How to Sell Your Family to the Aliens

by Paul Noth

  It went click. Then nothing. I tried it again. Click off. Click on. Still nothing. Click-click, click-click, click-click. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Stay calm, I told myself. Don’t panic.

  But a moment later I was flicking every switch madly, turning every knob, spinning every dial in a flurry of frustration, and then I was banging both hands hard atop that lifeless old box like an angry gorilla. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

  I realized the whole room had gone quiet.

  Alice and the twins stood in front of my cot. When I looked up at them, their silent giggles became howling screams of laughter.

  “You actually thought that piece of junk would work!” shrieked Alice.

  “Look at how sweaty he got carrying it!” screamed a twin.

  “He probably gave himself ten hernias!” screamed the other.

  “Look at his little face!”

  “Aw, is someone gonna cry?”

  Some evil jerk from my school had taught my big sisters the Make-Beard-Boy-Cry Dance. As they began to sway and sing in unison, I clenched my jaw, tightened my fists, and fought to hold back the inevitable eruption of misery.

  “Beard Boy’s gonna c—”

  But before the tears could arrive, Alice and the twins stopped singing. They looked over at our sister Kayla, who now approached with purposeful concentration. When Kayla moved like this, we all usually shut up to see what was about to happen. (Kayla, as you might remember from my helpful Sister Schematic, was at the farthest end of the Weirdness Axis.)

  Striding up to the edge of my cot, Kayla scratched her yellow headband and stared down at the TV. While she examined it, her face formed the quick little expressions she made whenever she was talking to Alphonso, her imaginary bee.

  Then her features calmed. Her arm moved fast. Her hand, with surgical precision, clamped on to the cord’s connection into the back of the TV and made three clockwise turns.

  An electric pop. A rising hum. A bloom of colored light.

  “Thanks, Kayla,” I whispered as the TV awoke like a sleeping angel.

  She nodded and walked away.

  “Know-it-all,” said Alice.

  “Traitor!” said Eliza. Or maybe Beth. No, probably Eliza.

  But I didn’t care because . . . I was actually watching TV! I knew this theme music from kids humming it on the playground. I had heard them imitate this deep-voiced announcer. This wasn’t just any show, but the most popular show at my school: Wrastlinsanity! Actually, “popular” doesn’t come close to describing the phenomenon of this program. If my school had been a religion, Wrastlinsanity would have been God.

  The moment tasted sweeter than any cookie baked by Grandma’s chef. Just seeing the names on the championship bracket, a list of playground legends, I felt bliss uninterrupted . . .

  Until I noticed Alice. She lay back on her cot, secretly watching me from behind her little silver makeup compact. I clutched the TV protectively. I thought that if I kept both hands and both eyes on the set, maybe Alice wouldn’t be able to steal it. Maybe.

  How good a thief was Alice?

  Once, during one of the government’s investigations of our family, I watched her steal the handcuffs off the belt of an FBI agent without him noticing. Afterward, she showed me the contact lenses she had stolen from his eyes. I would have bet everything I owned that she was the greatest thief of all time, only Alice had already stolen everything I owned. She had slipped Squeep! the lizard out of my hands the instant I fell asleep. She had swiped every crime novel I ever brought home, until the library revoked my card and started treating me like a criminal.

  Where did she hide all the loot? Nobody knew, but my money was on that little silver makeup compact of hers. She was so stealthy and secretive that I had never even managed to learn the name of the invention Grandma had tested on her, which had surely caused these abilities. All I knew for certain was that once Alice stole something, you could forget about ever seeing it again. What Alice took stayed took for good.

  But not this time! I thought, looking up boldly to meet the eyes peeking over her silver makeup compact. She flinched at the fierce look on my face. “Not this time, Alice,” I whispered. This time I would be faster. This time I would be smarter. This time, I swore, there was no way on heaven or earth that Alice was going to get my TV.

  CHAPTER 5

  ALICE STEALS MY TV

  Wrastlinsanity turned out to be as great as everybody said it was. By some unusual stroke of luck, I had tuned in to what would become one of the most famous matches in history. I got to watch the champ himself wrestle—Florida Pete, the world’s strongest man. A seven-foot tower of bulging muscles.

  Watching him in motion, I couldn’t help but wish for my own pair of Perfect-O-Specs so that, if I ever saw him in person, I could make myself the twin of Florida Pete. All my life I had heard kids try to imitate his famous “gator whoop.” But when Pete himself did it, the hairs on my neck stood up. I could see why the whoop alone scared some opponents straight out of the ring.

  “And the chaaallenger!” said the deep-voiced announcer. “The Masked Flamenco!”

  Two feet shorter than Florida Pete and thin as a rail, the Masked Flamenco wore a fancy spangled black jumpsuit and a black head mask embroidered with glittery red roses.

  Well this shouldn’t take long, I thought.

  The bell dinged. Florida Pete charged. And the Masked Flamenco started dancing, as though to Spanish guitar music nobody else could hear. Rhythmically gyrating narrow hips, the Masked Flamenco traced intricate patterns in the air with long and gracefully snapping fingers. Familiar fingers.

  Florida Pete swung five fast hammer-blows. Dancing around each, the Masked Flamenco slapped a forehand and then a backhand across Pete’s face. Slap-slap. The crowd gasped. So did I. So did Pete. Then he whooped ferociously and leapt like a tiger.

  As the Masked Flamenco tried to twirl away, only inches ahead of Pete’s clawing grasps, it seemed we were all about to witness a brutal murder. I thought I might die of excitement, when the bell dinged to end the round.

  “I’m Hap Conklin!” yelled a familiar voice.

  It took me a moment to realize Dad was on the TV and not in our room. Conklin Industries turned out to be the main sponsor of Wrastlinsanity. This fomercial had Dad selling the new line of family-sized frozen dinners, including Hap Conklin’s Chinese Cheesy Melt and Hap Conklin’s Clockos, “The only frozen taco that tells the time.”

  Finally a break. I had needed to go to the bathroom since before leaving school. I unplugged the set. I’d have to take it with me, since I couldn’t leave it alone with Alice.

  But my arms had grown so stiff and sore that I could barely move them. I wedged my fingers under the TV and had to lean back with all my weight to hoist it up. Just keeping my balance hurt. The first step was excruciating. The second made me want to cry, as I realized that this would be my life from now on. If I ever left the TV, I would lose it. I could never go to sleep. I would have to carry it to school on Monday and take it around to all my classes. Overcome with pain and despair, I wanted to give up, to drop it on the floor, to break it and be done.

  But then I thought of Florida Pete. He hadn’t become the world’s strongest man by giving up. Yes, this is hard, I told myself. Yes, the next couple months will be even harder. But think of how strong you’re going to become. Think of Florida Pete. Florida Pete.

  Just repeating the name made me feel stronger, and I carried that TV straight out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Now I wondered how I ever could have thought of dropping this wonderful machine, my ticket to normalcy, to acceptance at school and to escape from my family at home. I carried it faster so as not to miss anything after the commercial.

  Halfway to the bathroom, I heard something tiny approaching, below and in front of me. A ticky-ticky skittering sound. I looked down in time to see a little green animal scurrying past my shoe. I knew that exclamation-point-like shape. I knew those brown spots, that adorable little tail.
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  “Squeep!” I said.

  It was he. Any doubt about his identity vanished when he turned and looked back at the sound of his name. Then he darted away.

  “No, wait!” I yelled, setting down the TV.

  I dove after him, through the air. I felt his scaly skin zip between my fingers as I landed. Then he vanished under the closet door, leaving behind a strong scent of strawberry shampoo.

  Oh no, I thought.

  Rolling over, I looked back down the hall. The TV was gone.

  Deep down, I already knew what had happened, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself until I had searched through the whole closet for Squeep! and paced back and forth and down the hallway over and over looking for the TV. Gone and gone.

  Alice had gotten me good. A classic lizard diversion. I walked back into the bedroom and stared down at her. Leaning back on her cot, she looked into her silver makeup compact with the smallest possible smile on her freckly face. Where was she hiding it all? I kept thinking. Her nightstand was bare, except for her round hairbrush—which Alice cleaned so seldom that it had come to resemble a small, red Persian cat.

  The makeup compact! She had to be hiding it all in that little silver compact! But how? How could she hide so much inside something so small?

  “No!” said one of the twins. “She stole it already?”

  Beth, now wearing her glasses, walked up beside me and stared down at Alice.

  “Ha!” said Alice. “You think I’d actually want that ridiculous old TV?”

  “Unbelievable,” said Beth. “What’s the matter with you, Alice? You crazy kleptomaniac.”

  Alice, who hated being called a kleptomaniac, struck back with the word that would hurt Beth the most.

  “Phony!” yelled Alice. “Four-eyed phony!”

  Beth’s face flushed. She threw a hard slap at Alice, but the latter was quicker than anyone and easily dodged it.

  “You’ll pay for trying to hit me,” said Alice. “You’ll pay big-time!”

  “I need my own room!” screamed Eliza.

  As I turned away and walked toward the bathroom, I thought, I can’t take any more of this! I cannot take one more day of these people. I need to do something. Something big! Something PERMANENT!

  CHAPTER 6

  I STOP SHAVING

  I didn’t shave that night or the next morning. Why bother? I thought. Let them tease me. Let them sing their mocking songs and dance their evil dances. I didn’t care anymore! Now I only cared about getting back what was mine. The TV. The lizard. Everything. But so far, I didn’t have a plan . . . except to lie in bed and let my face turn into a giant tumbleweed.

  On Saturdays my sisters all slept a little later. Eliza rose first and headed to the bathroom to shower. As eldest sibling, she got the first turn. A moment later Beth and Alice got into another screaming match. I tried to ignore it, until I realized what they were actually arguing about. Then I shot up in bed, unable to believe my ears.

  “You stole them right off my dresser!” yelled Beth. “You stole my Specs!”

  “HA!” yelled Alice. “Why on earth would I ever even touch your disgusting idiot glasses?”

  As Alice stormed out of the room, I noticed that she had a pillowcase wrapped around her left wrist, for some unfathomable reason.

  Could she really have stolen Beth’s glasses? The Specs were like part of Beth. It would be like stealing someone’s name, or their age, or their history. I looked to Kayla to see what she made of all this, but she was still snoozing. In my family, you learned to sleep through anything.

  Beth slumped down onto her bare cot. She looked hard at the back of her hands as though waiting for the freckles to appear.

  “She really stole your Specs?” I said, walking toward her.

  “While I was sleeping,” said Beth. Now I saw the tears shining down her face. As much as my sisters drove me crazy, I hated to see them cry. I tried to say the most comforting thing I could think of.

  “There, there,” I said.

  Of course, this didn’t help. So I tried, “It’s going to be okay.”

  “No it’s not!” said Beth. “I’m going to change into . . . ​ I don’t even know who! I can feel it happening already.”

  “Well, so what if you don’t look exactly like Eliza?” I said. “It’s not like you guys are that pretty anyway.”

  Boy, comforting people was a lot harder than it looked.

  “It’s more than just my appearance, Hap,” she said. “I’m going to become a different person, understand? I don’t remember who I was before the glasses. Maybe I was never even her twin.”

  “What? Of course you guys are twins. You just have freckles. Big deal.”

  “What if they aren’t just freckles? What if I’m about to turn into a speckled little lab rat or something?”

  “Don’t be crazy,” I said. “You can’t possibly be a rat. Grandma’s totally opposed to animal testing. She only experimented on her grandchildren.”

  But Beth went on staring at her hands as though expecting them to shrink down into little rat claws at any moment. I tried to put myself in her shoes. How would I feel if tomorrow I wake up, look in the mirror, and see a complete stranger staring back at me? The thought was terrifying.

  “We should team up, Beth,” I said. “Against Alice. Let’s get your Specs back, and my TV, and the lizard. Everything. If we work together, we can figure out”—I lowered my voice—“how she does it.”

  Beth glanced around nervously. I had broached a dangerous subject. How Alice did it, and the details of that experiment, were big secrets protected by both Alice and Grandma.

  “Okay,” Beth whispered, her eyes flashing with determination. “Let’s do it. Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “I think Alice hides everything she steals in that little silver makeup compact of hers.”

  “Well, duh,” whispered Beth. “Eliza and I figured that much out years ago. The question isn’t where, it’s how. What’s the trick of it? How does she hide so much inside something so little?”

  “To know that,” I whispered, “I need to know what happened to Alice. What Grandma did to her. What product was she testing?”

  “I don’t know.” Beth’s voice dropped to near silence now. “But I do know where we can find out. Have you ever heard of the Black Room?”

  “No,” I said. “What black room?”

  “It’s where Grandma keeps all the secrets that she needs to hide from the FBI. Everything about Alice is in there.”

  “How do we get to the Bla—”

  “That’s enough!” said an angry voice.

  We looked over and saw our sister Kayla striding toward us.

  “You guys shouldn’t even be talking about that room,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Kayla!” I said. “You can help us.”

  “Yeah,” said Beth. “You know everything, Kayla. Help me get my Specs back.”

  Kayla scratched at the yellow headband, which she had worn every day of her life since Grandma had tested the Baby Master on her.

  The Baby Master’s headgear was designed to read your baby’s thoughts and text her planned direction to your smartphone, thus allowing you to predict your toddler’s toddlings. Or that’s what it would have done, if something hadn’t gone horribly wrong with Dad’s prototype. Instead of a predictable baby, the world got Kayla, a baby who could predict things.

  Now, at nine, Kayla knew the answer to almost any question I could think of. She certainly knew all of Alice’s secrets, but she refused to share them with us, no matter how many times we begged her.

  “Come on, Kayla,” pleaded Beth. “Alice stole my Specs this time!”

  “We’re doing this,” I said. “With or without you, Kayla.”

  “You guys don’t understand,” said Kayla, massaging the headband at her temple, “how dangerous it is to even be talking about the Black Room. Things will get very bad.”

  “How could they get any
worse?” I said. “I’m missing everything on TV, and she’s turning into a rat!”

  “Beth, you’re not a lab rat,” said Kayla. “None of us are. At least not in the literal sense.”

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?” said Beth. “Do you realize what’s happening here? Alice stole my Specs!”

  “Alice has them, yes,” said Kayla, looking past us. “But she didn’t consciously steal them. She took the thing that took them.”

  “Don’t defend her!” said Beth. “She’s a thief!”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You should be helping the victims, not abetting the criminal.”

  “I know,” said Kayla, nodding.

  “So help us!” said Beth.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” yelled Beth and I together.

  “Because,” said Kayla. “Alphonso.”

  At the mention of Alphonso, Beth threw her hands up and I clasped my head in despair.

  “Not Alphonso again,” said Beth.

  “Everything’s Alphonso with you, Kayla,” I said. “Alphonso-Alphonso-Alphonso!”

  At this point you might be wondering, what’s the deal with Alphonso?

  CHAPTER 7

  ALPHONSO THE BEE

  Alphonso was an imaginary honeybee that Kayla insisted was real. Here’s how she explained it:

  I didn’t see how Alphonso could be. Or how he could be a bee. But I could not deny that Alphonso, imaginary or not, gave Kayla real information. I mean, top-quality intel about unknowables future and past. This could be great, like when she fixed my TV, or like when she predicted snow days so I could put off doing my homework, but it also gave her a tendency to rain on one’s parade. And this morning she was coming down like a thunderstorm.

  Beth sighed. “So, what’s the stupid bee saying now?”