The Homecoming

by Alan Russell

  Michael had warned Stella not to let their mother be a ‘helicopter mom.’ “If you don’t set boundaries,” he’d said, “she’ll hover over you and smother you.”

  “Since Mrs. Hernandez gave me a map of the school,” said Stella, “I might as well use it and walk to class on my own.”

  Her mother said, “Wouldn’t it be easier . . .”

  Stella shook her head. “I’m okay, Mom.”

  “It sounds as if your little one is ready to fly the nest,” said the counselor.

  Eleanor opened her mouth to object. The words didn’t come out, but her thoughts did.

  For seven years I’ve been separated from my daughter. Even if she thinks it’s time to fly on her own, I am not ready to let her do that. I should have proposed homeschooling with Duncan and Dr. Froke. But the reason he wanted her back in school so soon was that he thought she was in need of socialization. He probably wouldn’t have liked the idea of homeschooling. But I still should have pushed for it.

  Stella tried to not be drawn in by her mother’s heartbreak. She rose to her feet, and was followed by the counselor, and finally her reluctant mother. Mrs. Hernandez shook Stella’s hand and said, “Good luck.” Then she shook Eleanor’s hand and said, “She’ll do great; you’ll see.”

  Nice girl was the last thought Stella heard.

  Mother and daughter walked out of the counselor’s office, and then Eleanor took Stella in her arms. “Call me if you have any problems at all.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Her mother’s tears moistened her face, and she could feel her mom’s emotional roller coaster. It was enough to roil Stella’s stomach. The two disengaged, and her mother tried wiping away her tears, but then gave up. “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  “Your brother said he would give you a ride home. And he promised to be there if you need any help. I’ll text him and remind him of that.”

  “It will be okay, Mom. I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll be texting you as well. Please text me back. But you had better hurry to class. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”

  Eleanor started to walk off, but then she came back and gave her daughter one more hug.

  I’ll be waiting for her at home, just like I have for so long.

  As Stella exited the administrative offices, she left the relative quiet behind and entered the tumult of two thousand teenagers making their way to classes. The noise reverberated throughout the quad, and almost stopped Stella in her tracks. It wasn’t only the conversations she had to contend with; it was all the thoughts. The encompassing chaos had a roller-coaster effect on her, making it difficult to focus on her map. With unsteady steps she continued walking toward her geometry classroom.

  Bodies careened toward her, veering off at the last moment. Hundreds of conversations overlapped. Most hands were wrapped around phones. She heard music, and discussions being carried out over speakerphones. Faces came in and out of view, and with them Stella heard voices, some aloud and some only in her head.

  “Damn, that girl’s putting off so much glow I need my sunglasses!”

  Stella tried to identify the mind behind the words, but there were too many probing eyes. And then there was a female thought aimed at her.

  “She’s probably anorexic and bulimic. Real girls have curves.”

  Stella stepped away from a heavy girl about her age giving her the evil eye.

  “Goldilocks, Goldilocks, why don’t you try my porridge? Trust me, it will be just right. You’ll want to slurp it down.”

  She met the eyes of a boy fixated on her flaxen hair, and turned away from his hungry stare. His smile belied the anger Stella sensed, but then she heard, “Stuck-up ho. What do you call a blonde with half a brain? Gifted.”

  His mean laughter followed her, but Stella knew she was the only who could hear it.

  “That’s the chica in the news, the congressman’s kid that came back.”

  A brown-complexioned boy studied her. He had a full, dark mustache, which he stroked with his thumb and forefinger. And then the voice in her head changed again, becoming female this time.

  “Isn’t that the girl Tiffany was talking about? Yeah, that’s got to be her. Tiffany called her Rip Van Vanilla. I’ll have to tell her about Rip’s being here. She’ll want to know.”

  Her glee was unmistakable. There was something else she was broadcasting, something mean, but Stella tried to block that out. She needed to keep moving. The different buildings all had numbered classrooms, and she finally found the room she was looking for. As she stepped through the door, most of the tumult was left behind her. Her hands were actually trembling, and she took several deep, steadying breaths. “Mad World,” she thought. It was a song on Michael’s playlist whose haunting lyrics had prompted her to play it over and over again.

  “Mad World” was what she was experiencing.

  There was an adult seated behind a desk at the front of the room. Stella approached the man and waited for him to look up.

  Finally he did, and she said, “Mr. Rankin?”

  He nodded, and she said, “I’m Stella Pierce,” then handed him one of the forms given to her by Mrs. Hernandez.

  “That’s right,” he said. “You’re the new student.”

  She’s the congressman’s kid. I voted against him, but she doesn’t need to know that. God, she’s probably another stuck-up prima donna. That’s all I need.

  The static, as Stella thought of it, cleared up as the day went on. She suspected the adrenaline rush brought on by Wilkerson and the start of school had triggered the way her mind heard things. At the advent of the threat, her awareness had escalated, but as the hours had passed, the static had gradually turned into background noise. That was a good thing. It was hard to endure all the voices in her head.

  For lunch Stella bought the vegan selection, a pita plate with hummus and salad. Instead of sitting down at one of the indoor tables, she walked outside and followed a pathway, then found a seat atop a retaining wall. The cafeteria was near enough that she could hear its din; it was far enough away to not be intrusive.

  The sun felt pleasant on her face, and for a few seconds Stella closed her eyes. Then she felt the vibration of her phone and reached for it. Luke Hart had texted her.

  Where r u?

  Stella thought about his question, then texted him her GPS coordinates.

  Luke texted back: How about in English?

  It took her a moment to understand that he was making a joke of what she’d written, and that GPS coordinates weren’t the location he wanted. Stella tapped a new answer: Roughly 120 meters southwest of the cafeteria.

  Is that near Performing Arts?

  She looked over at the nearest building. Sandwiched between two huge decorative masks—one frowning and the other smiling—were the words Performing Arts.

  Yes, she typed.

  C U in 5.

  While Stella ate her hummus and salad, it almost felt like she was being observed by the two masks. Her eyes were more drawn to the frowning face. Had some tragedy befallen him, or was it a series of sad tidings?

  In the midst of her musings, a slightly breathless Luke showed up. “Hey,” he said.

  She matched his word and smile: “Hey.”

  “Michael’s driving off campus for lunch. I’m supposed to text him if you want anything.”

  “I already grabbed lunch,” she said, showing him the remains of her plate.

  “Okay,” Luke said skeptically. “But if you want some real food, Michael’s getting takeout pizza.”

  “That was always his favorite.”

  Luke motioned next to where Stella was sitting. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “I’d welcome your company.”

  He vaulted up next to her, made himself comfortable, and said, “It must suck to be the new kid at school. Because of that, I brought you a present.”

  Luke handed her an apple.

&
nbsp; “Thank you,” she said. “Where’s your lunch?”

  “Michael’s getting me a calzone,” he said.

  “Is he bribing you to babysit me?”

  Luke shook his head. “It was my idea.”

  “Let’s share the apple,” she said, taking a bite and then handing it to him. “My mom used to always say, ‘An apple a day keeps the doctor away.’”

  Luke took a bite. “My mom’s family came from Ohio, and she says we’re related to Johnny Appleseed.”

  “I don’t know who Johnny Appleseed is.”

  Luke passed back the apple. “He’s this guy who traveled around the American frontier planting apple seeds and growing orchards. His real name was John Chapman, but everyone called him Johnny Appleseed. He wore this tin hat that he also used as his cooking pot. If you believe the old stories, he was a gentle soul who didn’t hurt anything, not even insects.”

  “He sounds like he was a good man,” said Stella. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if you were related to him.”

  Luke looked pleased at that. “I do like apples,” he admitted.

  Voices rang out from the front of the Performing Arts Building. Half a dozen students, some in costume, were shouting. Standing in the middle of a circle of young men was a young woman.

  “What!” she called. “Must I burn again? Are none of you ready to receive me?”

  The young man nearest to her showed his upturned hands. “The heretic is always better dead,” he said. “And mortal eyes cannot distinguish the saint from the heretic. Spare them.”

  The girl raised her eyes, looking right at where Stella was seated, and beyond her. “O God that madest this beautiful earth, when will it be ready to receive Thy saints? How long, O Lord, how long?”

  Stella turned to Luke, her eyes asking for an answer to what they were seeing. “Sometimes the drama students like to do their practicing outside,” he said. “They’re getting ready for the play Saint Joan.”

  “What’s it about?” asked Stella.

  “There was this girl called Joan of Arc,” he said. “She said God told her to lead the French army into battle and drive the English out of the country.”

  “And what happened?”

  “I think she succeeded, or at least she did for a time, but in the end she was burned at the stake.”

  Stella shuddered. “Really?”

  Luke nodded. “They accused her of being a heretic and a witch.”

  “When in doubt,” Stella said, “blame the witches.”

  This time it was Luke’s eyes asking for an explanation.

  “I just came from Mrs. Baum’s class,” said Stella. “We were reading from The Crucible.”

  “Been there and done that,” said Luke. “That was one strange play.”

  “Mrs. Baum pointed out some of the metaphors going on in the play. She said every generation has its witchcraft trials.”

  “You’d think once would have been enough.”

  “You would think,” said Stella.

  Stella’s last class of the day was biology. As the students were being dismissed for the day, Dr. Rommel growled, “We have frog day tomorrow.” Stella wondered what he meant, but didn’t ask. Like everyone else, she was glad the school day was over. Besides, it was clear Dr. Rommel did not encourage class participation. In fact, he had the ability to freeze any unwanted conversations by turning his thick lenses in the direction of the offenders.

  Michael had texted Stella to say she should walk past the front entrance of the school toward the western parking lot, and that he and Luke would be looking for her. As she walked in that direction, Stella heard the laughter of girls, but took no notice beyond that until a familiar voice said, “There she is!”

  Tiffany was pointing a finger at her. Standing around Tiffany were the giggling Y-Girls.

  Several individuals started running her way. A man with a shoulder-mounted camera moved to intercept Stella, but a woman with a handheld microphone was the first to reach her side. In close pursuit was a second man, who was also holding a microphone.

  “Stella Pierce?” asked the woman.

  “Yes?” said Stella.

  “I’m Delaney Lee from NBC9 San Diego. Do you mind talking with me for a minute?”

  “Talk?” asked Stella.

  The second reporter joined them, and Stella found another microphone shoved her way.

  Delaney Lee asked, “You are the daughter of Congressman Duncan Pierce?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And for seven years you’ve been missing?” asked the reporter.

  “I’ve been away,” said Stella.

  “As I understand it,” the woman said, “you are on record as saying that during that time you were with the Travelers. Is that right?”

  Before Stella had a chance to answer, the male reporter began talking. “I’m Guillermo Aleman, Stella,” he said, “from San Diego News Three. You say these so-called Travelers are extraterrestrials, isn’t that right?”

  Stella opened her mouth to answer, but then decided to say nothing. This wasn’t Delaney Lee’s first go-around with ambush journalism, however.

  “The Travelers abducted you, didn’t they?” she asked.

  “No,” said Stella.

  “They stole you from your parents when you were a little girl.”

  “They didn’t steal me,” she said. “They invited me to join them.”

  The competing male reporter followed Lee’s lead. “You deny that they enticed you with candy and promises to get you to go along with them?”

  “They never did anything like that,” said Stella, “and they never would.”

  “So you went off with them willingly?” asked Lee.

  “Yes,” said Stella.

  “You’re saying for the last seven years you haven’t been a prisoner?” asked Aleman.

  “I was never a prisoner.”

  It was Lee’s turn to ask a question: “But you were going around the universe with these Travelers?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Michael’s voice screaming, “Stella!”

  She looked around for him and was surprised to see dozens of students clustered around her, including Tiffany and some of the Y-Girls.

  “Stella!” Michael yelled once more.

  This time she was able to follow her brother’s angry voice. Half his body was hanging out the driver’s-side window of his car, and he was wildly gesturing to her.

  “Why did the Travelers want you to accompany them?” asked Aleman.

  “What did your father say when you told him where you’d been all these years?” asked Lee.

  The crowd drew in closer to hear her answers, and Stella felt penned in.

  “Coming through,” said a loud voice that she was overjoyed to hear.

  Luke Hart pushed his way through the circle, and she hid her face in his protective arm.

  “Let’s pull a ghost,” he whispered into her ear.

  With Luke leading interference, they began walking in the direction of Michael’s car.

  “Bye-bye, Space Girl,” said Tiffany, offering up mock-concern.

  The Y-Girls echoed her words: “Bye-bye, Space Girl.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Even before Luke and Stella could put on their seat belts, Michael said, “What the hell happened?”

  “They were asking me about the Travelers,” said Stella.

  “How could the media have known about the Travelers?” asked Michael.

  He hit the accelerator. Luke knew that when his friend was upset, he drove fast. Michael turned to Luke, challenging him to say anything.

  “Why is it you keep thinking I’m the one who’s talking?” said Luke. “I didn’t say anything to anyone. I swear it.”

  “Someone had to have tipped them off,” said Michael. “Only our family knew, and Detective Cheever, and Stella’s shrink.”

  “The Y-Girls somehow knew,” said Luke.

  “And you didn’t say something to Tiff
any?”

  Luke shook his head. “Not a word.”

  “Why are you the one who’s acting so angry, Michael?” asked Stella.

  “Because you know talking about the Travelers is going to make you look crazy, don’t you?”

  “Isn’t that my problem?” said Stella.

  “You’re not the only one involved. You’re making our family a laughingstock.”

  “Would you rather that I lied?”

  “I’d rather that you weren’t so messed up,” he said.

  “That’s enough,” said Luke.

  “Don’t tell me what’s enough. Our family has been treating Stella with kid gloves. We should have told her that her Travelers story was bullshit. Instead, we’ve been dancing around the elephant in the room.”

  “That’s right,” said Stella. “You didn’t want to talk about the Travelers. No one in our family did.”

  “You want a conversation nonstarter?” asked Michael. “Tell someone you went off into space with extraterrestrials. What do you say to that?”

  “I can think of lots of things,” said Stella. “For example, you could have asked, ‘Where did you go?’ and ‘What did you see?’”

  “You’re my sister, Stella, and I love you, but I am not going to feed into your delusion. Mom and Dad say you have refused to take meds that might help you think straight. It’s time you reconsidered that.”

  Stella turned her head, looked out the window, and let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

  “It’s not fair to blame Stella for being caught off guard,” said Luke.

  Even though she knew Luke was trying to help, Stella said, “What’s not fair is my having to worry about what I should say or what I shouldn’t say, instead of just being able to tell the truth.”

  “I’m going to call Courtney,” said Michael, “and find out what happened.”

  No one responded; no one in the car was feeling very good about themselves.

  “Next time people ask you questions,” said Michael, “don’t feel like you have to answer.”

  “Including you?” Stella asked softly.

  Michael pressed down on the accelerator by way of answering. The three of them drove the rest of the way home in silence. As the car turned onto their cul-de-sac, Stella saw a familiar-looking face standing at the corner. Guy Wilkerson smiled at her. Stella didn’t alert the others.