Double Vision Read Free

helpful and suck up.
    I made my way to the door. When I opened it, I heard the noise and laughter before I saw them. Chickens—or at least two kids in homemade chicken suits, with feathers taped to paper plates or something. A boom box played the chicken dance song.
    â€œHey, Chicken Boy!” I recognized Daryl’s voice. “Wanna dance?” The other chicken suit broke out laughing. That was Sam.
    All right, so that was pretty funny, right? I could’ve come up with that prank myself if it had been Daryl or Sam getting into chicken farm trouble. But for some reason, monkeying around with my friends was the last thing I wanted to do. “Funny, guys.” I slammed the door, but I could still hear them laughing and cackling.
    â€œWho’s that at the door?” Grandpa asked. He glanced over my shoulder, out the little window next to the front door. Grandpa is old, but he can sneak up on you like a ninja. Very creepy.
    â€œIt’s just my friends.”
    â€œHuh.” Grandpa shrugged, then shuffled away.
    The chicken dance music stopped. When I was sure they were gone, I walked to the kitchen, hoping to find some snacks to fill the pit inside my stomach.
    â€œDinner’s on the table in twenty minutes,” Mom said behind me when she saw me rummaging inside the fridge. “No snacking.”
    â€œWasn’t there a cheese ball in here the other day?” I picked up a carton of eggs to see the back of the fridge.
    â€œNo snacking!” She closed the fridge, leaving me in the snack-free kitchen, holding a carton of eggs. The doorbell rang. Again.
    â€œOh no, you don’t,” I mumbled, laughing. I walked to the door, opening up the egg carton. I took out four of them, two in each hand. I placed the carton near the door for extra ammo and opened the door.
    And threw the eggs. “Crack this, you suckers!” I laughed.
    It wasn’t until I turned on the porch light that I realized it wasn’t my friends who had rung the doorbell. There was a guy, bald, in a black suit, and a tall woman, also in a black suit, with brown hair in a bun.
    â€œIs this the Baker residence?” Egg yolk was dripping down the bald man’s face.
    â€œUm. Yeah?”
    â€œWe’re government agents.” He flashed a badge. “Are you Lincoln Baker?”

3
FRIDAY, 6:30 P.M.
    I’D JUST EGGED THE GOVERNMENT, SO I apologized.
    â€œLet’s cut the nonsense. Is there somewhere we can talk?” Guy Agent asked. “Privately?”
    â€œUm, I dunno.” I should explain my domestic situation. My house is basically a rectangle, three bedrooms, one bathroom, an eat-in kitchen, and small living room, where Dad was watching TV just then. So when the government agent asked if there was somewhere private we could talk, I almost laughed. “How about right here?”
    Lady Agent settled at the end of the porch, looking miffed.
    â€œLincoln Baker,” Guy Agent said, like he was still not sure.
    â€œIn the flesh.”
    â€œI’m Agent Fullerton.” He shook my hand, quick but firm enough to hurt. “This is Agent Stark,” he said, waving behind him. Agent Stark just stared at me. “We’re with a top secret special ops team called Pandora.”
    â€œYou’re spies?”
    â€œWe prefer ‘secret agents.’”
    Could this be a joke? If so, it was a good one. “So what’s so top secret that brings you here? Did someone lose Pandora’s box?”
    Agent Fullerton kept studying my face with a smile. “It’s uncanny. Isn’t it, Stark?” He looked over his shoulder.
    Agent Stark stood, holding a small yellow pad, looking cranky. “Uncanny,” Agent Fullerton mumbled, still staring at me. He whipped out a tape measure. “Can you stand up a little straighter?” I stretched out my arms, like that would help. “Shy two inches.”
    Stark motioned to the white plastic lawn chairs