Kell, the Alien

by Darcy Pattison

  Bree sang the notes, and she did loud and soft, too.

  Mrs. Lynx smiled, “Bree, you can sing the solo.”

  Then Bree smiled, and that smile made the Earth’s sun shine inside me again. Except a black thundercloud came out and covered the sun. Because I wanted to sing that solo.

  That Bree. She stole the solo away from me. I was better than Cherry. I was better than Bree.

  Walking out to lunch, Mrs. Lynx stopped me and bent to stare straight into my eyes. “Do you have a cold or something?”

  Her eyes were dark blue, almost navy. What would she do if she found out I was an alien? My family didn’t get Earthling colds. But it was an easy way to explain my loud singing. “Yes, ma’am. I just got over a cold.”

  She frowned, but walked off, shaking her head.

  In the lunchroom, I told Bree, “That song is still running around in my head.”

  “That must mean there’s nothing in your head to get in its way. Ha.” Bree smiled to show that was a joke.

  I frowned at my lunch plate. It was green beans, meat loaf and chocolate cake. My replicator would be sad to make something so ugly. "In my old home, Dad and I sang duets all the time," I said. And I ached suddenly for the red skies of Bix. Would we ever get home?

  Bree said, "My Country T'is of Thee is historical. Everyone has to learn it."

  "Well, it's a dumb song," I said.

  Now Bree looked mad. "That is not a fact." She ate a quick bite of her cake, then frowned and pushed it away. She never liked the school food, but her mother wouldn’t let her bring their chef’s food to school.

  Just then, I heard a BUZZ. Quick, I looked around. It was another flying bug.

  "What is it? Will it sting?" I could barely breathe.

  "A wasp. Yes, it stings!"

  It was flying my way.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  Closer.

  Buzz. Closer.

  I stood up fast. And there went my lunch tray. It went up and up and sent chocolate cake and green beans and meat loaf flying.

  "Oh!" Bree yelled, and kids yelled, and everything in the lunchroom was loud.

  Quick, I took off my shoe and knocked that wasp to the ground and then hit it with the shoe. That wasp was dead.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  I hate all Earthling bugs!

  And everything in the lunchroom was quiet.

  Quiet.

  Quiet.

  Quiet.

  OK, I thought, it is possible to put lots of kids in a small room and get them to be quiet.

  Then, I sat down hard. And everyone started talking again.

  A chunk of cake fell off of Bree’s hair. Plop! Right into her napkin. She whispered, “That was magnificent.” Then, she giggled.

  I put on my shoe and watched her clean the cake out of her hair with her napkin. Bree knew just what to say to make things OK. How did she do that?

  Earthling girls are funny. And nice.

  The next day, after school, Mom picked up Bree and me. We drove to a costume and party shop. It was time to get to work on the Alien Party.

  Mom, Bree and I walked into a dim, cluttered room. Clothes racks held shiny costumes, while masks covered every wall. A man was behind a counter with his back to us.

  Mom said, “Excuse me, sir.”

  The man turned and—a skeleton! Bree yelped. I grabbed Mom’s arm.

  The man pulled up his glow-in-the-dark mask, and it perched on top of his head. “My name is Mr. Jasper. Can I help you?”

  Mom chuckled, “Good joke.” She peeled my fingers off her arm and asked, “Do you have alien costumes?”

  Mr. Jasper pointed to a room in the back. “Everything in there is alien.”

  In the alien room, Bree pulled a shiny green outfit off a rack and grabbed a mask from the wall. She ducked into a changing room. When she came out, her body was a skinny stalk and the mask was twice as big as her head. She looked like a broccoli with shiny eyes.

  Bree stood in front of a mirror. “I’m an alien.”

  “Not really,” I said.

  Bree got serious. “Scientists have pictures of real aliens, and this is what they look like.”

  What on Earth did I know? Maybe some alien somewhere looked like that. But I had never met that kind of alien. And I’ve been around the universe.

  Even Mom hated that green costume. “I don’t think scientists have the right pictures.”

  Bree twirled around, watching herself in the mirror. “We could rent different costumes and play dress-up.”

  “No.” I had seen her play dress-up with pink tutus. I said, “Girls play dress up, but not boys.”

  The skeleton popped its head into the room. It said, “You want to see the newest thing in space games? Come, look.”

  In another back room, Bree held up a silver suit. Fat silver arms and legs were connected to a fat ball in the middle. “It looks weird.”

  “Let’s try it,” I said.

  But Bree dropped the suit and spun around to a rack. “Alien sunglasses! We have to get these.”

  We both tried on the alien sunglasses and stood in front of a mirror.

  “You know the difference between you and me?” I asked. “I make these glasses look good.”

  Bree just rolled her eyes at my joke.

  “OK,” Mom said, “we’ll get alien sunglasses if the budget allows. But come try this space suit game.”

  So Bree and I climbed into the suits. It was like trying to climb into a sticky balloon. Mom strapped on my safety helmet, which looked like a space suit helmet. Mr. Jasper helped Bree with her helmet. I tried to walk, but I couldn’t even take a step. I fell over.

  Mom pulled me up and grinned, “Come on, act like a spaceman.”

  Bree and I stood on a red mat, which represented the space ship. The game had easy rules. You try to knock the other person into outer space. On the mat, I was safe. Off the mat, I lost.

  The blow-up suit was so tight that I couldn’t bend my knees or elbows. I stumbled toward Bree, who shuffled toward me. The blow-up bellies were so big that we ran into each other. Bump! Splat! I fell again.

  Lying flat, I couldn’t see her, but I heard Bree giggling.

  Mom pulled me up again, and I saw Bree on the ground, too. We had bumped so hard that we both fell backwards. When Bree stood again, we charged. Bump-Kaboom!

  This was way better than playing dress-up. Bree laughed so hard, she snorted a funny noise.

  We were both standing up again. I decided it was time to push Bree off the mat and win. I charged.

  And I didn’t change direction, didn’t stop. I fell forward and landed in outer space.

  “Yes! I win!” Bree called. Mom was cracking up so hard, she could barely get the words out, “We have to get this for the party.”

  And that meant, I won. No dress up. No pink tutus. It was a good start to planning the Alien Party.

  “Yes. Let’s do it again,” Bree said.

  But I said, “Not right now.”

  Because Earthling girls don’t need to get used to winning.

  The next week in music class, Mr. Vega said, “Today, class, we will practice standing on risers for the Parent’s Night concert.” Mr. Vega started pointing to kids and telling them where to stand.

  The risers are long boards with legs. Some have short legs and some have tall legs. Risers make it easy to see the kids in the back row. Standing on the back row with me, Freddy looked me eye-to-eye. But Aja was so short, he stared at my shoulder. Finally, every-one was in place.

  Mr. Vega tapped his stick on the music stand, which meant, “Pay attention.”

  Freddy’s mom, Mrs. Rubin, played the red piano. Her red fingernails danced across the black and white keys.

  Bree sang into the microphone, “My Country T’is of Thee.” I tried not to listen because it should be me singing the solo. When Bree finished singing, she stepped back in line on the risers.

  Just then the music room door opened
and Principal Lynx walked in. Her white hair stuck out all over. “Just ignore me,” she told Mr. Vega. “I just want to listen to the choir practice.” She sat on a chair by the door.

  It was time for the choir’s great song, “The Star Spangled Banner.” I come from the stars, and anything about stars is good even if it’s just a song about stars on a flag.

  It’s really a song about fighting a battle. At dawn, the soldiers looked to see if the flag was still flying. That meant Fort McHenry was still safe. Well, not safe, because they were fighting a war. But the Fort hadn’t given up the fight yet.

  Mr. Vega tapped his stick on the music stand. He raised his stick, Mrs. Rubin started playing the piano, and we sang:

  Oh, say can you see?

  By the dawn’s early light

  What so proudly we hailed

  At the twilight’s last gleaming?

  Whose broad stripes and bright stars—

  Mr. Vega gave the stick and his hands a twist. That meant, “Stop singing.”

  Why did we stop? I was singing that part about stars with emotion.

  Mr. Vega said, “Kell, you are singing too loud. Can you PLEASE try to sing softly?”

  All the kids groaned at me. Mrs. Rubin frowned, and Principal Lynx glared.

  I gulped, swallowing my joy in the song. “Yes, sir.”

  “The rest of you sing louder,” Mr. Vega said. “And sing faster. Aja, you play the tambourine to make a beat everyone can hear. Watch me, and I can help you sing at the right speed.”

  Mr. Vega tapped his stick and started the song again. This time, I lip-synced, which means I just mouthed the words. With Aja’s tambourine, we sang faster. Mr. Vega put down his stick and clapped. “Good job!”

  Walking out of music class, Mrs. Rubin stopped me. “Kell, you are supposed to sing, you know.”

  Mrs. Lynx was watching us. “Yes, Ma’am,” I said.

  Mrs. Rubin closed the lid of the piano. “You can sing softly. I know you can.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” I was so angry that I wanted to open that piano and pound on the keys. Instead, I just walked past her.

  But at the door, Mrs. Lynx’s eyed me up and down. My knees went all alien and wobbly with fear. I spun away and staggered down the hall.

  “Next time, sing,” Principal Lynx called after me. “I’ll be watching.”

  I nodded but didn’t turn back.

  It rained all afternoon, and I wanted to hum a Bix song to cheer myself up. But I couldn’t do it soft enough. So I just sat in home room and stared at the rain.

  Principal Lynx’s words kept echoing in my head, “I’ll be watching you.”

  After school, Mom and Dad were up in one of the tree houses. Dad kept finding wood by the side of the road that someone wanted to throw away. But they didn’t care if someone else took the wood. They just wanted it gone. So Dad had built two more big tree house floors. He planned to make the tree houses look like space ships.

  The storm was over, and I climbed up to watch Dad building.

  Mom handed Dad a nail and said, “There’s only enough money for another week of food. But then they want us to pay for electricity and gas and—”

  Dad held the nail to a board. “Mrs. Hendricks paid us half—Ouch!—of the Alien Party money. We can use that money—Ouch!—for bills and use the replicator—Ouch!”

  Mom took the hammer from Dad. “Let me do it.” She hammered one nail, then said, “The replicator barely works on Earth electricity. If it burns out—”

  That surprised me. “I thought the replicator worked good.”

  “I made it work on Earthling electricity,” Dad said. “But the replicator can’t make something from nothing. It has to have the white cubes to start with. And we are running low on those. I haven’t found anything here on Earth that works.”

  Mom mumbled, “And he’s tried almost everything.”

  So that was why it smelled funny in the kitchen sometimes.

  Dad sighed. “You’re probably right. We shouldn’t use the replicator except for emergencies.”

  Now I understood why we only had Bix food once a week. I thought Mom was just trying to make us eat Earthling food. My parents were really trying hard to make things work here on Earth.

  Then Dad asked, “How was school today?”

  “Horrible. I can’t sing soft. The principal heard me sing too loud, then caught me not singing at all. She says that she will be watching me.”

  “Oh, no.” Mom put a hand to her mouth.

  “But you know how to sing soft and loud,” Dad said. “We do it all the time.”

  I crossed my arms and said, “You try it.”

  Dad sang a Bix song.

  Wow. He sang loud.

  Then Mom sang a line, and she was loud.

  “I wonder,” she said, “Maybe it’s the Earth’s air.”

  They sat on the edge of the tree house, dangling their legs and working on the loud-soft problem. Even though Principal Lynx was a UFO-Chaser and she was after me, they looked happy because they had a science problem to work out. And while they worked on the loud-soft problem, they would forget about Principal Lynx.

  I thought of Bree singing the solo and wished we could sing it as a duet. But she didn’t need a second voice.

  Earthling girls sing as sweetly as Bix crooners, the royal birds.

  “Hand in your insect reports, please,” said Mrs. Tarries, our homeroom teacher. She has spiky red hair, a black face and skinny black pants. If she had antennae, she would look like a black and red ant. Mrs. Tarries says insects are her favorite animals. Someday I might get used to living on Earth. But I will never, ever like bugs.

  Freddy pulled out his neatly stapled papers. Aja grabbed crumpled papers from his backpack.

  I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Kell?”

  “Mrs. Tarries, I forgot my insect report at home. Can I bring it tomorrow?”

  Across the aisle, Bree glared at me. But I didn’t know why.

  Mrs. Tarries stood over my desk and tapped my backpack. “Kell, you know the class rules. You have one day to bring it in. If you forget again, then you get a zero. And you have to see Mrs. Lynx. ”

  I did not want a zero. And I really did not want to see Mrs. Lynx. I would write the report that night.

  At lunchtime, Bree was waiting for me. Her arms were crossed, and her blue eyes were like laser guns. “Did you write your insect report last night?”

  “No.” I decided to give her a compliment, so she wouldn’t be mad. “But thank you for teaching me about fireflies. I have decided to write about fireflies.”

  In a voice like a TV judge, she said, “You did not tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  Bree’s mom is a lawyer, so I know this saying. It’s what people in court have to swear about telling the truth. But I’m a liar. I lie every day when I let Bree think I am an Earthling.

  Bree said, “You have to tell Mrs. Tarries the truth. You need a zero for today.”

  “No way! Why would I do that?”

  Bree’s eyes were wide, and she breathed funny. “To tell the truth.”

  I couldn’t do that. Here on Earth, I had to lie to stay alive. I said, “No.”

  Bree picked up her orange cafeteria tray. “Then we are not friends.”

  She marched over to a table of girls and sat beside Mary Lee and Cherry.

  Right away, Freddy sat down at my table. “Ugh. Finally, that girl left.”

  Why don’t Earthling boys like Earthling girls? It’s so strange.

  Then Aja came over and brought Edgar van Dyke in his wheelchair, and the guys started playing food games. First, Freddy packed thirty French fries into his mouth. Then Edgar crammed ten chicken nuggets into his mouth. Aja shoved ten French fries, ten chicken nuggets, and two cookies into his mouth at the same time and he won.

  Really? It was nine French fries because I counted. Was it a lie that Aja said he ate ten French fries? Did a small lie like that matter?

/>   Bree didn’t look at me or talk to me again all day. The Earth sun was not shining inside me. It was as dark as midnight in there.

  That evening, I was surprised Bree still came over to talk about the party.

  She frowned and said, “Well, we still have to figure out the food.”

  Mom and Dad were in the study working on the loud-soft problem. The study was full of machines and wires and things that didn’t work to call home to Bix.

  So I took Bree to the dining room and got straight to business. “Look. I’m sorry I lied about the insect report. I have it written now, all about fireflies.”

  Bree crossed her arms and glared.

  “I’ll turn in the firefly report tomorrow,” I said. “And I’ll tell Mrs. Tarries I’m sorry.”

  Bree said. “You’ll tell her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  I held up a hand and said, “I swear.”

  Then Bree smiled.

  And the sun was shining inside me again! Mrs. Tarries could give me a zero: I didn’t care. I would never lie to Bree again.

  “You sit here,” I said. “I’ll bring you some alien things, and you can tell me if you like them for your party.”

  Bree nodded.

  In the kitchen, I used the replicator to make my favorite Bix food, grawlies. The Alien Party was important, so Mom said it was OK to use the replicator. Grawlies taste like, well, nothing on Earth.

  Bree frowned at the plate of grawlies. “They look like black French fries.”

  I ate two of them. “In my part of the galaxy, these are the best.”

  She popped one into her mouth and chewed. “Hmmm. Sweet. Salty.”

  I waited for Bree’s smile. I waited for her to say grawlies were magnificent.

  Instead, Bree shoved back her chair and stuck out her tongue and started waving her hand at her tongue.