43 - 7 - Checks for Bug

She'd have planted a tracking device on my body. Of course! The Yeerks were tailing me. I was bringing them straight to my friends. Straight to the Andalite bandits.

When I'd finished kicking myself, I picked the smallest morph I had. Flea. I focused on the tiny blood-sucking body.

SCHWOOOP!

The roof rushed at me. Slate shingles became slick and huge as glaciers. My vision fractured like light through a prism and my hearing cut. It was all about the other senses. Taste, smell.

Feeling. I waited for the corner of a tiny chip to bust out of my skin. Any tracking device would fall away from a flea's body. It would prove that Taylor's words were meaningless. That I could write her off forever. I wanted to.

I grew smaller and smaller. Nothing snagged, nothing stretched my stretchable skin. Nothing bulged from my body. No global positioning chip. I was unmarked.

Okay. Okay. No easy answers. Just complications.

I demorphed and rocketed past streetlights, car headlights, and neon signs to Rachel's house. Her window was open. I shot through and planted my talons on the bedpost, swishing my feathers as I came to a stop. She jolted out of sleep.