Syrine tapped his forearm, returning his attention to present company. She must have sensed his agitation. It was one of her many gifts.
We can do this, she promised, then gestured out the window and added, for them.
I know. After all, the sh’alear had been his idea, and when the rest of the Aegis had learned of his plan, they’d declared him a hero. But that didn’t mean Aelyx looked forward to spending eight months on Earth among savage aliens. He shook his head and glanced once more at his home planet before assuring Syrine, You’re right. We can do this.
The two of them followed behind Eron and Stepha, making their way toward the main ship. The station was virtually empty at this early hour with the exception of a lone vendor peddling his wares near the boarding gate. A hiss of steam from the spaceport’s ventilation system punctuated the echo of clicking boots. Aelyx noticed the recycled air had a distinct odor to it, akin to the stale scent of H’alar cave, his favorite hiding spot as a child. How many hours had he and Eron spent exploring those narrow, frigid passages? Hundreds at least.
The memories sent a prickle of worry through his chest. Humans would ruin it, just as they’d destroyed so many of their own natural wonders. Mankind didn’t regulate their population growth as L’eihrs had done. Aelyx had studied human history. He knew what would happen if these aliens ever settled on his planet. Something American humans called “Manifest Destiny.” They’d take whatever suited them and outnumber the L’eihr within decades. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Here, brothers,” the vendor called to Aelyx and Eron. “You can’t travel to Earth without these!”
“I’m certain that I can,” Eron said with a laugh.
Aelyx glanced at the man dangling a black cord from his fist. A twinkling object reflected the overhead light, and upon closer inspection, he found the man had affixed a faceted ahib to the cord as some form of adornment.
“What’s this?” Aelyx asked him.
“A neck-lace.” The vendor brought the cord to his throat in demonstration. “I’ve heard that human females cannot resist shiny objects. They wear stones around their necks and even embed them into their ear flesh. If you buy this for your hostess’s Sh’ovah Day, you honor the Sacred Mother while presenting a fine gift to your human.”
Aelyx pressed his lips together to contain a smirk. He doubted a common pebble from beneath his feet would impress anyone. Not even humans were that foolish.
“It’s true,” Stepha said. “Stone jewelry is considered the preferred gift by many females, though they don’t observe Sh’ovah. Instead, they celebrate the anniversary of their birth.”
“Interesting,” Aelyx muttered. Perhaps he should bring a gift. It might give the impression that he cared. “I’ll give you thirteen credits.”
The man wasted no time in wrapping the neck-lace inside a fabric pouch. Aelyx extended his wrist for the vendor to deduct the credits, and after a quick scan of the data embedded beneath his skin, he pocketed his “treasure” and jogged to catch up with Eron and Syrine.
“Earth girls really covet stones from the ground?” Syrine asked in disbelief. “My human’s a male. I wonder if he’d enjoy a nice satchel of dirt.”
“Or perhaps a parcel of animal droppings,” Eron added with humor in his eyes. “What odd beings.”
As Stepha shuffled within earshot, Aelyx quickly changed the subject, asking Eron, “Is your l’ihan aboard this transport?”
“I wish,” he said. “But no. She’s assigned as medic on the—” Eron bit short his reply as Syrine broke into a sprint. Her boots rattled the metal grates beneath their feet, ponytail swinging between her shoulder blades as she left them behind.
“Fasha,” Aelyx swore, watching her disappear through the ship’s doors. Maybe Syrine’s affections for their roommate ran deeper than he’d thought. “She’s still upset about you and Elyx’a?”
Eron dropped his gaze. “They were friends once. I think that makes it worse.” He glanced up just long enough to add, “If you and I wanted the same female and she chose between us, I imagine we’d become enemies, too.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Aelyx had never felt that level of attachment for anyone. He elbowed Eron lightly in the ribs. “Perhaps I’d show mercy and simply let you have her.”
Eron laughed, but still he looked troubled. “Syrine cares for you,” he said as if probing for a reaction. “Maybe not the same way she feels for me, but you could—”
“Wait,” Aelyx interrupted. “Are you saying I should make her my l’ihan?”
“No! Well, perhaps. Just think about it. Sooner or later, we all have to choose. Why not her? You know the two of you are compatible.”
Why not Syrine? Aelyx couldn’t say with any degree of certainty. He simply didn’t see her that way. “First of all, you assume she’d have me as your substitute.”
“A poor one at that, but yes, I think she would.”
Aelyx shot him a burning look.
“And second?” Eron asked.
“It would feel unnatural. You might as well ask me to partner with a human.”
Eron shuddered and opened his mouth to speak when the ambassador interjected from behind, “Keep an open mind, brother. There are worse things The Way could ask of you.”
Aelyx gripped the icy railing with both hands, feeling his eyes widen to the size of sh’ad patties. His friends were right—the Elders had spent their wits. If he’d ever felt a moment’s hesitation about his plan, it was gone now. Aelyx closed his eyes and focused, slowing the rush of blood to his head and steadying his pulse. In a deceptively calm voice, he assured Stepha, “I will follow The Way to glorify Mother L’eihr.”
Chapter Two
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 3
Greetings, Earthlings!
Welcome to ALIENATED, your exclusive source for close encounters of the nerd kind. I’m Cara Sweeney, and I’ll be your intergalactic tour guide this year. As I host the nation’s first L’eihr exchange student, I’ll be dishing out all the juicy tidbits you always wanted to know about L’eihrs but were afraid to ask. And nothing’s off-limits, folks. When it comes to unearthing a story, I’m not afraid to boldly go where no girl’s gone before! It all kicks off in two weeks, so check back soon and check back often. Want my posts delivered to your inbox? Subscribe to my RSS feed! In the meantime, please join me in extending a big Homo-sapiens welcome to Aelyx, who should be piercing the ozone right about now.
Can’t wait to meet you in Manhattan, Aelyx! And don’t worry—I come in peace. :)
Cara scheduled her post to drop at six o’clock the next morning, which gave her more than enough time to spring the news on her boyfriend. Since she hadn’t considered Eric in her decision to accept the scholarship, the least she could do was give him a head start on blowing a gasket. Which he undoubtedly would. But she didn’t want to think about Eric right now, not when she could distract herself with debate practice instead.
She closed her laptop and leaned forward in her seat to tune in to the mock debate taking place on the other side of the World Studies classroom. Joss Fenske was arguing for the benefits of treating water as an economic resource to be traded across international borders while his opponent checked her watch.
“Uhh,” he began, “water is a, uhh, naturally occurring commodity, no different than, uhh, oil or natural gas—”
Cara interrupted him by shooting a rubber band at his neck. When Joss heaved a sigh and cocked his head as if to ask, Seriously? Cara shrugged and lectured, “Those uhhs are killing us. Same goes for saying like after every other word.” She pointed at Kaitlyn Ray and said, “I’m looking at you, Kaity.”
“Like, gag me with a spoon,” the little smart aleck replied.
Ignoring her, Cara returned her attention to Joss. “This time I want you to counter the argument that, unlike oil and natural gas, water’s necessary to survival, and without controls in place, we could see wars break out as the population continues to explode.”
Joss licked his lips and nodded, then began yammering with all the confidence of a deer staring down a speeding Mack truck. Cara slumped at her desk and propped her chin in her hand. This team was toast after she graduated. She could coach them into the ground, but she couldn’t give them the fury that won championships. Fight came from within—either you had it or you didn’t. Even the L’eihrs recognized passion when they saw it.
Which reminded her, the L’eihr ambassador had finally answered her e-mail asking what Aelyx’s room looked like back home. His response: gray walls, beige floor, basic cot, one storage unit per resident, no decorative embellishments. In other words, prison chic. At least it wouldn’t take long for Mom to transform Troy’s old bedroom—just a few coats of paint and a new area rug. Cara could swing by Lowe’s and pick up supplies after debate practice. If Aelyx felt comfy and secure, it might loosen his tongue for a blog interview.
Her eyes darted to the clock above the SMART Board.
“Let’s break a few minutes early,” she suggested. “I’ve got a physics lab due tomorrow.” Not to mention an essay for AP English, an alien exchange student to prepare for, and some explosive news to dump on Eric. Looked like another all-nighter.
“Hey, babe.” Eric brushed shreds of grass and dried mud from his lacrosse jersey, littering Cara’s front porch with debris, while darting a glance over her shoulder into the living room. He kicked off his cleats and stepped inside, then closed the door behind him. “Where’s your dad?”
She plucked a leaf from his sweaty blond hair and used it to tickle beneath his chin. “In the kitchen. Why?”
“’Cause he’d kill me for this.” Hooking an index finger, he pulled back the top of her T-shirt and peered inside. When she smacked his hand away, he flashed a lopsided grin and nodded toward the kitchen. “Feed me. I’m dyin’ here.”
“Boobs and snacks?” Cara folded her arms while a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “Is that all you want from me?”
She was only half joking. Ever since junior prom, when a few of Eric’s buddies had gotten lucky, he’d been trying to play catch up, like sex was a race and he didn’t want to come in last place. He didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t ready to cross the finish line.
“I’m so offended right now. How could you think that’s all I want?” Then the sly grin curved his lips again. “I’m after way more than that.”
“Jerk.” She laced their fingers together and tugged him toward the kitchen. “C’mon, I’m starving, too.” Right on cue, Cara’s stomach gurgled in response to the scent of spicy marinara sauce. She hadn’t eaten a bite at lunch, too unsettled by the prospect of telling Eric they’d have a third wheel for the rest of the year. Well, a fourth wheel if you counted her best friend, Tori, but Eric didn’t hate her as much as L’eihrs. Close, but not quite.
“Your mom making pizza?” Eric slipped his other hand up the back of her skirt, and she smacked that one, too, wishing he’d give it a rest already.
“No, it’s—” All coherent thoughts ceased and Cara froze in place when she walked into the kitchen and found her parents entwined against the refrigerator, lost in a deep kiss.
She cringed and raised a hand to shield her eyes while Eric spun a clumsy pirouette and bolted from the room like it was on fire.
“Gross.” She peeked through her fingers. “Why can’t you guys keep that stuff private?” Really private—like behind closed, dead-bolted, soundproofed doors.
Mom broke from the kiss with a smack and pushed a tangled black lock of hair away from her face. “Hey,” she said through swollen lips. “When did you get home?”
Dad didn’t bother looking up. Only his mussed strawberry hair was visible as he nuzzled the side of Mom’s neck.
“Just a few minutes ago.” Cara wrinkled her nose. “Really, Dad, can you give it a rest?”
A dismissive wave was his only reply. Dad was captain of the Midtown fire department, and he and Mom were always…amorous…when he came off a forty-eight-hour shift. Why couldn’t she have normal parents who hated each other, like everyone else?
Her appetite crushed, Cara decided to abandon the snack-finding mission. But first she completed her daily scan of Mom’s face, checking for pale, waxen skin or the gray semicircles that used to haunt her eyes. Finding everything smooth and rosy, she released a quiet sigh and turned away.
Even after all this time, it was hard to believe Mom was really cured, that some celebrity prankster wasn’t waiting to jump out of his tricked-out media van to yell, Boo-yah! Your mom still has ovarian cancer. You got served! She wanted to trust the L’eihr plant, the asheem, but it wasn’t so easy. Turning away, she gave her parents the privacy they obviously wanted and returned to the living room.
“What, no food?” When Eric clutched his stomach in mock agony and played dead, collapsing onto the sofa with a thud, she saw a glimpse of the old Eric—the dorky, beanpole freshman who’d made her laugh, even when the heart of her family was dying. Now he seemed out of place on her shabby furniture, like a young, blond Zeus come to wreak havoc among mortals. She missed the string-bean boy and his jokes.
“You’ve got two legs,” she teased. “Walk ’em back in there if you’re hungry.”
He cringed like he’d tasted anchovies. “Geriatric porn doesn’t raise my flag.”
Cara giggled. The old Eric was still in there. “Hey, let’s play Total Zombie Massacre—battle to the death, just like old times.” When he shook his head, she pleaded, “C’mon. I’ll go easy on you.”
“I have a better idea.” Grabbing her wrist, he gave a mighty tug, sending her careening into his lap. The pungent odors of musky cologne and sweaty boy pummeled her nostrils, and then his mouth was at her ear, his fingers dancing up the length of her inner thigh. “Let’s go to your room. Your dad’s not coming up for air anytime soon.”
Palming his damp chest, she pushed away and tried to breathe through her mouth. Why couldn’t he understand that all this pawing only pushed him further from his goal? “Unh-uh. Tori’s coming over.”
He heaved a sigh against the side of her throat while his fingers halted their advance toward third base. “Great. Just what I need. Why can’t the clinger get her own life?” He pushed Cara away and moved to the other end of the sofa, but not before she slugged him in the bicep.
“She has a life. She’s skipping student council for me.” And Tori hadn’t missed a meeting yet—mostly because her longtime crush, Jared Lee, was class president.
“Why’d you ask her over?” Eric said, rubbing his arm. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“Maybe I should.” Heat rose into Cara’s cheeks. The endless groping, the insults—she couldn’t take much more of the new and “improved” Eric. Closing her eyes, she counted backward from ten to one and tried to recall the bulleted list of suggestions in Anger Management for Imbeciles. Deep breath in…deep breath out. Oh, to hell with it. If this didn’t get rid of him, nothing would: “I signed the contract.”
“What contract?” It took a few seconds for her words to sink in, and then Eric’s lips parted with an audible pop. “That LEAP thing you talked about at lunch?”
“Yep.”
“You’re screwing with me, right?”
“Nope.” Stiffening her resolve, she added, “We bring him home in two weeks.”
“Are you insane? You’ll have to actually go there! No amount of money’s worth that!” Eric reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wet, crumpled leaflet, but his hand froze in midair before it reached her. “Wait. Did you say him? It’s a guy? No effing way!”
Three sharp knocks sounded at the door, and Tori let herself in, turning their attention away from the argument for a few seconds.
Tossing her long black braid over one shoulder, Tori dropped her goalie gloves haphazardly onto the floor before tugging her Midtown soccer T-shirt over her head and using it to wipe her sweaty face. Then she slung the shirt around her neck and stood in her sports bra and shorts, gripping her waist like Wonde
r Woman.
Tori shot daggers at Eric. “Hey, culo.” She flipped him the bird, and he returned the gesture. Their hatred had always been mutual.
She was the yin to Cara’s yang—teakwood skin, jet black eyes—an academic underachiever with ten tons of nuclear energy driving her miniature four-foot-nine-inch frame. But they had one thing in common: they didn’t hold back.
In an unusual move, Eric spoke directly to Tori, waving her over to the sofa. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
“Let’s see. Something I’d never believe…” She tapped one finger against her chin. “You finally took your nose outta Marcus Johnson’s butt crack?”
“You won’t be laughing when a L’asshole crashes your next slumber party,” Eric said darkly. “Have fun braiding his hair, or whatever you girls do at those things.”
“What’s he talking about?” Tori pulled a chair up to the sofa, then turned it backward and straddled the seat while Cara filled her in on what she’d missed.
“Puta madre! Slow down. You gotta read this before you decide for sure.” Tori held one hand forward while using the other to pull a sweaty wad of paper from her bra. She smoothed it out against her thigh and handed it to Cara. “They were giving ’em out after practice.”
“Us, too,” Eric added, flinging his leaflet onto the sofa cushion. “Marcus’s dad is president of the local chapter. I already joined.”
Cara held the nasty thing at a distance and glanced at the front cover. HALO: HUMANS AGAINST L’EIHR OCCUPATION. THE PATRIOTS OF EARTH. “Seriously? Since when does anyone listen to HALO?” The kooks had thousands of members in every nation, but they were known extremists—the kind of people who stockpiled weapons and looked forward to the apocalypse. “Did they offer you any Kool-Aid? I hope you didn’t drink it.”