by Melinda Metz
“No way. I told you this is my brother’s line, and he’s a classy guy. Okay, get ready to melt.” Alex cleared his throat loudly. “I’m going to have to arrest you.”
Isabel batted her eyes. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Uh, I’m afraid that’s not true.” A faint blush colored Alex’s cheeks. “It’s clear you’ve stolen the stars from the sky — I can see them in your eyes.”
Isabel tried not to laugh, but the expression on Alex’s face was just too funny. He’s not my type, she thought. But he’s pretty damn adorable. I wonder if he has freckles everywhere.
“You liked that, huh?” Alex asked.
“Yeah,” Isabel admitted. She’d never bothered to talk to Alex before, even though they had a bunch of classes together. But there was something about that dream they shared that kept her standing there, smiling at him.
“So, you want to go to the movies or something this weekend, now that I’ve proved what a suave guy I am?” Alex asked.
“No, but I’ll go out with your brother,” Isabel shot back. Enough was enough. One interesting dream wasn’t enough to make her lower her standards.
Alex suddenly appeared completely fascinated by the row of spirit posters behind the bleachers. “Well, my brother did teach it to me,” he mumbled. “But I put some of my own refinements on it.”
“I’ve got to hit the showers,” Isabel said.
“Um, okay, I’ll give your name to my brother.” Alex turned around and headed toward the big double doors at the far end of the gym.
Isabel allowed herself a moment to enjoy the rear view, then started for the locker room. Stacey fell in beside her. “New boyfriend, Izzy?”
“Him? No. He’s just a pathetic wanna-be,” Isabel answered. “I always have a few love slaves following me around with their tongues hanging on the ground. I guess you don’t have that problem, huh, Stace?”
Isabel grinned as she strolled into the locker room. Life is good, she thought. In a few days Stacey was going to be her attendant at the homecoming dance. And Isabel had just acquired a new little boy toy to play with. There was nothing more fun than a human with a crush.
7
Alex watched Liz and Maria flip through a row of dresses. He hoped they would hurry it up. The tiny boutique was making him claustrophobic. The racks were too close together, and the place smelled like it had been wallpapered with those little perfume cards that came in the middle of magazines.
“You’re not being much help, Alex. We brought you along to get a guy’s point of view. What kind of dress would get your attention?” Maria asked.
“Oh, you know, short, tight, backless, low cut, maybe a couple of slits somewhere,” he answered. “Preferably worn braless with one of those thong things.”
Liz whapped him on the head, and Alex grinned. He loved saying things he knew would pull her chain. He’d never done the whole girls-as-friends thing before he met Liz and Maria — well, not since he was, like, seven. It was pretty cool.
And the fact that it bugged the Major was a bonus. Alex’s dad wanted him to spend his time starting up an ROTC program at school or at least thinking about what branch of the military he wanted to join after grad. Ever since his father had retired, he’d become obsessed with Alex’s future military career. The idea of Alex spending all afternoon playing fashion consultant would make him go ballistic, not that Alex was planning on telling him.
One of the things he wasn’t telling was that there was no possible way he was going into the military. He used to hope one of his older brothers would be a trailblazer for him and soften the old man up toward the idea of having a civilian for a son. But his two oldest brothers had joined the air force, just like Dad. And Jesse, his last hope, had just signed up with the marines. The Major wasn’t too happy about having a squid in the family, but he had finally switched over from shouting to muttering.
“How about this one?” Liz held up a silky dark blue dress with thin little straps. It looked sort of like a nightgown or something. “That’s a definite ten on the man-o-meter,” Alex said.
“Whatever this man-o-meter is, don’t show it to me,” Maria mumbled.
Alex ignored her. He was imagining that silky stuff under his fingers. The material was so thin, he’d be able to feel the warmth of Isabel’s skin through the cloth. Isabel. Oh, man. He was doing it again. He had given himself strict orders not to think about Isabel, but she kept popping into his head.
Forget about her, he told himself. Remember what she called you — a pathetic wanna-be. She didn’t even bother to wait for you to get all the way out of the gym before she started making fun of you with Stacey.
But there was something about Isabel, something about the way she looked at him while they were talking. . . . There was an attraction between them, a connection. Alex couldn’t believe she was quite as cold as she seemed. If they could just get away from her little cheerleader clique and all their crap, he had a feeling something could develop between them.
“So are you going to try it on?” Maria asked Liz.
Liz checked the price tag and grimaced. She showed it to Maria. “I think we’re in the wrong store.”
“Let’s try the Clothes Barn,” Maria suggested.
Alex led the way out of the store. He took a deep breath of the nonperfumed air. The smells of the mall’ food court filled his nose — chocolate cookies mixing with chow mein, tacos, and fries. Much better.
“You know, we’ve been sort of selfish,” Maria said to Liz. “Alex is going to the dance, too. He might need us to help him with a little shopping. I’m seeing a collarless shirt and — ”
“Don’t even think about it,” Alex warned them. “I’m not a Just My Size Ken doll.”
“Alex, you’re seventeen years old. It’s time to explore fabrics beyond flannel and denim,” Liz put in.
“I wear other stuff. I wear cotton. And . . . what sweatpants are made of — I wear that.”
Maria grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him down the walkway. “Macy’s is right over there, just waiting for you.”
Alex spotted Michael Guerin and Max Evans heading toward them. “Guys!” he yelled in relief. “Hey, guys, you have to help me.” He broke away from Maria and hurried over to them. “The makeover mafia has me in their clutches.”
“They do look pretty dangerous,” Michael said as Liz and Maria joined the group.
“They’re trying to use force to make me stop wearing flannel,” Alex complained.
He expected Maria to jump in and try to get Max and Michael on her side. But she’d suddenly gotten quiet. Liz, too. What was up with them? They were never quiet.
“Don’t let them, man,” Michael answered. “If they can’t accept you as you are, just walk away. Right, Max?”
“Every American has the right to wear flannel,” Max answered. He leaned over the railing and stared into the fountain in the lower level. It was obvious he didn’t really feel like talking.
Alex didn’t know Max that well, but he’d always seemed like a cool guy. Alex wouldn’t mind asking him a couple of questions about Isabel, something that would help him figure her out.
Maybe her brother would know which Isabel was real — the Isabel who had flirted with Alex and acted like she was totally enjoying herself? Or the Isabel who had cut him down behind his back?
“What is it with chicks?” Michael asked. “They can have a guy who’s crazy about them, but that’s not good enough. They have to get in there and start changing things. Guys don’t do that. Max, you like Liz just the way she is, right?”
There was a strange little silence.
Liz shot Michael a look that said “back off” loud and clear. Alex frowned. What was going on with everyone? Liz wasn’t usually so touchy.
“I mean, you’d never tell her what to wear,” Michael amended, avoiding Liz’s eyes.
“Liz looks good in everything,” Max answered. He pushed himself away from the rail and turned back to f
ace the group. “You even looked cute in that dress you hated, the goofy one with the cupcakes on it.”
“You remember that?” Liz cried. “I hated that dress so much, but my abuelita gave it to me, so my parents were always making me wear it.”
“I don’t remember it. What grade was that?” Maria asked.
Liz thought about it a second. “Kindergarten. I remember Ms. Gliden let me wear one of the finger-painting smocks when I had to wear the dress to school. She was so nice. She . . .” Liz’s voice trailed off.
Maria was frowning. “But Max wasn’t in your kindergarten class, was he?” she asked.
Liz turned to Max. “I have to talk to you alone. Right now.” She strode away from the group. Max hesitated a moment, then followed her.
Another strange little silence. Maria had gone pale.
“All righty, then,” Alex muttered.
“I have to buy some nail polish,” Maria blurted. “I’ll meet you at the food court.” She rushed toward the escalator.
Alex looked at Michael and shrugged. “You want to get some food?” he asked.
“I can always eat,” Michael answered.
Liz and Maria must have popped a few psycho pills when I wasn’t looking, Alex thought as he and Michael headed down the walkway I hope they wear off fast.
“Don’t even think about it.” Isabel snarled at the perfume sample guy before he could spray her. She usually avoided this entrance to Macy’s. It was like trying to maneuver through a minefield of perfume bombs. The smell of all the scents — flowery, spicy, fruity, powdery — made her stomach turn over.
“Hey, he was kind of a cutie,” Tish protested.
Isabel glanced over her shoulder. “He’s too bulky and bulgy. Look at those veins popping out on his neck.”
“I thought you loved that muscle beach look.” Tish held her wrist out to a pale woman in a white smock, who delicately spritzed her with a floral scent.
“I must be maturing. Guys like that seem a little too obvious to me now,” Isabel said. “Besides, who wants a guy who spends more hours in the gym than he does with you?”
Yeah, that’s it, Isabel thought. It didn’t have anything to do with the memory of the way Alex’s lean body felt pressed up against hers in their dream dance.
“I like it,” Tish said. “I still say he’s cute.”
“You think everyone is cute,” Isabel shot back.
“Pretty much everyone has something cute about them, even if it’s just one little thing,” Tish insisted. “Like that guy by the glove counter. Bad clothes, bad hair, bad skin — ”
“Bad personal hygiene,” Isabel cut in.
“But look at his mouth.” Tish grabbed Isabel’s chin and turned her head toward the guy. “Look at those big, cushy lips. Yum.”
“Okay, what about him?” Isabel jerked her head toward a pudgy guy who would probably be calling the Hair Club for Men about a year after grad.
“How can you even ask?” Tish exclaimed. “Look at his butt. Pure Charmin. Don’t you just want to squeeze it?”
“Uh, not really,” Isabel answered. She scanned the crowd, then smiled. “Okay, I’ve got a tough one for you — over there by the Lancôme counter.”
Tish glanced over and started making gagging noises. “It’s the Anticute. Let’s get out of here. We see Stacey way too much at school.”
“I want to talk to her,” Isabel said.
“Is-a-bel.” Tish said her name in a long whine.
“Come on.” Isabel sauntered toward Stacey. She didn’t bother to check and see if Tish was following her. Tish always followed Isabel.
“Hey, Stacey, looking for a lipstick to go with your lavender dress?” Isabel asked.
Stacey whirled toward them.
Tish gasped. “What happened to your face?” she exclaimed.
“I had this horrible dream, and I kept scratching myself in my sleep,” Stacey admitted. She ran her fingers over one of the long red scratches covering her face.
I don’t think I’ve seen Stacey when she’s not bouncing or giggling or something, Isabel thought. Stacey was nauseatingly, unrelentingly bubbly. Even in classes she was constantly doodling little hearts, stars, and rainbows on the cover of her notebook.
“That’s terrible. Do they hurt?” Tish asked.
Oh, please, Isabel thought. If Tish found a hurt rattlesnake on the sidewalk, she’d probably take it home, nurse it back to health, tie a bow around its neck, and then be surprised when it bit her. She should go out with Max. They’d make a perfect couple.
“They don’t really hurt, but they look so gross. I’m trying to find something to cover them up.” Stacey studied the foundations and powders in the case in front of her.
“What was your dream about, anyway?” Tish said.
“Oh, it was gross!” Stacey rubbed her face with both hands. “There were all these bugs crawling on me. I could feel all their little legs. I kept scratching and scratching, but I couldn’t get them off.”
Isabel gave a loud gasp. She opened her eyes wide. “This is so weird. I had exactly the same dream last night!”
“What’s up?” Max asked as he trotted after Liz.
Liz didn’t answer. She turned down a short hallway with a pay phone, a drinking fountain, and one bench. No one would bother them here.
She spun around and glared at Max. “How did you know about my cupcake dress?” she demanded. “Can you read minds? Is that one of your powers? If it is, you have got to find a way to turn it off because it’s an incredible invasion of privacy.”
Liz didn’t even want to think about what Max could have seen in her head. All the embarrassing little things she’d never told anyone, not even Maria. The silly daydreams she let herself slide into when one of her teachers got so boring, she wanted to scream. The mean little thoughts she had about people sometimes.
But most of all she was afraid that Max had seen all the horrible things she’d thought when he told her he was an alien. Liz was ashamed of the mix of revulsion and fear that flooded her in that moment. If she’d felt those kinds of emotions directed at her, she’d be devastated.
“I can’t read minds. At least not usually,” Max told her. “But when I heal someone, I make a connection with them. I get this rush of images, so fast I can hardly take them all in. And somehow I just know things. Not thoughts, exactly. But like that dress — an image of it flashed into my mind, and I knew how you felt about it.”
Liz folded her arms over her chest. “What else did you see besides the dress?”
“Um . . . I saw a stuffed dog with a chewed-up ear,” Max said.
“Oh, Mr. Beans. He lives on my bed.” Liz started to feel a little better. If Mr. Beans and the cupcake dress were the worst things Max saw, that wasn’t so bad.
“Liz Ortecho sleeping with a stuffed animal. That’s hard to picture.” Max laughed. “You’re always so intense and focused.”
“I don’t actually sleep with him,” Liz corrected. “At night I put him on my dresser.”
Max raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really?” he teased.
“Okay, every once in-a while, like when I’m sick or something, I still sleep with him,” Liz admitted, blushing. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“Lucky guess. You sounded just a little defensive when you said you put him on your dresser,” Max explained. “It really bothers you that I got images from your mind, doesn’t it?”
Liz looked down at her boots. Even though Max had only seen stupid little things from her childhood, it did bother her. What if he were just being polite, telling her the stuff that wasn’t important? What if he really had seen everything, like how angry she felt at her sister for dying? He would think she was a horrible person — and she couldn’t bear that.
Max wouldn’t lie to me, she told herself. If he says he only saw the ugly cupcake dress, then he means it.
“Maybe I overreacted,” Liz said slowly. “It’s not like you were intentionally spying on me. But, well,
how would you feel if I knew all your secrets?”
Max stared at her as if she were an idiot. And suddenly Liz felt her face flush. How could she have said that? She did know Max’s biggest secret, something much more intimate and personal than anything he knew about her.
Max sat down on the little bench. He patted the spot next to him. “Come on, I want to try something.”
“O-kaay.” Liz wished that hadn’t come out sounding so apprehensive. Why couldn’t she remember how to act around Max anymore?
She sat next to him. Her shoulder brushed against his. She wanted to move back, but she held herself perfectly still. If she kept jumping away from him, Max might think she was afraid of him or something.
And I’m not, she thought. Not much.
She wanted to feel completely comfortable around Max, the way she used to. But it was like there was a loop in her head playing the words he’s an alien, he’s an alien over and over.
“I’ve never tried this before, but I thought maybe I could make the connection go the other way,” Max told her. “So that you could invade my privacy and get some images from me.”
Liz blinked in surprise. What would it be like to see into Max’s thoughts? I’d probably be the first human to ever see into the mind of an alien, she thought. The scientist in her was totally excited by the opportunity. But it wouldn’t be fair to Max.
“You don’t have to do that, Max,” Liz said softly. “I was being a jerk about the whole thing. You saved my life — I should be down on my knees thanking you, no matter what your method was.”
“No, we have to try this,” Max insisted. “Think of it as an experiment. Or as a free movie — the Max Evans Show.”
He sounded like a little kid trying to convince his baby-sitter to let him stay up until eleven. He’s trying so hard to make me feel okay about what’s happened, Liz thought. Why can’t I do that for him?
“I have to touch you, okay?” Max asked. “That’s how I make the connection.”
If he can heal with a touch, can he kill with a touch? The question leaped into Liz’s mind. Without thinking, she backed away from Max on the bench.
Instantly his blue eyes grew darker, as if a thick black curtain had fallen over his emotions.
