The next morning—like every school day morning—Sami’s mom leaned in through her bedroom door and said, “Samantha, time to get up!” But this morning, instead of seeing the lump in bed that was Sami, Mrs. Lightfoot saw a wad of sheets thrown to one side. She glanced around the room, looking for her daughter, then she heard the bathroom door open in the hall behind her. Mrs. Lightfoot turned around and was surprised to see Sami emerging from the bathroom, dressed, washed, and ready for school.
“Morning, mom!” she said brightly.
Mrs. Lightfoot was so shocked by Sami’s unusual behavior that it took her a moment to recover enough to answer. “Morning,” she said, but it sounded more like a question.
Sami scooted to the kitchen table, where she poured herself a bowl of cereal. Her mother followed her, watching her closely, trying to figure out what was going on. Mrs. Lightfoot looked suspicious. But in fact she was not. She was worried, which is natural since all parents become worried when their children act differently. Mrs. Lightfoot was used to dragging Sami out of bed. That was normal. That was her Sami, the one she knew and loved even if, as she often reminded Sami, “You are such a pain in the patootie in the morning!” Why was Sami different this morning?
“Are you feeling okay, Samantha?” she asked.
Sami shoveled in a spoonful of cereal, some of which dribbled down her chin. “I feel great.”
But her mother was not reassured by this answer. Something must have changed. She sat down at the table, across from Sami. “You sleep alright?”
Sami shrugged. “I guess.”
“How was school yesterday? I didn’t get to talk with you last night.”
“The usual.”
“Trouble in class?” asked her mother. She was poking around with questions, the way you poke a stick in a hole to try and feel if anything is down in there.
“Nope. Not really.” Sami kept spooning up her cereal.
“You doing okay with that alien boy?”
“Brian.”
“With Brian?”
“Yep.”
Mrs. Lightfoot was frustrated. She wasn’t getting anywhere. So she tried something different. “Well, you’re especially hungry this morning, aren’t you?” Sami did not even bother to answer such a weird question, but instead worked at scooping the last of the cereal into her mouth. Finally her mother asked, “Why are you in such a hurry?”
With a clang, Sami dropped her spoon into her empty bowl. “I’m not in a hurry. Say mom, you’re working a late shift today again, aren’t you?”
Mrs. Lightfoot narrowed her eyes and peered at Sami. “Yes, so…?”
Sami grinned. “That’s perfect—”
“And why is that so perfect?”
“That means I can stay at Mr. Sanchez’s and help him rearrange his postcard wall. It’s a big job. It’ll probably take all evening.”
Mrs. Lightfoot nodded slowly and could not take her eyes off of Sami. “Okay,” she said. “That sounds like fun.”
Sami slid off her chair. “I gotta go!” She snatched up her backpack and pecked her mother’s cheek with a goodbye kiss. “See you in the morning! Bye!” And then she was gone. Mrs. Lightfoot sat at the table for a long time, trying to figure out what was going on.
Out in the hall, Sami knocked on Mr. Sanchez’s door. Because she did not want her mother to hear her, she knocked softly. There was no answer but she could hear music coming from inside. She opened the door.
“Mr. Sanchez?”
He was sitting in his green chair, listening to some happy music that sounded to Sami like Mexico. Mr. Sanchez turned to the door. “Yes?”
“I have to stay at school this afternoon. To work on a project,” she explained. “I’ll be late getting home.”
“Okay, mija. See you then.”
“It’s because of the project.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she said. “Well, bye.” She shut the door and stood in the hall feeling all mixed up. She felt terrible about lying to her mother and to Mr. Sanchez, and it was also kind of exciting, and she was scared of what she was doing, and she felt brave, all at the same time.
Sami’s mixed-up feelings rattled around in her the rest of the day at school. So it was a great relief when the end-of-the-day school bell finally rang. The other kids quickly poured out of the room, leaving her alone with Brian and finally able to start her adventure.
Well, not entirely alone, of course. Miss Fox was still there. But this time she was not writing on the board. She was watching them. Sami smiled at her, then said to Brian, “Well, see you tomorrow.”
Surprised, Brian said, “But—“
Sami nodded vigorously and said, loudly, “Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then she headed out the door. “Bye, Miss Fox!”
“Goodbye, Samantha.”
Still looking confused, Brian picked up his backpack. “Goodbye, Miss Fox.”
“Have a nice evening, Brian,” she said.
“I hope so,” he answered, and went out. Miss Fox followed him to the door and peered out. She watched Sami disappear around one end of the building, heading toward the buses, and Brian around the other end, heading toward the front of the school. She shrugged and shook her head, and closed the door.
A very big man in a suit was standing beside a black car in front of the school. Of course the car was filthy (like all cars at this time), and it had windows that were so darkly tinted that you could not see into the car from the outside.
“Hello, Mr. Sombra,” said Brian to the big man.
“Hi, Brian.” Mr. Sombra opened the door to the front seat for him.
“Hey!”
Mr. Sombra instantly let go of the door and spun around, only to find Sami running up, waving her hands. “Wait for me!” she yelled.
Brian’s eyes widened. “But you said you were leaving.”
She skidded to a breathless halt in front of him. “I know, but Miss Fox was there. Get it?”
“No,” said Brian.
“Well, anyway let’s go. Is this your car?”
“No, this car belongs to Mr. Sombra.” Brian held his hand out toward the man. “This is Mr. Sombra.”
Mr. Sombra looked like a lion when it is walking slowly toward its prey. You can see the lion’s big muscles bunching up and moving underneath its skin. Mr. Sombra had those same muscles. And his voice was just as big, like a lion clearing its throat. “What’s going on here?” he roared.
“Brian invited me to his house.”
Mr. Sombra shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Brian stepped forward. “It is—”
“It’s,” hissed Sami.
“It’s alright, Mr. Sombra,” continued Brian. “My parents said it would be alright.”
Mr. Sombra looked back and forth between the two kids, then flipped open his cell phone and walked a few steps away. Brian noticed that Sami suddenly looked nervous. He leaned over to her and whispered, “He often calls his boss.”
Sami nodded. “He’s probably calling the president of the United States,” she explained to Brian.
Mr. Sombra snapped shut his cell phone and came back. “Okay.” He shut the passenger door, then opened the door to the back seat. “Hop in.”
They hopped.
The car drove down streets that were unfamiliar to Sami. As they glided along there were fewer and fewer other cars around them. Then they turned down a street that had no cars on it at all. There were only a few driveways along this street, each of which was blocked by a gate set in a fancy stone or brick wall. As their car pulled into one of those driveways, Mr. Sombra pressed a button on the steering wheel and the metal gate across the driveway began rolling open. Sami noticed that, while the gates for the other houses were made of bars she could see through, this gate was solid. As soon as the car slipped through the open gateway, the gate rolled closed behind them.
Once inside the walls the car drove slowly along a circular driveway. Sami knew it was a gravel driveway because
she could hear crunchy grinding sounds coming from the car tires. At the far side of the driveway circle Sami could see a white, two-story house. The big yard through which they were slowly driving was nothing but rocks, dirt, and dead trees and plants. Most of the people in Paradise had planted desert plants around their houses. But rich people had planted grass and trees and bushes that were not from the desert at all. When the water ran out and the rationing started, the rich people were soon left with yards filled with dead plants. Sami was in one of those places right now, so she assumed Brian’s parents must be rich.
The car rolled to a halt at the front door of the house. Mr. Sombra slid out and opened the back door. “Alright.”
Sami had forgotten about the dark tinting of the car windows. So when she scooted out of the car she was blinded by the sudden brightness of the sunlight. She squinted and shaded her eyes. Now that she was outside the car she could see how brown and dry everything really looked.
A shadow fell across Sami and Mr. Sombra’s lion voice rumbled above her head. “My eye will be on you,” he growled.
Sami looked up into his huge face glaring down at her. He pointed with his chin. She looked across the trunk of the car and saw Brian waiting for her at the front door of the house. Mr. Sombra whispered, “Don’t get friendly with them.”
Sami backed away, then hurried around the back of the car. Mr. Sombra watched her until she and Brian disappeared into the house.
When the front door closed behind her, Sami found herself standing in a large entryway. A skylight overhead filled the space with a smooth, bright light. This light, however, was no longer of any use to the many dead, potted plants that ringed the entryway. They had been dead for a long time. The floor was made of a slick, cool tile that gave a slight echo to every little sound. To her right were stairs leading up to the second floor. To her left was a pair of sliding doors. These doors were closed. There was another pair of doors straight ahead, but these were open, and piano music was coming from that room.
“Come,” said Brian, and he led the way into the room with the music.
The room was large and bright, with windows and big sliding glass doors that looked out onto the back yard. There was a stone fireplace, a couple of nice sofas, chairs, a television, a table with a CD player surrounded by piles of CDs, some big speakers, and a desk. There were no pictures or paintings on the walls at all. Scattered around the room were toppling piles of CDs and books—hundreds of each of them. (Sami thought of how delightful it will be to tell Mr. Sanchez about this room.) Also scattered on the floor, piled on tables and the sofas, and leaning against walls were dozens of musical instruments. Sami recognized a cello, a xylophone, a harp, a flute, and a trumpet. But there were other instruments that were unfamiliar to her, and still others that were hidden in their cases. There was also a piano. A woman—an alien woman—was sitting at it with her back to them, playing.
She was playing very badly.
“Hello, mother,” said Brian.
The alien woman spun around on the piano bench to face them. “Come, Brian,” she said as she held out her hands to her son. At first Sami noticed how the woman looked like Brian. She was bald and her skin was pale like milk, with a hint of blue in it. Like Brian, her eyes were crescents that were filled with those amazing, golden irises. And, of course, each of the impossibly strange hands she stretched out to Brian had two thumbs with two fingers in between. As she folded her arms around Brian, however, Sami thought the alien woman looked beautiful. This thought surprised Sami. How could she think that an alien looked beautiful?
Brian’s mother let go of him, folded her hands in her lap where they were out of sight, and turned to Sami. “You are Sami,” she said.
“Yes,” said Sami.
The woman smiled the same little smile Sami had seen on Brian. “You are the little girl who convinced Brian to use contractions. We are very grateful to you. Of course we knew about contractions. But, you know, children often do not listen to their parents. It makes speaking much easier, doesn’t it?”
Sami smiled. “Yeah.”
Brian’s mother was wearing a yellow, sleeveless shirt with dozens of red and green palm trees printed on it at crazy angles. Ear buds for an iPod were stuffed into her shirt pocket. Sami followed the wire down to the iPod itself, which was clipped to the waistband of the woman’s pants. The pants were a deep purple, like grape juice. Sami glanced at the woman’s feet, hoping to see what they looked like, but they were hidden inside a pair of moccasins, just like the ones Sami had seen Indians wearing in western movies.
“My name is Shareen, Sami.”
Sami wrinkled up her forehead, and asked, “So, do I call you Mrs. Shareen?”
“No, just Shareen. Where we come from—I mean came from,” and here Shareen looked sad for a moment, “we have only one name.”
“That must be confusing,” said Sami.
“Why?” asked Shareen. “Don’t you know who you are?”
“Sure I do. But what if, you know, you’re in a crowd and there’s more than one Sami and your friend is calling you?”
“Well, no one will have the same voice as your friend. You would recognize your friend’s voice. That’s what we do.”
Sami was feeling stubborn, like she had to defend being a human being with more than one name. “But what about if someone sends you a letter?”
“Surely it goes to your address, Sami.”
“What about an email?”
“That goes to your own email address.”
Sami was stuck.
Shareen tilted her head slightly and asked, “Do you play the piano?”
Sami shook her head. “No.”
Shareen pointed to a stack of instrument cases against the wall. “Well, perhaps the violin?”
“Nope,” Sami said.
Shareen continued pointing at various instruments. “Saxophone? Guitar? Tuba? Glockenspiel? Piccolo? Ocarina? Timbales?” But for each of them Sami shook her head, no. Clearly troubled, Shareen looked at Sami for a moment, then picked up a harmonica that had been left on the piano. She put the harmonica to her mouth and blasted out a note, then held it up and nodded at Sami.
Again Sami shook her head. “I don’t play any instruments,” she explained.
Shareen seemed shocked, then disappointed. She nodded. “Strange. Well, Brian, perhaps you can show Sami your room while I fix a snack for us.” She stood up and Sami nearly fell over with surprise. She had forgotten that the grown up aliens were quite tall, and now Shareen was suddenly towering over her.
“Come on,” said Brian, and he led Sami back into the entryway and started up the stairs. But Sami stopped on the first step to stare at the closed doors across the way. Brian stopped, too, and whispered, “That’s my father’s office,” then continued up the stairs. Before following him, Sami glanced at the opening into the living room. Brian’s mother was still standing there, watching them go. Sami thought that she looked worried. But she decided it was hard to tell with these aliens.
Brian’s room was incredibly boring, thought Sami. To begin with, it was incredibly tidy. The bed was neatly made, and his clothes were hung in the closet or folded away in the chest of drawers (instead of being scattered on the floor which, of course, is normal for kids). If he had any toys or sports equipment, they were put away. (Sami did not think he had any.) There was nothing on the walls, no posters, no certificates, no photographs, nothing. There was a desk with drawers and a chair. On the desk was a computer, and next to that was an open book. It was a very thick book. Beside the desk stood a small bookcase filled with books that had been neatly arranged so that all of their spines marched along in a line. Next to the bed was a small table with a reading lamp, an electric alarm clock, and an iPod sitting in a speaker cradle. And that was it.
Sami gave a little whistle and whispered to herself, “Holy mackerel.”
Brian carefully hung his backpack on the back of his desk chair. Sami let hers slide off her shoulder and drop
to the floor. Something shiny hanging in front of the window caught her eye, so she went over to see what it was. It was a piece of glass with many flat sides, so that it looked like a crystal. It was hanging by a thread. When Sami moved it closer to her the sunlight caught it and suddenly rainbows flashed out of it and onto the walls of Brian’s room. Sami let the crystal back into the shadow and looked out of the window and down into the back yard. Below her she saw a patio that surrounded a large swimming pool. The pool was empty, of course. Enough dirt had collected in the bottom of the pool so that now a few weeds were growing in there. Around the pool area was a long-dead lawn and trees with crispy, brown leaves. She pointed and asked, “What’s that?”
Brian joined her at the window and followed her finger. She was pointing at a small house in the back corner of the yard. “That is where Mr. Sombra lives.”
“He lives here? All the time?”
“Yes. Your government gave us this house and Mr. Sombra. He is—”
“He’s,” Sami corrected automatically.
“He’s here to protect us.”
“From who?”
“From people.”
Sami turned to lean against the windowsill. She crossed her arms. “So, what do you do around here?”
Brian pointed to his desk, “I do my homework—”
“I mean for fun.”
Brian nodded toward the open book on his desk. “I have been reading your dictionary to learn more words.”
“Earth to Brian, Earth to Brian!” Sami pushed off from the windowsill and flipped the dictionary closed. “I said for fun.”
“Um…” Brian looked around his room. “I have many books. And I surf the web to learn things. And I listen to music.”
“That’s cool,” said Sami, and she skipped over to plop onto his bed. She thumbed the iPod to life and her finger skated and tapped on the screen as she searched for something to listen to. She would hear two or three notes of a song, wrinkle her nose, and tap on to the next song. Symphonies, piano solos, jazz, ska, blues, country, reggae, church music, movie soundtracks, rock, and hip-hop stuttered out of Brian’s speakers until Sami finally found something she liked.
She scooted back on the bed to sit against the wall. “Wow, you listen to all that?”
“Not all of it. My parents put it on my iPod for me. They listen to everything. They are nuts about all music.”
“Why?”
Brian looked intently at Sami and nodded his head as he repeated, “They are nuts about music. Nuts about it.”
“I heard you the first time, Brian. ‘Nuts.’ That’s good. You’re getting the hang of normal talking. But why are they nuts about music?”
Brian’s face was twisted with confusion. “‘Hang of?’” he asked.
“Later Brian! Just answer the question!”
“Yes, Sami. On Adonae we did not have music.”
Sami’s eyes went wide. “No music? You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding.”
“That’s totally messed up! How can you live without music?”
“My parents think that discovering music is the best thing about finding Earth.”
Sami and Brian sat quietly on his bed listening to a woman singing about leaving home while she plunked on a piano and a saxophone wailed in the background. Since Brian showed up, Sami’s life was getting weirder and weirder, and she had a lot of new things to think about. For instance, she now understood why there were so many instruments in the house, and why Shareen had looked strange when Sami said that she did not play an instrument. But how could the aliens not have music? I mean, yeah, they look kind of strange, but still they look like people. I guess they’re people. And people always have music. I’ll bet cavemen had music. Did that story about that boy from Kenya—Konoko, yeah, that was his name—did it say they had music? They must have, because they’re people, too, Sami decided. Aren’t they?
Sami gave up on thinking for the moment and just listened to the singer striking chords and complaining that her town is too small for her big dreams. After a few moments Sami nodded and said, “I like this.” She looked at Brian, “Do you like it?”
He tilted his head to one side, listened carefully for another moment, then shook his head and said, “She’s nuts.”
Chapter 8
“No one touches us”