Melissa Landers: Alienated

“Don’t call me that. I’ll be seventeen next week.” When she was a newborn, Troy had taken one look at her red hair and compared her to a chili pepper. The nickname had stuck ever since, despite her repeated efforts to kill it.

“Hey, I just thought of something.” His blue eyes widened in amazement. “If Einstein was right about light speed, then you’ll be older than me when I come home to visit.”

She thought that would be fitting but didn’t say so. Instead, she nodded toward the other side of the ballroom where three L’eihrs stood huddled together: the official ambassador, who lived in Manhattan, and two visiting students. The third student had wandered away more than thirty minutes ago. “They haven’t opened their mouths once—I’ve been watch­ing. They just look into each other’s eyes. I’ll bet L’eihr’s a really quiet place.”

Troy shrugged and began picking his front teeth with his pinkie nail.

“I wonder which one’s mine.” She hoped it was the short one “talking” to the ambassador. He was the only one who smiled—the only one who looked human.

“Go find out.”

Part of her felt like she should, but the way they tipped their heads and stared at one another seemed so intense. She got the feeling they didn’t want to be interrupted. And maybe it made her a speciesist or whatever, but watching them together made her wonder how Troy would tell them apart once he got to L’eihr.

All of them, men and women alike, wore their shoulder-length light brown hair tied neatly behind the neck. It blended perfectly with their russet skin, and when combined with the tan uniforms, they were a monochromatic solid wall of brown. Like walking paper bags.

Supposedly, their planet was way older than Earth, and all races sort of blended together thousands of years ago. Then they started evolving. Or mutating. Scientists claimed the same thing would happen here one day, but she doubted it. And anyway, why did they try so hard to look alike, right down to their six-inch ponytails?

Before she had a chance to ask, the inside of Cara’s throat tickled. She tried to cough, and the elastic band digging into her waist practically spliced her liver in half. “Ow!”

“What’s with you?” Troy ran a hand over his cropped black hair and cocked an eyebrow. “ Female problems?” He whispered “female” like it was a dirty word.

“No,” she said with an eye roll. “This underwear’s kill­ing me.”

“So take it off. Big whoop.”

“Oh, sure. I’m all about keepin’ it classy like that.”

“You need to unclench, dorkus. Go to the bathroom and stuff it in your little handbag or something. No one’ll ever know.” With a shake of his head, he added, “Jesus, you’re such a girl.”

An unexpected glow radiated inside her chest at Troy’s casual insults, and she bit her lip to hide a smile. Yeah, she’d missed this, too. Glancing to the side, she noticed a restroom sign and began to take his suggestion seriously. Maybe it wasn’t that big a deal. Without “support lingerie” sucking in her curves, the dress would fit tighter than a wet suit, but she could live with that.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

While skirting around the buffet table, Cara caught a whiff of prime rib and her stomach rumbled. Maybe she could manage to eat something after removing the organ grinder panties. She hobbled toward the ladies’ room door, but a middle-aged man wearing a black suit stopped her before she could enter.

“Sorry, miss,” he said while scanning the room. “You can’t go in there.” He wore an earpiece and touched it as if receiving a message. She glanced at his badge: Secret Service.

“Why, what’s wrong?” It was getting harder to breathe.

He continued surveying the ballroom, never making eye contact while he spoke. “The president’s using the facilities. You can’t be inside with her unless you have security clear­ance. I need you to back up.”

“How much longer will she be in there?”

Silence. Still no eye contact. But it made sense that a presi­dent who didn’t care about the Constitution didn’t care how long she monopolized the ladies’ room, either.

“You know where another bathroom is?” she asked, shift­ing her weight to one hip.

A soul-piercing glare was his only reply. Tempting as it was to exercise her right to free speech, she held back, remember­ing her new role as student ambassador. The L’eihr group still huddled nearby, and she didn’t want their first impression of her to be of the psychotic variety.

So now what? She spun around and looked for an open office or any space that might offer a few seconds of privacy. She spotted a large mural that led into a darkened alcove. It could work if she was quick. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she strolled into the dim recess.

Without wasting a second, she kicked off her pumps, hitched up her dress, and hooked her thumbs beneath the stiff elastic waistband. But the spandex didn’t go down without a fight. She jerked and tugged at the stretchy fabric, grunting and swearing quietly to herself for what seemed like an hour. Finally, she rolled the material down over her hips, past her thighs, and stepped free, feeling a breeze of frigid air from a nearby vent raise goose bumps on her naked backside. She was pulling her dress down when she heard muffled laughter from behind. Still barefoot, she gasped and whirled around.

“Sorry,” said a voice in the darkness. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I only wanted to make my presence known before you removed any more clothing.”

Cara’s heart pounded against her ribs while she scrambled to pick up her Spanx and cram them inside her purse. She cleared her throat. “I was just . . . um . . . really uncomfort­able. I’m not taking anything else off.” She slipped her shoes on and backed toward the hallway, feeling her whole body flush red-hot with embarrassment.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I’ve come to expect the unusual from humans.”

The owner of that buttery voice stepped into the light, and Cara stood face-to-face with one of the most stunning individuals she’d ever seen—the missing third student. She clenched her teeth and tried not to gawk, but it wasn’t easy.

From a distance, he’d seemed unremarkable, but up close, his appearance intimidated her. Taller than any of Midtown’s athletes, his fitted uniform outlined every solid curve of mus­cle in his chest and arms, the fabric straining visibly against his broad shoulders. One strand of long honey-brown hair had escaped his clasp and fallen against the outside of his angular jaw, and when he glanced at Cara, her stomach dropped to the floor. It was his eyes that’d left her stunned—not brown like the rest of him, but the most exquisite shade of silvery gray. Holy crap, did they selectively breed for looks, too? That just wasn’t natural.

“S-Sorry you had to see that,” she stammered while step­ping out of the alcove. “I don’t usually go commando.” Oh, God, did she just say that out loud?

He chuckled again, then shrank back as if he’d startled himself with his own laughter. His brows drew together. “It’s none of my concern, Cah- ra.”

“Uh, I’ll just let you get back to . . . whatever you were doing.” Which was lurking in the dark like Chester the Molester, but after her display, she could hardly criticize.

She teetered all the way across the crowded ballroom before she realized he’d called her Cah- ra. If he knew her name, it probably meant the L’eihr she’d flashed was her stu­dent ambassador. Awesome. So much for representing America and making a good impression. And so much for convincing Eric to give the LEAP a chance. He’d take one look at Aelyx and start making ultimatums again. Eric didn’t even like it when she hung out with the spindly guys from the Honor Society, so he’d freak when—