The Seeker

by Melinda Metz

  “You positive you don’t want to get some air, or go to the bathroom, or get a soda?” he teased.

  Uh-oh. Jerry had caught on to her no-slow-dance strategy. “I’m sorry—,” she began.

  “It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I’m sort of shy, too.”

  Sort of. Liz remembered how she had pegged Jerry as a sort-of guy. But it wasn’t true. Now that she’d gotten to know him a little, she realized there was nothing sort of about him.

  Jerry held out his hand, and Liz took it. His fingers felt a little sweaty—he was nervous, she realized. He found a comer of the dance floor that wasn’t totally crammed with people, then he slid his arms around her back and held her lightly. He didn’t try to pull her up against him, and he didn’t let his hands wander too low, the way some guys did.

  Liz rested her head on Jerry’s shoulder. That way there wouldn’t be any awkward moment when he moved in for a kiss and she pulled away. She hoped Jerry didn’t notice that she was holding herself a little stiffly. She was having a hard time getting comfortable. Jerry’s shoulder was the wrong height for her or something. The muscles in her neck felt all tense.

  Liz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Jerry was wearing some kind of musky aftershave. It made her nose itch. And his shirt was sort of rough under her cheek. Ever heard of fabric softener? she thought, and immediately felt bad.

  She could feel Jerry’s heart pounding against her cheek. It was beating so fast. And hers wasn’t. Because she was totally calm.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why—Jerry wasn’t Max.

  When the song ended, Liz gently pulled away “Would you mind if we left?” she asked. “I’m not feeling that well. I need to go home.”

  Yeah. She needed to go home so she could take a long, hot shower.

  I’m going to die, Maria thought.

  She felt the water enter her nose, trickle down her throat. I’m going to die.

  Then she was free. Her body was under her control again. She scrambled to her feet, sliding on the wet porcelain.

  She hauled in a deep breath of air and coughed, spitting water. When her legs felt steady enough, she carefully climbed out of the tub. She wrapped her bath sheet around her and sank down on the floor. She needed to rest for a minute before she could even walk across the hall to her room.

  That was lethally stupid, she thought. She knew she lost time every time she used her psychic powers. And she decided to go spy on Michael while lying in the bathtub. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Maria grabbed another towel off the rack above her and scrubbed her face with it. She wanted every drop of water off her. She ripped open the cabinet under the sink and yanked out her blow-dryer. She leaned across the room and plugged it in. She pulled off the diffuser and turned the dryer to high. She didn’t care that it would turn her hair into a matted mess. She needed to be dry right now. Completely dry.

  She held the dryer so close to her scalp, she felt it starting to burn. She had to calm down. She clicked off the dryer and pushed herself to her feet. She sprayed a little conditioner into her hair, the kind you could leave in, then gently started pulling a comb through her wild curls.

  See, you’re okay, she told herself. Probably because the water hitting her face made her come out of her blackout faster than usual. You’re okay. It’s not a problem. You just have to be more careful next time.

  Yeah, she was okay. But she could have died.

  Alex made a left onto her street. Isabel wished he would keep driving. She didn’t care where. She loved sitting next to him in his little VW Rabbit. It felt so cozy and secure.

  “Do you want to come in?” she asked when he pulled up in front of her house.

  “I should get going,” Alex said. “My dad believes in getting an early start on things. He’ll probably roust me out of bed at six. By noon he’ll be doing the old white glove test on the garage, then after lunch I’m scheduled to start in on the basement.”

  Isabel felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Both her parents’ cars were in the driveway, and Max’s Jeep was parked on the street. So it’s not like she’d be alone when she went inside or anything. But she just felt better when she was around Alex, like nothing bad could happen to her as long as she was with him.

  “I could come by and help you tomorrow,” Isabel volunteered, partly because she really did want to spend the day with him and partly just to keep him talking so she could stay with him a little longer.

  “I think my dad would consider you more of a distraction than a help,” Alex said.

  Isabel popped open the glove compartment. “I’m always curious to see what guys keep in their cars,” she said. Which was a total lie. But she studied the license and registration, gum wrappers, penlight, map, and loose change, anyway. She just wasn’t ready to get out of the car.

  And Alex shouldn’t be ready to let her get out. Isabel crossed her legs, hoping the move might remind Alex that yes, there was a real live girl in his car. She wasn’t used to having to give hints. So what was going on? Why was Alex over there with his hands locked on the steering wheel when he could have his hands on her? She knew he was gaga over her. There had been days when she’d practically had to step around pools of his drool when she walked past him.

  I must have flipped Alex out when I started crying on him the other day, she thought. She’d definitely flipped herself out.

  It had felt like Alex accidentally pressed some “tears” button when he touched her. She hadn’t been feeling sad or anything, at least she didn’t remember feeling sad, but suddenly whoosh, the floodgates opened.

  “Um, I really have to take off,” Alex said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Okay Bye.” She wasn’t going to beg him to let her stay in the car. Isabel climbed out and gently shut the door behind her. She started up the walkway, then hesitated. Maybe she should do something to show Alex that she wasn’t going to lose it if they kissed again.

  Isabel turned around and rushed back to the car. She tapped on Alex’s window, and he rolled it down. “I, uh, forgot to say good night.”

  “Oh, yeah, good—” Before Alex could finish, Isabel took his face in her hands and kissed him. She caught him with his mouth half open, so she deepened their kiss instantly.

  He kissed her back for about half a second, then he pulled away. He cleared his throat. “I don’t think … I don’t think this is a great idea,” he said.

  “You’re still parked.” Isabel tried to keep her tone light and teasing even though the lump in her stomach had just doubled. “There wasn’t much chance I was going to make you have an accident.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he answered.

  “Well, what did you mean?” Isabel asked.

  “I just can’t deal with kissing you—not when I know you’re thinking about … someone else,” Alex answered slowly. “I completely understand, though. And I want to stay friends,” he added. “We can still hang out and stuff.”

  “And stuff. Oh, good. I’d hate to miss the stuff,” Isabel mumbled. She felt like someone had just grabbed a baseball bat and smacked her on the head with it. She was reeling, hardly able to keep on her feet.

  Alex had rejected her. Alex—the guy who was at least three rungs below her on the school social scale. How pathetic. How humiliating. How … unacceptable.

  Isabel forced a laugh. “Well, that’s a relief,” she said. “So I guess I’m off the hook?”

  Alex’s eyes clouded over with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, dub,” she said. “I was only being nice to you because you helped save my life. I mean, you’re a charity case. You know that, right?”

  Alex studied her for a moment, his green eyes serious. Then he shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”

  Isabel stared after his car as he drove off. Alex had looked disappointed in her. She turned and ran for the house. Trying to make it inside
before the tears came.

  Michael led Maria into his room. “We have to leave the door open,” he told her. “That’s rule number forty-seven on the Pascals’ list.”

  “So I guess we’ll just have to eat our pudding, not wrestle around naked in it,” Maria teased.

  Michael choked on the big spoonful of pudding he’d just shoveled into his mouth. Whoa. That image almost knocked his thoughts up into the X-rated zone. And he’d been doing pretty well up until now. He’d been relieved when Maria had shown up wearing those baggy overalls for the Pascals’ we-want-to-meet-one-of-Michael’s-friends dinner. The outfit helped keep his mind where it should be. Well, except for the fact that he kept getting glimpses of the tiny T-shirt she was wearing underneath the overalls. The overalls put Maria in the cute category. But the T-shirt, the T-shirt kept trying to push her over into sexy.

  Maria plopped down on Dylan’s bed and glanced around the room. Michael leaned against his dresser. “I see you haven’t taken my advice and started watching Martha Stewart,” she commented. “You need one personal thing in here at least. If you don’t get one, I’m going to give you one—maybe a nice ceramic raccoon in honor of the Pascals.”

  “I have CDs and books,” Michael protested. “What do you want from me?” Maria had lived in the same house since she was born. She didn’t understand that when you moved from place to place, you couldn’t haul a bunch of junk with you.

  “Doesn’t count,” she insisted. “I’m going shopping tomorrow. I’m going to find the very best raccoon for you. Maybe one with a little top hat.”

  “Wait.” Michael opened his top dresser drawer. “Here’s one thing I do have.” He pulled out a piece of what looked like metal about the size of a book of matches and handed it to her. “It’s from the ship. At least I think it is—I’ve never even heard of anything like it. Try crinkling it up.”

  Maria stared at him, then at the material in her palm. She tightened her hand around it, squeezing the metal into a little ball. The moment she opened her fingers, the metal straightened itself out into exactly the same shape it had been before. It didn’t even have one tiny dent. “Wow,” she whispered.

  “That’s why I think the ship is still out there somewhere,” Michael told her. “If it’s made of that stuff, it has to be pretty much indestructible. I’ve tried everything on that piece—hammer, saw, even a blowtorch. Nothing hurts it.”

  “Can I try something?” Maria asked.

  Michael laughed. “Go ahead, muscle girl. Maybe I just wasn’t strong enough.”

  Maria shook her head, her blond curls bouncing around her face. “Not that. I …” She hesitated for a moment. “This is going to sound flaky—”

  “Flaky, you? No way,” Michael joked.

  Maria didn’t laugh. “I’m serious,” she said. “I think there might be a way I can help you find the ship.”

  Michael was sure Maria was serious. The same way she was serious about her aromatherapy, and her plant extracts, and everything else. But there was no way she could—

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Maria asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Look, it is pretty strange, but a few days ago I realized I have this talent. I can touch an object and get images from it. Like I held Liz’s lipstick—and then I saw her at the mall. I saw what she was doing because I was holding her lipstick. I’ve never tried holding a piece of something and, you know, looking for the whole thing. But it might work.”

  Huh? Michael thought. What was she talking about?

  “Um …” What was he supposed to say? He didn’t want to hurt Maria’s feelings. Obviously she believed every ridiculous word coming out of her raspberry-colored mouth.

  “I’m going to try it. I just want to try it, okay?” she said in a rush.

  “Okay,” Michael answered. “Do you need some incense? I think Mrs. Pascal has some basil leaves or something we could burn,” he said. Maybe if he joked around a little now, it wouldn’t be so bad for Maria when whatever she was going to try didn’t work.

  “I don’t need anything except this.” She held up the piece of metal and stared at it. “Oh!” She turned back to him. “I get sort of … paralyzed for a few minutes right after I do the seeing—I can’t move or talk. So don’t call 911 or anything. Try splashing some water on my face. I think that helps me get out faster.”

  “Carbonated or noncarbonated?” Michael asked.

  Maria didn’t answer. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Where is the ship?”

  Nothing happened. At least nothing that Michael could see. Maria just sat there, still and quiet. Then her eyes started to move under her closed lids.

  Michael folded his arms across his chest. What was going on? Was she actually seeing something? That wasn’t possible, was it?

  Maria’s eyes snapped open. “I saw it! I saw the ship?” she exclaimed. “It was—”

  She stopped midsentence, her mouth dropping open. Her blue eyes lost their sparkle. Her face became as expressionless as a mask.

  Michael felt his stomach tighten as he watched her. She’s like a zombie, he thought. She’s sitting here breathing and everything, but all the Maria-ness has been sucked out of her.

  Water. He needed water. He raced down the hall to the bathroom, grabbed one of the little paper cups from the dispenser, filled it, and ran back. He threw the cupful of water in Maria’s face.

  Nothing happened. What was he supposed to do now? Maybe he didn’t use enough water. He started toward the door, then heard Maria gasp. He turned around in time to see her give a little twitch. Then she looked over at him and smiled a total Maria smile, her eyes bright and alive. Michael felt relief spread through him.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded. He sank down on the bed next to her.

  “I’m fine. And I saw the ship!” Maria cried, grabbing his arm.

  She sounded okay. And she did seem back to normal. But this whole psychic powers thing was still hard to swallow. “Tell me what you, um, saw,” Michael said.

  “A huge cement warehouse, as big as the mall, maybe bigger,” Maria began. “A guard was posted in front of it. A pretty heavy-duty guard—with a machine gun strapped across his chest.”

  Michael listened carefully. What Maria was describing sounded like a scene from some dumb sci-fi movie about government conspiracies. She did have a pretty active imagination. Maybe she thought she was seeing the ship when really she was remembering some fictional thing she’d seen once.

  “What kind of uniform was the guard wearing?” he asked. Maybe he could figure out which movie she was remembering.

  Maria made a face. “Totally plain gray,” she said. “And he looked really bored. He was cute, though.”

  Hmmm. If the guard had been some actor, Maria probably would have realized it. Maybe she had seen something. Maybe she did have psychic power. Stranger things had happened.

  And if she had powers, maybe she really was seeing their parents’ ship! Michael desperately wanted to believe that she was seeing their ship.

  “Were there any windows?” he asked. “Could you see anything outside that would give us a clue about the warehouse’s location?”

  Maria shook her head. “No windows.”

  It could be anywhere, Michael realized. The warehouse could be underground in the desert. Or it could be in DC. It could be in South Africa or China or … anywhere. It really could be anywhere.

  Maria moved her hand gently up to is shoulder. “Guess that wasn’t much help, huh?”

  “Well, if you really saw it, then at least I know for sure the ship exists, that it wasn’t destroyed,” Michael said. He tried to hide his doubt and disappointment. He didn’t want Maria to feel bad.

  “But you knew that already,” she said softly. “Like you said, this is indestructible.”

  Maria handed the little piece of metal back to him. Michael shoved it deep into his pocket. That scrap of debris from the crash might be the closest he’d ever get to his parents’ ship.

  “I do
n’t know why I even care anymore,” he told Maria. “Ray told us they were all dead. He told us to think of earth as our home. I just wish … I just want to see it for myself, you know? Touch something my parents touched.”

  Maria took his hand. Her warm, smooth fingers touching his skin snapped him out of his thoughts about the ship. He gazed into her blue eyes.

  “If I had something of the guard’s, I might be able to find out more,” Maria told him.

  “How would that help you see anything different than what you just described?” Michael asked. “The guard is in the same windowless warehouse.”

  “Yeah, but not always,” Maria answered. “Sometimes the guard’s on his way to the warehouse. If I saw him then, I might be able to get some landmarks,” she explained.

  But finding the guard would be as hard as finding the ship, Michael thought. The guard could be in the desert or DC or South America or China, too.

  “I guess if you knew how to find the guard, you wouldn’t really need my help, though, huh?” Maria said, echoing his thought.

  She sounded really bummed. Michael studied her face. She looked tired and sad. Maria was like that. When you were her friend, it was like what happened to you happened to her. She cared that much.

  “I should get home,” Maria said. “Remember to ask Dylan how the dance went. And get details. Guys never bother to get the details.”

  She grabbed her purse. Well, actually it was a beatup lunch box—one of the old metal ones. It had a picture of Miss America on the front. Definitely G rated.

  “Details. Right,” Michael answered as he followed her out of the room and down the hall to the front door.

  “Nice to meet you, Maria,” Mr. Pascal called from the living room.

  “You too,” Maria called back.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Michael told her. He led the way to her car. They both hesitated when they reached it. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Michael asked. “I hated the way you looked when you were paralyzed.”