Read Online The Super 4 : Dark Death by Harrison Wallace - Free Book Online Page B

the bright flash of red from the small window on the
door.
    I wondered how come he hadn’t told me to come
in. Then I realized that he probably thought I was waving goodbye
to Alex, as I’d done for four years.
    Well not anymore! I walked into the house with
my head held high. I went to my room, opened a page in my diary,
and wrote:
    Dear Diary-
     
     
     
    Darryl
    XII
     
    I raced up the stairs to my apartment on the
second floor. I silently turned the lock in my door and slipped
inside. I went to my room through the tiny kitchen, tacitly
avoiding my mother.
    She dealt with bank robbery. And if you’re
wondering how come we don’t live in some mansion, it’s because
she’s scared the police will come and get her.
    I actually think the whole thing is really
dumb. I mean come on! What’s the point of robbing banks if you
don’t use the money? For the hundredth time I wondered if she was
secretly a hoarder. But I shook of the thought, imagining her
expensive hairdo and clothing. Not to mention her extensively
largely bedroom, which included the living room.
    The buzzing of the intercom interrupted my
thoughts. I pressed the button.
    “ Hello?”
    “ Darryl, please come down. We have
something to show you.”
    I took the tiny, stuffed elevator down to the
ground floor. Two women stood outside.
    “Are you Darryl?” The tall red head asked.
When I nodded, she continued. “I’m Detective Caroline Opps and I
was looking into a bank robbery. It appears that your mother has
been stealing amounts of up to a million dollars at every bank she
goes to. So far she’s robbed thirteen banks across the
state.”
    I pretended to look shocked. Then the shorter
lady, with purple spikes for hair spoke, “I’m Ms. Kidd. I’m a
social worker and deal with cases like yours.” She gave me a
reassuring smile that did not do its job at all. “You can confide
in me.” Then, as if I was a dumb-witted first grader she added,
“Confide means trust in. You can tell me anything.”
    I nodded again, still not speaking. “Darryl,
we’re here to take you to the Family for Troubled Kids social
group. Is that okay?” Opps told me.
    I spoke for the first time. “Can I go get my
book?”
     
    “ ...What do you mean you’re new?”
The dumb pink-haired lady asked.
    I noticed that social workers must love hair
dye. “I’m sure I’ve seen you around somewhere!”
    “No, you haven’t!” I said, willing myself not
to explode with the frustration welling up inside because of this
pink-haired receptionist. “I don’t even have ‘one of those face’!
Hello! Amber eyes! Dark skin! Short hair! Open your eyes lady!” I
yelled, causing everyone in the room to look at us.
    “ Ah! You’re right! I haven’t seen
you before!” She said grinning. “Well then what’s your name? Full
one please.”
    “Darryl, with a y, Russell Klein.” I said
slowly, for her benefit.
    “Okay. Thanks. Here’s a form to fill
out.”
    I glanced over the questions. There were basic
ones like, your age and your birthday, and there were some that
were completely off topic. Like, 'do you prefer tacos to
tortillas?' And whether or not you like Captain America.
    Sighing, I reluctantly scribbled and circled
answers onto the paper.
     
    I entered my new room.
    One peek destroyed all my visions of a neat
room, filled with books.
    It made pigsties look neat. There was dirty
underwear everywhere. On the bunks, on the eighties radio, even on
the air conditioner.
    Also, the room was packed. And loud! It was
like entering a dance party. Half the lights were off and the
latest pop music was pumping out of the stereo. This mixed in with
the stench of sweaty teenage boys dancing and dirties underwear,
resulted in me wishing I could live in the trash.
    “Why would you want to live in the trash?”
Asked a teenager, about a year older than me. He had signs of a
beard. I guessed he was south Asian.
    Realizing that I had spoken aloud, I fretted
to correct myself. “I