by Jeff Norton
“A little something for the gulag,” he said. “We’ll be waiting on the other side.”
“Where will that be?” I asked.
“In fair Verona,” said Juliet. She took both of my hands, looked me straight in the eyes and kissed me, her lips warm and electric. “Go face them like the hero you are.”
I stepped off the ship with my hands up and my eyes squinted against the harsh lights. Four Military Police rushed me and forced me to the ground. I could taste engine oil in the sand and feel the handcuffs cut into my wrists. My heart thumped in rhythm with the beating helicopter blades above.
“UNHAND THAT AIRMAN!”
Dad’s voice rang out over the noise and chaos. “I SAID, UNHAND THAT AIRMAN!” he boomed again.
“Stationery Officer, um, sorry, General Capote …” stammered one of the men, hoisting me to my feet and unclipping the cuffs. I noticed Dad was wearing his fully decorated general’s dress uniform again. I guessed he’d received a promotion in light of the world not being destroyed.
“Sherman just saved this entire planet,” he growled, signaling the officers to lower their weapons. “The world’s leaders have sent their commendations and all charges have been dropped.”
“No gulag?” I asked.
Dad smiled, shook his head and wrapped me in a vice-grip hug. “Not for my son. Not on my watch!”
Jessica was soon sprinting from the ship and all three of us stood there hugging. My family was – at last – a family again. I looked over to the Eggcraft, to my friends, silhouetted at the ship’s entrance. The aliens who’d returned home.
“Uh-um,” interrupted a female voice behind us, clearing her throat. I turned to see Juliet’s Mentor, stepping into the spotlights. “If you’ve finished your tactile display of affection, I believe these youngsters have a dance to attend. Which I am under Icon orders to chaperone.”
Epilogue
Octo was already fully healed by the time we made our grand entrance at Prom.
The gym was packed with dancing students, thrashing to a Taylor Swift cover of the Beastie Boys’ ‘Intergalactic’. Martian tripods loomed over the dancing masses, lit by flashing lights and disco balls. But as soon as they spotted us, the music stopped, their swaying halted, and the aliens all stood and stared.
Klaatu the Martian stepped forward and slowly clapped his little hands. For what felt like the longest moment, no one else joined in.
Octo whispered to me, “Uh oh, slow-clap fail.”
But one by one, the other aliens joined in until the gym shook with applause.
I looked at the sweaty sea of aliens, this cheering student body of thirty-eight species. Just a few weeks ago, they were strangers to me. Now, still strangers to humanity, they were my people and I felt like I finally fitted in somewhere.
Juliet reached out her hand and as I looked over, I did a double take – she wasn’t blue. She was back in human, teenage-girl form.
Jess held Octo’s tentacle, and Sonya took Houston’s arm. I looked over at the snack table and caught Dad and the Mentor comparing notes on raising teenagers while choosing which Rilperdough to indulge in. As soon as they bit into their sentient pastries, they both just smiled at us.
We strode to center-court as returning heroes and saviors of the Earth, but mostly as friends. They weren’t just the best friends I’d ever had; they were the best friends I could have ever wished for.
And when the DJ put the music back on, David Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’, we danced like we’d just survived the War of the Worlds.
- The End -
Acknowledgments
This project has been a long-gestating labor of love. I first dreamed up Sherman, Jess and the crazy idea of a high school for aliens while I was on holiday. I became so obsessed with these characters and their world that I felt compelled to put pen to paper (and thus, it wasn’t much of a holiday). I have to thank some key people for being part of the journey.
My wife Sidonie for believing in this story and encouraging me to keep going with it.
Matt Knight for helping to bring Sherman’s story to life.
Catherine Coe for her editing skills and Emma Young for her fantastic final copy-edits.
George Edgeller and John Bond at whitefox for turning words into reality.
Everyone from Nelson High School in the early 90s for giving me the raw material to draw from. I’ve never been to a high school for aliens, but I sure did feel like an alien in high school.
And lastly, I want to thank you, the reader. I crafted this story for you, to make you laugh, cry, and maybe think. Everything in life is basically high school; groups of people clustering in cliques trying to get by. And if we’re kind to each other, maybe that’s the key to peace in the galaxy … or at the very least, in the school cafeteria.
