by Jeff Norton
“Are you kidding?” Octo yelled, his super-bass voice echoing around the place. “It’s pizza!”
In truth, my stomach wasn’t just in knots from the aerobatics. Plus, I had to put things right with Juliet.
“As far as Juliet’s concerned,” I explained, “I stranded her at the drive-in. If I’ve got any chance of pulling off Mission Prompossible, I’ve got to explain what happened. Romeo didn’t give up and neither will I.”
“Um, dude, Romeo dies at the end.”
“Spoiler alert, Octo,” I said with a salute.
I opened the hangar door and raced through the quiet Area 51 evening. Being Saturday, the drive-in was open, and I knew it was showing The Day the Earth Stood Still, the original. As I panted my way through the empty suburban streets, it did actually feel like the Earth was standing still. At the same time, I knew the world was spinning, the days were passing and the NEDs were on their way.
I searched the base, looking for Juliet’s unmistakable blue glow. I found it emanating from a blue ship parked beside the Slurp-n-Go convenience store. The smooth, rounded-pyramid-shaped starship was glowing above a vacant plot. Everything about it felt regal, like a rocket- propelled palace.
So once I’d climbed the steps on the nearest leg and was about to press the surprisingly doorbell-like button next to the hatchway, I couldn’t help feeling like a trespasser who was about to get arrested.
Or worse.
But I pressed it anyway – just as a bunch of chattering Martians (probably offended by the portrayal of aliens in The Day the Earth Stood Still) left the Slurp- n-Go carrying slushy SLURPMEs and chips – and I rehearsed my line in my head.
Hey, Juliet, I’m really sorry about the drive-in.
Silently, the hatchway slid open. In the darkness I saw a hand reach for a switch just inside the door.
Hey, Juliet, I’m sorry that I got stuffed into the garbage container.
Strangely, it was a human hand.
A woman’s hand.
My stomach tightened. My pulse pounded. But I had no idea why – until the switch blipped softly and light flooded the doorway and the hand’s owner looked me right in the eye. It felt just like the moment Jessica and I first walked into the cafeteria that first morning.
My brain went into a high-pitched ALERT; like an interior air-raid siren, yelling at my eyes and telling them that there was no way what they were seeing could be real.
It was my mother.
“Are you just going to stand there, trespassing? Or are you going to come inside?”
And then I fainted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Mentor Interruptus
I woke up in my old bedroom. In Geilenkirchen, Germany. The one with the cracked window and the swirly carpet that smelled of candles. Juliet and my mother – my mother! – were leaning over me, looking concerned.
“I’m not sure the room is helping,” Juliet whispered. “I think it’s confusing him.”
Mom felt my forehead. Checked my pulse.
“Agreed,” she said. “Though this species confuses easily.”
As Juliet helped me sit up, Geilenkirchen faded away and my bedroom became a room that was, well, white. Completely. Totally. White. No floor or walls or ceiling. The bed transformed into a hovering slab of cold metal.
“Mom … ?” I murmured. “Is that really …”
I felt tears coming the moment I spoke. With one hand I hid my eyes from Juliet.
“I am not anyone’s mother,” Mom began, in her stern, do-your-homework-young-man voice.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean? I’m really confused.”
“You see?” she said to Juliet.
“This is my Mentor,” explained Juliet. “She’s wearing a borrowed look. She came to Earth without telling me—”
“Because her parents were getting concerned about how much time she was spending on this primitive planet,” Mom cut in.
“Even though I call twice a day,” chimed Juliet, “and leave messages that are never returned.”
I was clearly caught in the middle of some intergalactic nanny tension, but I still had no idea how Juliet’s minder was my mother.
“But, Mom?”
“I needed a physical form here,” the Mentor-Mom began, “and when I beamed to your planet I came across a speck of human DNA in low orbit. To save time shopping for a look on the ground, I absorbed the DNA into my essence, adopting the look of the human known as Carol Capote. It’s really not that hard to understand.”
But it was. And my head hurt from trying. Or maybe it was from the fainting, or the facing an interstellar clone of my mom. Or maybe it was from the sheer disappointment of seeing her again – only for it not to be her. My brain felt crushed and my heart felt smashed.
“Now that I’ve explained my presence here,” she said, “it’s about time you explain what you were doing crawling up an Icon’s spaceship without an official invitation, young human.”
“Yes,” Juliet asked, “what are you doing here, Sherman?”
“I came to apologize, for the other night at the drive- in.”
Juliet tensed, and shot me a little head shake.
“What did you drive in to?” asked the Mentor.
“Oh, um, nothing,” I fibbed.
“No, go on,” she said. “I insist.”
“Well, I took Juliet to the movies the other night and—”
“WHAT?” shouted Imposter-Mom.
“I beamed into Sherman’s car,” Juliet began. “So technically, as he didn’t even have to pay for me, he didn’t so much take me as—”
“A parked car? With a human boy?” the Mentor gasped. “Well, it’s a good thing I got here when I did. I pray to Icon that you didn’t attempt a snuggle!”
“We didn’t even make it to popcorn,” I said, then turned to Juliet to explain what had happened. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone. I went for the popcorn and then NED turned up and I couldn’t return to the cave—”
“Ah, the NEDs are a better class of company, my dear,” the Mentor said, tapping Juliet on the head she’d buried in her blue hands. Imposter-Mom turned to me. “Juliet, as you call her, is only allowed to date other deities. I do hope you understand that your little drive-in excursion was a one-time blip in her otherwise perfect social record.”
“Mentor, please don’t,” Juliet pleaded.
“You see, Sherman Capote, the universe has an order and it’s my duty – no, my privilege – to uphold that order by keeping this adventurous Icon-in-training from making the type of social missteps that could unleash chaos across the galaxies.”
“How would going to a drive-in unleash chaos?” I asked.
“Wars have been fought over the hands of deities,” the Mentor said sharply. “And as quaint as your little planet may seem, it hardly contains stock worthy of marrying an Icon.”
Marrying?
“Um, I was just trying to buy her popcorn.”
“Hmmm.” She glared at me. “I’ve been around for centuries and I know where popcorn leads. It starts with popcorn, then an arm around her. Then a snuggle, and then as inevitable as a dying star going super-nova, you would smooch.”
Wow, maybe Octo did know what he was talking about.
“And that super-nova smooch would create a black hole of reason, sucking away all social etiquette, resulting in a ghastly Pairing between mortal and Icon that would upset the careful, eons-old balance of power among the various deities that rule the universe, setting off an endless conflict that would consume all planets and destroy all life. So don’t you tell me that you had no idea where popcorn would lead!”
“Mentor,” sighed Juliet. “I think we should let Sherman go home.”
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since I arrived,” she declared.
I stood up. The bed vanished and the white room reshaped into a chamber with a window, which I walked sheepishly towards.
“See you at school, Juliet?” I uttered.
She gave me a resigned wave, but it wasn’t one of commitment.
I slid back down the ship’s tripod leg and landed on the lawn with a hard thump.
Just like my love life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Second Chance at a Second Chance
I drifted home to find Dad in the living room, slumped on the sofa, staring at the television. It was off. I stood behind him. In the reflection of the black screen, I could see that he was crying. My dad didn’t do emotions. He did commands, hierarchy and discipline. But here he was, sitting alone, in tears.
“Dad?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“I just miss her so much,” he said, wiping his sniffle on his shirtsleeve. I slipped onto the sofa beside him and spotted an empty DVD container on the coffee table. It was their wedding video.
“I know,” I said. “I do too.”
“And I’d give anything to see her just one more time.”
That gave me the chills.
“I know, I know, it’s impossible,” he sighed. “But I need her help, for you and Jess; I need to know how she did it. How come she was so great with you two and I’m just, well … I’m clearly doing something wrong.”
Now was not the time to list Dad’s parental shortcomings (though I’d start with: strict, emotionally unavailable, not prepared to listen, workaholism, favoring Jess) so I simply said, “It’s not the same without her. But maybe it’d help if you listened a bit more.”
He tore his gaze from the blank TV and looked at me.
“I’m listening,” he said.
Now was my chance. “Like when I tell you there’s a planet-ending invasion on its way—”
“Sherman, not this again! I don’t know if this is you crying out for attention, but to slander an alien race that the Bureau considers an ally is not mature.”
“But, Dad, it’s—”
And then he sent me to my room, which was never much of a punishment since I could happily entertain myself for hours in a Jessica-free environment.
But I got myself ready for bed and lay awake, my head turning over the day’s events. I’d flown a rocket ship for the first time and met my dead mother. It wasn’t just an average Saturday. I regretted trying to warn Dad again, because for a moment we were actually on the cusp of having a real conversation. Eventually I drifted off to sleep, but soon afterwards was stirred by a familiar blue glow.
Juliet was hovering at the foot of my bed.
Was I dreaming?
“Hello, Sherman,” she said. “I like your rocket collection.”
She was admiring the display of the Saturn models on my bookshelf. They were in order of mission, of course.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to apologize for tonight.”
“No, I should apologize about the drive-in first,” I said.
“There’s no need. NED told me everything.”
“What? What did he say?”
“He explained that you were embarrassed to be seen with me,” she said. “I was hurt, and it would have been nice if you’d been able to tell me in person, but I understand.”
“NED lied,” I said. I couldn’t believe someone so omnipotent couldn’t see the obvious.
“Deities don’t lie.”
“This one does. He’s dead wrong,” I said, then took a deep breath – this was my chance. “I like seeing you and being seen with you, in fact I love it. Juliet, you’ve turned Drama from my least favorite subject to my most favorite subject. You literally brighten my day when I see you and I don’t mean just with your glow.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I didn’t strand you at the drive-in on purpose. I was jumped at the snack bar and thrown into a garbage container.”
“You were playing sports instead of being with me?”
“No, getting trashed is not a sport. Well, not that I know of. It’s just stupid bullying that happens everywhere and that ruined our date. But I like you so much that I’m risking life in a Russian gulag by racing in the rocket trials tomorrow just … just to get you to notice me.”
“I do notice you, Sherman,” she said. “That’s why I was so hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I explained about Germany, my rocket and the threat of being extradited to Russia.
“Are you scared of breaking the rules?” she asked.
“I figure it’s worth it,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll be there to cheer you on,” she said. “I’m glad we’re friends again, Sherman.”
She dematerialized, leaving that one, heart-breaking word hanging in the air.
Friends.
Uh oh.
Now I was stranded. In the friend zone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Vortex of the Friend Zone
The race trials were late on Sunday night. Officially, everyone was welcome to enter the Rocket Races, but the Groom Lake students had a long-standing, secret selection process – a series of midnight drag races to select the competitors. As my friends and I gathered at the hangar once our parents went to sleep, I knew this was my moment to make it to the show.
“Are you sure she used the F word?” asked Sonya.
I recounted the whole conversation, from Juliet materializing in my bedroom (“Hot!” said Octo) to vanishing after saying she was happy to be friends again (“So not hot!”).
“You’re in the friend zone,” sighed Sonya.
“Anyway, she’s not even allowed to date non-deities,” I added.
“She may be a deity,” Octo said, “but she’s a teenager. Have faith in her instinct to rebel!”
“But for now,” said Sonya, “focus on qualifying for the race finals.”
“By my calculations,” said Houston, “competing in the Rocket Races is your optimal path out of the friend zone.”
“And, not to be down on Sherman’s ace piloting skills,” Octo said, “but I’ve got a little advantage up my sleeve. Well, technically, wrapped around my sleeve. Well, okay, so I don’t wear sleeves, but get a load of this.”
He took off one of his sports charities rubber bracelets, a yellow one. As I wondered if Lance Armstrong was any relation to Neil Armstrong, Octo stretched it open like an elastic band – to the size of a hula-hoop.
Inside was a swirling black hole.
“What is that?” I asked, staring into a vortex of space.
“It’s a wormhole conduit,” he explained. He took off and opened another bracelet, red this time, and stuck a tentacle through it. Immediately, the tentacle disappeared inside the red-ringed vortex and popped out of the yellow hoop.
“We ventitents invented the technology, and we’ve got the patent.”
“But what does this mean … ?” Sonya began, but then figured out exactly what Octo was suggesting, just as we all did.
“So you want me to cheat?” I asked.
“It would certainly guarantee victory,” said Houston.
“But it’s cheating, guys,” I protested. “The whole point of this is to impress Juliet, not to make her think I’m a no-good cheat.” It was tempting, but I had to do this for real. “No, I’m sorry. Good intentions, Octo, but let’s keep wormholes out of this race and qualify fair and square.”
“Okay, buckaroo,” said Octo. “I understand.” He closed the vortices and slipped the bracelets back on his tentacles. “But the offer will always be there.”
I got suited up into Aldrin and we moved the rocket out of the hangar to the drive-in, which, at the edge of the salt flats, was serving as the starting area.
The race trials were at midnight, under a breathtakingly full moon and a billion stars. The movie screen was dark and the concession stand closed, but there was a big crowd assembled to watch the qualifying. The space-cars – instead of being lined up in rows to watch a movie – were arranged in a giant crescent shape, blasting music and shining their headlights on a revving, roaring collection of nine rocket racers getting checked by their crews.
Atawee w
as there, clicking his claws and polishing the same red, Ferrari-style rocket he showed off at the drive-in.
“Why’s he racing?” I asked Octo. “I thought he was sponsoring me.”
Octo laughed. “Don’t know a lot of scorps, do ya? They pierce for the kill and hedge their bets.”
Klaatu and his pit-crew of three other Martians bickered as they inspected a sleek, UFO-type saucer. Klaatu’s cousin Irwoot was racing in another heat, and I detected some distinct family tension. Three Xenophine Reeds dropped glowing green cubes into what I guessed was the fuel tank of their yellow, spherical racing-pod. Their pilot contorted himself through a small hole in the sphere, disappearing inside to take control.
I scanned the crowd for Juliet, and finally spotted her blue glow beside NED. Of course. He was marrying stock, after all.
“She’s here,” I said.
“Good,” said Octo. “You show her what you’re made of and race yourself out of the friend zone.”
I also noticed Jessica – chatting with an insect-type in a backwards baseball cap – and realized we’d both snuck out of the house tonight.
Dad was snoring away, in an empty house.
“I instigated the rumour as planned,” Houston announced. “The crowd believes you are my brother Aldrin, and that you’re here as a new exchange student.”
“Good one, Houston,” Sonya said. “Now c’mon, boys, we’re in the first heat.”
The four of us rolled the rocket out of the drive- in’s gate. The crowd pressed up to the fence behind us, pointing their phones to take photos.
“You’ve been drawn against the Reeds,” Sonya said as she pushed, “and a Yazzerbeast called Batta.”
“Yazzerbeast?” I asked. “Like Graz?”
“Same species, meaner outlook,” Houston confirmed.
“Great,” I groaned.
At the starting line – a blackened trough lasered into the dirt by an AJABot – three Slugs in glowing yellow tunics yanked the racer out of our hands and carefully positioned it between the Reed’s sphere and Batta’s rocket. Then Octo wrapped a few tentacles around me and lifted me into the pilot seat.
This was it.
I had to win my heat to qualify.
