A metallic clatter from the other end of the house rang out.
“What was that?” Syrine asked.
“My human. I think she’s preparing a meal.” His vacant stomach rumbled in protest, no longer satisfied with nutritional supplements and the occasional cracker. He’d give anything for a bowlful of l’ina. But no matter what Cara was cooking, he knew he couldn’t eat it.
Cara. One thought of her brought an invisible weight crashing down upon his back. She didn’t know it, but she’d never see a penny of her scholarship. She’d never set foot on his planet and, worse yet, her peers would hold her accountable for his actions.
Suddenly, an earsplitting series of shrill beeps rang out from the circular white device affixed to his ceiling—the smoke detector.
“We’ll talk later,” he mouthed before shutting down his com-sphere and stuffing it inside the top drawer. Pressing his palms over both ears, he ran through the hallway and toward the kitchen, where tentacles of foul-smelling smoke curled from the open doorway.
He darted inside and found Cara—her face streaked with sandy-colored muck—waving a broom to clear the hazy air.
“Are you all right?” he yelled over the alarm.
With a vigorous nod, she threw open the back door while he opened both windows to allow a cross breeze to ventilate the room. Eventually the air cleared, and sweet silence resumed.
The lingering stench burned his nostrils. “What happened?”
Cara pushed a greasy lock of hair away from her face and pointed to a plate of charred flatbread by the stove. “I made larun for you.”
Larun? At first he didn’t understand, but after scanning the countertop and identifying several varieties of grains and oils, it all made sense. Yesterday he’d said his favorite breakfast tasted like a cross between wheat toast and corn bread, and she must have tried replicating it for him. Great gods. She’d done all this for him—right after she’d lost her mate and half her peers.
She cleared her throat and glanced down at her pink-polished toes. “I know you’re hungry. I wanted you to have a taste of home.”
Something warm swelled inside his lungs until Aelyx feared he might take flight right there in the cluttered kitchen. If there was a name for this emotion, he didn’t know it, but he wished he could summon the feeling at will.
Nodding at the plate, he extended his palm for a sample.
“But it’s burned,” she objected, “and totally vile.”
“I’ll judge for myself.”
Hesitantly, she broke a piece in half and offered it to him.
She was right. Vile didn’t begin to describe what he’d just put into his mouth. The texture reminded him of chewing soil, gritty and thick, and his taste buds could discern nothing but carbon. When he bit down too hard, a sharp edge of grain sliced his gums and he winced, holding one hand against his cheek.
“Oh, Cara, it’s so…good.”
“Yeah?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Then you probably can’t stop at one.” She held out the plate. “Go on. Finish the rest.”
“No, that’s okay,” he said, holding up his hands. “I don’t want to be greedy.”
“I insist.”
“Really, I should save some for your parents.” It was getting harder to keep a straight face. “They’ll love it.”
“That’s true.” She tilted her head in mock contemplation. “I know! I’ll make a fresh batch every single day until you leave. Then I’ll bring the recipe to L’eihr…so you can eat it forever!”
He couldn’t hold it in another second. Laughter erupted from his chest, so he had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from spraying the floor with the half-chewed bits he hadn’t managed to swallow. Cara joined in, tossing the plate into the sink before collapsing against the counter in a wild fit of giggles. She kept pointing at him and trying to speak but couldn’t manage to get out the words. After a dozen tries, she snorted and said, “I wish you could’ve seen your face when you put that bite in your mouth. It looked like you were chewing glass.”
“It felt that way, too,” he barely managed.
She threw an oven mitt at his head, which he dodged by ducking behind the kitchen island. He doubled over in another bout of uncontrollable laughter. Soon his muscles ached, and he pressed both hands over his abdomen to still the pain.
“Either you’ll starve,” she said, “or I’ll kill you with my cooking. Either way, you’re screwed.”
“Completely fashed,” he agreed.
“I can see the headline now,” Cara choked out. “Midwest girl slays exchange student with flatbread, ends alliance negotiations.”
“L’eihrs retaliate by forcing humans to eat Sweeney’s creation,” he added, “ending all life on Earth.”
She burst into another fit of giggles at that before gasping, “What a terrible way to go.”
“The worst,” he agreed. But at least he’d be in good company.
Chapter Seven
Cara lifted one leg from the water and watched tendrils of steam swirl up from her reddened skin. The bath was one of the few places she could be alone now. Colonel Rutter wasn’t kidding when he’d called the LEAP a job—she’d worked overtime making Aelyx feel at home these last couple of weeks.
With her laptop perched securely on the tub’s porcelain ledge, she tapped the screen with a dry index finger and pulled up her blog. Her eyes automatically darted to the followers—a whopping 120,467—before skimming the comments from that morning’s post.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4
The good, the bad, and the useless: it’s Trivial Wednesday.
A special thanks to Vegan_Mandy for suggesting the following theme days. I’m sending you an extra gooey, totally vegan, home-baked virtual cookie. Can you taste the love? Anyhoo, here’s what my esteemed followers can expect when they visit my page:
• Culture Clash Mondays: tidbits on how L’eihr customs differ from ours.
• Trivial Wednesdays: a sampling of pointless L’eihr trivia.
• FAQ Fridays: I’ll try to answer the most commonly e-mailed question that week. Notice I said try. Despite what my best friend might’ve told you, I don’t know everything.
So, without any further ado, here is a fact that will benefit you in no way whatsoever: L’eihrs do not have facial hair. No, really, I’m serious. Geneticists bred the stubble right out of their cheeks about three thousand years ago after deciding it didn’t have the same benefits as body hair. Um, scientists of Earth, can you get to work on that? I don’t have a mustache—not that there’s any shame in that—but I’d love a break from shaving my legs. Please and thank you.
Posted by Cara Sweeney 7:07 a.m.
28 comments
Amanda said…
You’re so lucky! I wish our school had gotten him.
Olca said…
Beam me up, Hottie!
Ashley said…
He doesn’t shave? That’s so cool. No wonder his skin looks sooo soft. ::swoon::
Keith said…
STFU, Ashley. I have three classes with the smug jerk, and it sucks.
Marcus said…
True dat, Keith. Dude’s a total douche-guzzler. HALO meeting tomorrow @3pm.
Humanist said…
Who gives a damn about beards? What about weapons? Ask him that, you stupid BITCH.
Tori said…
@Humanist: Post that under your real name, coño. So I can come put my foot up your ass.
From there, it got really ugly. Who knew an innocent bit of trivia could incite so much drama? She changed her blog settings to suspend comments pending her approval and closed the computer screen.
After plunking a grapefruit-scented bath fizzy into the water, she sank down and tried to decide what to wear when she got out of the tub. Tonight the camera crew would film the first round of interviews—nationally televised interviews—so millions of people could kick back in their recliners, crack open a cold Bud, and laugh at the idiotic th
ings she’d undoubtedly say. At least it wasn’t live, so the film editor could delete any incidents of projectile vomiting.
A knock on the bathroom door interrupted her solitude. “Hey, Pepper,” shouted her dad. “Tori’s here.”
“Okay. Tell her to hang out in my room.”
“Already did.” The thud of Dad’s heavy work boots retreated toward the kitchen.
Cara dried off and wrapped herself in a fluffy blue bathrobe before padding to her bedroom, but Tori was nowhere to be found. Just as Cara started toward the kitchen, she heard a thump against the wall coming from Aelyx’s bedroom. A quick peek down the hall showed his door ajar—odd, considering he’d never left it open before.
On tiptoe, she peered into his room and found Tori rifling through the dresser drawers, hunched over piles of clothing like a bargain bin shopper on half-price day.
“What the hell!” Cara glanced over her shoulder. Luckily, Aelyx wasn’t within earshot…yet. “Get outta there!”
Without bothering to turn around, Tori held up something that looked like a metal golf ball. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know, but put it back!” Clearly she’d have to haul Tori away by force before Aelyx discovered them snooping through his things. She rushed forward, snatching the ball from Tori’s palm. It felt lighter than she’d expected, and she couldn’t help taking a closer look. The brushed, steely surface felt cool to the touch, not conducting her body heat the way metal should. She gave it a light shake, but nothing rattled inside. “Where’d you get this?”
“Top drawer, under his boxers.”
“Seriously? You went through his underwear? You’re deranged.” Cara opened the drawer and shoved the sphere beneath Aelyx’s…personal articles. Then, after hastily refolding the shirts Tori had rumpled, she grabbed her friend’s hand and hauled her out of Aelyx’s room, closing the door behind them.
She had barely enough time to shove Tori across the threshold to her bedroom when Aelyx rounded the corner and strode into the hallway. He stopped short when he noticed her, eyes wide as if she’d caught him doing something wrong instead of the other way around. Cara hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she felt.
“Hey,” she said casually, pulling her robe’s belt a little tighter. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” He folded both arms across his chest, which drew her attention to his dirt-streaked sweater. “Just getting some fresh air before the interview.”
“Again?”
This made three days in a row he’d gone out for “fresh air” and returned looking like he’d face-planted into the lawn. A scrap of brown peeking out from beneath his shoe revealed an oak leaf he’d tracked inside. Maybe he’d been secretly meeting a girl in the woods. A surge of completely irrational jealousy swelled beneath her rib cage before she reminded herself Aelyx didn’t have any girlfriends. That she knew of…
He studied the floor when he mumbled, “Yes. The colors don’t bother me as much now.”
“Right. The colors.” He was the world’s worst liar. But as much as she wanted to press him for more information, it wasn’t any of her business. It’s not like she wanted Aelyx for herself, so who cared if he was hooking up on the sly? Cara shoved down her irritation, suddenly feeling extra naked beneath her thin blue bathrobe. “Hope you had a nice walk,” she chirped, scooting inside her room.
Once safely behind her own closed door, she refocused, gearing up to tear her best friend a new one. But then Tori turned around, and all those reprimands slid down the back of Cara’s throat. Redness rimmed Tori’s bloodshot eyes, half concealed by puffy lids. She’d been crying. Only Tori didn’t cry. Ever.
“What happened?” Cara crouched down to study her friend’s face as if the answer might be written across her forehead, but Tori backed away with a casual shrug.
“I got impeached.”
“From student council? They can’t do that!”
Tori dragged her feet to the bulletin board and began fidgeting with Cara’s awards and ribbons, rubbing the satiny fabric between her fingers. “They can call a vote if I miss three meetings.”
“But you didn’t—”
“They switched the last two meeting times and didn’t tell me.” Grabbing her braid, Tori swept the frayed ends back and forth across her lips. “Then I skipped one last month when you asked me to come over. Y’know, that day you dropped the bomb about—”
“The exchange.” The real reason for this little coup d’état. Damn it, Tori shouldn’t have to suffer for sitting next to Aelyx in the lunchroom. “They can’t do this. We’ll call Mr. Ferguson.”
“Forget it. I don’t wanna be there if they all hate me. What’s the point?” Tori belly flopped onto Cara’s polka-dot bedspread. She rolled onto her side and traced an embroidered black circle with her fingernail. “I heard Jared Lee was gonna ask me to prom before all this, but he changed his mind. And my team’s givin’ me hell, too.”
“Well then Jared’s a tool. And soccer season’s almost over. Just hang in—”
“Don’t you think it’s time to send the A-Licker somewhere else?” Pushing upright, Tori hugged her knees. “I mean, I know you want the money and all, and it’s not like I care what anyone thinks…”
“You sure about that?” Of all the people caving to pressure lately, she hadn’t expected this from Tori, the firecracker who used her middle finger like a calling card. Cara walked to the closet and fingered through her meager wardrobe without seeing a thing, blinded by disappointment. “Look, I committed to this, but it’s not all about the money.” Which was true. She’d kind of grown to like Aelyx, or at least to tolerate him. “Give him a break; he hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Hasn’t done anything wrong that you know of. Come on, Care. He’s a total creeper and he’s up to something. Besides, I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“Huh?” Cara spun around with a belt in one hand and a skirt in the other. “How does he look at me?”
Tori raised a black brow. Then she made a circle with one hand and stuck her index finger through it in an X-rated puppet show. “Like he wants to dock his ship inside your spaceport.”
“You’ve cracked. I think he’s seeing someone.”
“Not a chance.” Tori shook her head. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. He watches you like a stalker—everyone’s talking about it.”
Great. That meant the rumor mill would proclaim her pregnant with alien twins by next week.
“It’s just because I’m his only friend.”
Tori narrowed one eye. “You’re defending him? Maybe he’s drugging you. You pour your own drinks, right?”
“Don’t be ridic.” She held up two tops—one pink, one green. “Which one?”
Tori pointed to the sleeveless pink V-neck and scooted off the bed. “Let me know if you wanna ditch him some night. It sucks that you’re single now and I still don’t get to see you.”
Thinking about the breakup still sent pinpricks skittering across Cara’s body, but they stung a little less each time. This one barely hurt. “You can see me whenever you want.”
“Alone. As in, without him lurking around the corner.” Tori dug through Cara’s makeup bag and inspected a couple shades of lip gloss. “I’m takin’ this,” she declared, holding up Gritty in Pink.
“But you don’t even wear makeup.”
“I do now.” She nabbed a tube of mascara, too. “Maybe it’s time for a change.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But she just waved the pilfered cosmetics and left without another word. Cara stared at her zippered bag in confusion, then shook her head and dressed for the interview.
Cara leaned back and enjoyed the soft tickle of a foundation brush while the makeup artist worked her magic. The stylist ran his fingers through her hair, and the sensation brought goose bumps to the surface of her skin. She sighed and listened to the flurry of activity coming from the living room. The air was thick with excitement and hairspray.
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“Ugh,” said a sharp female voice. “That sofa’s hideous. We’ll need a solid neutral drape. Have three chairs brought in from the kitchen and cover them in the same fabric.” The sound of clicking heels approached. “Tell the lighting crew to set up in the corner and crank up the air conditioner. This tiny dump will get hot fast.”
Dump? Cara’s eyelids flew open, and she scanned the room for the source of the voice. Sure, the sofa was hideous and her house was small, but it wasn’t a dump.
“Seat Bill Sweeney on the outside,” said a woman with chin-length, platinum blond hair. She wore a C-emblazoned pink suit and had an annoyingly exquisite face. “He’s a total dud.”
“Hey!” Cara protested from her seat at the kitchen table. Strangers couldn’t insult her dad. Only she could insult her dad.
“And the mother—head shots only,” the woman said to her assistant. “She’s a chunky little thing.”
“I’m right here, you know.” Was this lady missing her internal filter? Maybe she thought beautiful people didn’t need one. Feeling a full-scale firestorm brewing, Cara held her breath and counted to twenty.
“I see that.” The woman picked a piece of lint from her shoulder. “Sharon Taylor. I’m interviewing you tonight.” Pursing her red lips, she made a “shoo fly” motion with one hand. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
“Yeah.”
Sharon shook her head. “Auburn hair and pallid skin—the worst combination. Don’t wear pink, sweetie. Redheads can’t pull it off.” Then she clucked her tongue in sympathy.
Screw twenty. Cara counted to a hundred. In Spanish.
“How about a nice kelly green top?”
“Don’t have one,” Cara lied, deciding to wear pink tonight out of spite.
“Oh, well.” Sharon waved her fingers at the makeup artist. “Play up her eyes. She’s got great eyes, at least.”