The Wild One Read Online Free Page B

safe.
    â€œSo, what did you do all night while I was working for a living?” Michael asked.
    â€œOh, you know. The usual. Robbed a bank. Started a wild affair with the mail lady. Ate dinnerwith my parents,” Max answered. “And Ray Iburg, that guy who owns the UFO museum, called. I got the job.”
    â€œVery cool,” Michael told him.
    Max gave the Jeep more gas as they pulled out of town. They had the road to themselves as they blasted into the desert.
    â€œDon’t you think there’s something strange about the fact that we both work at tourist traps for people obsessed with aliens?” Michael asked.
    â€œHey, it’s Roswell. Half the people in town work at an alien-theme place,” Max said.
    â€œCould be worse, I guess. The whole town could sell fish-related products or something.” Michael reached for the radio and cranked it. He knew if they kept talking, he’d eventually blab about Mr. Cuddihy’s visit.
    He didn’t want to tell Max that he was switching foster homes again. If he did, Max would just start feeling bad. Not that he would say anything much—Max knew Michael hated being pitied. But he’d probably end up very casually suggesting that Michael move in with the Evanses for his last year of high school.
    Michael knew Mr. and Mrs. Evans would agree to take him in. A couple of years ago, when Michael was getting ready to change foster homes for about the millionth time, Mrs. Evans had volunteered to talk to Mr. Cuddihy about becoming Michael’s foster morn. She said he practically lived with them, anyway, and he definitely ate all their food.
    But the Evanses had raised Max and Isabel from the time they were little kids. They were a family A real family. And as nice as Mr. and Mrs. Evans were to Michael, he knew they’d only be taking him in out of pity.
    Michael had made it this long in foster families, and he could hold out a little long in foster families like he’d been totally miserable all these years. Miserable was way too strong a word.
    Okay, he hadn’t exactly been happy. But welcome to the club, right? He had eyes. He could see auras, those swirls of color that surrounded all living things, as unique as Fingerprints. And those auras told him there were a lot of people out there who weren’t quite happy or exactly miserable. And they were all getting along okay.
    Michael stared out the window, letting himself zone out as miles and miles of flat desert whipped by It felt good not talking, not really even thinking. It was like his body was still in the car, but the rest of him had just sort of dissolved into the air.
    Max turned down the radio. “That motorcycle is freaking me out.”
    â€œHuh?” Michael straightened up and glanced over at Max.
    â€œThat motorcycle has been following us for miles,” Max explained.
    Michael checked the rearview mirror. “
Following
us? You sure? I mean, there is only one highway out of Roswell in this direction.”
    â€œYeah, you’re right,” Max admitted. “You knowwhat it is? I keep thinking about that thing with the mascot. It weirded me out.”
    â€œMaybe you should give easy rider back there a little test,” Michael suggested.
    Max nodded. He jerked the wheel to the left, taking the Jeep into the desert. The motorcycle continued down the highway
    â€œFalse alarm,” Michael said.
    â€œI’ve got to get a grip,” Max answered.
    â€œYeah, it’s not like people are out there looking for us, probably plotting to kill us,” Michael commented sarcastically.
    â€œOh, right. We’re just ordinary high school students. I keep forgetting,” Max said.
    Michael heard an engine rev behind them. He looked over his shoulder. The motorcycle was cutting across the desert, following him and Max. “You know what? I don’t think this is a good night for a search.”
    Max spun the Jeep around and headed back