Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

Morning brought rain and wind and fog, pessimistic
weather that made it hard to believe the previous day
had been anything more than a strange and wonderful
dream. I wolfed down my breakfast and told my dad I
was going out. He looked at me like I was nuts.
“In this? To do what?”
“To hang out with—” I started, without thinking.
Then, to cover my tracks, I pretended to have a piece
of food stuck in my throat. But it was too late; he’d
heard me.
“Hang out with who? Not those rapper hoodlums, I
hope.”
The only way out of this hole was to dig deeper.
“No. You’ve probably never seen them, they live on the
other side of, um, the island, and—”
“Really? I didn’t think anyone lived over there.”
“Yeah, well, just a few people. Like, sheep-tenders
and whatnot. Anyway, they’re cool—they watch my
back while I’m at the house.” Friends and safety: two
things my dad couldn’t possibly object to.
“I want to meet them,” he said, trying to look stern.
He often put on this face, an imitation of the sensible,
no-nonsense dad I think he aspired to be.
“Sure thing. We’re meeting up over there, though,
so another time.”
He nodded and took another bite of his breakfast.
“Be back by dinner,” he said.
“Roger Wilco, Dad.”
I practically raced to the bog. As I picked my way