Sorry it's been so long! I'm finally back from vacation.
Got several chapters written, so here's the first.
On a side note, saw Revenge of the Fallen the day before we left on vacation.
(we actually stayed home an extra day just so I could see it. My parents rock)
It was awesome! I love it! Can't wait to buy it on DVD.
Of course, I realize this makes my story Alternate Universe now... Oh, well. I'm having fun with it.
Enjoy!
"Hey, Maggie!"
"Mmmm...?"
"Wake up! You've got to see this!"
"What is it?"
"Look, look!"
"Oh my god! The secretary needs to see this! It's exactly what he's looking for!"
"No kidding! Do you want me to call him?"
"Glen, it's two o' clock in the morning. Can't it wait?"
"I guess so..."
"Good. I'm going back to sleep. Wake me if you find anything else interesting, 'kay?"
"Sure."
Chapter Ten
"Nice to see you, Miles," Mrs. Witwicky said, walking into the kitchen. "Sam?"
"Um, no, I didn't start it," her son mumbled, wishing he was on the other side of town. Or maybe in China. Or perhaps on the moon.
"Sam! I told you five times this morning that you were to start dinner! Where were you all day?"
"Um..." Sam tried to think of an answer that might possibly not get him in trouble.
"At my place," Miles replied, tossing the empty can into the trash can marked Recycling.
Sam groaned.
"Sam!" his mother exclaimed again. "I thought I told you to stay home and keep Katrina company!"
"Sorry, Mom, but-"
"But nothing, young man! You're grounded tomorrow. Miles, do you want to stay for dinner?"
Another time the teen would have jumped to the chance, but the tension in the kitchen was strong enough at the moment that he simply shook his head.
"Maybe some other time. I've got to walk my dog."
"Give you a lift," Sam offered.
"Oh, no, you won't!" Mrs. Witwicky growled. "You're going to start making dinner. Do you need a lift, Miles?"
"No, I'm good. It's not that far to walk. See ya, Sam." Miles was out the door in less than a ten seconds, a new record.
"Well, then I'm going to change into something cooler. Whew, it's been hot all day!"
"It's summer," Sam muttered. "It's supposed to be hot."
"Still... And don't mutter, Sam!" Mrs. Witwicky vanished upstairs, leaving her son to get dinner together.
The teen pulled out a box of mac an' cheese mix. Just Add Milk, a label blazed across the front. He slammed a pan onto the stovetop, flicked on the burner, ripped open the box and poured as he rummaged for the milk jug in the fridge.
"Can I help?"
Sam jumped and almost dropped the milk. He hadn't heard Katrina come into the kitchen, but she was standing in the doorway, waiting for a reply.
"Uh, sure. Find a measuring cup, will you?" Waving the empty box in the vague direction of the correct drawer, he set down the milk and closed the fridge.
The girl scanned the measuring cups, then selected the correct one.
"Stick that in recycles." After trading box for cup, Sam measured the milk into the pan, then realized he didn't have a spoon for stirring. "Oops."
Katrina wordlessly handed him a wooden spoon, then took the milk and put it in the fridge.
"Have you cooked before?" Sam asked.
She nodded, a slight frown flitting across her face before it went blank. "A little. Just stuff from boxes."
"Thanks, Katrina," Mrs. Witwicky said, walking in, dressed in white shorts and a pale blue shirt. "Phew, it's hot today!"
The girl nodded in agreement. "Have you seen my cellphone?" she asked anxiously. "It's missing."
"Um, no, I don't think so." The woman shook her head. "What does it look like?"
Hesitating, Katrina tried to conjure a picture of Morph in cellphone form. "Uhhh..."
"Black with red buttons," Sam answered. "The logo on the top's in silver."
"Sorry, Katrina. Have you looked in Sam's car? If you had it last night it might have fallen on the floor."
Brightening, the girl shook her head. "No, I didn't check there. Is the car locked?" she asked, turning to Sam.
"Uh, no, I mean, yes," the teen stammered, not liking the thought of Katrina poking around in Bumblebee without supervision. "I'll go check," he offered, holding out the stirring spoon to Katrina. "Watch dinner."
"Sam-" his mother started to protest, but the door had already shut behind him.
"Why is he so protective of his car?" Katrina asked, sticking the spoon into the pan before it dripped cheese on the floor.
"First car," Mrs. Witwicky replied with a slightly forced smile. "In few years you'll know how it is. Here, let me stir that before it sticks to the pan."
After relinquishing the spoon, Katrina began setting the table. "Do you want me to make a salad?" the girl offered.
"No, there's plenty left over from yesterday. See if Sam's found your cellphone..."
"Nope," Sam interrupted, coming into the kitchen. "It's not in my car."
"Have you tried calling it?" Mrs. Witwicky asked Katrina.
Her face reddening, the girl tried to come up with a plausible reply.
"Um, no... I just got the phone yesterday. I haven't memorized the number yet."
Definitely not her phone, Sam thought. It must be the one from before. I wonder how it go into her belongings.
"Well, you should memorize the number as soon as you find your phone," the woman told Katrina. "If it gets lost again, you could call it."
Katrina made a small, noncommittal noise. "Please call me when dinner is ready. I'm going to search my room again." Without waiting for an answer, the girl hurried up the stairs and into her room. She closed the door and collapsed on her bed.
"Where are you, Morse?" she muttered, staring at the ceiling as she fought back tears. Just when she thought she'd made a friend - even if it was only a small, sentient machine - he vanished.
"I didn't take you to the movies," mused Katrina, glancing at the dresser where the spider had been the day before. "At least, I don't remember-" The girl sat up, eyes widening as a memory from the night before flooded her mind. She'd stuck the cellphone into her pocket before going down to dinner, but she didn't remember taking it out again.
"He must still be in the pocket," Katrina whispered, speaking her thoughts aloud as she scanned her floor for the pants she'd worn the night before. She'd changed into pajamas and left the dirty clothing on the floor - something she would have never dared do two days ago - but it wasn't there.
Sam knocked on Katrina's door. "Dinner!"
The girl came racing out. "What happened to my clothes from yesterday?" she demanded.
"Uh..." The teen thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Mom might have washed them."
Katrina swallowed hard. Cellphones weren't made to go through a washing machine.
"Why?" Sam asked, confused by the strange question.
"Morph was in my pocket. What if he went through the wash?"
"Um..."
"Sam! Katrina! Dinner!"
"Coming!" Sam called down the stairs. "Look," he told Katrina, "if the cellphone was in your pocket and Mom did laundry, she'd have found it."
"I've got to find him!" Katrina started down the stairs.
"After dinner," the teen hissed, hurrying after her. "Mom hates waiting to eat."
Katrina would have argued, but the delicious smell of melted cheese was wafting from the kitchen. With a brief, unspoken apology to Morph, the girl went to eat.
***
"I wonder when your father's going to be home," Mrs. Witwicky remarked as she put away the food while Sam and Katrina cleared the table.
Sam shrugged. "Fishing always takes him a long time. He won't come in until he's caught something."
"That's true." Mrs. Witwicky covered the last Tupperware bowl, then opened the fridge and began putting everything inside. "We were invited to a bridge tournament, however, and I don't want to be late."
"Bridge? I didn't know you played bridge." Sam frowned. As far as he knew, his parents didn't even know how to play bridge.
"Oh, we're old champions at the game," laughed his mother. "Unfortunately, we don't have many neighbors who enjoy bridge."
"Where are you having the tournament?"
"We have new neighbors." Mrs. Witwicky smiled. "A very friendly couple. They have three children, which is why you and Katrina are coming with us. That is, Katrina, if you don't mind coming?"
"I don't mind," Katrina said quietly, with a sinking feeling. If they were going to a bridge tournament, when was she going to find time to retrieve Morph?
"Great." Mrs. Witwicky checked her watch. "We have to leave in forty five minute. I think I'll do a load of laundry before we go."
"I'll help," Katrina offered, crossing her fingers behind her back.
"No, you've done enough. Sam, do the dishes, then put something nice on."
"Will a Sunday suit do?" grumbled the teen. "Do I have to go?"
"Yes." Mrs. Witwicky's tone brooked no argument and she frowned at her son before turning to leave the kitchen.
Sam gestured frantically at Katrina. "Go on!" he mouthed, pointing out the door.
"Um, Mrs. Witwicky," Katrina said, hurrying after the woman, "Did you take the clothes from my room? I think my cellphone might be in my pants pocket."
"Oh, really? I'm sorry, Katrina. I didn't notice it. Yes, your clothes are in a hamper in the wash room. Come with me, you can look for the cellphone while I start the laundry."
Breathing a silent sigh of relief, the girl followed.
The wash room was small and crowded. It had a shelf with various bleaches and bottles of laundry detergent, a front loading washer and its dryer twin, several baskets of dirty laundry and an indoor clothesline that zigzagged across the ceiling.
"I think I put your clothes in that one," Mrs. Witwicky said, pointing at a large wicker hamper.
Katrina began searching through the dirty clothes, trying to ignore the various kinds of underwear mixed in with sweaty shirts and other clothing items. Meanwhile, the woman picked up a plastic basket and began to dump the clothes in it into the washer.
Reaching the bottom of the hamper with no sign of her pants, Katrina began to feel a little frantic.
"My pants aren't in this hamper," she told Mrs. Witwicky.
The woman sighed. "Well, I put all your clothing in one basket. Keep looking, they're around here somewhere."
The girl searched several smaller hampers and came up with nothing. Water splashing into the washer distracted her attention as she looked through another basket.
Mrs. Witwicky poured in detergent and closed the washing machine door. Behind the glass window, soap frothed in the water as the washer filled.
Still no sign of Morph, and Katrina had finished going through all the baskets and hampers. She sat back on her heels, trying to figure what to do next, when a small sound caught her attention.
There was a frantic beeping noise coming from the washing machine.
beepbeepbeep BEEPBEEPBEEP beepbeepbeep.
The woman gasped, staring at the machine.
Katrina dove across the room, reaching for the washing machine handle. She tugged frantically, but it was stuck.
"Katrina, what are you doing?" Mrs. Witwicky asked, confused.
"My-" The beeping stopped and Katrina went white, numb fingers releasing the slick metal handle. "-phone..."