Pop by Gordon Korman Read Free Book Online Page B

damage.”
    â€œThanks.” She handed over some bills and accepted the protective pouch containing her phone.
    â€œSay hi to your dad for me,” he called after her.
    Always to Dad. Oh, they knew Mom existed, but she wasn’t the one who mattered.
    She exited the store and froze. The car was still parked out front. The driver’s-side door was wide open, blocking half the lane.
    Her father was gone.
    Marcus watched the exterminator’s Camry turn onto Poplar and ease into a parking space near K.O. Pest Control.
    He couldn’t believe it. Charlie wasn’t going to show up for his own prank.
    And suddenly, there he was, ambling aimlessly like this wasn’t three seconds to Zero Hour.
    Marcus raced down the street, grabbed his partner in crime by the arm, and began hauling him along the sidewalk.
    Charlie shoved him away with such force that Marcus very nearly tumbled to the pavement.
    â€œHe’s parking his car!” Marcus urged. “We’re going to miss it!”
    This galvanized Charlie’s attention. “Lead the way!” He matched the teenager stride for stride, following him to a good vantage point behind a parked truck.
    Oliver was out of his Camry, heading for the front door. His key reached for the lock.
    â€œDaddy?” Chelsea ran up, the cell phone pouch still in her hand. She gawked at Marcus like he was an extinct reptile reborn and wreaking havoc on the streets of Kennesaw. “You!”
    The exterminator opened the door and took a step inside his shop. Even from behind the truck, they could hear the sickening crunch of his shoe on the floor.
    His howl of revulsion and shock cut through the morning like an air-raid siren. He backed out of the store on high-stepping feet, his head obscured by a cloud of flies and moths.
    Charlie let out a whoop of merriment. “Sugared!”
    A bubble of laughter burst from Marcus. “Big-time.”
    Chelsea’s eyes widened in outrage. “You’ve got no business involving my father—”
    â€œInvolving?” Marcus cut her off. “The whole thing was his idea! He’s the one involving me!”
    She took Charlie’s arm and pulled him onto the sidewalk. “Stay away from him!” she rasped to Marcus. “You have no clue who you’re dealing with! This is our family’s private business!” To her father she said, “Come on, Daddy, let’s go.”
    Marcus waited for Charlie to put his big-mouth daughter in her place. Where did she get off telling this force of nature, who delivered hits like a rhino and scampered up fences and statues like it was nothing, what to do and who to associate with?
    Charlie never said a word. To be fair, he was distracted by the spectacle of Kenneth Oliver trying to slap-dance the insects off his shoes and clothing. But he followed Chelsea almost meekly.
    Marcus retreated to the cover of the park, the shine gone from his revenge. Chelsea’s scorn ate at him. Like he was running around recruiting people’s fathers to hang out with. Like he’d even heard of “sugaring” before Charlie. Charlie Popovich .
    Well, that was his name, right? Chelsea was Troy’s sister. And that meant Charlie was Troy’s dad.
    Didn’t it figure? A jerk like Troy got the world’s greatest natural athlete for a father. Comrade Stalin’s sport of choice was barking orders at people, aided by a bullhorn voice and the unshakable belief that he was right about every subject, one hundred percent of the time.
    Come to think of it, Stalin could probably take a few lessons from Chelsea. She wasn’t exactly a charm school graduate, and she was pushy enough to make her father late for his own prank. Troy was obviously a major idiot, so if Mrs. Popovich was anything like her kids, no wonder Charlie was a little unfocused.
    Marcus’s brow clouded. That still didn’t explain the shove. Sure, Charlie was a physical guy, but