25 - Attack of the Mutant Read Free

my
backpack onto the other shoulder. “I take the bus there once a week or so to see
what new comics have come out. The orthodontist is just a few blocks from it.”
    “Do they have rubber stamps at the comic book store?” Wilson asked.
    “I don’t think so,” I told him. I saw the blue-and-white city bus turn the
corner. “Got to run. See you later!” I called.
    I turned and ran full speed to the bus stop.
    The driver was a nice guy. He saw me running and waited for me. Breathing
hard, I thanked him and climbed on to the bus.
    I probably wouldn’t have thanked him if I had known where this bus was going
to take me. But I didn’t know that it was carrying me to the most frightening
adventure of my life.

 
 
5
     
     
    The bus was unusually crowded. I stood for a while. Then two people got off,
and I slid into a seat.
    As the bus bounced along Main Street, I stared out at the passing houses and
front yards. Dark clouds hung low over the roofs. I wondered if we were about to
get our first snowfall of the winter.
    The comic book store was a few blocks away. I checked my watch, thinking
maybe I had time to stop there before my orthodontist appointment. But no. No
time for comics today.
    “Hey, do you go to Franklin?” A girl’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
    I turned to see that a girl had taken the seat beside me. Her carrot-colored
hair was tied back in a single braid. She had green eyes and light freckles on
her nose.
    She wore a heavy, blue-and-red-plaid ski sweater over faded jeans. She held
her red canvas backpack in her lap.
    “Yeah. I go there,” I replied.
    “How is it?” she asked. She narrowed her green eyes at me as if checking me
out.
    “It’s okay,” I told her.
    “What’s your name?” she asked.
    “Skipper,” I told her.
    She snickered. “That’s not a real name, is it?”
    “It’s what everyone calls me,” I said.
    “Do you live on a boat or something?” she asked. Her eyes crinkled up. I
could see she was laughing at me.
    I guess Skipper is kind of a dumb name. But I’ve gotten used to it. I like it
a lot better than my real name—Bradley.
    “When I was a little kid, I was always in a hurry,” I told her. “So I used to
skip a lot. That’s why they started calling me Skipper.”
    “Cute,” she replied with a smirk.
    I don’t think I like this girl, I told myself. “What’s your name?” I asked
her.
    “Skipper,” she replied, grinning. “Same as yours.”
    “No. Really,” I insisted.
    “It’s Libby,” she said finally. “Libby Zacks.” She stared past me out the
window. The bus stopped for a red light. A baby started crying in the back.
    “Where are you going?” Libby asked me. “Home?”
    I didn’t want to tell her I had an orthodontist appointment. That was too geeky. “I’m going to a comic book store,” I said.
“The one on Goodale.”
    “You collect comics?” She sounded surprised. “So do I.”
    It was my turn to be surprised. Most of the comic book collectors I know are
boys. “What kind do you collect?” I asked.
    “High School Harry & Beanhead,” she replied. “I collect all the
digest-sized ones and some of the regular ones, too.”
    “Yuck.” I made a face. “High School Harry and his pal Beanhead? Those comics
stink.”
    “They do not!” Libby insisted.
    “Those are for babies,” I muttered. “They’re not real comics.”
    “They’re very well written,” Libby replied. “And they’re funny.” She stuck
her tongue out at me. “Maybe you just don’t get them.”
    “Yeah. Maybe,” I said, rolling my eyes.
    I gazed out the window. The sky had grown darker. I didn’t recognize any of
the stores. I saw a restaurant called Pearl’s and a tiny barbershop. Had we
passed the comic book store?
    Libby folded her hands over her red backpack. “What do you collect? All that
superhero junk?”
    “Yeah,” I told her. “My collection is worth about a thousand dollars. Maybe
two thousand.”
    “In your dreams,”