Unidentified Suburban Object

by Mike Jung

  “I hope you won’t hate us forever, Chloe,” she said in a voice that sounded really, really tired.

  “I don’t hate you. I just …”

  I just don’t trust you. Which actually felt a hundred times worse, like I was the one stabbing her in the back even though it was the other way around.

  “We were trying to protect you. That may not have — ”

  “Can you open the trunk?” I said, not waiting for an answer as I unbuckled my seat belt, opened the door, and got out to stand by the back of the car. When Mom got out of the car I turned to the side just enough to put her completely out of my field of vision, but I could still hear her sigh right before she popped the trunk open. She silently helped me gather up the books and carry them into the house. When she put her share of the books on the living room table I consolidated them back onto my stack and went straight to my room, not stopping to take off my shoes or anything. I dropped one book, and in the spirit of not stopping I soccer-kicked it along the floor until it slid up against the door to my room.

  I went in, shut the door behind me, and didn’t come out for three days.

  The fact that it was the weekend made it easier to stay in my room (mostly) for three days. I spent the whole time reading and analyzing book covers. At some point on Friday night Dad knocked on the door and said something about dinner, but I ignored him, and eventually he went away. I didn’t study, or work on the Model UN project, or practice the violin.

  I also didn’t remember Shelley was supposed to come over on Sunday to work on stuff, but of course she did. I was neck-deep in book analysis by then, and she seemed … well, a little freaked out by it.

  Mom knocked a bunch of times, but she stopped after Dad talked to her — I couldn’t hear what they said, but I heard his voice on the other side of the door right before the knocking stopped. I probably could have found out what he said by rolling my chair over to the door and putting my ear against it, but what was the point? If they were leaving food for me (which they had been) I’d wait until they left to bring it in and eat.

  I was halfway through my second book about bug-eyed monsters from space when the knocking started again. “Knocking” wasn’t quite accurate, actually: There was only one knock before Shelley opened the door and came in.

  She actually kicked the door open — it hit the wall behind it and bounced back hard enough that she had to stop it with her hand. She looked around my room with a slit-eyed look on her face, and I almost felt embarrassed at how messy it was. Almost — it was too dark to actually see the mess. Shelley walked over to the floor lamp and stomped on the on/off button, filling the room with light. I blinked a few times.

  “Have you read this?” I waved a handful of potato chips as I held up the book I was reading. “Interstellar Terror? The title sucks, but the book’s actually pretty good.”

  “Chloe, what are you doing?”

  “I’m reading this book. It’s about these aliens who come to Earth, they — ”

  “Chloe.”

  “ — introduce an alien virus into the water supply, and you know what, the heroes in these movies, the people who save the world, they’re all white people, ALL OF THEM — ”

  “Chloe — ”

  “And when there are human-looking aliens, they’re also all white people! Why don’t any of the aliens who look like white people get killed?”

  “Chloe!”

  “Where are the Korean people? Why is it always a white person who saves the world? Why are the aliens always the bad guys??”

  I waved my arms, lost my balance, and almost fell out of my chair.

  “EARTH TO CHLOE!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

  I decided to look at Shelley. “Earth to Chloe. Very appropriate.”

  “What do you mean, very appropriate? I’ve texted you about a thousand times — know how many times you’ve texted back?”

  I crammed the handful of potato chips into my mouth and stared at Shelley, chewing slowly. She made a circle with her thumb and index finger and stuck it in my face.

  “ZERO,” she said. “Some best friend, huh?”

  “You’re an okay best friend.”

  “I mean you!” Shelley threw her hands up in the air.

  “What are you … hey, wait,” I said as she grabbed the book out of my hands, looked around for something to use as a bookmark, then defiantly snapped it shut WITHOUT using a bookmark. “I’m reading that. You just lost my place …”

  “Now you’re reading ME. I mean, looking at ME.” Shelley spun my chair away from the desk. I grabbed the armrests as she dragged/turned me so I was facing her and pushed me into a corner. The chair thunked against the walls, and I yelped.

  “Wow, somebody’s had too much sugar today,” I said.

  “At least I’m not spending all my time sitting in the dark, reading alien invasion books. You look like you’ve been living in an abandoned school bus!”

  “Hey, there’s totally a book where the aliens do that! Bus Driver from the Stars — it’s for little kids so it’s kind of stupid — ”

  Shelley smacked a palm against her face and abruptly sat on the bed. She bounced a couple of times, palm still pressed against her face, then dropped both hands into her lap and glared at me with her head tilted forward. I looked down at my lap, which was covered with potato chips. I picked one up and held it out.

  “Want a potato chip?”

  “No, I want you to snap out of it. You know we have a bajillion Model UN assignments to work on, right?”

  I shrugged.

  “Have you been working on them?”

  “What are you, my mother?”

  “I’m your FRIEND, Chloe. I know, you don’t care anymore, and I don’t know why I still do, but I do. I guess I’m also an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” I said in a quiet voice, looking down at my hands.

  “No I’m not, but you sure are acting like one.”

  I felt a sizzle of anger when she said that.

  “You don’t have any idea what’s going on with me, Shelley.”

  “No DUH, Chloe, you haven’t actually TOLD me what’s going on with you! If you tell me what’s going on with you then I’LL KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON WITH YOU!”

  The anger went away, poof, and I stared at Shelley helplessly.

  “I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t …”

  Believe me.

  “… understand.”

  “Yes I would.”

  I sighed and put my hands over my face.

  “No you wouldn’t. You’d think I’m crazy. When my parents told me, I thought THEY were crazy.”

  “I won’t think you’re crazy.”

  “Well, you’ll think I’m weird, then. Very, very weird.”

  “Guess what, Cho, I already think you’re weird. You know why?”

  “N — ” I guess it was a rhetorical question, because Shelley kept right on going.

  “Because when you get hurt playing soccer you refuse to come out of the game; because I actually think you can play the sadistic violin solo that Adam can’t even begin to play; because I’m pretty sure you’d be willing to get in a fistfight with anyone who’s being a bully; because you’ve already kissed a boy — ”

  “Yecch, I haven’t kissed any boys!” I sat up quickly enough to make the swivel chair roll backward, which made me lose my balance and spill potato chip crumbs all over the rug.

  “You’re such a liar, but whatever. My point is, you’re extremely weird.”

  “Gee whiz, thanks.”

  “Chloe, you hang out with me, the biggest weirdo in the entire school. The only thing I’m good at is grades. You’re good at everything, including being a best friend. At least you used to be good at that.”

  Shelley crossed her arms and stared at the wall behind me, and I realized she wasn’t just mad — she was also about to cry.

  Aaaack! I was the worst best friend ever.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Silence.
/>   “I’m a total jerk.”

  “Yes you are,” Shelley said. “NOW go back to the ‘I’m sorry’ part.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Shelley leaned over with her elbows on her knees, still cross-legged on the bed.

  “SO WHAT’S GOING ON?”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out noisily.

  “You really will think I’m crazy.”

  “WHAT’S GOING ON, CHLOE?”

  “My parents finally decided to talk to me about being Korean, and they said we’re actually” — another deep breath — “aliens.”

  Shelley blinked.

  “Meaning what, you’re illegal aliens? Like you could be deported?”

  “No, not that. We’re aliens. From outer space.”

  Silence.

  “Not Korean, in other words.”

  I tried to make it sound all casual and jokey, but my throat was like a tunnel coated with sandpaper, and it came out kind of raspy instead.

  Shelley’s eyebrows were a crinkly disaster area. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, started laughing, then slowly and gradually stopped laughing when I just kept staring at her. I don’t know if it showed on my face, but that was when I realized how desperate I was. I really, really needed Shelley to believe me.

  “Wow, you’re serious,” she said.

  “Have I ever lied to you? About anything?” I pushed my hair back from my face and squeezed the top of my head with both hands.

  “You mean recently? Like when you didn’t come to my house before school that one day?”

  “Oh, right. I’d just found out the night before …”

  “No kidding. Do you really think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

  “Well, no, I mean … I just …”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Until THAT TIME, no, I guess not. But Chloe, this is … you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Do you have …” Shelley waved her hands in circles on either side of her head. “… proof?”

  “Yeah.”

  As we went out to the greenhouse I told her the details of the conversation with my parents, my conversation with Ms. Lee, and all of the strange websites for people who think they’re aliens to talk to each other.

  “The people on sites like Abduction Reconstruction are really OUT THERE, though,” I said as I opened the greenhouse door. I caught the look on Shelley’s face and sighed. “I know, I know — I sound out there too. I know.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Shelley said as she closed the door behind her.

  We went to the big plastic tub of plants and fish in the middle of the greenhouse, the one with Dad’s special variety of “koi.”

  “This is gonna be gross,” I said, more to myself than to Shelley. I dunked a hand into the tub as Shelley watched with a worried look on her face. I wondered if I’d even be able to catch one, and if I couldn’t, how I’d convince Shelley I wasn’t crazy, when a fish practically swam right into my hand.

  “Huh,” I said, lifting the fish out of the water.

  “Wow, did you just catch that with your bare hand?” Shelley said, impressed.

  “Uh, sort of. Okay …”

  I held the fish up at chin level, trying to decide where to lick it. The fish wasn’t wiggling or anything, which was bizarre enough, but it also seemed like it was looking at me, which was off-the-charts bizarre. Except it wasn’t, now that Mom and Dad had whipped out a whole new set of charts.

  I dabbed at the fish’s side with my tongue, trying to block out the “AAUGH!” sound Shelley made. I had my eyes mostly shut, but I didn’t close them all the way because I didn’t want to lick the fish’s eyeballs by mistake, so I saw the spot where my tongue landed immediately start glowing. I almost spit right on the floor of the greenhouse, but then I remembered how Dad did it. I spit into the tub, then dropped the fish back in.

  “That is so gross,” Shelley said, but she also walked up to me.

  “Is that enough proof for you?” I said. I turned around and spit into the tub again.

  “Yeah, I guess. There isn’t any way a normal human being can glow like that.”

  “Normal.” I laughed, then turned and spit again, even though nothing was coming out of my mouth. “You should just say ‘human being’ — not even an abnormal human could do that.”

  “So … this is why you’ve been so whatever lately, huh? Hey, are you okay?”

  Shelley put a hand on my shoulder, I guess to keep me steady, but I suddenly couldn’t see straight.

  “Yeah, I’m okay … well, maybe I’m not … I feel …”

  “Chloe? Chlooooeeeeee?” Shelley’s voice got all drawn out like it was being played at half-speed, and her face turned into kind of a starburst of blurriness, and then I don’t know what happened because everything went kerblooey and I passed out.

  My memories of first grade are pretty fuzzy, with a few exceptions. There was that time our teacher Mrs. King got a new book for the classroom that I couldn’t wait for her to read. But then she read it while I was out sick, and wouldn’t read it again the next day. There was the day Marie Philips, who was almost a third best friend with me and Shelley, moved away. The thing I remember best, though, was the time when Mom picked me up from school and Mrs. King pulled her aside to talk.

  “You must be so proud of Chloe,” Mrs. King said as kids and parents milled around inside and in front of the classroom. “She’s such a gifted child.”

  “Thank you, we are,” Mom said, looking down at me with a smile and stroking my hair over and over. “She makes us proud every day.”

  I smiled back, ridiculously happy, ignoring the other kids who were giving me mean looks as if it were my fault their parents weren’t saying stuff like that to them.

  “It must be so stimulating for Chloe to have two scientists for parents!”

  “We try to keep things interesting for her. Don’t we, big girl?”

  “Yeah,” I said, leaning backward against Mom and turning my face up to look at her. In first grade my head only came up to Mom’s waist, and when I looked up like that her face was like something floating in the sky.

  That dreamy first-grade moment seemed far, far in the past when I opened my eyes to the sight of Mom leaning over me with a plastic cup in her hand. The cup said Fenton’s Creamery on it, with a picture of a rocket ship surrounded by stars and swirly planets. Of course.

  “You just had to try it for yourself, huh, big girl?” Mom said with a one-sided smile. I guess she wasn’t mad — she never calls me “big girl” when she’s mad. She actually hadn’t called me “big girl” in a long, long time, and it might have made me get choked up if I didn’t already feel like I was about to puke.

  Waking up on the floor of your dad’s aquaponic greenhouse isn’t very pleasant. That floor’s always at least a little bit wet, first of all, and it’s a green, fishy, smelly kind of wetness. I could feel it in the hair on the back of my head. I could feel it on my scalp.

  “Mrrggle,” I said, or something like that.

  “We expected you to tell Shelley, but not in such a dramatic way,” Mom said.

  “Proof,” I said. “Needed proof …”

  Shelley was silent, which was probably the smart choice.

  “Here, swish this around in your mouth,” Mom said as I sat up with a groan.

  “My head hurts,” I mumbled.

  “The fish enzymes don’t affect us all the same way,” Mom said. “You don’t have a lot of tolerance built up, you know. Swish.”

  She raised the cup to my lips, and I backed away at its stink.

  “Gah, vinegar? Ech.”

  “You don’t have to DRINK it, just swishing it in your mouth is enough. It’s only a tablespoon or so, and it’ll make your head feel better.”

  I wanted my head to feel better more than I wanted to say no to Mom, so I held my breath, poured the vinegar into my mouth, and swished it around. My tongue and gums tingled briefly, and what do you know, I fel
t better almost right away. I got up on my knees and spit the vinegar into the plant/fish tub.

  “This greenhouse is a lot less appealing than it used to be,” Shelley said.

  “Do I have to worry about growing a third eyeball or something?” I asked Mom without really looking at her.

  “No third eyeballs, you’ll be fine.”

  “Is there anything cool about being from Tau Ceti?” I said in a sour voice as I stood up. “Mind control? Teleportation? A hyperdrive spaceship buried under the house? Or is making a fish glow by licking it the only thing?”

  Mom sighed. It was strange to hear Mom sigh so often.

  “One of the reasons we came here is because we really are almost an exact match, genetically speaking. You should be able to have babies with someone who was born on Earth.”

  “BLECH,” Shelley and I said at the same time. Thinking about having babies did not make my head feel better.

  “Let’s get you inside.” Mom and Shelley helped me stand up and walked me into the house. I’ll give Mom some credit — she let me and Shelly go into my room without saying a word, and she left us alone once we were in there.

  “Do you need to lie down or anything?” Shelley asked. I shook my head no, and she sat on the bed while I poked at the stack of science-fiction books on the desk.

  “So …” Shelley said. “This is different.”

  “At least you’re still a normal human.”

  “I don’t know about normal. Or even human — aren’t we 99.999 percent genetically the same, or something like that? How is that not human?”

  “It’s 0.001 percent not human, is how. Oh, I haven’t even showed you this—” I looked around, picked a crumpled sheet of paper off of the floor, and handed it to Shelley. “The GeneGenie test result. You know what it says?”

  Shelley took the paper and quickly scanned it.

  “Read the paragraph right under ‘Dear Ms. Cho.’”

  “There are zero matches for your profile in the GeneGenie ancestry database, possibly because of sample contamination. Please submit a new sample and we’ll retest at no additional charge. Huh.”