How I Stole Johnny Depp's Alien Girlfriend (8 page)

“S
he's making me dizzy going in circles like that,” Malou complains. “Tell her to stop.”

There's no point talking to Zelda right now. Her answer to everything is no, no, no!

No, I won't stop walking in circles and kicking and punching the agricultural maps of Europe. No, I won't disobey Zookian laws. No, I won't give them the key.

She checks her forearm. “I don't have time for this!”

“How would you pass this thing to them?” Malou asks.

“I can transfer it to any of them during sexual intercourse.”

Malou puts her hands over my ears. “Zeldie! You're going to permanently traumatize the poor kid! You Spacegirls are so totally
D-I-R-T-Y
!” she shrieks.

I push her hands away. “Don't worry. I've seen and heard enough during the last twenty-four hours to spend the rest of my life in therapy.”

“It doesn't matter how I would give it to them,” Zelda says finally, stopping her pacing and sitting down in a corner of our
cell. She strokes the key, like she's trying to give it a little extra life. “Giving them the key would mean failing. Didn't you see what happens to a failed Traveler?”

True. I can't imagine someone like Zelda dressing in rags and eating dust balls for the next few centuries.

“What about us?” Malou asks. “The mother girl mentioned torture and FREAKING MURDER.”

“Is there a Zookian law against letting two innocent Earthlings get tortured or killed?” I ask hopefully.

Zelda thinks about it for a nanosecond and then shakes her head. “No. Zook does not care about the lives of Earthlings.”

I can't stop thinking about what the mother said. Fascinating? Me?
No way!

I catch Zelda's eye.

“What?” she barks.

“Nothing,” I say, pretending to study a map of the European Union as it was in 1989. I'm studying Austria when there's a loud thump on the door.

“What was that?”

Zelda puts a finger over my lips before I can say another word.

I'm not dreaming—something's definitely happening outside. Malou's already beside the door, listening. “It sounds like they're fighting out there.” She jumps back.

There was a blunt noise, like a sack of potatoes hitting the floor. Then someone unlocks the door, and a group of Valks come in.

They squeak a bit. Zelda squeaks back, and then they do something quite unexpected: They kneel
right
in front of us like Zelda did in front of the mother.

“Ahem, excuse us,
Zeldie.
” Malou clears her throat. “We wouldn't mind getting a bit of
that
decoded.”

“They're going to disobey the mother and let us go.”

“Why?”

“They still believe in their duty to help a Traveler. They have faith in my holy quest for a chosen one.”

“You guys should totally rebel,” Malou tells the Valks. “I mean, your old queen is so totally overdoing the
mother
thing. You know, I had a teacher just like her. The old bag!”

We (collectively): “
Shhhh!
”

“The mother is a good leader,” one of the Valks says as we cross a ruined playground in front of the abandoned school. “She lost faith in Travelers a few centuries ago, just like the rest of us.”

“When Zelda talked tonight,” says another one, “she reminded us of what we had forgotten long ago: what it means to be Vahalalian.”

We climb over a fence and land in a parking lot. I turn back. A poster says that the school is due to be demolished soon. There's also graffiti over the poster. The Vahalalian snake tag: Beware! Keep out!

“How long have you been living here?” I ask.

“We moved in just a year ago. Finding a place for the Sanctuary is becoming harder, and our group keeps expanding.”

It's a curse: more and more Spacegirls, less and less good real estate to snatch.

“Why don't you integrate into our society? Go to school. Find jobs. Rent apartments. Live like us.”

“We want nothing to do with your society. We detest Earthlings. We loathe your primitive civilization.”

There. Now I know.

They escort us to the local train station. I know exactly where we are. We're right beside the Stade de France. The ultramodern soccer stadium looks like a gigantic UFO. It's something past midnight, and we need to get to Johnny before the three girls after him show him some of that baton boogie.

There are a few young people waiting on the platform for the next night train to arrive. They don't pay attention to us. They're lost in their own thoughts, and I wonder how many of them know what I know. Could there be anyone else from outer space on this platform? Who's an Earthling, and who's
something else
?

A few days ago, my life was flat, dull, and boring. Everyone looked the same. People were just people, like pieces of paper. Now that I've met Zelda, every person has become interesting. Imagine: They might be hiding a deep, meaningful secret, like an intergalactic past or an extraordinary quest.

One of the Valks gives Zelda a piece of paper. “That's his address.”

Malou snatches the paper and reads it. “How did you get Johnny's personal address?”

“We asked Zook, but she refused to intervene. So we visited the hot night spots and found a man who would sell the information. We tortured him.”

Valks are so efficient! I read the address over Malou's shoulder. It's written with real shaky handwriting. I bet the poor guy who wrote it didn't get 952 euros.

“Good luck,” one of the Valks says as our train comes into the station.

We get in. “Girl power!” Malou shouts. She gives them the
V
for victory sign as the train doors close. One of the girls returns the
V
hesitantly, and they Space Splash away into the dark.

“They totally dig me,” Malou says, sitting down with us as the train departs. “But I've always been a girl magnet. Right, Zelda?” She taps Zelda's knee.

“Touch me again and die, Earthling.”

“Sometimes the chemistry's just not there.” Malou removes her hand, stands up, and walks around the train car trying to bum a cigarette from one of the other passengers.

“I
t's one of these streets,” Malou says, glancing around for more clues.

We're lost, walking down Quai d'Anjou on Île Saint-Louis, right along the Seine, because Malou said she knew
exactly
where to find the address on that piece of paper.

“You have no idea where you're going, do you?” I say. “You were just bullshitting as usual.”

“Frog! It's not my fault if the guy they tortured didn't write down the exact zip code!”

“You're so not getting my money!”

The money! That totally kicks Malou back into gear. She shields her eyes with her hand, even though the sun's not even out, and peers into the far distance, like that's going to help.

“Give me a second, all right?” She points randomly eastward. “That's it. This way. I'd bet my wig on it.”

“No, not that way,” Zelda says, looking in the opposite direction and walking toward the riverbank. “We are on the wrong side of the river.” She points across the Seine.

“How would you…oh.”

On the other bank, across Pont de Sully, fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances are gathered in front of a burning building.

“You think they did this?”

“I know they did,” Zelda confirms, heading toward the bridge. “Valks are very destructive.”

“These girls are wild,” Malou says, returning from interrogating the crowd around the burning building.

The entire neighborhood seems to have come down to the street to get a better look at the damage and show the firefighters their expensive Hermès nightgowns.

“They're talking about young girls breaking into every single apartment in the building looking for Johnny Depp and then setting the place on fire when they're done searching.”

“Did they see them dragging out his body or a large bag that could contain it?” Zelda asks.

“No. No deal. You see, this proves once more that what you get for free is worthless.” Malou winks at me. “The concierge was, like, freaking out. She was half-naked and screaming that Johnny doesn't live there anymore. He lives on a farm down south. He's there right now, and I know the place. It's near Saint-Tropez. So who's totally worth nine hundred fifty-two euros?”

Nine hundred fifty-two euros, my foot! “Wasn't he supposed to be at this party you were going to with Zelda tonight?”

“My information can't be a hundred percent accurate all the time, Frog. I know a lot of very unreliable people, you know.”

“And this new piece of information is accurate because…?”

“The poor concierge was practically exposing her boobs, screaming at the firefighter that Johnny is down south.” She points toward the burning building. “That has to count for something.”

“Bullshit!”

“He's in Saint-Tropez!”

“We don't know that!”

“You're so negative, Frog.”

“You're so crazy, Malou!”

“What is Saint-Tropez?” Zelda asks, ignoring our bickering.

“It's a town waaaaay down south,” I say, shaking my head. “It's like a gazillion hours' drive from here.” I know because Édouard has a villa near Saint-Tropez, and we used to spend entire days getting asphyxiated on cigarette fumes while driving down there. “And we don't even have a car.”

Zelda sighs. She checks the vanishing key marking on her arm. “We need a car,” she says, looking around at all the parked ones as if we can take our pick.

“It's so funny you should say that!” Malou sneers, giving me an annoying, victorious side look. “According to everyone, the Valkies stole a car from someone who lives in that building and drove off looking for more stuff to burn.”

Malou always says she loves me like the brother she never had—so why is she always putting me in these terrible situations?

Zelda said, “The Valks are doing everything right. Let's steal a car.”

Malou said, “I don't know how to steal a car.” She also said that she used to date a guy who stole cars for a living and that you can't just improvise—there's an art to it.

But then Malou turned to me and asked, “What about your mom's car, Frog?”

And Zelda said, “Yes, that's right. What about your mother's car?”

So I said, “Oh no, forget about it. The keys are inside our apartment.”

And they both stared at me, like, well, no big deal then. You just need to go into your apartment and get the damn keys.

So I told them, “No way. I'm not going back there to steal Mom's car. She loves that car.”

So Zelda said, “Do not force me to hurt you, dwarf,” and that was the end of that discussion.

The lights are off in our apartment. I'm never too eager to go home, knowing Mom's in there, waiting to start yelling at me as soon as I walk through the door. But tonight, I really
can't
do it. I CAN'T. Just thinking about taking one more step toward the building is making me nauseous.

“She'll kill me if I go in there.”

Malou disagrees. “She's probably totally zonked on sleeping pills. Go.” She pushes me forward.

I resist. “What about your dad?”

Malou shakes her head. “Won't hear you. She yells at him so much he's practically deaf by now.”

I turn to Zelda with imploring eyes. “Don't make me do this. Please!”

“Be courageous, Pudin,” she says.

Sigh.

“Grab some food, too,” Malou adds. “I'm starving. Get what-ever's left of the caviar. And wine, if you can. Anything as long as it's white and chilled.” She slaps my butt to encourage me. “Attaboy!”

I unlock the door and push it open very quietly. A thick cloud of filthy cigarette stench hits me in the face. I step in, leaving the door wide open to make sure I have a ready escape route.

So far, so good: Mom's car keys are just a few feet away in the crystal bowl on top of the hall table. I see them shining in the pale glow of streetlight coming through the French doors. All I need to do is take two, maybe three steps forward, grab them, and run.

A one, a two…

“Édouard, is that you?” Mom asks, coming out of her room.

Shit.

She switches on the hallway lights. “Oh, it's you.” She leans against the wall. Malou was right about one thing: Mom's drugged up to her gills.

“Where's Édouard?” she asks vaguely.

She's wearing her thin white kimono and lingerie. She's put on way too much makeup, like a creepy geisha, something she does often when she swallows too many pills.

“I don't know,” I answer. She probably gave him such hell tonight that he went to the hotel, like he does sometimes.

“I'm going to lie down,” she says, but instead of going into her bedroom, she wanders into the living room and instinctively switches on all the lights. She probes around with her hands as if she's walking in the dark.

I grab the car keys. Now would be a good time to leave and let her be. I step back, but stop when she stumbles into the coffee table and falls flat on the floor.

“Édouard!” she calls.

“He's not here.”

“Édouard, I fell. Help me,” she whines.

Hesitantly, I walk into the living room and then squat in front of her, grab her hand, and help her to sit up. When she looks into my eyes, there's a spark of recognition in her strangely painted eyes. She slaps me really hard. One of her fingernails catches the inside corner of my nostril and
snap
!

I see stars: red ones, yellow ones, and some green ones, too. I take my hand off my nose. There's blood on my fingers, and I feel plenty more running down my face.

“It's…it's nothing, it was an accident,” I tell Mom, doing my best to hide my bleeding nose. But the blood is just pouring out of me.

“Blood,” Mom says, immediately trying to wipe off the drops that fall on her legs and fancy white kimono. She shows me her bloody palm like she doesn't understand what happened.

“Leave him alone!” Malou screams from behind me before grabbing me and dragging me away. When she sees the blood on my face, she goes ballistic. “Did you hit him, you
bitch
?”

“You!” Mom says when she sees Zelda entering the living room. “That's my black c—”

Zelda doesn't let her finish the sentence; she kneels in front of her, grabs her wrists, and sings the strange sleeping whale lullaby. Mom's head rolls back, and Zelda eases her body down on the carpet.

Malou approaches carefully. She probes her with her foot, checking her vital signs. “Well done, Zelda. You killed the ugly witch!”

Mom starts snoring to prove her wrong.

“Are you all right?” Malou asks, squatting in front of me.

“I'm fine. It was an accident,” I mumble, wiping the blood away with the back of my hand.

“Let me see,” Zelda says.

“It's just a scratch,” I protest, but she examines it anyway—doctor's instinct, I guess.

“I'll let you lick his wounds,” Malou says, walking away to get some food from the kitchen.

“We saw the lights.” Zelda nods toward the French doors. “We thought you were in trouble.” Her touch feels so gentle after Mom trying to snap off my nose.

“I was…I'm…I…” It's her hand on my face that does it. I do something incredibly stupid: I lean forward and hug her.

I can feel her body stiffening. She doesn't know how to deal with this embarrassing Earthling display of affection (EDA). Her own arms and hands stay a million miles away from me, and now that I'm so stupidly locked against her, I'm too ashamed to pull away and look into her eyes.

“Oops,” I hear Malou say. I look up past Zelda's shoulder and see her coming out of the kitchen with a couple bottles of wine. “I'm going to,
you know…”
She starts retreating tactfully.

“No! You can stay,” Zelda says, breaking away from me. “We were done. Your nose is fine.”

But the rest of me wants to die.