The Stranger (3 page)

W
hat's for dinner?” I asked my mom as soon as I got home. The walk in the woods had made me hungry. Being outdoors always does that to me.

So does fear. I just kept picturing the Yeerk pool. The cages full of involuntary hosts, humans and Hork-Bajir, temporarily free of their Yeerk parasites.

I kept hearing them. Crying — that's what most of them did while they waited to be reinfested. Others screamed. Some begged for mercy.

Or worse.

My mom was standing by the kitchen counter. She was more dressed up than she usually was in the evening. She was munching nervously on some Doritos and kind of staring off into space.

“Mom? Hello?”

She looked like she hadn't noticed me. “Oh, hi, honey.”

“What's for dinner? I'm starving.”

“Your father is coming over tonight. For dinner. He said he would pick something up.”

I felt my stomach clench. Something was wrong.

Since the divorce, my dad never came over for dinner. My two sisters and I spent one weekend a month overnight at his apartment in the city. Plus the every-other-weekend outing.

But he did not come over for dinner.

I wasn't hungry anymore. “What's going on?” I demanded.

My mother got this worried look on her face, which she tried to hide. “Your father has something he wants to tell you girls. He was supposed to tell you the other night at the circus. I guess he forgot.”

The way she said “I guess he forgot” made it clear she didn't think that was the truth.

I took my mother's arm. “Mom? I don't like suspense, all right? So just —”

The doorbell rang.

I heard Sara running down the stairs. I heard Jordan yell, “Stop running on the stairs, you'll break your neck.” She sounded just like my mother. It almost made my mom and me smile.

“That will be your father.”

I went to the front room. Sara was leaping into my dad's arms and Jordan was hovering a couple feet away. Jordan shot a quick, questioning glance at me. Unlike Sara, Jordan was old enough to realize something was up.

I shrugged and shook my head.

“Rachel!” my dad said. “How's my girl? Come take this bag from me. Thai food. We have curry. We have pad Thai. We have chicken satay. We have those imperial heavenly whatever-they-call-'em shrimp.”

He handed me the paper bag. He was being too cheerful.

My father's a reporter for one of the local TV channels. He does a lot of investigative journalism. Plus he anchors the news on Saturday and Sunday. So he's always wearing nice clothes, and always has great hair, and he looks tan even in the total depths of winter.

I took the bag to the dining-room table and started to unpack the little white boxes of Thai food.

“Hello, Dan,” my mother said, coming into the room with plates and silverware.

“Naomi,” he answered. “How have you been?”

By now even Sara had figured out that this was not going to be a happy evening.

We ate a little and struggled along with some small talk about nothing. Until finally my mom said, “Dan, just get it over with.”

My dad looked embarrassed. He sent me a sheepish smile, like some little boy caught doing something wrong.

“Okay,” he said. He cleared his throat. He sat up straight in his chair. Just as if he were waiting for the cameras to come on so he could do the evening news.

“Kids, I have something I have to tell you about. I've been offered a job. A better job. I wouldn't just be the weekend anchor. I would have the top spot. I'd be anchoring the six o'clock broadcast
and
the eleven o'clock. And I'd get to do specials. Maybe do some really important work.”

Jordan looked at me, confused. It
sounded
like good news.

“There's just one problem,” my father said. “It's not here in town. In fact, it would mean I would have to move.”

“Where to?” Sara asked. “To another apartment?”

He forced a smile. “To another city, sweetie. In another state.”

“A thousand miles away,” my mother said.

You know, it's funny how the mind works. See, I've been through more bad things, more terror, more worry, more pain since I became an Animorph than most people deal with in a lifetime. I would have thought I could handle something like my dad moving away.

A thousand miles away.

“Congratulations,” I said, trying not to show any emotion. “It's what you've always wanted.”

My dad wasn't fooled. He knew I was upset. “It's the job, Rachel. It's the way it is. It's not like I won't see you kids. I know it sounds like a long way and all, but that's why we have jets, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That's why we have jets. I think I'll just go upstairs and do some homework now.”

“Wait, I need to …” my dad protested.

I didn't slam any doors. I didn't throw anything.

I just left.

Let
him
feel what it's like, I told myself. Let
him
feel what it's like to have someone just walk away.

I went up to my room and locked the door behind me. I couldn't breathe. I kept clenching my fists and wanting to pound something. I think I would have cried, but I was just too angry.

“Rachel?” It was him. He knocked lightly on my door. “Can I come in?”

I couldn't say no. It would have sounded like I was upset. “Sure. Why not?”

I unlocked the door, and he came in. “I'm guessing you're a little upset,” he said.

I shrugged and turned my back to him.

“I see. Rachel, you didn't let me finish what I had to tell you downstairs. Rachel … Jordan and Sara are still too young to consider this. But you're older. You can look after yourself when I have to work late. They can't. And … anyway, look, the thing is, I've talked to your mother about this, and she's not happy about it, but she says it's up to you.”

I turned to look at him. “
What's
up to me?”

He smiled uncertainly. “Well, it's like this. Carla Belnikoff teaches in the city I'm moving to. You know, she takes in three or four promising gymnastics students every year. If you wanted … well, it would be the best thing in the world, as far as I'm concerned, if you came to live with me.”

I almost asked him to repeat it. I couldn't believe I had heard right the first time. Students of Coach Belnikoff have won two gold medals and a bunch of silver ones.

“Dad, Carla Belnikoff isn't going to take me on as a student. She handles professional-level gymnasts. I'm too tall, and not good enough to … besides, you're saying I should move out? Leave Mom and Sara and Jordan?”

“You're the only one who can decide that,” my dad said. “But as for Coach Belnikoff, you're wrong. You have the talent. I know. If that's something you want to do, if you want to make that your life, you could go places in gymnastics.”

I shook my head. Not to say no, just to try and clear out the confusion. “Dad, are you asking me to go with you when you move?”

“Yes. I know it would be hard on you and your mom and your sisters, but we could make it work. I mean, this job pays a lot of money. You could fly back here any time you wanted. Every week if you wanted.”

Was he serious? It sounded ridiculous. Was he actually serious? I sat down on the edge of my bed. My thoughts were everywhere all at once. Leave? Leave my mom and my sisters?

This was just because my dad felt guilty. He felt bad about leaving. This was about pity. He felt sorry for me or something.

“And I know it would mean changing schools,” he said, “but, gee, Rachel, I think it could be okay, you know? I mean, for one thing, they have serious mountains there. We could do some rock climbing together on weekends. Go hiking. And it's a huge sports town. I need someone to go with me to games. It would be like in the old days.” Then he winked. “And, hey, it's a much bigger city, so think of all the shopping.”

No, it wasn't pity or guilt, I realized. At least not completely. I think my dad was feeling lonely. He was picturing himself lonely in the new town.

“Oh, man,” I said. “I don't know what to say.”

My dad nodded his head. “Don't decide now. I wouldn't want you to. Talk to your mom. And Jordan and Sara, too. You think about it. I think … you know, I've just missed you, sweetheart. We have fun trash-talking the umpires at games, don't we? And hiking? Remember the time we got lost?”

“Of course, I remember,” I said. “I just … I have to think it over. You know.”

I wanted to say, Dad, you don't understand. It isn't just about Mom and Sara and Jordan. I have a date, Dad. To go back to the Yeerk pool. My friends are counting on me. See, I'm supposed to be Xena, Warrior Princess. I'm supposed to go back down there … down into the last place on Earth I want to go.

“I have to think it over,” I repeated.

“Yeah. So. Anyway, I'm gonna go now.”

“Okay, Dad,” I said.

“I love you, Rachel.”

I wish he hadn't said that. I was doing fine till he said that, and then the tears started.

A
fter my dad left, I talked to my mom. She said what I expected: She wanted me to stay. But it was up to me. She trusted me to think it through.

Up to me. Great. I could hurt my mom and my sisters, or I could hurt my dad. Perfect. Isn't divorce fun?

After I went to bed, I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. My brain kept churning like a computer you can't turn off. Too many things to think about. My dad. My mom.

And the big, huge, massive thing I didn't even want to start thinking about: my friends. The Animorphs. The war against the Yeerks.

Finally, I knew I had to get out of there. I needed air and open spaces. The walls were just way too close around me.

I climbed out of bed and opened my window all the way. I changed from the T-shirt I sleep in to the black leotard I usually wore under my clothes.

My morphing outfit.

I couldn't think about it anymore. I just needed some space to not think about my father. Not think about choices.

I focused my mind. I concentrated. Just some time to think, I told myself, as my fingers became feathers and my toes curled into talons.

I guess every kid has times he wants to just get away. But I had the power to do it. I could even get away from myself.

I launched myself into the night. I flew in absolute silence. The wind rushing over the top of my wings never ruffled a feather.

The moon was low on the horizon, just a sliver. High clouds blocked the starlight. The grassy field just a few feet below me would have been black and featureless to human eyes.

But I was not looking through human eyes.

My eyes were so large, they nearly filled my head. They looked through the darkness like it was noon on a sunny day. I could see individual blades of grass. I could see the ants crawling beneath the grass.

My hearing was so acute that I could hear a mouse step on a twig from seventy-five feet away. I could hear the beating wings of a sparrow that was flitting from tree to tree.

I had morphed into a great horned owl. The night killer. The predator of darkness.

I flew lower still, closer to the ground, letting the owl's mind search out prey. Here a mouse. There a shrew. There a vole. And all the many little birds.

They were all meat to the owl. I could descend, silent and deadly, on a rat or rabbit, spread my talons wide, and strike.

I could squeeze my talons until they burst the skulls of my prey and … no. No, I told myself. I was not Tobias. He had no choice but to be a predator. I had a choice.

Like my father had a choice. He could just not move. And then I wouldn't have to make this awful decision. If he knew … if he understood everything … he wouldn't do this. He would understand that I was part of the battle to help save Earth.

But I couldn't tell him. Not even my dad. He could be one of them. That's what knowing about the Yeerks does to you. You look at everyone and wonder what's living inside their brains. Even though I felt like somehow I would just know if my dad were a Controller.

I guess I've always had a close relationship with my dad. Right from the start, going back as far as I can remember, we were always doing stuff together. I mean, I have this photograph of me when I was three years old, standing on a balance beam, with my dad holding me up and grinning at the camera. I love that picture, even though I look lame in the outfit I had on. I keep it on my desk in my room.

When my mom was pregnant with my littlest sister, Sara, I overheard my parents talking. My mom was saying maybe this time she would have a boy. “I know you've always wanted a boy,” she told my dad.

“Oh, come on,” he answered. “That was years ago. I thought I had to have a boy to do all the fun ‘dad' stuff with. But I have Rachel. She's as good as any boy. She's already tougher than most boys her age. Have you seen the vaults she can do?”

My mom groaned. “Don't
ever
let her hear you say that. Little girls do
not
want to be told they are as good as a boy.”

But she was wrong. I know it was sexist and all, but I still just thought it was great. My dad thought I was as tough as any boy. Cool.

If only he knew what I was doing now,
I thought. How could he expect me to make this decision? I couldn't leave my friends. I couldn't. They were counting on me. We were going back to the Yeerk pool, and they were counting on me to be brave and strong. That's what they thought I was.

But if I was so brave and so strong, why was I suddenly imagining a very different life, a long, long way from the war with the Yeerks?

Why was I imagining a life of gymnastics classes and ball games with my dad — a place where I was just a person? Where no one expected me to go back down into that hell of screams and despair called the Yeerk pool?

If I was so brave and so tough, why was I imagining a normal life?