Melissa Landers: Alienated

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.”