"Wh..what?" stammered Melanie.
"The notes," Michael said impatiently. "The ones you left in her locker, on her car, at work."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she protested.
He glared down at her, and she quailed, taking a quick step backward. "Alex," he barked, seeing the bass player approaching down the hall, "Go find Maria. Get the notes from her and bring them here."
"What's going on?" Alex asked.
"Just do it!" Michael snapped, not tearing his gaze from the cowering girl in front of him. Alex took one look at the expression on Michael's face and bolted for the auditorium doors.
Once inside, he rushed up to Maria, who was sitting in the house, reviewing her script. "I need the notes," he said without any preliminaries.
"Huh?" she said, caught off guard.
"The notes, the ones you found. I need them!" Alex hissed. She looked at him, then began to rummage in her bag for them. "What's going on, Alex?"
"Michael's cornered Melanie in the hallway. I think he's confronting her about them," he blurted as he snatched the papers from her.
"Oh my god." She dropped her bag and ran after Alex. She found him in the hallway, handing the notes to Michael, who was towering over Melanie.
"I'm talking about these," the alien bit out. "Look familiar?"
Melanie took them with trembling hands. Unfolding them, she read each one. She hesitated, then responded, "No. I haven't seen them before." She held the notes out to him.
For a moment, Maria thought Michael was going to lose it. She put a restraining hand on his arm. He threw it off and she stepped back, hurt. Alex said his name in warning. The alien closed his eyes and held perfectly still for a moment, struggling to regain control of his rage. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and spoke more calmly. "You didn't write them?"
Melanie shook her head, wide-eyed. "No."
He studied her expression for a moment, weighing her sincerity. Then his hand shot out and grabbed her right wrist, pulling it towards him. She held still, confused, as he studied her hand as if he were trying to fix it in his memory. Then he let go just as suddenly. Reaching out slowly, he gently took the papers from her other hand. Turning to Alex, he spoke in a dull tone. "It's not her. Tell the others." And then he strode down the hallway towards the parking lot.
Melanie watched him go, eyes as big as saucers. Finally, she whispered, "What was that all about?"
* * * * *
"...so it looks like we're back to scratch," Michael said testily into the phone. "We still have no clue who's behind the notes."
On the other end, Max reminded him, "We still have your vision to go by."
"It's not enough, Maxwell! She could be in danger. I wasn't so worried when we thought it was Melanie, but now..." His voice trailed off. "We have to figure this out."
"I know. We will," Max assured him.
Michael ran his free hand through his hair. "But I don't know how, or even what to do next. I thought about it the whole time I was at work, and I just can't get my brain wrapped around it. I--"
A crisp knock on the door cut him off in mid-sentence. "Hold on, Max. Someone's here." Setting the phone down, he padded to the door and swung it open. "What do you wa--" he demanded, only to stop mid-phrase when he saw who was standing outside. It was the last person he would have expected. Mrs. DeLuca.
He stood looking at her in confusion, no words coming to him. She raised her eyebrows and then pushed past him into his apartment. Staying by the door as she looked around, he tried to see the shabby room through her eyes. He wasn't impressed by it.
Mrs. DeLuca quickly took in the small details, like the tie-dyed cloth Isabel had draped over the window as a curtain and the Metallica posters on the walls, that attempted to make it a little more homey. It didn't quite work. She had to admit, though, especially for a teenage boy living on his own, it was fairly neat. She gave a noncommittal "Hmmm."
When she had looked her fill, she turned back to Michael, who was still standing wordlessly in front of the open apartment door. She stepped nearer to him and he braced himself for the confrontation he knew was coming. Instead, she reached out and took his chin in one hand, tilting his face to the side as she clinically studied his bruises just as carefully as she had studied his apartment. She spoke for the first time. Her voice was calm. "You should try some witch hazel on that." He shied back away from her without responding.
He couldn't read her expression. It wasn't one he was familiar with. "I still don't want you near Maria," she said firmly. He nodded, and she continued, "But I pay my debts." And with that, she held out the box she was holding in her other hand towards him. He looked at it but didn't move to take it. "It won't bite. That's your job," she said, thrusting the box into his hands. Then she coolly left his apartment.
He looked down at it, unsure of what had just happened. After a few moments, he gingerly opened the box and stood staring down at its contents. Then he headed back to the phone. "Max? You still there?"
"Yeah."
Michael hesitated. "Something weird just happened." He could hear the rustle as Max sat up.
"What?" Max asked, concern evident in his voice.
"Mrs. DeLuca just showed up at my door. She looked around, handed me a pie, and left."
"And?" prompted Max, feeling that there was more to it than that.
"Why would she do that?" said Michael, almost to himself. "She hates me, so why bring me food? Why bother seeing where I live? Why...why check out my eye and act like...like...It was weird, that's all," he finished abruptly.
"What did she say, Michael?" Max asked.
"Same old speech about staying away from Maria, but that she pays her debts." A thought struck him. "You don't think she's trying to poison me, do you?"
Max burst into laughter. "No, Michael. It's for helping with her car, remember? She dropped a blackberry pie off for me at the UFO Museum this afternoon. It's her way of saying thank you."
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Max waited patiently, and finally Michael said, "I don't get it, though."
"What?"
"Why bother with it? She got what she wanted; I'm staying away from Maria. Mrs. DeLuca never had to see me again. It would've been easier to forget about me. I would've."
"Sometimes it's better to confront things, Michael," Max said quietly. "You can't always run away and pretend things don't exist. Looks like Mrs. DeLuca knows that." Michael was silent, absorbing this thought. "Don't worry too much about it. Go have some pie. Enjoy it," Max advised. "What kind is it, anyway?"
"I don't know," Michael admitted. "I haven't had any yet. It looks like chocolate, though. Maybe chocolate cream."
"Well, have a piece and try to stop worrying. We'll all put out heads together and try to come up with a plan tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah."
"You're not alone in this, you know," Max reminded him.
"I know."
"See you tomorrow then."
"Yeah." Michael hung up the phone and then picked up the pie and carried it over to the counter. Rummaging in a drawer for a fork, he thought about Mrs. DeLuca, still trying to grasp the reason for her visit. She confused him almost as much as her daughter did. The woman hated him; Michael was sure of that. She blamed him for Maria's lying to her, for her staying out all night, and, worst, for sleeping with her daughter...Hell, she probably blamed him for rioting, terrorism and the hole in the ozone layer too.
But she had brought him a pie, and she had held his face as she studied it. Michael wasn't used to being touched like that. Not like...like a mother might have, if he'd had one. Gentle and stern at the same time.
Maria was lucky. He wasn't sure she realized just how lucky she was. And he was not going to do anything to come between this girl and her mother. Their relationship--it was too important. He would just settle for...pie.
He sat down at the counter and pulled the box towards him, lifting the foil pie pan out. It was cool, like it had been in the refrigerator. Not bothering with a plate, he scooped out a forkful and put it in his mouth. The flavors of cream cheese, pie crust and nuts melded with the chocolate taste on his tongue. It wasn't a chocolate cream pie, not like any he'd had before. They usually had whipped cream or meringue on top. This was different, but he knew what it was. He'd never had it before, but he'd heard of it. It was ironic. Mrs. DeLuca could have no idea how ironic it was. Setting down his fork, he headed for the kitchen and a bottle of Tabasco sauce to pour onto his homemade Mississippi Mud Pie.
* * * * *
"This is absolutely ridiculous!" Maria burst out, dropping her half-eaten sandwich onto her napkin. "It is impossible to have a planning meeting without all of us here. You're just going to end up going over all of this again with Michael, anyway, so why can't he save you some time and just show up in the first place? Would it kill him to spend five minutes in my presence?"
"It's not that, and you know it," Isabel put in blandly. "Lord knows I think he's being an idiot too, but he has his reasons for what he's doing, and they're important to him."
"I can't believe he let my mother scare him off," Maria groused. "I mean, I'm the one who's in trouble here. She can't do anything to him. She gets queasy when she sees blood."
"It's not just about your mother, Maria," Max reminded her. "There's a lot more going on in his head than that."
"I know that, I do. But can't we at least be civil?" She shook her head, sighing. "No, I guess we can't, and I'm just going to have to live with it. For now, anyway." She looked around at her four companions, two human and two alien. "So where do we go from here? I mean, if Melanie isn't my stalker?"
"It still seems to me that it's got to be someone innocuous," volunteered Liz. "I mean as far as Czechoslovakian issues are concerned. There's no proof that it isn't someone who just hates you."
"Gee, thanks, Liz. Nice to know you think I'm so popular," Maria chided her.
"Never fear!" Alex put in dramatically. "Even when the rest of the world turns against you, you'll still have us."
"Well, there's real cause for rejoicing right there," said Maria, straight-faced. Liz wadded up her napkin and flung it at her friend. Maria ducked and laughed, and the rest joined in.
"Feeding time at Losers-R-Us?" asked Pamela Harris snidely as she came up behind Maria.
"Speaking of someone who hates me," Maria muttered under her breath. But the weeks of being the brunt of this girl's sniping had finally come to a head. "Okay, Pamela, you know what? I've had enough from you. If you have a problem with me, then have the guts to tell me about it, because I'm not putting up with your little comments any more," Maria challenged, a dangerous glint in her eye.
"Oooh, you have me so scared," Pamela mocked. Liz and Alex immediately knew the girl had just made a big mistake. Maria was already enough on edge, what with being grounded, Michael avoiding her, Michael being hurt, Michael avoiding her, the final weeks of play rehearsal, and, of course, Michael avoiding her. Poor unsuspecting Pamela had no idea what she had just unleashed.
Across the table, Isabel opened her mouth to speak up in her friend's defense. Shaking his head slightly, Alex put a restraining hand on her arm and then settled back to watch the show.
"So what's the bug up your butt, Pamela?" Maria asked in a deceptively calm voice. "Bad hair day, flunked exam, the words in the National Enquirer too big for you, what?"
The brunette bristled. "You think you're so much better than everyone else, don't you? Always coming in and screwing things up for everybody. Well, you're not going to get away with it this time. I'm on to you."
"What are you talking about? I never did anything to you. You just started being a total bitch to me for no reason."
"No reason?" Pamela hissed. "You thieving whore!"
Maria rose slowly from her chair and stood facing the other girl. Her tone was fierce. "Would you prefer to take that back on your own, or am I going to have to knock an apology out of you?"
"You're the one who should apologize. Stop trying to steal my boyfriend!" Pamela shouted.
"What?"
"God, I knew blondes were dumb, but I didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you! Mark. Mark Blumenthal. Stay away from him!"
Maria's face crinkled up in angry confusion. "What? You think I...? No. No way. It's a good thing white looks good on you, Pamela, because you're going to be wearing a straightjacket for a very long time. You are insane."
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" the senior shouted. "Did you think I was stupid?"
"I am so not going there, it's too easy," said Maria with a smirk. "Look, I am not after Mark. We're just in the play together; it's acting. I don't even like him all that much. And besides, I'm kind of involved with someone else."
"Stop lying about it," scoffed Pamela. "Involved with someone else? Now you're making up pitiful stories to try and cover up what you've done. So who are you going to use as your pretend boyfriend, Alex here? I don't think so. I know the truth, you lying bitch. I found a blonde hair on his jacket! Explain that!"
Maria responded with sarcasm. "Gee, I don't know. Maybe he has a golden retriever? Get a grip on reality, Pamela."
"I'll get a grip on you, you two-bit slut!" Pamela screamed.
"Oh, for god's sake," Maria burst out. She nimbly stepped onto her chair and then up onto the table, her feet narrowly avoiding the remains of her lunch. She raised her voice. "Can I have your attention, please?" she shouted. Within seconds, the entire cafeteria was quiet and looking at her. Strangely enough, she didn't experience the slightest bit of nervousness as all eyes focused on her.
"For the last time, I would like to officially announce that I have absolutely no, nor have I ever had any, romantic interest in Mark Blumenthal. I don't even want to try to think about him that way, it's gross." She saw Mark across the room. He didn't look particularly amused. "Sorry, Mark. You're a nice guy and all, but uh-uh. No way." Pamela began to protest, but Maria continued on like a steamroller.
"And even if I could think about Mark that way, it wouldn't make any difference, because I am totally head over heels in love with Michael Guerin, who is a million times more worthy of being loved. Everyone got that? Are we clear now? Any questions? No? Okay." She held out a steady hand to Max, who was closest, and he wordlessly helped her down off the table.
Maria turned to Pamela, who was looking at her in shock. "Better close your mouth, Pam, before the rest of your brains attempt to flee the gaping void that's masquerading as your mind," she said sweetly, then sat down and calmly took a bite of her sandwich.
After a moment of silence, the cafeteria erupted in excited speech and the buzz of conversation surrounded them. The four other people at her table remained quiet, watching her. "You can go now, Pamela," she directed, not bothering to turn around. The girl walked away in high dudgeon and Maria permitted herself a small smile. Four pairs of eyes, with various expressions of shock, surprise and amusement, were still fixed on her. "What?" she asked.
Isabel was the first to recover. "That was...unexpected."
"Yeah, well, she ticked me off," explained Maria airily.
Max looked at her in concern. "Maria, I hate to burst your bubble, but how do you think Michael is going to take this? You're already upset that he's staying away from you. I don't think this is going to help any."
She blinked at him. "He isn't even here. I would have felt him."
"Even before all this...recent stuff happened, he was a pretty private person, you know that. He doesn't like public attention. And between the school-wide gossip and the article in the Roswell Journal this morning, he's already had more than his fill of it this week. And now, with you..." Max trailed off.
Maria's face tensed. "With me shooting my mouth off, you mean. Well, we won't tell him about it then. I mean, there's no reason he has to know, right?" she said nervously.
Liz spoke gently. "Look around you", she said, gesturing towards the chattering students around them. "Do you really think he won't hear about it, 'Ria?"
"Oh my god," Maria groaned. "How could I just do that? Why didn't I stop myself? What was I thinking? What?" She looked frantically around at the others. "There are four of you. Why didn't one of you stop me?" she wailed.
Isabel shook her head. "We could hardly know you were going to announce your undying passion for my backward brother to the entire student body."
Maria looked at her for a moment. Then she shoved her lunch out of the way and folded her arms on the table, letting her head fall down on them with a thud. When she spoke, her voice was hopeless. "I am so dead."
CHAPTER 47
For the second afternoon in a row, Michael Guerin stalked down the hallways of West Roswell High with all eyes fixed on him. For the second afternoon in a row, Michael Guerin was in a crappy mood.
It was different this time, though. It wasn't just staring and whispering. This time there were smirks and knowing looks, and Michael was even more uneasy than the day before. Not to mention kind of pissed off.
He'd spent his whole life trying to fade into the woodwork, to be unseen. It had started long before he'd found Max and Isabel again, at a time when he couldn't even communicate properly with the strange people who picked him up and moved him from place to place, talking in loud voices and ignoring his fright and confusion.
And later on, after three years of being moved around from family to family, knowing he was different, that his differences made him unwanted, he'd been sent to a new foster home. One where he learned that calling attention to himself could bring adverse--and painful--consequences. When he finally met the other two aliens again, and they'd realized just what they were, it only gave him one more reason to hide.
So, if not bred to it, he had at least been conditioned to seek anonymity. And maybe it wasn't surprising that he was having a hard time dealing with suddenly becoming the focus of everyone's attention.
He spun around as someone clapped him on the back, turning to catch a wide grin on the face of the guy who'd just interrupted his brooding. "Way to go, Guerin!" the guy said. Michael blinked. He had fervently hoped that enough time had passed for somebody else to capture the school's interest. Surely in forty-four hours someone had broken up with their boyfriend, or been arrested, or gotten drunk and done something incredibly and publicly stupid. Anything to draw focus away from him. The furor over his actions at Tuesday's rehearsal should have died down by now; the school's attention span was not all that long.
But it looked like he was out of luck, because the attention he was getting wasn't dying down. If anything, it was growing. With a scowl, Michael ducked into a bathroom to hide out. At least there he'd be spared from facing half of the school.
The two seniors who were using the bathroom as their own private smoking lounge glanced up as he entered. They evidently knew who he was, too. "So, you and DeLuca. I'm impressed," the taller of the two said. What the hell? How had this guy coupled their names together? He had been so careful to keep away from her. And even before their little blowout with Mrs. DeLuca on Saturday, they hadn't been exactly public friends; to the casual eye they probably seemed more like forced acquaintances due to Max and Liz's more public friendship. As his mind raced, he carefully kept his face impassive.
The shorter guy--was his name Kevin?--dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it out beneath a $125 sneaker. "Never would've thought she was such a little sparkplug. She always seemed kind of flaky to me. She a good lay, Guerin?"
Michael froze. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "What?" he said very softly.
Kevin was too busy looking in the mirror to notice the trouble he was in. "Maria DeLuca. You're doing her, aren't you?" The words were barely out of his mouth before Michael reacted.
To the alien, it seemed as if time had slowed down and was meandering forward at a lazy pace as he reached out, pinning the senior to the wall with one forearm across his beefy throat. To the two humans, it was only a split second, and Kevin was choking, pulling at the arm that held him firmly in place. Shaking with anger, Michael could barely hear the other guy yelling in the background. Finally the words made it through his rage. "Let go! He can't breathe!" he heard, and went completely still. Forcing himself to relax his arm, he leaned forward, ignoring the gasp as the boy began to suck in air, wheezing.
"Never talk about her that way again. Got it?" Michael growled. Kevin nodded, his hands protectively shielding his throat, and Michael turned abruptly and strode out of the bathroom.
He could hardly believe what he'd just done. He could've killed that guy, and not with his powers either. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd gotten so angry with Melanie yesterday, and then this...He felt like a powder keg waiting to blow. He had lost what little control he felt he had over himself, all over a few words. He felt his stomach recoil. He was no better than Hank.
Stalking down the halls, he didn't see the looks or hear the chatter of the students around him. He didn't hear Liz calling his name, concerned at the bleak look on his face. He broke into a run and tore around the corner, suddenly needing to be away from there, to escape from...everything. Instead, he ran headlong into Kyle Valenti.
"Watch it!" the athlete cried out as he was knocked aside, somehow managing to keep on his feet. He took a look at Michael's tense expression and made a quick decision. "Come on," he ordered. Turning, he started down the hallway towards the parking lot. Michael's need to escape overpowered his disinclination to follow. He was silent as the two got into Kyle's car and pulled out of the parking lot. "Man, you looked like you really needed to bail," commented Kyle with an inquiring look.
Lost in his misery, Michael didn't answer. This was the second time this week he'd gotten into Valenti's car, the second time that the Sheriff's son had taken it upon himself to help him out. "Why?" he finally muttered.
Kyle knew what he was asking. "You looked trapped," he said honestly. "Like you needed to get away from everything before you exploded. I've been there." He pulled up to a stop sign. "Where to?"
Not feeling up to any discussion, Michael muttered, "Doesn't matter. You can just let me off here."
"Nah. Might as well have that talk you promised me."
Michael tensed, and briefly considered jumping from the car. But he didn't. He just sat there as Kyle pulled out onto the highway, watching the scenery blur past them in a seemingly unending motion. A few miles down the road, Kyle stopped the car at a roadside picnic area. "Neutral territory," he commented, getting out of the car. Hesitating, Michael climbed out of the convertible and moved to a nearby picnic table. Kyle unceremoniously plopped down on top of it. "So what was it?" the human asked. "Things getting too much for you?"
Valenti had no idea. "Yeah," Michael admitted with a grunt.
"Don't like people staring, huh?" Kyle grinned.
Michael's response was short and to the point. "No."
"I guess Maria should have thought about that before she pulled her little lunch-time stunt, then," Kyle added dryly. Michael looked at him with a blank expression. "You weren't in the cafeteria for lunch?" the athlete asked. Michael shook his head, and Kyle continued, "And no one's told you about Maria?"
"No. What about her?" Michael muttered, unsuccessfully trying to look like he didn't care.
Kyle leaned back and described the events leading up to Maria's table-top tirade earlier that afternoon. He watched with amusement as a number of expressions passed across Michael's face. He wasn't used to seeing the alien with anything but a stony, blank look.
For his part, Michael was too busy struggling with mixed emotions to worry about what he looked like. His first reaction was sheer panic. She should have known better. They couldn't do anything to draw attention--it was dangerous, not just for him, but for Max and Isabel, and now for a whole slew of humans too. The original three, and now the two Valentis. If there really were enemy aliens on Earth, coming after them, every little bit of extra attention only added to the danger that their group would be found out. Maria wasn't stupid--she should have known better.
Besides, whatever they'd had was over anyway. She should have known that, too, rather than run her mouth off about something that wasn't anybody else's business and didn't even exist any more. He had cut his feelings off, so why the hell couldn't she?
Okay, so maybe he hadn't. But that didn't matter. It couldn't. Just like it couldn't matter that Maria...loved him. Even if she had told the whole school so, announced it to everyone that he...that he was worthy of being loved. Michael ran a hand across his face, barely noticing the soreness around his eye. He let his mind hold onto it for one heart-stopping moment: Maria loved him. She'd told him that before, and he guessed that the others knew, but...she'd told everyone. She'd just come out and said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was...immense. And terrifying.
He had to admit that part of him was kind of...happy...about it, even though he couldn't let anything come of it. No matter how much he wanted to. And another part of him was...well, proud, he guessed. It was just like her to stand up for herself the way she had with that Pamela chick, all full of fire and spunk and passion and mouthiness. He liked that about her. Hell, he loved that about her. She wouldn't let him get away with any crap, and it looked like she wasn't about to let anyone else get away with it, either. Certainly not a whiny pain in the ass like Pamela, who seemed to hate her for no reason.
Wait. Pamela hated her.
She was a girl, and she hated Maria. She could've sent the notes. Sure, her name didn't begin with an M, but still...it was a possibility. Worth checking out.
Looking up, Michael suddenly remembered that he was sitting with Kyle Valenti, who wanted to talk. Well, the Sheriff's son was out of luck on this one. "I need to get back," he said gruffly.
Kyle gave him an questioning glance. "You work through everything already?"
"What?"
"It's obvious you've got a lot on your mind, that's all."
"So what if I do?"
"Nothing, nothing. So, you cool about Maria?"
Michael's eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"
"Hey, back off. Just asking, that's all. I just never pictured the two of you together."
"We're not. It...it's complicated."
"Why, what's the problem?" Kyle asked. "She made it pretty clear how she feels. You either feel the same way she does or you don't."
"Who are you--Dr. Laura?" Michael snapped.
Kyle kept pressing him. "So do you?"
Michael's voice was low as he responded, "I can't."
"Why not?" scoffed Kyle. "Do aliens lack the emotion gene? I've seen Max look at Liz, and, much as I dislike the guy, you'll never convince me that he doesn't care about her. So why can't you?"
Disconcerted, Michael looked at him. "You know what I am. How can you ask that?"
Studying him, Kyle asked point blank, "Are you talking about you being an alien or something else? 'Cause I don't think Maria particularly cares about any of that."
"Well, she should," Michael snapped.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Michael answered tensely. He ran a hand through his hair. "I hate this. We're done talking about it."
"Okay," said Kyle. "Your call, sport." He sat for a moment in silence, then asked, "So can we talk about what happened last spring?"
Michael shrugged.
"Look, you've got to admit there was some pretty weird shit going down. My grandfather, who ruined his whole life chasing after imaginary aliens, was actually right the whole time. Add in FBI infiltration and the guy Liz dumped me for turning out not to be human...I just want to know what it all means."
Shaking his head, Michael mocked, "You and me both."
"So why are you here?"
"We don't know for sure." Michael looked at him suspiciously. "Why aren't you freaking out about this? Why aren't you scared of us?"
"I had the whole summer to deal with it. And almost dying changes the way you look at things," Kyle said simply. He paused. "My dad told me about what you did." Michael didn't respond, just looked off into the distance. "That FBI guy--Pierce--he would have killed Dad if you hadn't stopped him. I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes. I can't, I guess. I'm guessing it wasn't exactly fun. But my dad would be dead if it weren't for you. So as far as I'm concerned, I owe you. Big."
Michael ignored this, merely commenting, "Your dad's...a good guy. I didn't know they could be."
"Who? Humans?"
"No, adults."
"I know what you mean." Kyle grinned. "Come on. If we hurry, we can make sixth period."
* * * * *
For the first time, it was Maria and not Michael who dreaded the approaching History class. Not the class itself though; she dreaded his reaction when he saw her. Liz had been right; he would surely have heard about her declaration by now, even if it wasn't his habit to actually talk to people. And she didn't know what his reaction would be.
He certainly wouldn't be happy about it. The question was, would he go back to his usual stonewall self and act like she wasn't even there, or would he look at her with anger or even hate in his eyes? It would probably be one or the other; she couldn't realistically imagine any other behavior from him. Well, she did have a horrible image in her head of him laughing cruelly at her, but she wasn't too worried about it really happening. He wouldn't hurt her that way; it wasn't his style. So she was left with flaming rage or an impenetrable stone wall. Some choice.
Maybe she should just avoid the whole thing. Steal a page from Michael's book and cut class. Hang out in the bathroom or something. Of course, inevitably her mother would find out--she always did--and Maria would be in even more hot water. And since she wouldn't be able to avoid Michael forever, maybe she should just suck it up and get it over with. Oh well. Maybe he'd choose angry. If he yelled at her, at least he'd be speaking to her, right?
She could do this.
Determined now, Maria darted into the girls' bathroom to check out her makeup. At least she would go to the scaffold looking good. She smoothed out her hair and added a fresh coat of berry-flavored lip gloss, then had just enough time to breathe in some cedar oil before she was late to class.
She raced down the hallway, only slowing to a stop as she neared the classroom. She took a deep breath, inwardly coaching herself to remain calm. She could pull this off. She was an expert at faking things, right? Clutching her bookbag firmly in one hand, she strolled nonchalantly into the classroom and took her seat as the bell rang. She didn't dare turn her head to look at Michael, not yet. Maybe he wouldn't be there anyway. Maybe he had been so angry that he'd cut class so he wouldn't have to look at her. Maybe--
Oh, get a grip, she told herself. As Mrs. Lyons began to lecture, Maria leaned down to root in her bookbag for a pen and then casually glanced up to the side in the direction of Michael's desk.
Where Michael was sitting. And watching her.
Okay, so he wasn't ignoring her, which actually made a refreshing change from the last few days. He must be gearing up for the anger option, then. She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to his, trying to prepare herself for the daggers that would be shooting in her direction. Aliens couldn't throw out deadly lasers from their eyes, could they? She had to stop being so ridiculous--and stop watching old sci-fi movies, for that matter. Much as she would like to, she knew she couldn't pull her cedar oil out again, not in the middle of class. Even if she really, really needed to calm down. And even if there was no way Michael was going to help her calm down this time...
Bracing herself, she finally met his eyes, and was somewhat taken aback to realize there was no anger in them. Instead there was...Actually, she didn't recognize what there was. An expression in his brown eyes that was unreadable. He raised one eyebrow slightly, and color flooded her face. He had obviously heard. Was it going to be anger or stone wall? Maria didn't realize she was holding her breath until he gave the slightest, the smallest nod.
Oh god. He wasn't acting angry, and he had actually acknowledged her existence. If she'd been standing, her knees might have buckled in shock. She was...confused. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he had to go and act...confusing.
The sound of Mrs. Lyons saying her name brought her back to reality. She tore her eyes from Michael's and glanced at the teacher, who was waiting impatiently for her to respond. "Sorry," Maria blurted, and attempted to pay more attention as the class went on. But inside, she was feeling strangely happy. Maybe she wasn't so dead after all.
* * * * *
The moment the bell rang, Michael, who'd been watching the second hand on the wall clock make interminably slow sweeps from minute to minute, booked. He didn't want to deal with Maria or with the way she made him feel. Or with the fact that he'd spent most of the last period watching her. He'd just shove that aside, with all the other crap he was avoiding, and deal with it later. Right now he was itching to find Pamela and ask her some very pointed questions.
He knew where she'd be heading, too. He was well aware that Maria's play would open in a week. Pamela would be on her way to the auditorium, and he would be there waiting when she arrived.
His only problem would be keeping away from Maria. And avoiding Melanie; he didn't need a rehash of yesterday's fiasco.
Alex. Alex would be there. He might be able to help if Michael let him in on what was going on instead of using him as an errand boy, like he had the day before. If Michael could catch him before rehearsal started. All he had to do was get there first, enlist Alex, avoid Maria, and interrogate Pamela. All without letting his anger get the best of him like it had earlier. Hey. No problem.
Right.
He fidgeted anxiously with his silver rings as he lurked in the hallway between the auditorium and the band room, ignoring the ever-present stares he was getting from passing students. At least he wasn't the cause of it this time--that one could be chalked up to Maria DeLuca.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a small blonde figure that stopped abruptly at the other end of the hallway, hesitated and then walked directly towards him. He glanced over. Great. It was Melanie. Hadn't he put the fear of god into her yesterday, whether inadvertently or on purpose? Why would she approach him now? She stopped directly in front of him and looked up into his cold brown eyes.
"I need to talk to you," she said, getting right to the point. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't give her any more encouragement than that. His eyes narrowed as she continued, "It's about the notes."
"What about them?" he barked, his voice harsh.
"Not now. I have to get to rehearsal. Meet me here afterwards?" she said hopefully. "Please?"
Michael studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Fine." She nodded back and headed towards the auditorium doors. He watched her, a frown on his face. So she did know something about the notes. But it wasn't her hand he'd seen in the vision, he was sure of it. Unless his visions, like the rest of his powers, couldn't be trusted. Swallowing, he considered. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, that was for sure. So maybe he should just wait and see what Melanie had to say before he went off on Pamela. Maybe he should just keep a rein on things for once. Do something like Max would.
With resolution, he pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and headed towards the doors through which Melanie had disappeared. He would just keep an eye on her--and Pamela--and Maria--during rehearsal. And then afterwards, he'd see what was what.
He was about to push on the auditorium doors when one swung open of its own accord. Or rather of Alex's accord. The bass player stood there, startled, then greeted him. "Hey, Michael."
"Hey."
"What are you doing here?" The question was rude but Michael could tell the intent wasn't.
"Came to watch rehearsal. Gotta make sure Valenti knows what to do with the puppets," he explained briefly.
Michael didn't think Alex believed him, but the human didn't comment. Instead, he glanced nervously back into the auditorium. "Ummm...Michael, I need to talk to you."
"Why?" Michael said without emotion.
Shooting another glance back over his shoulder, Alex admitted, "It's about Maria."
Michael decided to let him off the hook. "About what happened at lunch time?"
"Yes," Alex responded in relief. He looked curiously at Michael. "Who told you about it?"
"Valenti."
"Kyle Valenti?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't know you two...talked," said Alex in surprise.
"We usually don't."
"Uh-huh." Alex studied the alien, who avoided his eyes. "Look, about Maria--"
Michael spoke in a low tone. "It's okay."
"But she--" Alex protested.
"Just forget it, okay?"
Alex was unconvinced. "You're all right with it, then? You're not angry?"
Michael ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I'm not sure what I am. But there are other things to deal with here."
His brow wrinkled, Alex asked, "What's going on?"
Michael debated with himself for a moment before speaking. "Can you meet me after rehearsal? There are some things I want your input on."
"Sure," the bass player immediately agreed, then asked again, "What's up?"
"I had an idea on the stalker thing. And Melanie wants to talk about the notes. She knows something, Alex. And I think it would be better if you were there, in case I...I just think it would be better if you were there too. That's all."
"No problem," Alex said affably. "So, you hanging around for rehearsal then?"
Michael shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah."
Smiling, Alex joked, "No darting beneath falling scenery this time, okay?"
The alien rolled his eyes, but answered him. "You got it."
* * * * *
A few hours later, Michael sat silently in the back of the auditorium, his mind on the upcoming meeting with Melanie. He was anxious to hear what she had to say, but not so anxious that he hadn't paid close attention to what was going on onstage. He was just keeping an eye on everyone. At least that was the excuse he gave himself. He had to admit that so far things seemed to be going pretty well, other than the occasional pauses when Ms. Bedinger wanted to change some detail or other. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, even Valenti. And Maria was...good. Very good. Although he'd carefully looked away when she and Mark had kissed after one duet. There was no way he was going to watch that, no matter how good she was in her role. It hurt.
It was almost enough to make him wish he was the one up on that stage with her, lame-ass play or no. Even though he couldn't act, and he certainly couldn't sing. But he was almost willing to try. He grunted. Jealousy was a peculiarly human thing. He had to get over it, and fast. Because this...sucked.
Onstage, the giant plant was singing to Maria. Valenti's football cronies stood backstage, moving the levers that controlled the plant's branch-like arms as it tried to pull the girl closer so it could eat her. Kind of ironic, really. In the play an alien was hurting her; offstage the same thing happened. Not that he hurt her physically, or wanted her dead like the stage alien did, but somehow he always seemed to hurt her, even when he didn't want to. And in spite of all of that, she loved him. Again his mind reeled with the thought. He hurt her and she loved him. Face it, she was certifiable. He ran a hand over his face. Completely certifiable.
His attention was brought back to the stage as Maria started giggling madly. He couldn't see her, though. A frown crossed his brow. Where was she? Without warning the plant flew open and there she was, laughing her head off. "Sorry," she burst out between giggles. "I got stuck in here and couldn't get out."
Valenti's voice arose from the depths of the plant puppet. "Interesting. Dennis seemed to manage it without any problems, and he's a lot bigger that you, DeLuca."
"Well, he isn't wearing a chiffon negligee and marabou mules, either," she shot back with a grin. Michael couldn't help it. He felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards in the tiniest smile of amusement. She was just so...alive. And happy. He hadn't seen her like this since before Tess had arrived in town and the whole Destiny mess cropped up. This play thing, lame-ass as it might be, was good for her. She didn't look half bad either, he thought as he studied her in the white floaty thing that she wore as part of her costume. Kind of ethereal or something. And at the same time, definitely sexy...
No. He wasn't going there. He couldn't afford to let his mind wallow in that thought. He had things to see to.
He was relieved as she tried the plant escape again, more successfully this time. Mark did something or other that Michael didn't pay any attention to, there was one more big song, and then the play was over. He sat impatiently as Ms. Bedinger gave some notes and made a speech about focus or hard work or something; Michael wasn't exactly paying attention to that either. The instant rehearsal was over and Alex had his bass packed up, Michael was urging him out into the hallway to the appointed meeting place. He paced tensely as he waited for Melanie to show up and say whatever it was she had to say. And then there she was, but she wasn't alone. That prick Mark was with her.
Continue to CHAPTERS 48 and 49
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