Alienated

Chapter Two

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 dinger 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 Wonder 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.”

“You’re the one swallowing poison.” Eric grabbed his pamphlet and held it in the air like a gospel. “If you believe what the government says.”

Tori leaned forward in her chair and pointed one purple fingernail at the opening paragraph. “This part’s kinda scary.”

With a resigned sigh, Cara scanned the sheet. “The L’eihrs, at least the few we’ve been permitted to see, possess technology, intel­ligence, speed . . . blah-ditty-blah-blah-blah . . . And that begs the question: What could they possibly want from us? Their freakish physical advances are the result of an ancient breeding program, and now that we know humans and L’eihrs are genetically compatible, we believe it’s our women they’re after, to spawn a race of mutants.”

What utter lunacy. She could teach HALO a thing or two about proper persuasive writing techniques. “Oh, come on,” she said. “This is total propaganda. Who takes this stuff seriously?”

“This isn’t a joke.” Eric’s jaw clenched and his eyes hard­ened in a way she’d never seen before. It sent frost skittering down her spine to see the boy she’d once loved disappear inside the furious stranger glaring at her now. “They won’t talk about anything, especially not their weapons, and that telepathy crap they do is—”

“Creepy as hell,” Tori finished.

“Look, it’s done. I already signed—”

“It’s not the only scholarship in the world, you know.” Eric pushed off the sofa, propelling himself to his feet with the force of his anger. “This program’s only for valedictori­ans. So if you say no, the freak goes to another school. But if you say yes, we’re all stuck sitting next to him in class, in the lunchroom, sharing a bathroom. . . . What if they let him play sports?” He raked a hand through his hair, setting it on end. “Think about it. Everyone’ll hate you for bringing him into our lives. And they’ll hate us”—pointing to himself and Tori—“by association.”

Cara studied both of them in shock. “You won’t want to be seen with me?”

Eric’s hot gaze darted to the scuffed hardwood floor between his feet.

“I’m not gonna ditch you, but think about it.” Tori rocked back in her chair. “We don’t know anything about them. What if they’re up to something? What if they don’t let you come home when it’s your turn?”

“They healed my mom. Why bother with that if they just want to wipe us out?”

“Oh, grow up, Cara.” Eric charged to the door and snatched his cleats off the front porch. “They want something for that cure. Nothing’s free. It’s time to take one for the team. Shred the contract or whatever. Undo it.”

“No!” How dare he order her to do anything? “This could make my whole career.”

“No? Just like that? God, you’re so selfish!” Eric was shout­ing at her—for the first time in all the years they’d known each other. “Putting yourself and the whole town at risk, and why? So you don’t have to take out student loans?”

“I’m the selfish one? You arrogant pri—”

“What’s the problem?” Dad strolled in from the kitchen, his hair wildly tousled from Mom’s fingers. He gave Tori’s shoulder a playful squeeze, then scowled at Eric and offered a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Bet you’ve got some home­work to do.”

Eric took the hint. “Yeah.” He leaned in to kiss Cara’s cheek, but instead delivered a whispered warning in her ear. “You better figure out what’s important.” And then he turned and left without saying good-bye, pulling the door shut so softly it barely made a sound. Somehow it stung her ears worse than a slam.

Eric’s HALO pamphlet had fallen to the floor, and Cara picked it up, glancing at the last lines. It is better to die proud Patriots of Earth than to live in quivering supplication to an alien race. Take care that you recognize the L’eihr enemy. He may look human, but he is not.

She shook off a chill. It terrified her to think Eric actually believed this drivel and that Tori wasn’t far behind. What if he was right about the whole student body despising her for bringing Aelyx to school?

Cara pulled a deep breath in through her nose and held it.

No, she couldn’t believe that. Reasonable people would have doubts, just like she did, but they wouldn’t come after her with pitchforks and torches. And Tori was crazy to think the L’eihrs wanted to lure her to their planet and trap her there to make babies. If that was their goal, why not abduct her now? They had the technology to do it—easily.

So why did her palms feel clammy again? Why was her heart trying to escape her body by way of her throat?

Cara released a loud puff of air and tried to ignore the prickles of dread that tickled her skull—the same ones she felt mid-debate when she realized she’d picked a losing argument.