The Outsider (4 page)

“I talked to Max,” Liz interrupted.

“You look awful,” Maria exclaimed. “I'm sorry. I didn't even notice — I was in total rant mode. What happened? What did he say?”

Liz sat down on the overstuffed couch. There was no good way to tell her, so Liz just blurted it out. “He said he was an alien.”

Maria giggled.

“I'm serious”

Maria giggled louder. “Does . . . does he have antennae?” she asked, cracking herself up. She plopped down on the couch next to Liz and rocked back and forth, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

Liz waited. When Maria was in one of her laughing fits, she was pretty much unstoppable.

“Did he let you see his laser gun?” Maria laughed so hard, she snorted, which made her laugh even more. Her cheeks turned red, and tears stood out in her eyes.

Finally she noticed that Liz wasn't laughing, too. “Oops. I'm sorry.” She gave one last giggle. Then she sat up straight and blotted her eyes with one of the couch's little throw pillows. “Tell me what really happened.”

“I just did,” Liz said. She rushed on before Maria could start laughing again. “Think about it. You said yourself that I was about to die, that blood was pouring out of me. Max healed me. He closed up the wound just by touching it. What human could do that?”

Maria stared at Liz in astonishment. At least she knows
I'm
being serious, Liz thought. “I know it sounds crazy. I thought Max was jerking me around when he told me that. I thought he was just handing me a totally lame story.

“But then he touched my silver bracelet, and it melted.”

Maria's eyes were wide and frightened.

“Do you know how hot silver has to get before it melts?” Liz asked, her voice rising. “Nine hundred and sixty-one degrees Celsius. And the bracelet didn't even get hot. It didn't even feel warm. It's impossible! It should be impossible — but Max did it.” She broke off, rubbing her wrist. There wasn't a red mark or anything where the bracelet had been.

“I . . . I think we need some of my special antistress tea,” Maria said. She stood up and headed toward the kitchen without another word.

Liz followed her. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Definitely.” Maria grabbed the copper teapot and carried it over to the sink. She turned on the water and let it run into the pot until it spilled over the sides. Maria stared at it, her eyes blank.

Liz took the pot away from her. “Let's just sit down. We're both a little too freaked to be using major appliances.”

“You're right?” Maria slid into a kitchen chair, and Liz sat down next to her. “So what do we do now?”

“I don't know,” Liz answered. “I don't know where to start. It' not as if I can go on-line and do research on the culture and beliefs of aliens from Max's planet. I mean, I don't know if they — if Max's . . . species — just want to live here with us, or if they want to wipe us out and take over.”

Hard evidence, that' what she wanted, the kind she gathered when she did a biology experiment. It was what she loved about science — all the absolute facts. It was reassuring to have proof that there was some order to the universe, some rules that were always followed.

After what happened today, she didn't know what the rules were anymore. And that frightened her.

“You remember the end of
ET?
” Maria asked suddenly. “How those government guys were going to come in and take him away?”

Liz nodded, her thoughts still on a world where the periodic chart no longer applied.

“Do you think that' what would happen to Max if we told people the truth about him?” Maria continued.

“I don't know, ” Liz admitted. “I doubt everyone would just be like, Oh, an alien, that' interesting. There must be people out there who would want to study him or do tests on him. They could lock Max away for the rest of his life or even — ”

Liz couldn't say it.

“Or even kill him,” Maria finished for her.

Liz flashed on an image of Max lying on the ground, still and cold. She felt a rush of pure emotion that went beyond any facts. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let Max die.

“We can never tell anyone the truth,” she told Maria.

“Never,” Maria repeated. “Wait. What about Alex? Can't we even tell him?”

“Maria, no! We can't tell anyone.”

Liz wished they could tell Alex. She totally trusted him, and they both told him practically everything. But Max' secret was like a deadly virus — -it had to be contained, or someone could die. Max could die.

Maria flicked a crumb off the table. “So, um what do you think Max
really
looks like?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are the chances that the
beings
on the planet he came from look exactly like humans? Don't you think the way Max looks must be sort of a disguise?“

Liz didn't know how to answer. Max was just
Max.
She wasn't used to thinking of him as some kind of creature.

Maria stood up and wandered back to the sink. She set the teapot on the stove. “I wonder if he can eat the same food we do. I saw this movie where the aliens could only eat decomposed flesh — you know, where bacteria and bugs did part of the digesting for them.”

Liz watched Maria pour tea leaves into little silver balls. She couldn't believe the way her friend was talking about Max. They had both known him forever, but Maria was talking about him as if he were something on the Discovery Channel.

“Maybe he's like the Fly Maybe he just spews some kind of acid on his food and then — sluurp, sucks it up. What do you think? You're the science guru.”

“God, Maria,” Liz muttered.

Maria didn't hear her. She kept on chattering away “Do you think he sees humans as some kind of inferior life-form? Like, are we just lumps of meat to him?”

Max always picked Maria to be on his team when they played softball in the sixth grade — he picked her first, even though she was one of the worst players. He made Paula Perry stop harassing Maria the first year of junior high. He didn't tell his insurance company when Maria dinged his car in the school parking lot last year.

It's like she's forgotten all the nice things he's done for her — and for half the other people in school, Liz thought. Now he's just the alien boy.

No wonder it was so hard for Max to tell Liz the truth about himself. He probably thought she was going to treat him like some kind of freak.

And I did, Liz realized. I practically
ran
out of his room.

She shivered as she pictured Max's eyes. The pain and humiliation filling his beautiful blue eyes as she backed away from him.

I never even thanked him for saving my life.

Come on, Max, Michael thought. Get me out of here.

Right on cue he heard the horn of Max's Jeep. Yes! He couldn't stand being in this house one more second. Michael strode toward the front door, shrugging on his jacket as he walked.

“Hold it,” Mr. Hughes called as Michael started past the kitchen. “The backyard looks like a jungle. I want it mowed before you go anywhere.”

“It's going to be dark in half an hour,” Michael protested.

Mr. Hughes smirked at him. Michael hated that little smirk. “Then you'll have to work fast, won't you?”

Michael didn't want to get into a shouting match with the guy. It wasn't worth it. He struggled to keep his voice calm. “Is there some reason you couldn't have told me you wanted the lawn mowed this morning, or this afternoon, or even an hour ago? Max is outside waiting for me.”

“Well, he'll just have to keep waiting. Come and get me when you're finished. I want to see what kind of job you did before you take off anywhere.”

Michael hated the way Mr. Hughes was always playing his little power games. Hughes didn't care about the backyard. That old green truck of his had been up on blocks in the far corner since before Michael moved in. It had totally destroyed that patch of grass, but he didn't care. Hughes only cared about showing Michael who was in charge.

In less than a year I'll be eighteen, Michael thought. Then I'm out of here. No more foster homes. No more foster parents. No more being told that an endless string of strangers are my family.

“Fine. I'll mow the backyard,” Michael muttered. Then he walked out the front door and closed it quietly behind him. He trotted over to Max's Jeep to tell him he had to wait.

But when he reached the Jeep, he snapped. Forget Hughes. Forget the idiotic social services people who thought sticking him in strangers' houses meant he was being taken care of. He just couldn't deal with it tonight. He couldn't stand out in the backyard while Hughes inspected his work, finding a dozen little things Michael forgot to do or did wrong.

He climbed into the Jeep. “Floor it,” Michael ordered.

Max didn't ask any questions. He just took off down the street, past the well-tended houses and neatly kept yards of the south side.

Michael had lived in every neighborhood in town — from the run-down section by the old military base to the historic district with its big houses and big trees. Living in the historic district was cool. He didn't really care about the nice houses, but he liked living so close to Max and Isabel.

“Where to?” Max asked as they headed out of town, miles and miles of flat desert stretching in front of them.

“I want to try that arroyo we saw on our way back last week.” Michael pulled a battered map out of his pocket. He popped open the glove compartment, grabbed a pencil, and began shading in the area he planned to search tonight. It was about sixty miles out of Roswell and fifteen miles from the crash site.

Max glanced over at him. “A couple more years of this, and you'll have half of New Mexico colored in.”

“Not quite,” Michael answered. They
had
covered a lot of ground over the years. But Michael wanted to do more. He wished he could search all day every day instead of once a week.

“It's been a while since we've found anything. Maybe we're getting too far away from the crash site,” Max said.

“We might be too far to find debris, but I still think the ship is stashed somewhere in the desert, not more than a few hours' drive from the site,” Michael answered. “They wouldn't want to risk taking it farther. Too many people would have to be involved. There would be too many questions.”

Max gave a noncommittal grunt. Michael knew that Max doubted they would ever find the ship. And Isabel kept saying they were fools to keep looking. She'd given up the search a long time ago. But Michael was never going to give up. And Max would keep coming out to the desert with him every week as long as Michael wanted him to. Michael could count on Max. Always could, always would.

Michael clicked on the radio. He didn't really feel like talking, and it didn't seem as if Max did, either. He was probably thinking about Liz.

Michael didn't know what that girl had said to Max when they were alone in his room. But whatever it was, it had totally annihilated him. After she left, Max told Michael and Isabel that Liz would keep their secret. He promised them they weren't in any danger. But Max hadn't sounded happy or even relieved, and he looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

Liz couldn't handle the truth. Michael was sure of that. She probably treated Max like some kind of freak.

We just don't belong, he thought. We're never going to fit in. It's never going to feel right living here. And that's why he had to find a way out. He would make it back to his home planet, his real home, no matter what it took. Maybe he even had some relatives there.

Michael watched the sun sink lower and lower, turning the sky pink and orange. Slowly the colors faded, then turned to black, and stars began to appear.

He wished it could be night all the time. At night somehow it felt like his home planet was closer, almost in reach, up there behind the stars somewhere. At night he felt positive that he would find the ship, positive that he would somehow find his way back.

During the day . . . sometimes during the day it seemed hopeless. It felt like there was nothing up there at all. No home to go back to.

“We're coming up to the arroyo,” Max said. “Do you want to drive or hike?”

“Hike.” Michael needed to cool off. He figured after a long hike he might be ready to go back and see Mr. Hughes without wanting to punch his face in.

Max parked the Jeep. Michael sprang out and half slid, half climbed down the side of the arroyo. He could hear Max right behind him.

When Michael reached the bottom, he turned in a slow circle, scanning the walls and floor of the arroyo. He didn't know what he was looking for exactly, just something that didn't belong.

One of the other things Michael liked about night was how clearly he could see. His vision was better in the dark than it was during the day. It made the weekly nighttime searches easier. Having the advantage over any curious humans who happened by was a bonus, too.

“I'll go south, you go north?” Max asked.

Michael nodded and set off. We're due to find something, he thought. It's been way too long. It had been almost a year since Max found the strip of thin, flexible metal that they both figured was part of their parents' ship. It had to be. It was like nothing they'd ever seen before. If you crumpled it up, it immediately straightened itself out. It was indestructible. Michael had tried cutting it with pruning shears. He'd even taken a blowtorch to it once. But the metal, if that's what it was, always returned to its original shape, undamaged.

The sound of a bunch of sheep baaing interrupted Michael's thoughts. He stood still and listened. Was someone out there? Someone who had spooked the sheep?

The sheep quieted down again. Now all Michael could hear was the sound of his own breathing and the tiny scratch, scratch, scratch of a blue belly lizard's claws as it darted across a rock. Guess it was nothing, he decided.

He pulled a plastic bottle out of his backpack and took a swig of the grape soda laced with hot sauce. He knew it would make humans gag, but he figured his taste buds worked differently because he could drink it all day. He hiked forward.

When he was a kid, every time they came out to the desert, he'd been positive they would find the ship. He thought he would just hop in and fly himself and Michael and Isabel home. He was sure that somehow he'd just know exactly how all the controls worked.

Then when he was a couple of years older, he saw that old Superman movie on TV. There was a scene where Superman found a crystal that showed a hologram of his dead father, and he got to have all these conversations with him.

For a long time Michael hoped he'd find something like that crystal. Something that would show him his father's face, at least.

But he grew up. And he never found anything to tell him who he really was. Now all Michael wanted was a clue, a hint. Anything that would lead him to the next place to look. Anything to keep him hoping.

He walked on and on, studying every rock, every crevice. He hadn't even found a gum wrapper when he heard Max's shrill whistle, the signal that it was time to head back.

Max was already in the driver's seat when Michael climbed back up to the top of the arroyo. Michael didn't ask him if he'd found anything. He already knew the answer.

“Drop me off at the cave on the way back, okay?” Michael asked as he swung into the Jeep. “I think I'm going to sack out there.”

Max nodded and turned the Jeep toward town. The cave was about twenty miles outside Roswell, much closer to town than to the crash site.

Michael had spent more time in the cave than he had in any of his foster homes. It was a special place — the first place he had seen when he broke free of his incubation pod. He'd been about seven years old — at least he looked about the same as a seven-year-old human child, although he must have been incubating for about forty years.

He'd wanted to stay in the cave forever. The desert outside seemed too big and bright to him. He felt safer in the dim light with the solid limestone walls all around him.

Michael had spent days huddled next to the unopened pod — it was the one Max and Isabel shared, but he didn't know that then — pressing himself against its warm surface. The tiny rustling sounds he heard inside it kept him company.

Finally thirst and hunger drove him into the desert. A local rancher found him drinking from the same stream the guy's sheep used. The man took him into town, and Michael was placed in the orphanage. From there he went to his very first foster home.

It took him only a week to learn English. Less than that for math. The social services people had figured he was at a fifth-grade level when they started him at Roswell Elementary. They never could figure out why he didn't remember his parents or where he came from.

Michael still remembered the day Max brought in a piece of amethyst to show the class. He had said he liked it because it was the same color as the ring of light around their teacher, Mr. Tollifson. All the other kids laughed. Mr. Tollifson said it was nice that Max had such a good imagination.

And Michael had the amazing, joy-inducing realization that he wasn't alone anymore. Someone else could see what he saw.

“Mr. Cuddihy isn't going to be happy if the Hugheses complain that you've been staying out all night again,” Max commented as they drove down the empty highway.

“Mr. Cuddihy is never happy,” Michael answered. His social worker would have to deal. And if the Hugheses made too big a stink about it, Mr. Cuddihy would probably have to start looking for foster home number eleven. His social worker would just have to deal with that, too.

“You can come home with me,” Max volunteered. “My parents won't care.”

“Nah. I feel like being by myself,” Michael answered.

He wouldn't mind hanging out all night at the Evanses'. But he didn't want to be there for breakfast in the morning. Mrs. Evans was always so cheerful. She'd be asking a million questions about school and stuff. And Mr. Evans would be reading the comics out loud with all his goofy voices. It was way too much family for Michael to handle.

Sometimes Michael wondered what his life would have been like if the Evanses had been the ones to find him instead of that rancher. If he had just been in a different place at a different time, he could have had Max and Isabel's life, growing up with parents who loved him. Don't even go there, Michael thought. It's pointless.

“You sure you don't want to come back with me?” Max asked. “My mom would probably make you blueberry pancakes, and we have that brown mustard you like to go with them.”

Michael shook his head. He was used to being alone now. He was good at it. There was no point in getting used to something that would just get taken away.

Isabel pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and stared inside. Her makeup was neatly organized by use, brand, and color. Maybe I should make little combinations of blush, eye shadow, lipstick, and nail polish, she thought. Then I could just pull out the set that matched whatever outfit I have on and —

No. That would be way too anal. Isabel gently closed the drawer.

She had to stop driving herself nuts over this whole Liz Ortecho situation. If she didn't watch herself, she'd move on to organizing her shoes by heel height and width and embroidering the days of the week on her panties.

Okay, here's what I'll do, Isabel decided. If I get even a hint that Liz is going to open her fat mouth, I'll go into her dreams and find a way to drive her crazy. She can spend the rest of her life in an insane asylum, babbling about aliens. No one will pay any attention to her.

Isabel stretched out on her bed and smiled. Poor Liz. I can see her now. She might even have to get shock treatment.

Now that she had that little problem solved, it was time to decide something really important. What to wear to the homecoming dance. Isabel planned to be crowned homecoming queen, and she wanted to look good. Well, she always looked good. But she wanted to look
good.