Where’s my dad? I wonder.
“Careful,” Mr. Charles says absently as Mr. Bird opens the back seat door for him. “We don’t want to damage the merchandise.”
Merchandise? What kind of merchandise does an oil executive need?
Then I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe they’re robbing us!
Mr. Charles turns back to his phone conversation. “The boy won’t be a problem. He fell right into my hands last night. We should be able to secure him easily enough.…”
Secure him?
“The girl, however…”
He means me!
“…she recognized me from the beginning. Takes after her mother—a real fighter. But if her father asks her to come along peacefully, she’ll comply.” He climbs into the car and Ms. Bird slams the door closed.
Little puffs of yellow chamisa pollen drift down into my face.
I grab for my nose a second too late.
Achoo!
I freeze, wincing. Ms. Bird could have heard—she’s still outside the car. I wait for a second. Then I peek around the corner, and sure enough, Ms. Bird is staring right at my shrub.
Don’t notice me, don’t notice me.
Mr. Charles rolls down his window and leans out. “Is there a problem?” he demands impatiently.
“I thought I heard…” She cocks her head to the side, listening.
“You ‘thought’?” Mr. Charles snaps. “Well, that’s your first problem. I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to know. So do you think you heard something, or do you know?”
Ms. Bird’s eyes narrow. I hold my breath. And my nose.
“Well?” he demands again, irritated. “I don’t have all day.”
“It was nothing, sir,” she says, turning abruptly. She climbs back into the driver’s seat.
I breathe a sigh of relief. That was close.
I hear the engine start up, and then, with screeching tires, the SUV pulls away from the curb. Once it turns the corner, I sprint to my house.
I open the screen door to find that the front door is unlocked. I push it in as gently as I can, but the hinges still make a squeak that seems loud in the hushed afternoon. “Dad?” I call.
Nobody answers. I hope they didn’t knock him out or tie him up or something.
I run through the house, looking for Dad and checking to see what’s missing.
But everything is in its rightful place…except for my father.
The realization hits me like a punch to my gut. Dad was in that trunk. Did they kill him?
No, no. Charles said they were going to use Dad to make me comply.
But was he drugged? Hurt? Where were they going with him? I wish I had taken down the SUV’s license plate number.…
I feel panicky, and my hand shakes uncontrollably as I pick up the landline. I’m just about to punch in 911, when I imagine the conversation:
Emergency services. Name and address, please. Nijoanie? How do you spell that? Your father’s been kidnapped by his boss, you say? A monster? Well, we all have problems at work, honey, but…
Who are the police going to believe? Some random brown kid, or a famous executive with his blond hair and a fancy suit that reeks of money?
No adult is going to buy this story. I’ve got to take down Mr. Charles on my own.
There is someone who might help—the only one who seemed to know anything about fighting monsters. I rush to my room, head straight for my bookcase, and feel around the top shelf until my hand closes around a plush horned toad. I pull him out.
“Mr. Yazzie?” I say, my voice shaking. “If you’re real and not just a dream, please wake up. I’m in trouble. The monster I was telling you about? He took my dad and said he’s going to kidnap me and my little brother, too. Or maybe just…kill me!”
I shake Mr. Yazzie gently, but nothing happens. My breath is coming hot and fast and I want to cry, but I won’t. This is a time to be strong.
I’m still wearing my backpack, and I place Mr. Yazzie in the big outside pocket. Might as well bring him along for luck.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me why I came home. I’ll need my strength if I’m going to have to deal with monsters. My lunch bag is still on the counter, right where I left it. It’s lying on its side like someone knocked it over.
I pick up the bag and an apple rolls out. A Red Delicious. Dad loves them, but he knows I can’t stand them. Why would he pack one in my lunch? I pick up the offending fruit, and I’m about to set it back on the counter when I see it: Carved into the apple, the yellow flesh showing through the red skin, is one word.
RUN!
My feet feel unsteady and my head gets a floaty feeling. I blink several times, take a deep breath, and look again, sure I imagined it. But the word is still there.
R-U-N. RUN!
My dad left me a secret message.
Through the still-open front door, I hear the rumble of a car engine outside.
I look out the screen door to see that the black SUV has returned, and Mr. Charles is getting out of the back seat!
“I forgot the photo. I’ll just be a minute,” he says to Ms. Bird, and he jogs toward the house.
The photo! The one he was so interested in yesterday, of Mac and me with my mom and dad. I don’t get why it’s so important to Mr. Charles. He probably wants to use it to track us or something. All I know is that there’s no way I’m letting him get his dirty hands on it.
I run to the mantel and grab the picture frame.
I hear the screen door opening.
I race for the back door, dropping the apple as I go. I fly out into the yard just as the screen door closes. I vault the rear fence and race down the alley to school, my breath loud in my ears and my monster senses tingling. I don’t stop, and I don’t look back.
“Mr. Charles kidnapped my dad!” I shout as I skid through the library’s double doors.
Six pairs of eyes turn to stare at me.
Maya drops her corn necklace. A single kernel goes clacking across the floor, the only sound in the entire room. Well, besides me.
I’m panting and sweaty, I’m screaming about somebody kidnapping my dad, and I’m clutching a macaroni noodle picture frame in one hand. I can see how this might make me look weird.
“I mean…uh…” I clear my throat. “Davery, can I speak to you for a minute? Alone?”
He pushes back his chair and gets to his feet. I rush over, grab him by the arm, and pull him away from the other Ancestor Club kids.
Their eyes all watch me, astonished. “Just kidding about the kidnapping thing. Keep going with your presentations.” I flash them a winning smile.
“What’s happening?” Davery hisses once we’re out of earshot. “And why are you tardy?”
“Oh my God with the tardiness. That is not important.”
“Punctuality is always important.”
I groan. “Focus! I saw Mr. Charles again. He was at my house.”
“When? Wait, you left school grounds? That is strictly prohibited.”
“Never mind that. Listen to this!” I tell him what I saw, what I heard. Everything, including the message carved into the apple.
Little lines form on his forehead. “That is pretty disturbing.”
“Duh.”
“Do you have the apple?”