Starstruck

by S E Anderson

  And with that, the snoring began again, stronger than before. Loud, thunderous roars. Loud enough to shake every wall in the house.

  Why had I brought this upon myself?

  I got dressed quickly, trying to go through my normal morning routine, with the exception of the loud snores reminding me that this morning was anything but normal. I cleaned the mugs one at a time, splitting the ones I knew I owned—about three—from the rest of the odd assortment. A sinking feeling filled my gut as I wondered where they had come from. One had ‘world's best dad’ printed on it in bold black letters; definitely not mine.

  Unfortunately, getting squirrel blood out of jeans didn't have a Wiki page devoted to it, and I wasn’t about to ask Reddit. Now, I wondered how I was going to get Zander out of the house without sending the town into a frenzy. I couldn't bother Jules again, and I couldn't call Marcy since she wouldn't be able to help. She didn't own any men's jeans, and anyone else would ask questions.

  Okay, so this was turning out to be much more complicated than I had initially thought. I had hoped that someone who claimed to travel across the universe daily would be able to blend in a little better.

  And this was just the simple stuff, like wearing clothes. How would he manage complicated things, like getting a job, or a bank account, or identification?

  Talk about an illegal alien.

  When I returned from the laundry room with our clothes as clean as I could get them, Zander was gone. The room looked as if he had never been here; even the extra coffee mugs were gone. Zander was nowhere to be seen, which was a frightening thought; an alien doped up on coffee and wearing a flowery dressing gown, possibly commando, would cause widespread panic. Worst case scenario—he’d end up viral on the internet.

  So why weren't there any screams outside?

  I went to the balcony, scanning the limited view I had of the neighboring buildings and the street below. Nope, no Zander down there, no screams from the passersby, not a sound from anyone anywhere.

  He had gone. Again.

  “You drop something?”

  I spun around, and there he was, leaning against the balcony rail, out of the dressing gown and back in jeans and a t-shirt—except these ones weren't stained.

  “Where were you?” I snapped.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean, what do I mean? What is with you this morning? You … you … you OD’d—on coffee.”

  “I did?” Zander asked, confused. “Oh, yeah, I had a little too much to drink, sorry. Out of my system now. Happens pretty quickly with me.”

  “That's messed up.”

  He shrugged. “I didn't know it would affect me like that.”

  “Twenty cups of coffee and you didn't expect that?”

  “Twenty bottles of beer didn't give me any problems.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry. It won't happen again.”

  “If you want to fit in on this planet, stay away from the drinks,” I advised. “Just be careful, okay?”

  “I am being careful.”

  “Are you?” I asked. “Because from what you've been telling me, you get out and about a lot. I thought you could handle yourself in the real world.”

  “I'm sorry, I'm just—” He didn't finish his sentence.

  I don't think he knew how to.

  “Where did those clothes come from?” I asked. “Who—”

  “Your other neighbor.” His lips spread into a grin. “Jumped onto his terrace, told him I was running from my girlfriend's parents. He tossed me something to wear. Not a perfect fit, but at least I'll look more, well, normal.”

  “Ingenious,” I replied.

  Maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe he could make do here. It seemed that the more risk he had to take, the better he was at getting what he wanted. Maybe he had a problem with monotony.

  “Thanks.” He grinned proudly, handing me the silk gown. “Sorry about the dressing gown.”

  “It's okay,” I replied, closing the terrace door after walking inside. I took the dressing gown, marched to my room, and dropped it in the empty laundry basket.

  “We're going to have to buy you some clothes, though,” I said. “One pair of jeans will not hold you over.”

  “I gathered as much,” he said with a curt nod. “If I'm lucky, I still have an account on this planet, maybe even this country. I may have opened one the last time I was here.”

  “So, we'll go to the bank first,” I replied.

  “Yeah, but I can't remember which one,” he said. “Blayde kept it written in her journal. I’ve never had to remember the details.”

  “Well, we should be fine with the money I got for those coins of yours,” I told him. “You'll need some shirts, and we'll have to find you a suit if you're going to go for job interviews. And a tie.”

  “Great.”

  “So, what do you wear back on your planet? Togas?” I asked him, trying to make conversation. I was also dying to know more about this guy. “Where did you come from, exactly?” My phone buzzed in my pocket—Matt, probably, keeping up with our conversation from last night, but he could wait a little longer.

  “It's complicated,” he replied, his face suddenly going cold.

  “I've got time.” I beamed, but Zander frowned. I felt as if I had touched a nerve.

  “It's not that,” he replied. “I want to give you answers, Sally, but that question has none. So please, ask me something else.”

  “Oh, sorry … you sure you don't mind me asking all these, well, kind of personal questions? I can stop. It’s just …”

  “Nah, it's cool. It's been a while since I've had someone to talk to. Ask away.”

  “All right, then.” I grinned. “Stop me if I get too personal. But the desert clothes? And the blood on them? That wasn't from my car or me. Where did you come from? I take it you jumped, but from where? The Sahara Desert?”

  He chuckled. “A little further away than that.”

  “Where?”

  “A small military outpost named Gamma—Beta—4465, in the Quara'tz region, System ZZ—Alpha Singular, in the Keeran Cluster.”

  I snorted so loudly I felt my coffee coming up my nose.

  “Oh, you've been there?” he asked, winking. “Yeah, not a great place.”

  “I take it you weren't on holiday.” I wiped my nose with a tissue, stuffing it into my pocket.

  “Business,” he said, casual-like. “An accidental arrival, but Blayde and I found a reason to stay for a while. That was until they chased us off at gunpoint.”

  “You say that like it happens to you every day.”

  “No, not every day.” Zander rolled his eyes. “Every other day, maybe.”

  “What brought you to Earth?”

  “An accident, really.”

  “Another one?”

  “Yeah, jumping long distances is pretty awful. We can make all our cells jump simultaneously to any point in the universe. Like, um, Earth thing. Earth thing. Do you guys have paper shredders yet?”

  “Yeah, hang on.” I ran to one of the closets and pulled out the shredder my dad had gotten me for my last birthday, still in the box. “The government will go through your mail when you're out shopping,” he had told me. “Do me a favor and use this. I don't want them reading what I send you.” I hadn't used it, considering nobody mails me these days. The Internet is a marvelous invention.

  I unpacked it and placed it on the coffee table. “Is this what you're talking about?”

  “Yeah, that's it. Well, kind of.” He took a piece of paper. “The paper is me. I'm point A. The shredder is the space in between.” He passed the paper through the shredder then emptied the container on the table. He found some tape on the countertop and taped the paper strips back together. “Now I've reached point B, safe and sound.”

  “Looks like you're a puddle of man mush.”

  “Yeah, it's a bit more complicated than that.” He shrugged. “I heal, right? You get the picture?”

  “
Crystal clear,” I said. “So, that's jumping. But when we were in the car, driving away from that … ship, you disappeared? I thought you said you couldn't control where you went.”

  “I don't always jump randomly. I can jump to places I can see. But only where I see. I couldn't jump, I dunno, through that wall or anything. But anywhere I can see inside, I could go to, if I wanted.”

  “Is that all?” I snorted. “I mean, is there anything else you can do? Like, how can you understand what I'm saying right now? I'm assuming not everyone in the universe speaks English.”

  “Universal translator chip,” he said, pointing to the back of his ear. “There was a pretty advanced civilization that figured out how to interpret brain waves and translate any language they were presented with. It's a handy, dandy little gizmo.”

  “Like Miko’s?”

  “Miko's was pretty low tech.” Zander shrugged. “Just one language to another. Mine doesn't care about that.”

  “Way cool.”

  “I know, right?” He grinned from ear to ear. “So, maybe I can get one of those translatey jobs. Wouldn't require too much work, though, admittedly, my area of expertise is in private security.”

  “Ha.” I let out a short laugh, but let it slide because at that moment my phone chimed. I picked it up and read the new text, which came, surprisingly (or, not so surprisingly) from Matt. Another one to say he was looking forward to our date tonight. So was I.

  Zander stared at the device, muttering that he needed to get himself one. He glanced over at me knowingly.

  “Who's this?” he asked, but the look on his face said he already knew. Possibly because of how red my face had gotten.

  “None of your business.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at me. “So, what's lover boy saying?”

  “Hey,” I snapped. “Rude much?”

  “You like him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good for you.” He nodded. “I won't bother you then.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, reading and rereading the short text. I couldn't help but smile. I hadn't been on a date in ages and had never looked forward to one as much as this. All this chatting by phone made me wonder if we'd have anything to say in person. I sure hoped we would.

  “What do the Terrans do on dates?” he asked. “What's the mating ritual like?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Does it involve dancing? Food? Breathing into each other's faces? Or bright outfits?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “On Yuhulis, the trick is to make pungent smelling food,” Zander continued. “If the date reciprocates the feelings and is down for getting dirty, they rub the food through their … um … what do you call it now … ah yes, ridge spikes.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I assume a similar thing happens on Earth.” He grinned. “Well, without the ridge spikes. Or does it involve people playing racket sports in short garments? Or is it as the Internet suggests? Do women claim to be Russian and share under-clad images online while males assert dominance with Yu-Gi-Oh! battles?”

  “I am so confused right now. None of those things make sense.”

  “Love doesn't make any sense.”

  “You're messing with me, aren't you?”

  “If you say so,” he replied, giving me a wink. “You go and have fun on your date.”

  “And you can work on your Earth skills. You may look human, but you don't pass as … Terran.”

  He nodded yet again. “I guess it's time for me to learn what it is to be an inhabitant of Earth. Hey, do you guys have anything decent to watch? I need a good laugh.”

  I slid my computer toward him, though he had made it clear he had already used it.

  “Check out Netflix.” I showed him where I had bookmarked it. “You'll find everything you need there.”

  Zander kept grinning. “Well, this is going to be a blast,” he said, scrolling through the account.

  Yup, it was. With the alien engrossed in the worldwide web, I was free to text Matt and get myself more and more excited for this evening. Though I really hoped Zander wouldn't take our alien tropes too seriously.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Someone Crashes My Date and the Glass Ceiling All at Once

  When the text with a smiley face showed up on my phone to tell me that Matt had arrived downstairs, I was fighting a losing battle with my shoes. The little strappy bits weren't being cooperative. Every time I tried to buckle one up, the other came undone, making me freak out as I tried to rush for the door.

  The shoes were new. I had played the good interplanetary host, taking Zander to the mall to find something he could wear that wasn't stolen or covered in nature stains. While he had wrestled with trying to find clothes that not only fit him but pleased him, I had treated myself to a pair of new shoes. I wasn't the kind of person who bought many things for myself, but after the week I’d had, I thought it was worth it.

  Treat yourself.

  I was trying to impress Matt, though I doubted a pair of shoes would do it.

  The mall had confused Zander, not that he had anything against malls; there were shopping centers on other planets. Apparently, capitalism wasn’t unique to Earth. As he strolled around the clothing stores, he kept asking me the oddest questions, like, “how do they expect me to buy their clothes if their models aren't wearing any?”

  Not that it had been an unpleasant experience. I had my shoes and Zander had some decent clothes, so I had more reason to push him into getting a job and start paying his half of the rent. Yay, me.

  He was binging on Doctor Who, though right now he wasn't watching it. No, he was watching me hop from one foot to the other, desperately trying to attach my feet to my pretty, strappy shoes. “Do you need help with that?”

  I glared at him.

  “Okay, fine. Well, have fun on your date.”

  “Thanks,” I grumbled. The shoes seemed to be staying on now, which was good timing because I had received a second text. I told Matt I would be down in a second.

  The shoes were a killer to walk in, though. I hobbled down the stairs and out the front door to where Matt waited outside his car. His face lit up when he saw me.

  I had gone all-out for this date. I had put on a dress, which I rarely wore, and pinned up my hair in a 'do that looked more elaborate than it actually was—thanks, Pinterest. I wore a light layer of makeup, and I managed to craft eyeliner wings, which had taken forever. I had matched the shoes to the dress, a night sky blue a shade darker than the TARDIS.

  His reaction was the one I’d wanted; he was impressed.

  Heck, yes.

  “Sally, you look lovely.” He stepped forward to give me a hug. He smelled nice, like cinnamon and pine.

  “Thanks, Matt,” I replied. “You look good too.”

  We chatted about nothing important as he drove us to the restaurant. The rain was picking up, hinting at on oncoming storm, but I barely noticed. We drove out of the city and into pretty much the middle of nowhere. I realized then where we were going — La Casa Italia, the fanciest restaurant in the county. It sat alone on the top of a beautiful hill in a refurbished observatory that had repeated rave reviews for its gorgeous design and fantastic food. I had never imagined ever going to it; the cost was exorbitant.

  As I stepped into the lavish lobby, I wondered how Matt could afford to take me to a place like this, what with him being an intern. He didn't look rich. His suit was several years old, slightly faded, and wasn’t tailored. Yet he looked incredibly handsome with his chocolate-brown hair tussled around with gel. It brought out the electric blue of his eyes.

  The waiter led us to a table in the center of the dining room, underneath the vaulted glass ceiling. The rain pounded the panels hard, but it only served to contrast the warmth of the room, making everything feel cozier.

  “Tonight's special is Chicken Parmigianino,” the waiter offered as he seated us, “served with a fresh tomato sauce, with a side of hand-c
ut pasta. I have the wine list right here, sir.”

  “Are you going to have the Parmigianino, Sally?” Matt asked.

  “Sure, it sounds fantastic.”

  If this place hadn't been so fancy, I wouldn't have worked so hard to keep the drool in. It smelled like heaven, and I couldn't wait to eat. The fact that Matt and I shared a similar taste in food meant this night was starting out great.

  “Same here,” Matt nodded, turning to the waiter. “Can you recommend a red to go with the meal?”

  “Of course,” the man replied, pointing to the carte while I admired the room around me. Huge velvet curtains draped from each of the windows, framing the view of the city below. A landscape of tiny yellow and white pinpricks of light in the darkness masked only by the deluge of rain.

  Everything about the restaurant screamed regal, from the paintings on the wall to the golden frame around the bar. I had eaten in good restaurants before but never in one as nice. Or even close to this nice.

  “This is amazing,” I said, completely in awe.

  Matt joined me in admiring the room and smiled.

  I blushed. “I feel underdressed.”

  “Compared to you, it's the room that's underdressed. You look absolutely gorgeous.”

  The way he said it made me feel all warm inside. He meant his words, and I hadn't ever felt a compliment, however light, so deeply.

  Gosh, I was feeling things.

  The waiter returned and poured our wine, leaving me to rein in my face while Matt looked away. The wine was bitter, but I smiled all the same, using it to mask the red that had been coloring my cheeks.

  “So, um, what exactly is it you do for Mr. Grisham?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  He chuckled. “You're trying to figure out how I can afford this place, aren't you?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Well, I'll be honest here—my boss—or should I say, our boss, gave me a huge finder’s fee. For helping him find what he calls an exceptional PA.”

  “Seriously?” I scoffed. I hadn’t even started work yet.