by Jeff Norton
She turned back to me. “It’s not like we choose to spend our lives learning dances for the creepiest deities around.” She rolled her eyes towards the shimmer-kid – NED.
“Bite those tongues, reptile,” NED hissed. “One day, your little pink family will be performing for me. I’d hate to be … displeased.”
Sonya clenched her fists, and her black eyes bulged. I could tell she was holding back the urge to continue her rant.
“Good little lizard,” NED said.
Graz flipped the barrel lid to Sonya’s left, grabbed me in the crook of his elbow and raised me back into the air above the slimy alien leftovers. Jessica was still trapped in Graz’s left hand, like a goth version of Fay Wray in King Kong’s clutches. He curled me up into his stinking, hairy armpit and grabbed Sonya, my would-be savior, by her collar. Now all three of us were dangling in the air above the refuse.
“Thanks, Sonya,” I said, wanting to introduce myself before being covered in trash. “I’m Sherman.”
“No probs, newbie,” she said. “There’s showers in the locker rooms off the gym. Round the corner on the left.”
“Oh, good to know,” I said. And it was. At my other schools, I’d been egged, toilet-papered and, in Korea, kimchied.
“Drop them, Grazzat,” NED ordered.
I closed my eyes, covered my head.
And fell.
Until a giant python caught me.
CHAPTER SIX
Saved by a Tentacle
Hanging in the air, eyes closed, I listened for some clue that, if I opened them, I wasn’t going to regret it.
“AAAAAAACHOO.”
It was Sneeze-zilla. Sneeze-point-eight on the Richter scale. The Sneeze had saved me. I decided that maybe it was safe to look.
“Octo?”
All I could see were tentacles. Everywhere.
Blue tentacles with yellow tiger-stripes snaked in the air all around me. Some wrapped around the three of us, suspending us above the garbage cans, while others curled around Graz’s arms and legs and middle, hoisting him – raging and roaring – high off the ground.
“Leave ’em alone,” Octo said. I followed the twisting tentacles to the source of the deep voice: a bulbous squid’s head, massive and blue. Octo had two green eyes with huge, rectangular pupils, and three giant beaks.
“GET YOUR OCTOPUS TENTACLES OFF ME,” Graz snarled.
“It’s ventitent,” Octo said, “not octopus. Twenty tentacles. Or can you not count that high?”
“He’s not great with syllables or counting,” Sonya said.
I looked down – Octo definitely had more than eight tentacles, but they were writhing around so much it was hard to keep count. Beyond the weaving striped snakes, I noticed NED backing away into the crowd. He was still looking full of himself, but clearly wanted to avoid an outright confrontation with the cephalopod.
“VENTI- WHAT?” Graz growled.
“Just chill out, Graz,” Octo said, “and play nice.”
“FORGET IT, SUCKERFINGERS.”
A tentacle swung up and slapped Graz like a plaything. Octo then lowered all of us to the floor. Graz didn’t try to retaliate. The furry bully was outgunned by Octo’s twenty python arms.
I gave Sonya the most relaxed smile I could, considering I’d just been fearing for my life.
“Thanks for standing up for me,” I said.
“I wasn’t standing up for you,” she said sharply. “I was standing up for the Aristox who’ve been controlled by NEDs for thousands of years, for emancipation, for freedom, for—”
Brrrrrrring!
The bell rang – a completely normal school bell … weird – and everybody but Octo, Jessica and I shuffled out of the cafeteria.
“Sherman the new kid, right?” boomed Octo. “Way to start a new school in style.”
“Nice to meet you, in person I mean,” I said, knowing that person wasn’t exactly the right word.
He stuck out a tentacle. It had one of those rubber sports bracelets on it. In fact, all twenty tentacles had one, each a different color. I shook the blue-and-yellow tentacle, hoping that was the idea. It was surprisingly warm, and not as slimy as I’d suspected.
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” said Jessica, straightening her black skirt over her jeans and refastening her faux- diamond skull hairclip.
“WHOA,” said Octo. “You said you had a cute sister, but—”
“Gross!” I protested. “I said I had an acute sister allergy.” But Octo wasn’t listening any more. He was fixated on Jess.
“What’s your first class, baby-cakes?”
“Drama,” she said. “And call me baby-cakes again and I’ll find a sushi chef to deal with you.”
“Touché,” he said, sticking out a tentacle to shake Jess’s hand. “That’s French for touch. And touch you may.”mx
Jessica sighed, holding out her right pinky finger and tapping the tentacle.
I pulled my timetable from my pocket and quickly realized the morning was about to go from bad to worse. I had Drama as well. It was my absolute least favorite subject.
“You know what time it is, Sherman?” Jessica said as the three of us paced the corridors – Octo also had Drama. “It’s eight twenty-five. That’s all. We still have a whole day of this insanity to live through.”
“Don’t mind Jessica, she’s the queen of the drama queens,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t mind her,” Octo said. “I don’t mind Her Majesty at all.”
The twenty-tentacled alien, who’d just saved my bacon, was actually digging my sister. It was the strangest discovery so far that someone, from any galaxy, had a crush on Jessica.
But it was about to get a whole lot stranger.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Drama King
Jessica and I half-jogged to keep pace with Octo as the ventitent cruised though the crowd, one tentacle curled up to hold his backpack in place as he navigated the busy hallway.
The sights were extraordinary – chattering creatures walking, snaking, slithering, hovering and galloping to their classes – but the sounds were totally normal, the soundtrack of any other school: keys jangling, locker doors slamming, sneakers squeaking on waxed floor tiles. It was like my eyes and ears weren’t part of the same head.
“You realize you’re the only human kids here, right?”
It was quite a thought.
I’d spent a year as the only American boy at an off- base school in South Korea (and I was used to being the only kid interested in rockets and propulsion no matter what school I was in), but being the only human male in the student body made me feel … well …
Alien.
As we walked, dodging jet-powered paper airplanes and the occasional pigskin, the insectoids, reptiles, robots, and creatures that defied conventional classification sized us up.
I was used to this walk – I call it “the catwalk”. I usually hated it, but here it was almost a relief getting eyeballed because we were descended from apes, not because our clothes or hair didn’t follow a local fashion trend.
I decided to treat this like any other first day of school. I’d just try to survive it.
“So, what’s your story?” Octo asked. “Why are you guys at Groom Lake?”
“Our story?” gasped Jessica. “You’re kidding, right? What’s your story, tentacles?”
“I asked first, lollipop,” Octo laughed.
“It’s just one big geopolitical misunderstanding,” I began, trying to change the subject to stop any flirting between the walking squid and my sister.
“It’s all his fault!” she said, jabbing a finger in my ribs.
“It’s a long, complicated story,” I said. “And it’s kind of funny when you—”
“It’s a short, straightforward story,” Jessica said. “With a tragic ending.”
I explained that our dad had been stationed at the NATO base in Germany and that he’d suddenly been transferred to Groom Lake.
“More like grounded in Groom Lake,�
� said Jess.
“Just your average, always-on-the-move, Air-Force- brats scenario,” I said.
“But tell him why Dad got transferred,” Jessica said. “Tell him why Dad got demoted. Tell him why we got kicked out of Europe.”
I looked from Jessica to Octo and back – from Jessica’s pursed lips and one-of-these-days-revenge-will-be-mine glare to Octo’s glassy green eyes and oversized beaks – took a breath and spilled the beans.
“There was kind of an … incident,” I said.
“Involving a missile!”
“Involving a rocket,” I clarified. “That I built.”
“Your science project exploded or something?” Octo asked, his eyes widening.
“If only,” Jessica muttered.
“It was a little more advanced than that,” I explained. “My rockets are always a little more advanced than that.”
“So, okay,” Octo said, “you’re an egghead. Being an egghead doesn’t get you kicked out of Europe.”
“He’s a mad scientist,” Jessica snarled. “Being a mad
scientist who almost starts World War Three gets you kicked out of a two-thousand-mile radius of Russian airspace.”
I had to set the record straight. “I’m not mad! Yeah, I like science. But I wouldn’t call myself a scientist, yet. I’m more like a rocketry savant, the kind of—”
“Oh, give it a rest, Sherman!”
“A rocketry what?” Octo asked.
“Savant,” I said. “Kind of like Mozart, but with boosters and guidance systems instead of violins and sheet music.”
“I’m not familiar with Moat’s Art,” said Octo, “but I’m sure it’s lovely.”
“I have serious misgivings,” Jessica scoffed, “about the quality of education we’re about to receive here. You don’t know Mozart? Beethoven? Bach?”
“Nope.”
“How about Homer?”
Octo nodded enthusiastically. “Love-love-love The Simpsons. Hey, so how come you guys aren’t more, you know, yellow?”
Jessica ignored him. “How about Shakespeare? Ever heard of him?”
“Oh, man,” Octo said, “not that guy. We’ll get enough of him in here.”
The sign above the silver double doors said AUDITORIUM. Octo curled a tentacle around Jessica’s shoulder.
“Ever tread the boards, baby-ca—?” he said, before cutting himself off. He’d obviously taken Jessica’s sushi threat seriously.
“At our last school, in Germany,” she said, “which I really liked – kind of loved, actually – I had the lead in Beauty and the Beast.”
Octo raised a cephalopod eyebrow.
“Aren’t you curious which one she was?” I asked. But Octo wasn’t taking the bait.
“Good to know,” he said to me, “open to interspecies dating.”
I rolled my eyes as Octo turned back to Jess and said, “I bet you got a standing ovation.”
“I’ll never know,” she said. “The premiere was last night. I was in the middle of my opening number when the alarm sounded. Instead of getting a standing ovation, I got sent here. Under armed guard. Because of him.”
She shook off Octo’s tentacle, and marched into the auditorium.
“What did you do, buckaroo?”
The silver doors of the auditorium opened again, just a little, and a giant insect poked its head out.
Even after a morning filled with surprises, that made me jump.
“I am Ms Teg and you young thespians are tardy,” said the six-foot, winged praying mantis in a black trouser suit. I relaxed as soon as I realized this creature was planning to teach us, not eat us.
She led us into the cavernous auditorium, clicking her high-heeled hind claws and giving her wings a flutter.
“Let us not keep the Bard waiting one moment longer,” she announced in a whispery chorus, like three people were saying the words.
After the cafeteria, I’d expected big things from the auditorium – more glass and chrome and cool lighting – but it was kind of a dump: threadbare maroon curtains, creaky varnished floorboards and rows of ancient, cracked, built-in chairs. Even though it was as clean and tidy as everywhere else, the whole room felt neglected and unloved.
The rest of the class, a variety of about twenty creatures, mooched around onstage, chatting and texting. I recognized a few of the species from the cafeteria – a potted pansy, a willowy bendy kid and a tiny snail creature. There was no Sonya to say hello to, but fortunately no Graz or NED either.
Jessica jumped onto the stage, rushed into the center and smiled. It was the most content she’d looked all day. I was the complete opposite. The whole drama thing gave me the heebie-jeebies. There was something unsettling and unnatural about standing on a stage in front of people – or aliens – pretending to be someone you’re not.
So I approached the stage as slowly as I could.
“Earth to Sherman,” said Octo, who was still waiting for an answer to his question. “What did you do?”
“According to NATO, World War Two nearly got a sequel,” I said. “The Russians tracked the rocket from Geilenkirchen into their airspace. All they knew was it was a missile, fired from a NATO base, heading right for them. I mean, if they’d decided to fire back … Well, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
“But why’d you get shipped to Groom Lake?” Octo said.
“I guess this is where the Air Force hides the secrets it doesn’t want the world to know about,” I said, gesturing to the aliens onstage, then pointing to him and me with a shrug.
“So no more fireworks?” he asked, miming an explosion with at least fifteen of his tentacles.
“According to Article Five of the Geilenkirchen settlement,” I recited, “NATO will hand me over to the Russians to rot in a gulag if I ever touch another rocket.”
Octo slapped me on the back. “Mighty impressive, buckaroo!”
“Boys, boys, boys, less chitter-chatter,” Ms Teg said. “Join your fellow thespians on the stage and listen.”
Octo and I climbed the wooden steps to the stage and watched Ms Teg straighten her jacket, take a breath and begin. Her voice – rather, her voices – echoed around the theatre, filling the neglected space with iambic pentameter.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
It sounded pretty amazing – even the little-gray-men guys stopped babbling and listened – and Jessica just drank it up, her eyes alight.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief …
What was weird, though, was the glow that appeared in the air above Ms Teg. A spherical, glimmering little sky- blue cloud. Out of nowhere.
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious …
The cloud-ball thing was growing arms and legs, and then a head. Like a glowing snow angel hovering in the air.
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
“What’s that?” I whispered to Octo.
“Who’s that,” Octo said with a wink. “You’re gonna love what comes next.”
At the time, I had no idea how right he was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Volunteerism
The blue cloud became a girl. She floated there, iridescent, semi-transparent, like she was made of turquoise crystal. I had to squint my eyes a little to look, and when I did, I couldn’t miss how breathtakingly, ridiculously beautiful she was.
Ms Teg tutted and glared up at her.
“If you’re going to float in and out of classes,” she said, “it would behoove you to remember that my class starts at eight forty-five sharp.”
The girl nodded, then gave Ms Teg a dazzlingly cute smile.
“Good,” Ms Teg said. “Now to Shakespeare! Nothing like the Bard in the entire universe …”
She went on and on – St
ratford-upon-Avon, The Globe, Romeo and Juliet, the school play, casting, blah, blah, blah. I stopped listening because I was mesmerized
by the gorgeous goddess floating on the stage, basking in her own blue aura.
“Er … who is—” I asked Octo.
“Don’t waste your time, two-legs,” Octo whispered. “She is way out of your league.”
“I kind of guessed that,” I said, “but who—”
“Out of your galaxy,” Octo said.
“I get it,” I said, “thanks for the encouragement. But seriously, what’s her name?”
“I mean literally out of your galaxy,” he said. “You know what ‘omnipotent’ means?”
I didn’t, but I pretended I did and gave him Jessica’s patented what-do-you-take-me-for look. But it turns out ventitents are pretty good at spotting a bluff, and he explained that omnipotent meant “all-powerful”.
“She’s a deity in training – an Icon,” Octo said. “Icons are so all-powerful they don’t have names.”
“You mean she’s a goddess – literally?” I whispered. “What’s she doing in school?”
“She’s not just in school,” he said. “She’s not just here. She’s in a thousand places at once, and never anywhere for very long.”
I continued to stare. There wasn’t anything about her that seemed all-powerful or whatever; she was just, quite simply, gorgeous. Like a floating fashion model. A transparent, teenage Tinkerbell – minus the wings. She was perfection personified … in alien form.
“A thousand places at once?” I said.
“Exactly,” Octo said. “Which means right now there’s a thousand other doofuses just like you checking her out and getting all mushy-mushy. So cool your rocket booster, Mr Savant.”
“Understood,” I said, pretending to understand.
“I hope so, buckaroo,” Octo said, “because she ignores them completely. All of them. In fact, if you only learn one thing today, make it this: Icons ignore doofuses.”
“Then how come,” I said, “she’s smiling at this particular doofus?”
She was. Definitely. She might have been in a thousand different worlds but she was smiling at me – one Sherman Capote, new resident of Groom Lake, Nevada, Earth.
