Eight Days on Planet Earth

by Cat Jordan

  “Only nighttime pickups, huh? It’s tricky to maneuver a ship at night.”

  “Trickier to see them too. Night landings are less disruptive for you.”

  I point to my chest. “For me?”

  If she’s frustrated by my questions, she doesn’t show it. “For humans. If we landed during daylight, there would be far, far more problems.”

  “Oh yes, nighttime landings . . . nobody would notice that at all. Like, at all. I think all our observatories are closed at night. Too hard to see stuff.” She doesn’t react to my sarcasm. “So, if you are an alien, where’s your mother ship? Running late? Stuck in space traffic? What would that be anyway, a comet’s tail? Meteor shower?”

  “It is my fault.”

  “How is it your fault?”

  “My calculations were not precise,” she says. “I thought last night was correct, but perhaps it’s tonight.”

  “Maybe you won’t ever get picked up.”

  “I will, that is a definite. I am going home.”

  We are both quiet for a long moment. I can hear traffic far off in the distance, a car horn, a truck on the single main drag of our small town. Finally, Priya breaks the silence. “Very well. I will give you evidence.”

  I let my shoulders rise and fall. “I’m all ears.”

  She pulls out her notebook and flips past a few pages with exceptionally neat handwriting, almost like it was typed. At the end of the book I see pages of diagrams and charts, not unlike Dad’s star charts. “This is the calculation we use to plan the route the ship will take from our planet, through the wormhole, and into your solar system.” She taps her finger on a complex algorithm that I swear uses the infinity symbol.

  I shake my head. “Priya, I wouldn’t know if that’s real or not. I’m not an astrophysicist.”

  “Neither am I.” She holds my gaze, drawing me closer to her with every blink of her deep-set eyes. We are so alone out here, and I feel the weight of the Universe around us. “I’m merely a data collector.”

  I want to laugh, to make a joke of it, but she is deadly serious. My words choke in my throat and I swallow them back with a nod. “Data collector. Okay.”

  “My planet, my people, we have a . . . a . . .” Her thin brow snakes into a question mark. “A hunger? Yes, a hunger for knowledge. There is so much we do not know.” Her eyes find mine again. “You share that too. You want to know things. About life. About your Universe.”

  About you.

  I allow my shoulders to shrug. She’s right, sort of. At least it used to be true, back when my dad believed in actual science instead of all the fakery and BS.

  “I would like to show you something.” She points at my dad’s workshop. “I need what’s in there.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  Ginger follows on our heels as we head to the basement. The air temperature cools with every step we take.

  I lead Priya through the underground tunnel and stop at the midway point like I always do. I do my thing because I have to, pretending to hold up a ton of earth above my head, feigning strain and flexing my puny muscles.

  “Ta-da!”

  Priya laughs politely.

  “Oh, you think you can do better?”

  She grins, a little cocky if you ask me, and then puts her hands on the ground.

  “Yep, that’s awesome,” I say with some snark thrown in. I do a slow-clap but she ignores me and kicks her legs up in the air so her feet are on the ceiling of the tunnel.

  “Whoa, nice!” I say. “Is that how they stand wherever you’re from?”

  Her bare legs pump up and down so it looks like she’s walking on the ceiling, which is kind of cute and makes me smile. As soon as she starts to move, though, her hair brushes the dirt floor and her skirt flips up, revealing a very small pair of pink panties.

  Oh my god.

  I turn my head but I can’t avoid seeing her T-shirt falling to her shoulders and pulling down over her bra. Which is also pink.

  I feel all the blood leave my face and brain and every other important organ and find its way straight to my crotch. I couldn’t blush if I wanted to. There’s nothing left up there to blush with.

  Just then I hear Priya giggle, and that breaks my focus on her near-naked body.

  Calm down, Matty. She’s just a girl.

  And I have no idea how much longer she can hold herself up on those spindly arms of hers.

  “Help?” she says in a small voice.

  Right. Not very long. I grab hold of her calves and keep her upright. “Gotcha.” Her skin is soft and pliable in my hands; my fingers knead her delicate muscles without even trying. Her legs bend and she tucks her head under her arms, somersaulting to the ground to finish with her knees pulled up in front of her chest and her hands on her shins. She grins up at me. “Ta-da!”

  I pull her to standing. “Is everyone a gymnast where you’re from?” I tease her.

  Priya pushes me away playfully. “No. And we don’t walk on our hands.” She heads for the workshop, steadying her walk with one hand against the tunnel wall. “We’re like you.”

  My mind pictures her pink underwear and bra and I think, Uh, no, you’re not.

  At the door to the shop, Priya enters first and goes straight to the workbench. Her finger traces one of the star charts on the wall above the wooden bench and she murmurs a few words.

  “What did you say?”

  “Gliese 581c is crossed out? Why?”

  “It’s not habitable.”

  She laughs to herself and shakes her head. “So you think.”

  “It is habitable?”

  She rolls her eyes. “The inhabitants of Gliese 581c certainly think so.”

  “What?”

  “Although they do not call it that, naturally.”

  “Naturally.”

  She tilts her head to one side and leans closer to me. The air heats up between us. “Are you teasing me, Matthew?” She adds with a lopsided smile, “Again?”

  Holy shit. Is she flirting with me?

  “I, uh, I . . .” I’m not good at recognizing flirting. Emily’s told me a million times I’m dense. She’s right. I am. So what do I do?

  I force a scowl. “Now why on earth would I tease you, Priya?” I wink exaggeratedly. “See what I did there? I said ‘earth’ ’cause we were talking about other planets.”

  She blinks once, very slowly and deliberately. “You are not as clever as you think you are.”

  I sigh. “I don’t think I’m clever at all.”

  Priya turns back to the wall and finds another chart, the one that shows the the orbits of the Gliese 581 planetary system. Her finger taps the glossy poster. “My planet is not on this star map. It’s much too small to be seen.”

  I snort. “Doubt that. NASA has some serious telescopes. And the observatory in Philly? They’ve got some pretty good refractors.” I pull a stool up to the bench and sit down. “Somebody somewhere has seen your planet.”

  Wait. Did I just say . . . “your planet”? I wave my hand across the air as if I could erase what I just said. Because I sure as hell don’t mean it.

  “So what did you want in here?”

  “Your telescope.” Priya runs to it, nearly embracing it.

  “I, um . . . I haven’t used it in a while. Not sure if it works.”

  “If I had a telescope, I’d use it every night.”

  I shrug. “Not really my thing anymore. Stars, planets . . . who cares?”

  “I don’t understand,” she says, shaking her head. “You have a telescope. You have star charts. You live next to this field, which is filled with interstellar energy.” She gestures toward the small square-paned window facing the weeping willows. “And yet you claim to have no interest in any of it.” She crosses her arms at her waist. “I don’t believe you.”

  She stares so hard at me, it should be laughable. Like when a little kid is trying to beat you at a staring contest. Eyes wide and bulging, chin jutted forward, that tapered jaw and dimpled chin, set
and determined.

  I squirm under her gaze and glance away. “I don’t have time for that crap. I have school and my friends and . . .”

  What, Matty? What do you have? Smoking weed and riding a dirt bike? That’s all I have. I don’t do sports. Don’t play an instrument or sing or write. No chess club or drama club or Model United Nations.

  I’ve never had a real girlfriend. Not unless you count hooking up once with Emily. And I don’t. Why should I? She sure as hell doesn’t.

  “But the telescope—”

  “Is my dad’s.”

  “Not yours?”

  “Not mine.”

  “I think it’s yours.”

  “You’re wrong.” I try to say it firmly, but my voice shakes.

  Priya forces me to meet her gaze. “If you don’t care, then you won’t mind if I use it.”

  “You gonna look for your ride?”

  “I’m going to show you my home,” she says soberly. “I miss it.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Okay. Do whatever you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  The sun is hours from setting. There’s far too much daylight to see any stars at all, let alone a planet in another solar system. I watch Priya stare at the star chart. Her homesickness inhabits her entire body: her shoulders roll forward, her hands twist in her lap, and tears fill her eyes.

  I have no idea what it’s like to miss home. I’ve never been anywhere that wasn’t in my home state. Except for Disney World. We went there the summer I was seven. I don’t really remember much about it except it rained the whole day, which meant we got to ride Space Mountain a dozen times. Otherwise, my world—my planet—has been my corner of Pennsylvania.

  God, that’s boring.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket. A text from Brian.

  Dude how’s the cat?

  Oh crap. Em’s cat.

  I quickly type back: what cat haha

  “Priya, I have to go out for a bit. I gotta take care of some things. You gonna be okay here?”

  She blinks. “I have been fine for days. Why would that status change?”

  Now I do laugh. “Good point.”

  When she blinks again, though, her eyelids appear heavy and weighted. She looks suddenly exhausted. “Do you want to lie down? You can go upstairs, if you want.”

  “No, no. This is fine.” She reaches a hand to the floor, steadying herself as she slumps to the concrete. “I will stay here. With the stars.” Her fingers trail up the legs of the telescope’s tripod.

  “Okay, sure, um, I’ll leave Ginger with you and the door open. If you need to go upstairs, get a drink or whatever . . .”

  “I will be fine, Matthew. Go take care of the cat.”

  My gut flutters. How did she—?

  My phone. She had to have seen the text from Brian.

  She. Is. Not. An. Alien.

  I still don’t know where she’s from or why she’s here. I take one last glance at her sitting on the floor, her legs stretched in front of her and her head resting uncomfortably against the wall.

  Someone is missing this girl. But who? And where are they?

  2:14 P.M.

  I know the Aokis’ three-story house like it was my own. The front porch has two wide planks that collapse if you stand on both of them at once. The tree outside Brian’s bedroom on the third floor is totally climbable. The tree outside Emily’s room is totally not.

  I know where Brian stashes his weed and his snacks. I know where Emily hides her diary. No, I’ve never read her private journals, but I have partaken of a Kit Kat or two when Brian wasn’t looking.

  I know the trick to opening the attic door and the best way to crank up the heat in the wintertime. I’ve put sandbags outside the basement door during spring floods and I’ve pulled down icicles from the rain gutters.

  Most important of all? I know how to hook up the Xbox, which is exactly what I do after I bring in the mail and feed Emily’s cat. It takes me twenty minutes to chop the fresh vegetables and chicken and blend it all up in an actual blender before scooping it into her special ceramic bowl. Stupid cat.

  Boo’s litter box in the laundry room needs to be emptied, but I’m waiting until the air clears. Just one day with the windows and doors closed and the stench of cat urine has permeated the air. I can’t get within yards of the box without gagging.

  I was last in this house about four days ago, but that was with Brian. There’s something eerie and disquieting about being in another family’s home without them. While you might know facts about them, I’m reminded that sometimes you don’t really know other people at all.

  Like my dad.

  Like Emily.

  Like, who could have guessed Emily would stomp on my heart after we hooked up? Was it so awful to even consider dating me? Am I gross? Do I not use enough deodorant? I crushed on that girl for a year. Granted, she had no clue about that, but couldn’t she have spent a few more seconds crafting a response to me? Did she have to say no so fast?

  I know she had a good time with me—like, I know it—but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.

  In the kitchen, I find a note from Mrs. Aoki for me:

  Hi, Matty! Thanks for watching the house and looking out for Boo. Mr. Aoki’s insulin will arrive by FedEx and MUST go in the fridge when it comes! (Help yourself to anything in there, except the insulin—ha!)

  Ha.

  Please don’t leave the doors or windows open! Hugs!

  I check the fridge but the Aokis did a good job of clearing out most of the perishables before their trip to Gran’s. Usually, they have a kitchen filled with food, enough for the four of them with plenty of extras in case friends come over or they have a party, which they often do in the summer. Mr. and Mrs. Aoki have always been “the neighbors who host parties,” going all the way back to when they first moved in and people were skeptical of them.

  Skeptical or afraid?

  But parties were the ice-breakers, and that was all because of my dad. He was the one who suggested they do something to let people get to know them.

  “You’re new is all” is what my dad told Brian’s dad. “You just need to show them you’re no different from them. We’re all the same.”

  And they did. They had a big bash and my mom and dad went and sure enough, the neighborhood embraced them. It was the first of a long-standing tradition of summer parties at the Aokis’.

  My dad was right. He had an old-fashioned charm and a sincere interest in helping others and he knew what would win people over. I guess he still does. I think my mom would agree, although we might not like who he’s charming these days.

  I fling open the back door, first making sure Boo the cat isn’t anywhere around, and let the fresh air fill the kitchen. The backyard has a set of patio furniture and an old trampoline. I can’t remember the last time we jumped on it, but it was pretty popular at the Aokis’ summer parties for a while.

  Damn, their barbecue potlucks were always the best, with every family bringing something to grill. It was at their Fourth of July party last summer that I fell in love with Em.

  After all those years of knowing her as just my friend, just Brian’s mostly serious older sister, I saw her in a different light—the light of the fireflies and holiday sparklers.

  When Mom and Dad and I arrived that afternoon with our corn and chicken, Em was wearing a yellow sundress with a matching yellow headband, and she kept kicking off her flip-flops to run through the sprinklers with the little kids she babysat for. They loved her.

  And so, apparently, did a senior named Jared Lloyd, who played baseball and was also at the party. He was a guy guy, with a husky voice and a varsity letter, and I was just Brian’s friend who couldn’t drive yet. Jared jumped in there with her, exuberant and joyful, and they held hands with the little kids and they were both so happy.

  I wanted that happy.

  I wanted that joy, that love.

  I wanted Emily. I wanted her for a whole year, and when I finally got my chance on
grad night, I took it and I couldn’t let go. It might have been one night in 365 for her, but for me it was everything. It was the only night.

  A cool breeze blows in from the yard where the skies have darkened, threatening rain. My thoughts rush to Priya, who is, I hope, asleep in the workshop with Ginger. I still have to wait for the FedEx guy, but I should have plenty of time to get her out of the house before Mom comes home.

  I grab a soda and some chips that are on the edge of stale and tuck myself into the couch to play some Xbox while I wait. The wind rattles the panes and up pops Boo, Emily’s silky-soft tuxedo cat. She gracefully hops from the floor to the coffee table and then to me. She takes a quick disdainful sniff at my chips before she curls her tail around my arm while I shoot the bad guys on the screen.

  6:10 P.M.

  I died fifteen times in Call of Duty before FedEx finally arrived. The driver must have thought I was a lunatic when I grabbed the box from him and slammed the door in his face.

  I can’t believe how late it is, but I’m pretty sure I can . . .

  Crap.

  Jack’s Mustang is in the garage in Dad’s old spot.

  Crap.

  Mom and Jack are in the kitchen, sitting in the same chairs at the kitchen table they were in last night. They’ve even got a fresh bottle of wine. I cross my fingers they’ve gotten through enough of it that they don’t notice me walk in and head for the . . .

  “Hey, kiddo!” Jack calls to me.

  Crap.

  Mom’s got a sour expression on her face but Jack is all shiny buzz cut and peachy skin.

  “Oh hey, Jack. Nice wheels.”

  “Thanks. It’s a convertible.” He turns on the car-salesman smile, but since it has no place to go, no one to land on but me, it quickly fades.

  Aaannnd, we’re done. How fast can I get out of here and check the workshop for Priya? “Um, so what are we eating for dinner tonight?”

  Mom’s eyes widen as she realizes the table has only alcohol on it. “I’m sorry, Matty. Dinner just—it slipped my mind.”

  “Yeah, food’s so rarely on my mind too.”

  “Order something, okay? I’m not in a mood to cook.”