The Wild One Read Online Free

you. The government covered the whole thing up. They told everyone all they had seen was a weather balloon. And—”
    â€œI have a question for you,” a voice said from behind Michael.
    Yeah, big surprise, Michael thought. He turned around to find Mr. Cuddihy standing behind him. Michael suppressed a groan. Why couldn’t he have one of those apathetic social workers? The kind that wouldn’t even notice if you missed an appointment?
    â€œYou want to know if I think that alien autopsy tape is a phony?” Michael asked.
    Mr. Cuddihy shook his head. “At our appointment—you know, the one you blew off—I wanted to ask you how things were going with the Hughes family”
    Michael shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” His foster father was a jerk, always playing little power games, but Michael could handle it. None of the foster parents he’d had over the years had been perfect.
    â€œMr. Hughes mentioned something about a truck the last time we spoke,” Mr. Cuddihy commented.
    Michael didn’t answer. What was he supposed to say? He knew exactly what truck Mr. Cuddihy was talking about. The old hunk of junk Mr. Hughes kept up on blocks in the backyard. At least he used to—until Michael decided to liberate it.
    Michael and Max had sent the truck to the bottom of Lake Lee. Sheriff Valenti had gotten way too close to figuring out Max was an alien. So Michael had come up with a plan to make Valenti think the alien he was looking for was dead—drowned in the bottom of the lake. Unfortunately for Mr. Hughes, the plan involved his truck.
    â€œMr. Hughes said this truck mysteriously disappeared a few weeks ago,” Mr. Cuddihy continued.
    â€œHe should talk to Mrs. Hughes,” Michael answered. “She hates the thing. She calls it the world’s ugliest lawn ornament. She keeps threatening to glue little plaster elves and stuff to it to pretty it up or something.”
    It was true. Taking the truck was like doing a favor for Mrs. Hughes. And she was much cooler than her husband.
    Mr. Cuddihy laughed. “So you don’t know anything about the truck?”
    Michael shrugged again. “I don’t know how anyone managed to get the thing out of the yard. The engine won’t even turn over.” Of course, if you happened to have powers like he and Max, you could easily shove the truck through space just by concentrating. But he didn’t share that fact with the social worker.
    â€œOkay, I told Mr. Hughes I’d mention it, and I did,” Mr. Cuddihy said. “But I really came by to see how things were going for you at home. I’m not sure that the Hugheses are a great match for you. I was thinking maybe I’d move you to a new spot.”
    Translation: The Hughes family didn’t want Michael living with them anymore.
    Michael felt himself stiffen, all his muscles tightening up. What do you care? he thought. It was just a place to crash.
    â€œSo when should I be packed?” he asked.
    â€œHey, you’re getting ahead of me,” Mr. Cuddihy protested. “If you think things are working out with the Hugheses, maybe I could set up a few group counseling sessions, and—”
    â€œNo, you’re right. We aren’t the best matchup or whatever.” Michael raked his black hair out of his eyes. “Is that all? Because my boss has a ton of stuff for me to do.”
    â€œThat’s all,” Mr. Cuddihy answered. “I’ll get back to you with details in a couple of days. We can set up another appointment then—and I expect you to show up.”
    â€œYeah, I will. Definitely.” Just get out of here already, Michael thought. Mr. Cuddihy was decent enough, but Michael would be very glad when he never had to see the guy again. As soon as he hit his eighteenth birthday it would be good-bye, Mr. Cuddihy And good-bye, foster families.
    Not that he knew exactly when his eighteenth birthday really was.