Kell, the Alien

by Darcy Pattison

  Strange, I thought.

  She gasped, “Water.”

  Her face turned red. Worried, I rushed into the kitchen, and she followed. I grabbed a glass, filled it with water, gave it to her, and she drank and drank.

  Then she hopped up and down, tears running down her cheeks and gasping, “Make it quit burning.”

  She drank and drank and drank some more.

  Finally, she collapsed on the floor and glared up at me. I squatted beside her, not daring to touch her.

  Bree jabbed her finger at me. “That was so spicy hot. You tried to kill me.”

  What if I had hurt her? My bligfa hurt just thinking about it.

  Before I could answer, she stopped and pointed. “What is that?”

  The replicator.

  Uh, oh.

  Bree wasn’t supposed to be in the kitchen. The replicator is smaller than a stove but larger than a microwave. It does not look like anything in an Earth kitchen.

  “That?” I had to think fast. “Dad is an inventor. It’s a replicator.”

  “Like on Star Trek?”

  “Yes, but for this replicator to work, you put in these cubes first.” I was talking too much, but Bree had to believe Dad was an inventor. I pulled a handful of soft white cubes from a paper bag and put a dish of cubes into the replicator.

  Bree said, “Make an apple.”

  For the replicator to work, it first needs a sample to analyze. Once it makes a kind of food, you can save that food’s setting and make it again. I used the English keyboard to type, “Apple.”

  Whirr. Whirr. Ding.

  I opened the replicator and handed Bree an apple.

  “Wow.” Bree took a bite. “That tastes good.”

  “Where do you get those cubes?” She nodded at the paper bag and took another bite of her apple.

  From Bix, of course. But I said, “From another country.” More lies. And I had just promised myself not to lie any more. I felt terrible, but what could I do?

  “Oh. Overseas.”

  Time to change the subject. “You don’t like grawlies, but we can try other alien food. What other kind of food do you want at the party?” I asked.

  “A birthday cake.”

  “Birthday cakes aren’t alien.”

  “You have to have birthday cake. Everyone knows that.”

  “Except an alien,” I said.

  But I knew I had lost this battle. Because Earthling girls sure are stubborn.

  I have never eaten a birthday cake.

  Bree ran home and brought back some of their chef’s chocolate cake, her favorite.

  Mom and Dad were still in the study working on the loud-soft problem.

  “Will the replicator make a cake?” Bree asked.

  “I think so.” I put a slice of the chef’s cake into the replicator and pushed ANALYZE.

  Whirr. Whirr. Crunch.

  The replicator said, “Can not analyze.”

  “Don’t worry,” I told Bree, “This happens sometimes. It just means you have to analyze every ingredient by itself. What’s in it?”

  “Flour, sugar, baking powder.”

  “We already analyzed those—” I stopped. I almost said, “—those Earth baking ingredients.” I had to be careful or Bree would figure out we were aliens.

  “Vanilla and chocolate,” she said.

  “Do you have some of that at your house? Can you go get it and anything else that goes into the cake recipe?”

  She was back soon with a small bag. From the bag, she handed me a small jar.

  I poured vanilla flavoring into a bowl, set it in the replicator and pushed ANALYZE.

  Whirr, whirr, ding.

  “Great, it worked.”

  Just then, Mom called from the study. “Be right back,” I said.

  Mom had a funny metal thing that she put on my neck and told me to sing. I still sang loud. Shaking her head, she took it off and waved me back to the kitchen.

  When I walked back into the kitchen, the replicator was running.

  Whirr, whirr, whirr.

  It was taking too long. I reached for the replicator door when—Bang!

  Bree screamed. I jumped back!

  Whirr, whirr, Bang! Smoke spilled from the replicator.

  I pulled the electric plug and then banged on the study door and yelled, “Mom! Dad!”

  Without waiting for an answer, I pulled Bree out the front door, onto the grass.

  “What did you put in the replicator?” I asked Bree.

  “Just an egg.”

  I stared at her in horror. An egg. In our replicator.

  Earthlings are born, but Bixsters (what we all ourselves) are hatched. We come from eggs. My family will not eat an egg.

  “Do all cakes have eggs?” I demanded.

  “Mostly,” she said.

  Suddenly panicked, I demanded, “What else has eggs in it?”

  “Oh, you know. Bread, cookies, lots of things.”

  I wanted to throw up. I had been eating chocolate cake at school every day. I had never felt so much like an alien.

  Just then, Mom and Dad came rushing outside. I told them about the replicator accident, and Dad went inside to look. He came back out in a minute and said, “It’s OK. No fire.”

  I frowned. “Did the egg burn up or explode or what?”

  Dad said, “Exploded. I threw it away.”

  Good. I didn’t want to see that dead egg.

  And I didn’t want to do the Alien Party anymore. Everything here on Earth was too hard.

  Bree smiled at me, but I couldn’t find even the tiniest ray of sunshine. Heavy thunderclouds hung over me. Bree wanted pink dress-up tutus. She didn’t like grawlies because they were too spicy. And Earthling cakes were made with eggs! Eggs!

  An Alien Party on Earth was impossible. The only way to do it was the Earthling way. I gave up. OK. Bree would get an Earthling Alien Party.

  Because Earthling girls deserve Earthling birthday parties.

  Now it was just one week before Bree’s party. Time to print invitations. She wanted cards with a picture of that green alien face, so she got that stupid picture. Inside the card, we invited kids to the party on Friday night.

  The next day at school, Bree went up and down the aisles passing out the invitations. But on the other side of the room, Freddy was passing out something, too.

  Bree and Freddy looked at each other when they passed. And it started.

  Aja held up two invitations. “You’re both having birthday parties on Friday?”

  Just then, the bell rang and Mrs. Tarries started to call roll.

  I remembered thinking about Bree’s birthday party the first time I heard about it. Who, What, When, Where and Why? To make Bree happy.

  If half of Bree’s friends went to Freddy’s party, she would not be happy. Freddy’s invitation said, “Pizza Party at Pizza Planet.” That was not as good as an Alien Party.

  At lunch, Freddy sat beside me with his cheese sandwiches. I had an eggless lunch that Mom had packed for me.

  Freddy asked, “Are you coming to my party, or Bree’s?”

  I explained that my parents were doing Bree’s party. “I might have to help them.”

  Freddy shook his head and chomped on his sandwich. He crunched his chips and snapped a carrot in half. Finally, he said, “My party is ruined because of Bree.”

  I wanted Freddy to have a Happy Birthday, too. “No,” I said, “I’ll figure out something.”

  “Really?”

  I handed him a napkin and pointed at the apple pie on his nose. “Yes, I’ll figure out something.”

  But that was a lie.

  Walking home after school, Bree worried, “What if no one comes to my party?”

  I told Bree the same thing I told Freddy. “Don’t worry. I will figure out something.”

  But that was another lie.

  All week, I heard kids talking, “Whose party will you go to?”

  By Thursday, I still had no idea how to fix the problem of
two parties.

  Thursday night was the Parent’s Night Concert. The noisy cafeteria was full of parents and kids. The risers and Mrs. Rubin’s red piano took up most of the stage.

  Just as we walked in, Mrs. Lynx said into the microphone: “Everyone sit. It’s almost time to start.”

  Dad, Mom and I sat at the back of the cafeteria and listened as the kindergarten sang. Then first grade sang. Then second grade sang. Then it was time for third grade.

  I walked up to the risers and told Bree, “Good luck on your solo.” Really, I wished we were singing a duet, not a solo. But Mom and Dad hadn’t solved the problem of why Bixsters can only sing loud on Earth.

  Then, it hit me. A duet.

  That was the answer.

  Bree and Freddy could do their parties together, like singing a duet. After the concert I would talk to Mrs. Hendricks and Mrs. Rubin about a duet party.

  Would it work? For the first time in a week, I had some hope.

  Mr. Vega stopped me at the bottom of the risers. “Aja is sick,” he said. “I want you to play the tambourine.”

  “OK.” I couldn’t sing, but maybe I could do a good tambourine beat.

  Finally, every third grade kid was in place. The cafeteria was packed, and suddenly all those Earthlings made my bligfa hurt. I couldn’t look at so many people at once, so I looked up at the ceiling. And there they were. Lots of spider webs.

  Quick, I raised my hand.

  But Mr. Vega tapped his stick on the music stand. The room was quiet. Mrs. Rubin started playing the red piano, and Bree started to sing.

  And a big spider started coming down toward me, hanging on an invisible thread. What if the spider thread broke? That spider might fall right on top of me. I wanted to shout at Mr. Vega to do something about that spider. But Bree was singing.

  The spider dropped closer.

  Here’s a fact: some spider bites make you sick.

  I shoved at Freddy and tried to side-step away from the spider. Freddy waved his hand trying to catch his balance, and that made him lean on Mary Lee, who leaned on Cherry. That made everyone else fall sideways, too.

  Then that spider dropped right for my eyes.

  I jumped off the back of the risers and covered my head and waited—for the BITE!

  Screams.

  The piano stopped.

  Then Bree stopped singing.

  I looked up. Kids sprawled all over the risers.

  Mrs. Rubin glared at me.

  Mr. Vega glared at me.

  Bree glared at me.

  Mrs. Lynx, the UFO chaser, glared at me.

  I pointed up and said, “Spiders.”

  There was a chorus of chuckles from the audience.

  And I wanted to hide.

  Mr. Chamale, the school custodian, rushed forward with a huge broom and swatted away at the

  ceiling. He even stood on the top of the risers

  and jumped up and swatted at spiders.

  Finally, Mr. Chamale told Mrs. Lynx, “Spiders all gone.” He went back stage with his broom.

  I turned to see Mrs. Rubin shaking her head. What if she said no about the duet party?

  And then Bree was in front of me.

  She said one word, “Magnificent.”

  That Bree. She always knew what to say to make things better.

  There was no time for more. I scrambled up the risers to my place and Mr. Vega tapped his stick. The music started, and Bree was singing her song again.

  And for the first time—I really listened. Before, I was busy being jealous that I wasn’t singing the solo.

  Wow! She sang it with emotion. Her song made the sun come out and start shining inside me again. And it felt good to let Bree be good at what Bree was good at.

  Maybe Bree was trying to let me be good at what I was good at, too. She was trying to let me do an Alien Party—my way. What if I forgot about all the Earthling ideas that say an Alien Party is supposed to be like this or like that. Could I do a truly Alien Party for her? She was trusting me to do that, wasn’t she?

  OK, I would try it. Mrs. Lynx, the UFO chaser, might figure out we were aliens, but it didn’t matter. Bree was going to get her Alien Party.

  Mr. Vega tapped his stick on the stand again. “The Star Spangled Banner” started out too slow. I beat the tambourine faster, and Mrs. Rubin played faster, and everyone sang faster.

  Finally, we finished singing and filed off the risers. I handed the tambourine back to Mr. Vega, and he said, “Nice beat.”

  Mr. Vega was smiling. Wow!

  Then he turned around to help the fourth graders get ready to sing.

  I sat beside Dad and waited for the fourth and fifth grades to finish singing. At last, the concert was over.

  Quick, I found Mrs. Hendricks. “Do you know that Freddy has a party tomorrow, too?” I asked.

  “Yes. Too bad. Bree won’t have as many people at her party as we hoped.”

  “What if Bree and Freddy have a party together?” I asked. “Like singing a duet.”

  “Yes. Of course,” she said. “Why didn’t we think of that before?”

  Now I just had to convince Mrs. Rubin. She was still at the red piano. She closed the lid on the keys and turned.

  “Kell? Did you need something?”

  I couldn’t speak. Mrs. Rubin was mad because I was scared of spiders and messed up the concert.

  “Ummm.”

  “Yes?”

  With a shaky voice, I said, “Do you know that Bree has a birthday party tomorrow, too, just like Freddy?”

  “Yes. Whose party are you going to?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Ummm.”

  “Speak up.”

  So, I spoke up, fast—and loud. “I have an idea. What if Bree and Freddy have a party together? A duet.”

  Suddenly, Freddy and Bree, Mom and Dad, and Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks were all around us.

  Mom said, “Mrs. Rubin, I am Jane Smith, Kell’s mom. We hope you will agree to have the parties together.”

  A tall man came up and put his arm around Mrs. Rubin.

  “This is my husband, Jacob Rubin.” She smiled up at him. “Duet? We’ve always liked duets.”

  And Freddy nodded his head, too. “Will there be prizes?”

  “Of course,” Mom said.

  Bree skipped around the group and yelled to everyone else, “We are having a duet party. You can all come to both parties, because they are the same party.”

  Walking out, Mrs. Rubin told Mom, “We will split the costs with the Hendricks. Except can you do a separate birthday cake for Freddy?”

  Mom nodded.

  “Can I give you a note about what to write on Freddy’s cake?” Mrs. Rubin asked.

  “Of course,” Mom said.

  Mrs. Rubin found paper in her purse and wrote something and gave it to Mom.

  Walking out, Bree said to me, “Thanks for fixing the party.” Then, she punched my arm and skipped after her parents.

  Wait. Did she just hit me AGAIN?

  When an Earthling girl hits you, does it mean they like you or don’t like you?

  The party planning was over. We knew WHO was coming. We knew WHAT: it was an Alien Party. We had fixed the WHEN, so Freddy and Bree could have a duet party. We knew WHERE to have the party. We knew HOW, with games, cakes, and alien sunglasses. Tonight was the night.

  All day, Mom and Dad cleaned and cooked and decorated. They worked and worked and worked. When I got home from school, I helped set up the food table.

  Just at 6 p.m., Mary Lee and her Dad walked toward my back yard fence.

  She said, “My Dad wants to stay and watch a while. Is that OK?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Aja and Freddy came up behind them. And I saw other kids coming.

  “Welcome! And Happy Birthday, Freddy.” From a cardboard box, I handed each person a pair of lime-green alien sunglasses.

  Bree came up, too, and she wore an alien costume. Let me tell you, she looked like—a broccoli.


  I opened the gate to my back yard to let them in. Even I stared in awe. I knew it was just green Christmas lights, a bounce house, eleven trees, some tree houses and some wind chimes. But it was no longer just a back yard.

  An eerie green glow swirled across a peculiar landscape. Straight ahead shimmered a flying saucer, and everywhere fireflies flickered. Long, inky shadows marked the pillars of a spaceport, and glowing overhead, a spaceship was docked at each pillar. From above came an unearthly music, deep melodic tones mixed with a sweet tinkling. The stars were singing!

  Freddy stepped forward and then spun to stare with wide eyes. “Wow, it even feels alien to walk.”

  “Mom just grows thick grass,” I said. But my grin widened because Dad had installed an anti-gravity machine. As soon as a person stepped into the backyard, they weighed a tiny bit less than normal. Just walking felt alien.

  Freddy told Aja, “Let’s try the flying saucer first.” They sprang away toward the bounce house.

  Mary Lee and Bree bounded over to the food table.

  Everything was going great, I thought. Bree and Freddy were happy. What could go wrong now?

  And then Principal Lynx walked up. She leaned down until her face was level with mine and whispered, “Tonight, I will catch an alien.”

  Startled, I said, “I feel safer already.”

  She smiled at that and took the alien sunglasses from my hands and slipped them on. Lime green glasses, white hair—she looked very alien to me. She stalked into the party.

  My bligfa hurt so bad. Mom and Dad and I had already talked about Principal Lynx looking for clues to aliens. We couldn’t stop her, Dad said, so we just had to keep our secrets.

  I let out a big sigh. The party had started, and everyone had come. Even Mrs. Tarries, Mr. Vega, and Mrs. Crux were eating star-shaped sugar cookies.

  Now, Freddy was dressed up in one of the blow-up space suits. When he got bumped off the mat and into outer space, Mom pulled him up. He got a prize for winning three times in a row. It was a framed picture of an alien.