Alienated

Chapter Fourteen

Aelyx assembled the microscope he’d borrowed from the school science lab. It was the most primitive piece of equipment he’d ever used, but the best he could manage considering he’d left his analytical tools on L’eihr. The rudimentary data from his water collection device indi­cated abnormally high pollutant levels, and curiosity had driven him to investigate.

That and sheer boredom.

He glanced at his bedroom wall. Cara was on the other side of that barrier, but she barely made a sound anymore. She didn’t cry, laugh, argue, or debate. He’d allowed her to “win” two chess games, but that didn’t help. Now she refused to play. Outside of school, he only saw her at meal times and when their paths intersected on the way to the bathroom. It was as if her glorious flame had been snuffed out, and he wished he knew how to ignite it again. He wanted his Elire back—his beautiful warrior.

With a quiet sigh, he placed a glass slide beneath the scope and removed the lid from his sterile petri dish. After giving the water inside his collection device a thorough shake, he unscrewed the cap and poured its contents into the dish, then squeezed two drops onto the slide. What he saw through the eyepiece made him gasp in shock.

“What the—?” Hundreds of green chunks permeated the water droplets, at first glance appearing plantlike. But he knew with complete certainty he’d gathered no such contaminants in his sample that day at the nature preserve. He isolated one furry bit and studied it under the highest magnification the tool would allow.

Within minutes, he’d identified the matter as Sphagnum squarrosum, or as humans referred to it, moss. But how could that be? Even if spores had been present in the water, they couldn’t reproduce so quickly under sterile conditions, not to mention devoid of sunlight in an insulated metal tube. He must have made a mistake while collecting the sample—it was the only possibility.

The stereo speakers mounted on Cara’s side of the wall broke the silence, vibrating the plaster in time with softly strumming guitar chords. If he listened carefully, he could just make out a man’s sullen voice asking, Please, please, please let me get what I want. Gods, it was the most depressing song he’d ever heard. Why did humans feed their despondency with music like this?

Enough! If Cara wouldn’t pull herself out of whatever hole she’d fallen into, then he would find a way to do it. And if winning at chess wouldn’t restore her good cheer, he’d have to find another way to release enough endorphins to improve her mood.

He left his room and marched into the kitchen, where he prepared the richest, most indulgent, and disgusting dish imaginable—a bowl of fudge ripple ice cream topped with chocolate syrup, semi-sweet chocolate morsels, chocolate sprinkles, and, for good measure, a chocolate brownie from the pantry. He even garnished it with a handful of M&M’s.

This had to help. After tucking a spoon inside the bowl, he knocked on Cara’s door and asked, “Can I come in?”

“S’open,” she called, voice muffled as if she’d pulled the comforter over her head.

He was partially right—a pillow, not a blanket, covered Cara’s face when he sat beside her on the bed. With his free hand, he yanked the pillow free, revealing blotchy, reddened cheeks and puffy eyes so bloodshot they nearly matched the rest of her. Tugging on her shoulder, he encouraged her to sit up while waving the bowl beneath her nose. “Look what I made for you. A bowl of diabetes.”

She peered at the concoction for a nanosecond, then pulled a wadded tissue beneath her nose and turned away. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“But . . .” Aelyx looked down at the bowl in his hand. “It’s full of chocolate.”

“Just stick it in the freezer.”

Fasha. What now? Perhaps if he complimented her appearance . . .

He set the bowl on Cara’s nightstand and surveyed her wrinkled pajamas and the snarled locks of hair framing her face. “You look lovely today.” Was that a bit of potato chip stuck to the side of her forehead?

“Thanks, but you’re a liar.”

“Would you like me to . . .” He trailed off, grappling for inspiration. “Read to you? Or play your favorite video game? I’ll let you win.”

She released a hitched breath like tiny aftershocks follow­ing an earthquake. “I just wanna be alone, okay?”

Aelyx didn’t want to go, but he’d run out of ideas. “All right.” He pushed off the bed and retreated to his room for research. He had to find another way to help her.

Once seated on his carpeted floor, he turned on the laptop computer Colonel Rutter had given him, waiting patiently as it hummed to life before accessing Earth’s web of electronic data. After checking his school e-mail account and delet­ing half a dozen messages from Brandi Greene, he clicked a search engine icon, then typed the words how to and paused, considering what to query. Before he’d decided between cheer someone up and mend a broken heart, the search engine suggested how to kiss, how to make out, how to make love, how to boil an egg.

Sexual reproduction and food—humans’ two favorite sub­jects. He scoffed at their primitive drives, but then curiosity wrapped its fingers around his brain. Most humans expressed affection by pressing their lips together, a simple act, so why would anyone feel the need to research the process? Was there more to it?

He decided to find out.

Aelyx clicked the suggested links, and for the next two hours, he gave himself the kind of education they didn’t pro­vide at the Aegis.

Cara felt something gritty against her cheek and lifted her head from the pillow to investigate. Potato chip? She brushed the crumbs onto the floor and snuggled deeper into her cozy flannel bedding. A persistent beam of sunlight had escaped from a gap between the curtains and crept toward her face all afternoon, so she thwarted its efforts by pulling the sheet over her head. Screw you, sunlight.

She’d survived the first week of HALO’s organized shun, but it left her feeling like a deflated balloon. Of all the stu­dents avoiding her, the only one who mattered was Tori, who looked almost as miserable as she was.

Tori clicked through the halls like a tiny high-heeled ghost. Shadows darkened the skin beneath her lifeless eyes, and she stared at the floor while loosely holding Eric’s hand, never once looking at Cara. Did Tori miss her? Probably. Did she spend her afternoons crying in bed and listening to her mom’s Morrissey collection? Probably not. But as much as Cara wanted to move forward, she didn’t know how. She hadn’t been able to blog since the day she found out about Tori and Eric. Heck, she hadn’t even checked her e-mail.

She heard a sharp knock on the door and threw back the sheet.

“Cah-ra?” Aelyx called. “May I come in?”

Again? As much as she appreciated his concern, she wished he’d leave her alone. “Sure.”

The door swung open, and he charged inside without hes­itation, his hair loose and flowing behind him. He crossed the room and knelt on the floor beside her bed until they were at eye level.

“I made something for you.” Teasingly, he dangled a sheet of white drawing paper just outside her reach. “But you can’t have it until you get out of bed.”

She considered snapping at him, but curiosity got the better of her. She kicked off the covers and stretched out, yawning. Then with a slow roll, she scooted off the mattress and joined him on the floor. “I’m out. Where’s my prize?”

When he held up her reward, a tiny giggle rose to Cara’s lips. It was Aelyx’s pet, Vero, practically coming to life on the page. The animal did remind her of a lemur, but with the floppy ears of a Labrador and the thick body of a wildcat. Vero’s head was cocked to the side, and he held his paw for­ward while studying her with enormous black eyes. His skin looked baby soft and delicate, like a hairless cat she’d once petted. Extending her index finger, Cara traced the graceful curve of Vero’s tail, looking forward to the day she’d meet him in person. A year seemed far too long to wait.

“You’re so full of it,” she said.

“Me?” Aelyx said, pointing to himself with lifted brows.

“You said you were a bad artist. This is phenomenal.”

“I said I wasn’t great, and that’s the truth. You don’t know what Vero really looks like. I couldn’t get his face quite right.”

“Well, thanks for my present. Can I go back to bed now?”

“No.” He curled his large, warm hand around hers, then seemed to think better of it and tucked it beneath his thigh. “There’s more.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, his gaze darted back and forth between her throat and her lips while those silvery eyes darkened and jump-started her pulse. Seconds ticked by, but he kept watching her mouth. Was he trying to tell her something? Did she have food stuck between her teeth? She ran her tongue over the smooth enamel but didn’t feel anything. That only made it worse. Aelyx swal­lowed so hard his Adam’s apple shifted. He looked ready to choke. Or barf.

“More?” she prompted.

His eyes widened. “What?”

“You said there was more.”

“Oh. Yes.” Glancing at his lap, he cleared his throat and gathered his loose hair to secure it behind his neck. “I did some research today.”

“On?”

“How to mend a broken heart, among other things.” He pushed off the floor and brushed imaginary dust off his jeans. “One of the recommendations involved cosmetic procedures. Sorry, but I won’t give you a pedicure.”

The mental image of Aelyx painting her toenails made her laugh, despite the heaviness in her lungs.

“But I know something that’ll help. Get your shoes. We’ll have to hurry to make it back in time for the interview.”

“Where’re we going?”

A small grin curved his lips. “Let’s just say we’re getting your fight back.”

“You’re pulling my leg, right?” Cara craned her neck, narrowing her eyes at the sign hanging askew from high atop the crumbling brick warehouse. In peeling paint, it adver­tised the Uppercut Boxing Gym. They crouched behind a Dumpster in the back parking lot like muggers waiting to ambush a jogger. “It’s not even open.”

“I know.” Aelyx pulled something from his back pocket that looked like a chrome key fob. “They’re closed for renova­tions. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and they sprinted to the back door. Why? She had no idea. When Aelyx held the gadget near the dead bolt, it emitted two high-pitched beeps, and the bolt slid out of place with a click. He pulled open the door and shoved her inside before closing and locking it behind them.

“What is that thing?” she asked, taking in her surround­ings. The inside of Uppercut didn’t look any more impressive than the outside. A low beam of sunlight cut through the win­dows, illuminating a few tattered black punching bags patched together with silver duct tape and hanging from the ceiling at awkward angles. A boxing ring stood in the distance, its sagging ropes a testament to all the bodies that had bounced against it over the years. Speaking of bodies, at least twenty years of bitter, reeking sweat seemed to seep through the walls, the floors, the weights. . . good God, it smelled like ass in here.

“An electron-tracker. It serves many purposes.” He bent over an equipment bin, and Cara tried not to ogle his backside.

After a minute, he surfaced, holding two cracked red boxing gloves and a pair of those circular mitts the trainers wore over their hands in the movies.

“Breaking and entering a smelly gym? This is your plan to cheer me up? What’s next, shoplifting used bowling shoes from the Goodwill?”

“Stop complaining and come over here.” It wasn’t a request. When she reluctantly obeyed, joining him near the water fountain, he held a glove open for her. “Go ahead.”

She pushed a hand into one decrepit glove and then the other, trying not to think too hard about how many grimy fingers had curled into their padded depths before hers. Then she rested each glove against his belly while he tied the laces.

“So now what?” She let her heavy hands drop to her sides. “Fight Club: Human versus Alien?”

Aelyx slipped his round mitts on and beckoned her to come closer. “That’s basically it.” He held both hands up in front of his chest. “Hit me.”

“Seriously?”

“Do it.”

She rolled her eyes and gave a halfhearted swing at his hand, making contact with the tip of her glove.

“That was pathetic,” he scolded. “Do it again. Get angry.”

With a sigh, she tapped him again. What was the point? She didn’t want to get angry—it took too much energy.

Aelyx shook his head, circling her like a shark in the water. “Again.”

When she delivered another lackluster tap, he nudged her arm with one of his mitts and shouted, “Quit fashing around.”

Her next attempt didn’t please him, either. He nudged her in the back, harder. “More!”

She wound up and tried to put some force behind the next punch, but instead of praising her, he bumped her shoulder with so much force she fell back several steps. “Get angry!”

“Did you just push me?” Her pulse quickened and her cheeks flushed hot.

“The Cah-ra Sweeney I know”—another little shove—“wouldn’t lie around”—and another, harder—“and hide under a blanket.” His stunning face twisted into a scowl as he shouted, “Hit me!”

Flames licked Cara’s body inside and out, and something in her chest popped like a soap bubble. Pulling her fist back, she tensed every muscle in her body, then delivered a blow with all her weight behind it. Her glove smacked Aelyx’s pad­ded hand with a booming thud that delighted her ears and stung her knuckles.

“Again!” he shouted.

She swung with the other hand, grunting like a savage, losing herself in a thrill of fury as she pummeled his hand. He didn’t have to order her to keep going. With rage explod­ing from her body like an ignited fuel tanker, she advanced on Aelyx, pounding her fists into his waiting mitts again and again and again. A left jab—Tori abandoned me—a right hook—Eric stole my best friend—an uppercut—the whole school hates me—she only paused long enough to shake back her hair before resuming her attack. She may have even kicked him once or twice; it was hard to tell.

Adrenaline surged through her body, making her feel invincible, and just when she wound up for another punch, Aelyx darted to the side and grabbed her around the waist, settling behind her, molding his body to hers.

“Good.” He guided her to a battered punching bag. “Now don’t stop.”

And she didn’t. It might have lasted thirty minutes or three hours. Time lost all meaning as pent-up hurt and anger spewed out with each frenzied strike of the bag. She pounded it until her breath came in gasps and her heart lodged inside her throat. When she didn’t have the strength to lift her gloves anymore, she crumpled to the floor and pushed her damp­ened hair away from her face. Her lungs burned, her body ached, and she hadn’t felt this good in weeks. Tori’s betrayal was still fresh, but for the first time, Cara knew it wouldn’t break her.

Aelyx crouched down, tossing his mitts to the floor and smiling so widely it would have stolen her breath if she’d had any to spare. “There’s my Elire.” He pronounced it eh-leer.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Your L’eihr name. I think I’ll call you that from now on.” He pulled a dry washcloth from the waistband of his jeans and sat beside her on the dirty tile floor, scooting close enough to blot the sweat from her forehead. Then he unlaced her gloves and tugged them off.

“Eh-leer,” she repeated, trying it on while flexing her stiff fingers. “What does it mean?”

“Beautiful warrior.”

She ducked her head, face glowing impossibly hot under his gaze, which had darkened again and dropped to her mouth. He trailed the washcloth down her temple and along her jawline before handing it off.

“Perhaps you should take over from here,” he whispered.

“Thanks.” The air between them crackled with energy so thick it was almost tangible, his face close enough for her to feel his warm breath. Just when she thought he might kiss her, he rolled to his feet and backed away.

“The interview,” he reminded her.

“Oh, right.” She scrambled to push off the floor, but her spaghetti-noodle arms wouldn’t hold her weight. “I might need a little help.”

He hesitated, then reached out a hand. “Of course. What are friends for?”

Aelyx had once heard Bill Sweeney say, A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. As he sat beside Cara on the sofa, watching her face tipped toward the makeup artist, her full lips parted to receive a coat of lipstick, he began to understand why. Ever since his research into kissing and other human mat­ing rituals, his mind had relentlessly fixated on Cara, flashing manufactured sensations of how her soft, wet mouth might feel against his own. He could almost taste her on his tongue, and when his traitorous body responded to the fantasy, he had to pull an accent pillow onto his lap and force himself to recite Earth’s periodic table of elements. Gods, what had he unleashed? How would he survive the remainder of the exchange like this?

“You know,” Sharon Taylor said to Cara, “with your fair skin, you’d look great as a blonde.”

“Oh.” Cara touched her hair self-consciously and cleared her throat, a nervous habit she displayed during each inter­view. “I don’t think so. The upkeep’s too spendy.”

“You sure? My stylist’s a miracle worker. I can get you squeezed in for an emergency appointment. You’re practically a celebrity now. We’ve had a ton of requests for photo spreads, and I figured you’d want to look your best. But if you don’t care . . .” She trailed off, making her judgment clear.

What nonsense. He’d grown weary of humans trying to modify Cara’s hair, cover her skin with cosmetics, stuff her into revealing clothes. “I like your natural color,” he announced. “It reminds me of the autumn leaves.” They’d all fallen now, and strangely enough, he missed their vibrancy.

“Really?” She inspected a lock of her hair and parted her lips again. Those lips . . .

Hydrogen, helium, lithium, what comes next . . . oh, beryllium, boron.

“Whatever.” Sharon studied her reflection in a compact mirror and tilted her head from side to side. “We’re changing things up tonight.” The compact snapped shut with a click. “I’m asking questions submitted by the viewers. And I’ll warn you, some of them aren’t pretty.”

Aelyx knew this should please him. All the hate mail he and the Sweeneys had received indicated humans had nearly reached the breaking point, which meant returning home sooner. So why did his stomach sink at the thought?

He wished he could escape with Cara and leave both their worlds behind. Would she go? It didn’t matter. There was nowhere to go.

The interview began in the typical fashion, with Sharon making thinly veiled implications about his relationship with Cara. He didn’t discourage her. The idea of an illicit human—L’eihr tryst would drive extremists half mad, sparking them into action.

“Aelyx.” Sharon’s voice brought him to attention. “Our first question comes from Jamie in Ohio. She asks, How do L’eihrs feel about the Expulsion Act, especially considering all you’ve done for cancer victims?”

He leaned forward and folded his hands. “We don’t harbor any ill will against humans for HALO’s actions. We know they make up a small percentage of the population.” He smiled. “They’re just more vocal than the rest.”

“And why is that?” Cara demanded, straightening beside him on the sofa. “Why is it always the crazies who make their voices heard while everyone else shuts up and does nothing?” Her face darkened, pulse thumping at the base of her throat. “This is how discriminatory legislation gets passed—people know it’s wrong, but they’re too lazy or too scared to take action. Hello? Jim Crow laws, anyone? Not that long ago, it was illegal to consort with a member of another race. What if the civil rights leaders of the sixties had sat back and waited for someone else to fix the problem? Nothing would’ve changed.”

Sharon’s reaction reminded Aelyx of a parent patting a youngster on the head. “Well,” she said with a smile, “aren’t you opinionated?”

“Yeah,” Cara said, lifting her chin. “And unlike most of America, I’m not afraid to express it.”

Sharon tapped the end of her golden pen against her lips, then pointed it at Cara. “But you’ve suffered the consequences for that, haven’t you? Isn’t it true your best friend and your boyfriend of three years have stopped speaking to you, along with most of the school?”

The color drained from Cara’s cheeks, but she smoothed a wrinkle from the tan slipcover and gave a quick nod. “That’s all right. Just shows who my real friends are.”

“Aelyx,” Sharon said, “why do you think your presence has sparked such an extreme reaction here?”

“It’s biological,” he said. “A natural human response to fear something different or strange. It’s in your genetic makeup. And when an individual’s afraid, it’s an equally natural human response to strike out in defense.”

“Like the basic flight or fight reflex?” Sharon asked.

“Exactly.” Cara had warned him against hurling “jabs,” but no one could fault him for delivering a blow disguised as compassion. “I don’t believe members of Humans Against L’eihr Occupation are terrible people. I think they’re fright­ened and misguided, and we should pity them. In fact, I believe a quote from your Bible summarizes the situation perfectly.”

“And what’s that?”

“They know not what they do.” He added a sad shake of his head as he relaxed against the sofa. “They’re afraid but quite harmless, I’m sure.” If that didn’t stir their rage, nothing would. He glanced at Cara, who studied him beneath a puck­ered brow. Perhaps he’d “laid it on a bit thick,” as the human expression went.

Sharon nodded in agreement and said, “Our next question comes from Sean, right here in Midtown. How do you explain the death of crops near Midtown, Lanzhou, and Bordeaux? It only makes sense that L’eihr exchange students are to blame.”

“I can’t explain the anomaly,” Aelyx said, “but it’s absurd to assume we’re killing your crops. What would any of us stand to gain from that?”

Sharon lifted one shoulder. “You have to admit it’s quite a coincidence.”

“Or not,” Cara interjected. “People need to take off their tinfoil hats. I’ll bet someone’s trying to frame the L’eihrs by blighting our fields. I wouldn’t put it past these crazies. I mean, what’s a little soybean-murder to someone who threat­ens people just for talking to us?”

“I guess it’s possible.” Sharon flashed a loaded grin and said to Cara, “You’re quick to come to Aelyx’s defense. I can tell he means a lot to you.”

Cara turned her soft blue gaze to him, holding there and shaming him with the admiration he saw. “You’re right.” Then, just when he thought he couldn’t feel any lower, she added, “He’s an amazing friend, and I’m proud to know him.”

Aelyx swallowed hard, trying to push down that old familiar feeling that burned a hole in his throat. He wondered how grateful Cara would be if she knew his real purpose on Earth. He wasn’t a friend. Friends didn’t deceive each other, destroy lives, and then escape to another galaxy.

For the first time since arriving on Earth, Aelyx felt subhuman.