Aliens on Vacation

by Clete Barrett Smith

  Eddie turned and stared at me. He dribbled the ball much too hard, making a steady Bam! Bam! Bam! on the concrete court. I could tell he wanted to run me right over, but Eddie was no point guard. He was too big and stiff, and there was no way he should have been handling the ball this far from the basket. I timed those hard dribbles—Bam! pause Bam!—and when he started his motion to slam it down the next time, I lunged, poked the ball away, and took off down the court.

  I could feel Eddie racing right behind me, heavy footsteps crashing right on my heels. When I got to the hoop I knew he was going to foul me, hard, so I jumped and faked a layup on the right-hand side of the basket. Eddie jumped with me and took a wild swing at either the ball or my head, or both. But I double-pumped the ball, floated through the air underneath the hoop, and flicked it off the backboard on the other side. A perfect reverse layup. Eddie sailed by, his arm swinging harmlessly through the air.

  I turned and jogged backward, watching the ball fall cleanly through the net without touching the rim. “Twentytwo to sixteen now,” I said.

  Eddie grabbed the ball. “That one doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  “Traveling.”

  “I didn’t travel!”

  “Can’t you count? You took, like, four steps. That’s traveling. Twenty-two to fourteen.”

  “How could you count my steps? You were too busy chasing me after I stole the ball from you.”

  Eddie dropped the ball and advanced on me. “I can count the number of seconds it’s going to take me to kick your—”

  “Guys!” Greg yelled, running to mid-court. “Settle down. It’s a pickup game, not the Final Four.” He stepped in between me and Eddie. “Let’s take a time-out.”

  My breath came out in a ragged, shaky sigh and I realized that my hands were clenched into fists. Greg pushed on Eddie’s chest, and he walked backward off the court, watching me the whole time.

  I wiped the sweat off my forehead and huddled with Mr. Harnox while the teenagers chugged sports drinks. The smart thing would have been to just grab him and walk away. The only thing that should’ve mattered was getting him home safely. The logical part of my brain knew this. But something about the way your blood starts racing in the middle of a game—the sportscasters call it “competitive drive” and Coach calls it the “fire in your belly”—made me forget about what was best. I just wanted to obliterate that stupid look from Eddie’s face.

  “Can you jump?” I whispered.

  “Jump?”

  I sort of hopped up and down a few times. Mr. Harnox nodded.

  “The next time the bigger one shoots, jump up and smack the ball away.” I pantomimed the action.

  Mr. Harnox watched me thoughtfully and nodded. “Jump.”

  “Let’s go, ladies,” Eddie called. The game resumed. Brian snaked underneath Mr. Harnox’s arms for an uncontested layup, and I hit another jumper.

  On the next possession, Eddie pulled up for a three-pointer. As a big guy he shouldn’t even be shooting out there, but I could tell he wanted to talk some more trash.

  Mr. Harnox jumped from underneath the hoop, sailed through the air, and swung clumsily at the ball. It didn’t look too pretty, but it was effective. The ball ricocheted off Mr. Harnox’s arm and smacked Eddie right in the forehead. It happened so fast that he still had his arms in the follow-through position when the ball nailed him.

  Greg and Brian burst out laughing. “Man, you just got swatted,” Greg said between snorts.

  “Yeah, I think he blocked that shot with his elbow.”

  Mr. Harnox looked confused and a little scared. He walked over to me, and I patted him on the arm. “It’s okay. That was a nice block. Good work.”

  “I jumped,” he said.

  “You sure did!” Greg said, and that sent him and Brian into fresh hysterics.

  I fetched the ball and dribbled slowly toward the other end of the court. “What are we playing to, anyway?” I asked as I made my way past the half-court line, facing the defense. Now that Eddie had gotten a little payback, the rational part of me had returned, and I just wanted to get Mr. Harnox home without any otherworldly mishaps.

  “What’s the matter, can’t you handle losing, Space Boy?” Eddie asked.

  “Shut up, Eddie. Just play ball,” Greg said.

  “Don’t ever tell me to shut up,” Eddie said. He was talking to Greg but glaring at me while he said it.

  I tried to use Mr. Harnox to screen the defender so I could take an open three-pointer, but when I slipped around him, Eddie was right there. My momentum brought me crashing into him, and Eddie’s forearm jerked up and caught me like a metal bar right in the face.

  It hurt so bad that I didn’t even notice the pain from crashing flat on my back onto the asphalt. When I sat up and pressed my hand to my nose, blood dripped down my palm.

  Eddie towered over me. “Why don’t you watch where you’re—” he started to say, but then he shot up into the air above me. His legs dangled in the air, kicking wildly, and he choked out a surprised scream.

  Mr. Harnox had picked Eddie up by the shirt with one hand, and was holding him at eye level. “Please do no harm to the little one,” the alien said.

  Brian advanced on Mr. Harnox to help Eddie, but the alien plucked him off the ground as easily as picking a flower. He held the two boys as high and far apart as his long arms would allow. Although the teens thrashed and swore as they hung suspended in the air, Mr. Harnox did not appear to be exerting himself at all. The tall alien simply looked at me, his brow furrowed and the gray skin around his mouth bunched up in a frown.

  I stood up quickly. “It’s okay, Mr. Harnox, it’s okay.” I tried to speak in a soothing tone, but I wasn’t sure which one of us I was trying to calm down. “Just put them down and we’ll go home. All right? Just put them down.” I motioned to the ground with both arms, like I was playing charades.

  Much to my relief, Mr. Harnox shrugged and let go. The boys fell in a heap on the ground. Brian stayed down, grimacing and rubbing his ankle, but Eddie quickly sprang back up. He backed away from the alien, staring at him, but when Mr. Harnox didn’t move, he advanced on me, jabbing his finger into my face. “You little freak magnet. You come here to stay with your crazy grandma, and then you bring some violent psychopath to the park with you? You ought to be—”

  Greg stepped in between us, placed both hands on Eddie’s chest, and pushed him steadily backward. “You should probably just go home, Scrub,” he said to me over his shoulder.

  That would have been the best idea, obviously. But I saw a few drops of blood drip onto my shirt, and I got so mad I was back in that red zone again. “No.” It was so stupid I couldn’t believe it was me saying it. “Let’s finish the game.

  Unless Eddie is too afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Eddie snarled.

  “Good,” I said, and walked over to place the ball in Mr. Harnox’s hands. “Put it in the basket,” I told him, and pointed at the rim. The alien grabbed the ball and ran toward the basket without dribbling, glad to have something to do. The three teens hustled to get out of the way. He reached up and dunked the ball without even jumping. After the ball went through, Mr. Harnox held on to the rim, wrenching the bolts right out of their sockets and ripping the rim clean off the backboard with a horrible screech. He walked around the court with the orange rim in his hand, looking at it as if he weren’t sure what it was or how it had gotten there.

  Eddie, Brian, and Greg stared at us with their mouths open. I shrugged. “I guess that’s the game,” I said.

  Now Greg was the one glaring at me. “Thanks a lot. You just ruined our court,” he said.

  Mr. Harnox took a few steps toward the teens. He probably just wanted to apologize, but they didn’t know that. They immediately started walking backward, trying to put distance between themselves and the tall alien. Brian was backpedaling so fast that he stumbled and fell, but quickly pushed himself back up.

  Eddie po
inted at us. “You won’t get away with this,” he said. “I will pay you back.” Then they all turned and stalked out of the park.

  Mr. Harnox handed me the rim. “I make the apology. I do not know how to play this game,” he said.

  I sighed. “Neither do I.”

  I knelt on the sandy riverbank, rubbing cold water over the dried blood on my face and hands so Grandma wouldn’t freak out. My anger had faded, but it was replaced by pure dread. My nerves were on edge as I wondered what the teens were going to do, who they might talk to. I was definitely not looking forward to telling Grandma how badly I’d messed up.

  As I tossed rocks out into the middle of the water, Mr. Harnox prowled the edge of the river on his hands and knees. Every once in a while one of his gray hands would dart into the water and come out clutching a wriggling fish. He would show me his catch, give the fish a good sniff or two, mumble a few words to it, then toss it back in the water.

  I was about to suggest that we leave when I heard something behind me. I turned, and there was Amy, standing where the grass field of the park met the riverbank. She was wearing her yellow baseball cap, jeans, and a Windbreaker.

  “Hey, Scrub.”

  “Hey.” I stood. “It’s, um, nice to see you.”

  “Yeah?” she said, looking at me.

  “Of course.”

  She tilted her head and studied my face. “Are you okay? Your nose looks kind of red and puffy.”

  I rubbed lightly at my nose. It was still really sore. “I’m fine. I just banged it up a little playing basketball. Took a pass right in the face.”

  We just stood there for a minute or two in silence. Finally Amy said, “Well, I was just out taking a walk. I’ll leave you guys alone.” She turned and began walking away.

  I hurried over to Mr. Harnox and whispered, “Can you hang out here for a little bit? By yourself? I’ll just be right over there, in the park.” He nodded.

  I ran to catch up with Amy, near the little kids’ playground. “Wait up,” I said. I glanced back and made sure I could still see Mr. Harnox from where we were standing.

  Amy, at the jungle gym, turned to look at me. “You don’t have to worry, Scrub. I’ll stop bugging you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, just ran her fingers over the crevices of the Goodyear that hung on three chains, one of those twisty tire swings. When she spoke, it was aimed more at the tire than me. “There aren’t many people in this town I can really talk to.” She stared right at me for a moment. I thought I should say something, but, as usual, I didn’t have any words. Her eyes dropped to the swing again. “But I’m sure everybody is way cooler in Florida. So I’ll just stop.”

  My heart beat faster and my mouth got dry. Was talking to girls always this tricky, or only when you were hiding visitors from outer space? And if they can make an alien-to-earthling translator, couldn’t they make one that would help me talk to girls?

  In a flash of inspiration, I decided to try the truth. Part of it, anyway.

  “I thought you were only interested in hanging out with me because of the Intergalactic Bed and Breakfast,” I said. “You know, taking pictures, and your interest in astrobiology and outer space and all.”

  “No way,” she said, finally letting go of the tire to look at me again. “I mean, that’s part of it, but I hoped it might be something we had in common.” She took a few steps over to the regular swings and sat on one, wrapping her arms around the metal chains that held the seat. “But you must not be into that stuff at all.”

  I swallowed, hard. If only she knew. If we had any chance at being friends, I better try to convince her that nothing was going on at Grandma’s place.

  I sat on the swing next to her. “I’ve been thinking about what you said at my grandma’s, about astrobiology and extraterrestrial life and everything.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “And that’s fun in movies, but I don’t think it’s realistic.”

  “Why not?” she said.

  “I mean, if there is life on other planets, it’s probably nothing like life here. It would have evolved under totally different circumstances. We probably wouldn’t even be able to recognize it.”

  Amy smirked. She pushed against the ground with her feet and set her swing in motion, looking much more comfortable now. “You’ve obviously never studied universal traits in terms of the evolution of physiology.”

  Yikes. Never try to argue with someone who’s way smarter than you are. I sighed, and took the bait. “So…what’s all that mean?”

  “Universal traits. Things that evolution has come up with lots of different times, even on different animals or in different places.”

  “Huh?”

  “Like legs, arms, and eyes. Almost every animal, including humans, has developed some form of them, even in environments that have nothing in common. So we can at least suppose that aliens on different planets might have developed similarly.”

  I dropped my head so that she couldn’t see my expression, which I’m sure was equal parts amazement and panic. Amazement because she had figured out so much on her own, and panic because it was getting harder and harder to keep Grandma’s secret.

  But Amy must have thought I was trying not to laugh, because she pressed on. “I know, I know, it sounds weird at first. And I’m sure there are lots of differences between humans and aliens. But there have to be enough similarities so we could at least recognize them as fellow beings. I mean, after you’ve met that Neanderthal Eddie, is it so hard to accept the idea that there just might be beings of higher intelligence out there?” I laughed at that one, and Amy grinned back at me before she turned serious again. “And I bet that we could communicate, too, given enough time.”

  I glanced over at Mr. Harnox as he bear-walked up and down the banks of the river, trying to communicate with the fish.

  Amy sighed. “I should stop talking about this stuff, though,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Well, if you’re not that interested, we can talk about something else. Tell me about where you’re from.”

  We turned our swings around so we were facing each other. I told her about Tampa, and the basketball camp I was supposed to be at, and how I missed being able to swim outside whenever I felt like it. Then she reminded me that I had promised to go swimming with her sometime up at her friends’ swimming hole on the Nooksack. I was glad she still wanted to do that.

  Amy twisted her swing around and around until the metal chains were locked in a single line, then let go and spun crazily, her arms outstretched. When her swing was totally unwound, she stumbled out of her seat, and our shoes touched. She lurched forward, and I reached out to steady her, grabbing her shoulder and hand.

  She looked up at me. “Thanks,” she said, and smiled.

  When we both sat down on our swings again we were still holding hands.

  And then I felt like kissing her. It happened just like that. To be honest, I wasn’t even thinking about the Colossal Summer Challenge. There was just something about that little cluster of freckles on her nose, her lopsided smile, and the fact that she was smart and funny and not afraid to talk about the stuff she was into.

  And then the nervousness came back, with a vengeance. How would I even start something like that? I couldn’t reach her by leaning over in the swing, so I’d have to actually stand up and take a step toward her. And what if she didn’t want me to kiss her? Would I just sit back down as if nothing had ever happened? And is it possible to actually die of embarrassment if that did happen?

  We sat there, looking at each other and holding hands, and then Sheriff Tate’s patrol car cruised into Riverside Park.

  “Oh, great.” We both said it at once.

  “What?” We both said that at the same time too.

  “You first,” I said.

  “I’m in big trouble,” she said.

  “Me too.”

  Sheriff Tate bumped his car over the cur
b, drove right out on the grassy field, and pulled up broadside to the playground equipment. He rolled down his window and leaned out. “I thought I told you not to come down here,” he said. I was about to open my mouth to answer him when—

  “Da-ad!” Amy said. She dropped my hand, jumped out of the swing, and jogged toward the car.

  My jaw must have fallen below my waist.

  Amy walked around to the other side of the car and opened the door. “You’re embarrassing me,” she hissed to her father.

  “Never mind that. You climb in. They’re waiting on us, and you’re making us late.” Before she got in, she looked at me over the roof of the patrol car and mouthed, I’m sorry.

  Sheriff Tate glared at me. “Some boys just told me an interesting story,” he said. “About a little dustup down here with you and one of your grandma’s whacked-out customers. Said you two attacked them.”

  I couldn’t find my voice to protest. I just stared at the car, Amy’s sad face framed by the window.

  “I just made closing down your grandma’s place and shipping you out of town my first priority, boy. You’ll be seeing me soon.” Tate gunned the engine and sped out of the park.

  I don’t remember walking back to Grandma’s. My mind was too busy figuring out what to worry about most: the possibility of getting revenge-jumped by high schoolers, Sheriff Tate’s threat, or losing the only friend I had in this town. So many things had gone so wrong, I couldn’t muster up much emotion for any one of them. I just felt numb. Then there was the problem of what to tell Grandma. She’d been running her business safely and secretly for over forty years, and I had messed up everything in just a few weeks.

  My feet figured out the way home by themselves, though, because suddenly I was trudging up the front steps of the Intergalactic Bed and Breakfast, Mr. Harnox following.

  “Do you sense the empty feeling inside of you?” he said.