Pop by Gordon Korman Read Free Book Online Page A

more reason to hate Comrade Stalin than anybody. She knew that the phone conversation would be chock-full of glitzy, expensive inducements for Marcus to abandon her and move back to Kansas. Surely it had crossed her mind that one day her ex might dream up a carrot to dangle that Marcus couldn’t resist. Yet she never let her son write the guy off.
    Still, Marcus wasn’t planning to call. Not on Bug Day. He wolfed down the rest of the cereal, scrambled into some clothes, and jumped on the Vespa, heading downtown.
    He parked on the next block over and had to keep himself from sprinting all the way to K.O. Pest Control. Stupid, maybe, but now that it was a done deal, the suspense was killing him. He approached the store gingerly, trying not to step on the many ants swarming around the chocolate trails. Sure, there were a lot of bugs outside. The question was, had they gone in?
    The early-morning sun streaming through the small window in the door provided the answer. The inside of the shop was alive. He couldn’t see the floor for the black seething mass that covered it. And not just ants, either. There were June bugs, beetles, earwigs, ladybugs, caterpillars, grasshoppers, crickets, cockroaches, fleas, and spiders of all varieties. Flies, moths, and mosquitoes swooped and hovered. The walls crawled.
    Marcus remembered from a science class in middle school that there were more than 800,000 species of insects. He was pretty sure that most of them were represented inside K.O. Pest Control that morning. If Kenneth Oliver enjoyed his work, he was in for a treat.
    So was Charlie.
    It probably wasn’t a good idea to be seen hanging around the store on a day when neighbors and passersby might be asked if they’d seen anything suspicious. So he retreated to Three Alarm Park to await the arrival of his partner in crime.
    It was just after eight—plenty of time to kill. He tried to catnap on a bench, without success. A few laps of the park were a good warm-up, but for what? He couldn’t exactly tackle himself. He even tried to climb the flukes of the Paper Airplane and was gratified to note that the smooth granite didn’t defeat him quite so easily anymore. It was a fringe benefit of his physical combat with Charlie. He was developing a lower center of gravity, which enhanced his sense of balance. He was going to be tough to bring down this season—if Coach Barker ever let him touch the ball.
    He looked at his watch again. Eight thirty-five. Where was Charlie? Surely he wouldn’t plan such an elaborate prank and then not show up for the payoff. The guy was inconsistent in his arrival time for training, but this was different, wasn’t it?
    He left the park and began to pace along Poplar Street. A few of the stores had opened, but there was still no sign of Kenneth Oliver.
    And still no Charlie.
    â€œThere’s a good spot, Daddy.”
    Following his daughter’s direction, Charlie pulled his car up to the curb in front of the cell phone store.
    â€œThanks.” Chelsea got out. “I just have to pick up my phone. It should only take a couple of minutes. Don’t get out of the car, okay? Here—listen to some music.” She reached in through the open passenger window and switched on the radio.
    Charlie regarded her peevishly. “I’m not an idiot. You don’t have to tell me every little thing.”
    â€œI know. I’m sorry.”
    She entered the store and approached the repair desk, keeping one eye on the display window and Charlie in the parked car outside. She felt odd treating her father like an eight-year-old, but the alternative wasn’t fun to contemplate.
    Anyway, she reflected with a little embarrassment, her father wasn’t the one who’d thrown jeans in the wash without taking the cell phone out of the pocket.
    â€œGood news—we just had to change the battery,” the man told her. “No permanent