They Came From Planet Q by Laura Dower Page A

these functions?”
    There were tiny icons on the dial on top: an amoeba, a bird, a sun, a moon, a candle, a question mark, and even a lightning bolt coming out of a cloud—only the bolt was red.
    â€œLightning bolts usually mean some kind of flash,” I said, in answer to my own question. “But I’ve never seen red lightning.”
    I aimed the lens at my parents. No sooner had I snapped than the camera sizzled like a BBQ.
    â€œJust say cheesy!” I called out.
    My parents were such big show-offs. They couldn’t stop posing. Dad crossed his arms in front of him like a rap singer. Mom fluffed up her hair and smiled like she was in a pageant.
    After a few minutes, however, Dad shouted, “Okay! Enough of this. Time to move on to part two!”
    My jaw dropped. “What do you mean, part two ?”
    â€œPart two of your present, of course,” Dad said.
    Mom nudged me toward the basement stairs. “No peeking!” she said.
    Had they finally—finally!—gotten me the puppy I’d been begging for since I was three? No. Wait. It couldn’t possibly be a pup. Mom was allergic. Was it games? Books? Another camera with even more dials?
    â€œOpen your eyes,” Dad finally said.
    I just barely opened one eye first; then the second. The room was dark, so it took a minute for me to adjust. But then I saw everything.
    Everything.
    It nearly knocked me flat.
    â€œA DARKROOM? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” I wailed. “Someone pinch me. Is this really happening? I can’t believe it—no way!”
    Mom and Dad looked very, very pleased with themselves.
    â€œSo what do you think?” Mom asked. “Happy?”
    â€œHappy? I need a tissue I’m so happy!” I blubbered. “Now I can develop all my photos on my own! Thank you! Thank you!”
    â€œThank Grandpa Max,” Dad said. “Before he passed away, he made us promise that you would get this darkroom. It just took me some time to fix it up right. Now it’s yours. Mom and I think you have the potential to be a great photographer, Lindsey.”
    The darkroom had always been in the basement, but it hadn’t been used in years. Dad fixed it up with tubs and trays, photographic chemicals, a sink, and shelves of boxes (mostly filled with photo paper). My parents installed a photo drying line, a new timer, and special darkroom lights, too.
    â€œIs this really all for me?” I asked.
    My parents nodded.
    â€œWell!” Mom cheered. “Shall we go back upstairs and celebrate with some birthday cake? I made carrot with cream cheese frosting just the way you like it.”
    When we got upstairs, Mom and Dad sang “Happy Birthday to Our Wonderful Daughter!” as Mom sliced the enormous cake slabs for each of us. Then Dad clicked on the television, just like usual. At six o’clock every night, we watch Word Buzz on channel five. We smacked the table edge like it was an imaginary word buzzer and pretended that we were actual contestants on the show.
    I wasn’t really watching TV so much because I was looking at my camera. But just as the game show host shouted out a super-duper-double bonus question, I glanced up—right in time to see the TV screen go black.
    An announcer’s voice barked. “We interrupt this regularly scheduled program for an eeeeeemergency news bulletin . . .”
    Talking heads filled the screen. Dad turned up the volume.
    â€œChaos across the globe!” cried a newscaster.
    Along the bottom of the TV screen, words flashed in lime green:
    UFO SIGHTED IN BOLIVIAN JUNGLE ...
STRANGE ENERGY FORCE REPORTED
IN THE RED SEA ...
SCREECHING ANIMALS FLEE
SWEDISH ZOO AS STEEL CAGES
COLLAPSE ...
    Dad flipped channels. But the channels were all the same, with warnings galore. Even WNN, the Weather News Network, was raising a red flag. Dad flipped to WNN and saw a spinning cyclone and the words: TSUNAMI DOOM!
    â€œTsunami doom ?” Dad cried.