. He's also been my best friend for as long as I can remember, despite the fact that we're very different people. Jake's the responsible, serious, leader-type. I'm the devil-may-care comedian.
The Proposal Page 1
