We need two things,” Caroline said. “Disguises, and to get those videos from the Tart Fart so that he can’t upload anything else to the Internet, or turn anything over to the police.

We need a teleporter,” Grant said, staring at the traffic. “Intelligent life on other planets teleport all the time. I’m sure.” I whispered to Payton, “I’d like to teleport him back to his home planet.

Grant…doesn’t use the helmet for football. He tapes balls of aluminum foil to it to help him connect with aliens who might try to talk to him.

Some girls have brothers who burp; some have brothers who punch them. I have one who thinks he’s parked at my house temporarily while he’s between intergalactic voyages.

Mom rushed away from the TV—something she only does for a pee emergency or a grease fire.

I swear I must have a weird magnet. There is no other way to explain the statistical improbability that I could have this many weird people in my life.

We sat at a mahogany table that had enough nicks and dents to be an English muffin. I wondered for a sec if the Irish called them English muffins or something else.

I was wet but not soaked. Just enough to look like a sponge, but not a mop.

I laughed. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t think you were serious.”“As serious as a monkey is about his last banana.