"No way." Maria shook her head emphatically. "Uh-uh. Not possible."
"It's all over school," Tess said, her face grave. "Terri Shaw works as a student aide in the office first period and saw him get escorted into the principal's office. And afterward, Mr. Sutter took him to clear out his locker."
Maria shook her head even more furiously. "I don't care what anyone says they saw. Michael would not cheat. He doesn't need to." She made a quick decision. "Come with me," she said, grabbing the other girl's wrist and steaming down the hallway, a wide-eyed Tess scrambling to keep up with her.
It didn't take them long to reach the cafeteria. Unceremoniously Maria pushed her way through a crowd that had gathered by the entrance and scanned the room until she saw the others. With Tess still in tow, she crossed and sat at the table next to Max.
One look at them told her the rumors had already reached them. "It isn't true," she said firmly.
Still standing, Tess hesitated, and Maria pointed a forceful finger at the empty chair next to Alex. "Sit." The fact that Max moved slightly closer to Liz did not escape Maria's attention, although she didn't think he realized he'd done it.
"His locker is empty. He's gone," Max told her, ignoring the other alien as she took a seat.
"I'm not saying they didn't expel him," Maria explained. "But if they did, they were wrong. Michael wouldn't cheat."
"I don't understand why they thought he would," complained Isabel. "He doesn't care at all about his grades. He never has."
Maria let out a deep breath. "That's not exactly true."
"What do you mean?" asked Liz.
"This isn't the first time the VP has called him in. Last week, he got reamed about his poor attendance--and his grades."
The Evans siblings looked at each other in surprise. Maria frowned. Evidently Michael hadn't mentioned anything to them. Then again, this was Michael they were talking about....
"I don't buy it," Isabel said. "If he cared enough to do something about his grades, he certainly wouldn't have to cheat to pull them up. If he'd just actually do the reading, he'd be fine."
Seeing the puzzled expressions Liz and Alex wore, Maria put in, "Michael has a photographic memory. He reads something once and he can remember it."
Liz looked at the others. "Is this a Czechoslovakian thing? Do you have it, Max? Isabel?" The two demurred, and she turned to the third alien, who'd been sitting there unobtrusively. "What about you, Tess?"
Seeming surprised to be included, especially by Liz, Tess shook her head. "I only wish I did."
"So only Michael has it," Liz mused. Suddenly she sat straight up, scandalized. "Michael has perfect visual recall, and he's spent the last ten years barely passing his classes? What was he thinking?"
Alex laughed. "Back down, Vicki Valedictorian. You can be appalled later." He looked across the table at Max. "What I don't get is, why would they think he was cheating? You don't cheat to get bad grades, you cheat to improve them. And if he hasn't ever cared about them before, why would he change his mind now?"
"Because I bet him he couldn't pull them up," Maria said, her cheeks burning.
"You what?" asked Alex.
"I bet him he couldn't pull them up," Maria repeated.
"Why?" Tess ventured somewhat hesitantly. "Didn't you think he could do it?"
"Of course I thought he could do it! I thought he could do it before I knew he was Mr. Memorex," Maria retorted, stung. She took in Tess's confusion, and softened a little. "I knew he didn't care about it, that's all. So I uh...I gave him a reason to." She hoped they'd leave it at that.
But of course Alex didn't let it rest. He grinned wickedly at her. "And just what was the reason?"
Feeling her cheeks flush again, Maria looked down at the table and muttered, "I don't know."
He heard her perfectly well, but didn't let her off the hook. "What was that?"
"I don't know, all right? I said he couldn't do it; he said he could. The winner gets to determine the penalty."
Liz's lips twitched as Alex burst into gales of laughter and chortled, "Man, are you in trouble, DeLuca!"
"Well, I had to do something, didn't I? He obviously doesn't care enough about himself to try to do well, and he really should. I know someday he's going to...leave Roswell...but who knows when that will be? And if it's not for a while, maybe he'll want more than a part-time job at the Lift-Off gas station, you know? He could have a future here, even if it's temporary. So I made the bet."
Alex just continued to laugh at the situation she'd gotten herself into. Knowing Alex, Maria could bet that his fertile mind was already coming up with a number of suitable penalties; if she were lucky, he wouldn't recommend any to Michael.
"God knows what he'll make you do," put in an equally amused if less boisterous Isabel.
Maria's spirits fell. "Considering he doesn't seem to want to be anywhere near me just now, I don't think I have to worry about that any more. Not that it even matters if he's been kicked out of school." A horrified thought crossed her mind. "And if he has, it's all my fault. If I hadn't made the bet, he would be pulling in his usual D's and F's. No one would ever have assumed he'd cheated." She could feel herself growing hysterical. "And, oh my god! This morning I wished he wouldn't be in History class, and now he won't be! What if I made it happen? What if this is a new power, like healing and dreamwalking?"
"I'm sure that's not the case," Liz said firmly. "Hand me your bag, 'Ria; I'll get your cedar oil."
"It won't do any good. I used it up in the girl's bathroom during first period," Maria moaned.
Max put an arm around her shoulders. "Calm down, Maria. This isn't your fault, I promise you. We'll get this taken care of."
"How? What, we're gonna just walk up to Principal Bruner and say, 'Hey, you know our friend Michael, the one with the really bad academic reputation? Well, we know he didn't cheat on anything, so could you please de-expel him?' None of the teachers even like him. Why would they take our word for it?"
"Because it's the truth. We'll figure out something," he promised. "First we'll try to find out exactly what happened."
"Why don't you just ask Michael?" asked Tess logically.
Maria burst out with an impassioned, "No!" and they all stared at her. "I...I think we need to give him some space, you know? He was already angry enough this morning; I don't want to make things worse," she explained. "Can't we approach it from another angle?"
"We could snoop around a little," Isabel suggested. "If they really did expel him, there's got to be a written record of it. Michael would just break into the files, so why can't we?"
"We'll try that, then," Max decided. "And we should still work on finding out more about--" He glanced at Tess, then continued smoothly, "--that other issue." Understanding glances were exchanged by the five friends.
Tess looked around at them, her eyes lingering for just a moment on Max. "I guess I'll just head out then," she said slowly as she pushed her chair back and stood. Hesitating, she finally offered, "Let me know if I can do anything," and started away from the table.
"Hey, Tess?"
The alien turned back to Maria. "Yes?"
"Thanks for telling me about it."
"Sure." And Maria watched as Tess melted her way through the crowded cafeteria and disappeared into the hallway.
* * * * *
For the thirteenth straight hour, Michael continued to stare up at his ceiling without really seeing it. Sprawled on his couch, he hadn't moved from this spot for what seemed like days, even though it was only one. Why should he get up? He had nothing to do and nowhere to go. He supposed he could go to the Lift-Off and tell Mr. Santini he was now available to work daytime hours, too. Somehow the thought really depressed him.
At least the others weren't around to go through this shit with him, since he'd done such a stupendous job cutting himself out of their lives yesterday morning. For once, they could go about their daily routine without worrying about the latest Michael Guerin crap. Huh. When was the last time the group had focused itself on fixing a Max problem, or an Isabel problem? It had been a while. And what about Liz and Alex? They had to have stuff they were going through, unrelated to the ever-present alien problems. When did the group ever worry about them? No, they were always too busy dealing with whatever new Michael-related problem reared its ugly head. Because he kept bringing it on. God, he was such a screw-up.
Well, he wasn't going to let it happen any more. He'd get through the rest of the week--just five more days--and then he would change. He would be there for his friends, instead of always the other way around. He would ask how Liz's day went, and catch up on the latest rehearsal of the Whits. Maybe he and Max could play a little one-on-one or something. Hell, he'd even go shopping with Izzy if she wanted. And he'd try to make everything up to Maria. Be the perfect, supportive boyfriend she deserved. He'd be a model friend. If they'd let him.
He tried to picture it in his mind, and then gave up with a snort. It wasn't gonna happen. Because he wasn't capable of it, of any of it. He'd try; maybe he'd even succeed for a little while. But sooner or later something would happen, and he'd revert back to the fucked-up loser that he really was. To the alien, the killer. He wouldn't be able to escape it.
Rolling over, he buried his face in his pillow and tried not to think. Five days; he just had to get through five more days. Maybe he'd just stay right there on the couch until then....
When the knock came, he didn't bother moving. Somebody had the wrong apartment. No one he knew was going to come over, not any more. He'd just ignore them and they would go away.
A moment later, he sat bolt upright in shock at the voice that called out imperiously from the hall. "Michael. I know you're in there, so open the door." Mrs. DeLuca? Oh god. Something had happened to Maria.
He scrambled to his feet, his blanket falling into a disordered heap on the floor. Rushing for the door, he tripped once and stubbed his toes twice, but finally made it. He had to fumble for the lock a second time before he was able to swing the door open.
"Mrs. DeLuca?" She didn't look upset. Maybe something hadn't happened to Maria. But then why was she here?
"Hello, Michael."
The woman stepped past him into the apartment and stopped in obvious astonishment. Following the path her eyes took, Michael flushed. The small room looked like a disaster site, a result of his complete loss of temper the previous day. He'd taken out all his anger and frustration on his meager belongings, and it showed. Things were strewn about on the floor where he'd thrown them in his rage. His shabby chest-of-drawers was tilted onto its front, drawers askew, and the posters that had once decorated the walls were torn down and crumpled. After his foray into destruction, he'd grabbed his blanket and pillow and crashed on the couch, not moving, although he hadn't slept in case Isabel tried to dreamwalk him. And no housekeeping elves had come out overnight, so this morning it all looked...well, a little rough, to say the least.
"I uh...I was a little angry yesterday," he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. He followed her eyes as they took in his bruised knuckles, now crusted with dried blood, and went unerringly to the wall across from him. The wall where the plaster was cracked from his repeated blows. He raised his chin, daring her to comment.
But all she said was "Yes, I can see that."
He still didn't know why she was here. If something had happened to Maria, surely she would already have said something...One way to find out. "What do you want, Mrs. DeLuca?" he demanded ungraciously.
"Maria told me you were expelled. For cheating."
Great. He'd known Maria would find out, but hearing it still hurt. With some effort, he managed a careless shrug. "Yeah."
She fixed a gimlet eye on him. "Did you do it?"
He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the open door. "Doesn't matter."
"I didn't ask if it mattered. I asked if you did it."
Why the hell did she care? She wouldn't believe him, anyway. And he didn't blame her--he wouldn't believe him either. But something within him made him answer honestly. Looking away from her, he let out a curt, "No."
"Okay then."
What? He swung back around towards her, confused. She didn't actually believe him, did she? Why? But she was looking down at the watch she wore on her left wrist.
"It's just after 8:30," she said. "I'll give you fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and dressed. Oh, and you might want to put some witch hazel on that hand of yours," she added with a smile.
He just stood there, not getting it. What was she talking about?
His inaction evidently started to annoy her. "I'm serious, young man. If you're not out at the car, ready to go, in--" She checked her watch again. "--fourteen and a half minutes, then you'll go as you are. And I really think you'd prefer it if you had some pants on."
For the first time he looked down and realized he was wearing the T-shirt and boxers he'd--well, not slept in, because he hadn't slept. Rested in? Whatever. A flood of crimson colored his cheeks, but he ignored it, clenching his jaw. He hadn't asked her to come over and barge in on him. He was doing just fine, wallowing in his own misery.
She gave a little laugh. "Get a move on, Michael. Time's a-wasting." With a pat on his shoulder, she moved into the hallway.
He didn't understand what was going on. Why was she bothering with him? He sucked in a breath as he realized that she didn't know. "Mrs. DeLuca?"
"Yes, Michael?"
"Maria and I...we kinda broke up." There. Now he'd see the avenging mother, the one who'd kill him for hurting her daughter again.
"Yes, she told me that." She smiled and pushed him gently away from the door so she could swing it closed behind her. "Go on, Michael. You've got thirteen minutes."
* * * * *
He made it in twelve. Rushing through a quick shower, he roughly towel-dried his hair before rescuing wrinkled but clean clothes from his overturned chest-of-drawers. After picking his way through the debris that littered his floor, he sat on his couch and laced up his boots, all the while wondering exactly why he was following Mrs. DeLuca's orders. One small woman with a broken arm certainly couldn't make him do anything.
But what the hell. She probably needed help in her shop or something, and he was available. He had nothing better to do, and maybe it would help him take his mind off things for a while. He snagged his jacket from underneath an upturned library book and a couple of CDs, grabbed his keys from the counter, and slammed the door shut behind him.
The Jetta was pulled up in the no-parking zone in front of his apartment building. He figured Mrs. DeLuca must still be seeing Sheriff Valenti if she wasn't worried about a ticket. She was leaning casually against the driver's door as if she had all the time in the world; as she saw him approach, she nodded and told him, "Hop in." Wordlessly, he did so, and watched as she reached awkwardly around the steering wheel to start the car with her left hand. Good thing it was an automatic.
Neither of them spoke as she pulled out into the street. Michael stared out the window, a little bemused by his own acceptance of the situation. If anyone had told him a week ago that he would be almost glad to be cooped up in a car with Mrs. DeLuca, he would have laughed his ass off. But in reality, for an adult--especially Maria's mother--she wasn't all that bad. Confusing, yes--but not so bad.
His slowly escalating opinion of her took a rapid nosedive as he realized just where they were heading. "Ah geez, no, Mrs. DeLuca," he protested, hands clenched.
"Ah geez, yes, Michael. Where did you think we were going?" she responded, pulling into the parking lot.
"I don't know. I thought you needed help at the store. Moving boxes or something," he muttered.
She pulled into a space marked 'Visitor' and reached around to shut off the car. Looking him straight in the eye, she said firmly, "The store can wait. This is more important."
His set his jaw. "I'm not going in there."
"You most certainly are," she shot back.
A sarcastic huff of air escaped him. "You can't exactly force me. You're not my mother."
"No, I'm not," she agreed. She looked at him very seriously. "But if your mother were here, she would do this. Since she is not, you will do me the courtesy of allowing me to help you."
Awash in a welter of emotion--despair, pain, doubt...and maybe just the tiniest bit of hope--Michael met her eyes. "It's not gonna do any good," he told her softly.
"We'll see." Opening the door, she swung her feet out, then turned back to him. "Get out of the car, Michael," she ordered firmly but not unkindly, before leading the way through the front doors of West Roswell High School.
* * * * *
All activity in the administrative office stopped as Amy DeLuca burst through the glass doors. Behind her, Michael skulked along, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else but where he was.
"Amy DeLuca to see Principal Bruner," she announced to the room at large.
Ms. Ortega, the school secretary, stood hastily and crossed to the counter. "She's in a meeting at the moment. Perhaps if you'd like to make an appointment?" she suggested.
"Oh, I think she'll want to see me," Amy shot back. "Tell you what--let's ask her, shall we?" She headed over to the principal's office door and rapped smartly on it, ignoring Ms. Ortega's protests.
A moment later the door swung open and Katherine Bruner looked out. "Yes?"
"I'm Amy DeLuca. We need to talk."
The principal studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Of course." Turning to the man sitting inside the small room, she continued, "I'm sorry, Bill. Can we continue this later?"
With a curious look at Amy, he exited the office.
"Now," Mrs. Bruner said expectantly, "what can I do for you? Is this about your daughter--Maria, isn't it?"
"Yes, Maria is my daughter, but no, it's not about her." Without turning her head, Amy said sharply, "Michael? Inside."
Michael was probably reluctant to abandon the corner he'd placed himself in, as if he could blend in with the woodwork, but he crossed over to her without argument. Giving him a reassuring smile--which she suspected didn't exactly reassure him--Amy gently nudged him past her and into the office. The principal followed, shutting the door behind her.
Amy got right to the point. "I believe you know Michael Guerin, the young man you wrongfully expelled yesterday?"
Mrs. Bruner moved behind her desk and sat, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "Of course I know him. Hello, Michael." He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet. "I'm not certain I understand why you are here, Mrs. DeLuca. Usually we only discuss a student with their parent or guardian, and since you are neither...."
"No, I'm not. But I'm standing in for them."
"Nevertheless, perhaps it would be better if you would excuse us. Unless Michael would prefer you stay?" Mrs. Bruner added, turning toward him.
"Yeah, she can stay, I guess," he mumbled ungraciously. "Coming here was her idea anyway."
"Good. I'm staying then. Now about yesterday--"
"It's very regrettable what happened yesterday, Mrs. DeLuca, but we cannot condone cheating. That, on top of his prior record, unfortunately led to the expulsion."
"One problem. He didn't cheat," Amy said succinctly.
"How do you know?" the principal asked, not unkindly.
Amy's could hear the conviction in her own voice. "Because he told me so."
"Why don't you both sit down," Mrs. Bruner suggested. Michael looked like he'd rather bolt, but a pointed look from Amy had his butt in a chair pretty quickly. Her hands folded neatly together, Mrs. Bruner looked at him. "If that's the case, Michael, why didn't you say so yesterday? Why wouldn't you speak up on your own behalf?"
"He shouldn't have to," Amy said. "You are all supposed to be teaching him, not ganging up on him like some sort of academic lynch mob."
The principal kept interested eyes trained on the sullen boy in front of her, until he finally muttered, "Didn't think you'd believe me."
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.
"What exactly is Michael supposed to have cheated on?" Amy demanded.
"Last Friday's History exam."
Amy nodded. "Right. Maria studied all week for it." Realization struck her. "For that matter, Michael studied for it too. I saw him reading the textbook."
Mrs. Bruner smiled calmly. "I'm glad you took last week's meeting with Vice Principal Skinner to heart, Michael, but--"
"What meeting?" Amy interrupted.
In a few brief sentences, the principal explained. When she was finished, Amy was totally disgusted. "Oh, this just gets better and better. You tell a kid he needs to get his act together, and when he does, you punish him for it? What kind of a school are you people running?"
The response was mild. "The report of cheating came directly from Mrs. Lyons, his teacher."
"Well then, I suggest you get her butt in here so she can explain herself," Amy shouted, feeling fairly rabid. "Michael did not cheat on that exam. I'm sure he earned whatever grade he got."
"I believe it was a perfect score," the principal put in gravely.
Amy nodded, but all she said was, "The sooner you get Mrs. Lyons in here, the sooner we can fix this travesty."
After a moment of consideration, Mrs. Bruner excused herself and left the office. Through the open door, Amy could hear her speaking with Ms. Ortega.
"So, a perfect score, huh?" Amy said, turning to Michael. "That's really great. Maybe you should give Maria some study tips."
"Uh...I don't think it'd help her," Michael answered. "I just have a...knack for remembering stuff, I guess. Kind of a photographic memory."
Amy nodded. A photographic memory? No help for Maria there. Oh, well; it had been worth a try.
Just then, Mrs. Bruner stepped back into the doorway. "It just so happens that Mrs. Lyons has twenty minutes left in her planning period. I've sent a message asking her to join us."
"Good," Amy responded, watching Mrs. Bruner disappear into the outer office once more. She and Michael sat in silence for a few moments. He fiddled nervously with his rings. For a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but he closed his mouth and looked away.
"What?" she asked.
He glanced sideways at her, finally muttering, "Nothing."
After another few minutes, Mrs. Bruner reentered the room, a manila file folder in her hand. Mrs. Lyons was right behind her, and Michael visibly stiffened. Actually, the History teacher didn't look all that happy to be there, either.
"I've told Mrs. Lyons about your concerns," Mrs. Bruner said after the two women sat.
Mrs. Lyons pulled out her grade book. "I have taught World History for thirty-four years. In fact, I've given the same tests for thirty-four years. No one ever gets a perfect score."
Amy stared in disbelief at the woman. "I'm not even going to comment on how pathetic that is. But perhaps you've never had a student like Michael before."
"He skips out on class; he doesn't do the work when he is there. It's impossible for him to have gotten one hundred percent without cheating," Mrs. Lyons pontificated.
Amy leaned forward. "What if he proves that he earned the grade?"
"What?"
"Go ahead. Ask him some questions. I'm sure he knows his stuff."
"Then he's obviously memorized the test answers. It proves nothing," the teacher said.
Amy glanced over at the object of their discussion. He looked miserable. "Michael, how much of the textbook have you read?" she asked, suddenly inspired.
"All of it," he muttered. "Thought I should get it over with."
"Then ask him something that wasn't on the test," she told the History teacher.
Mrs. Lyons stared at her for a minute, then huffed, "This is ridiculous."
Leaning back in her chair, Mrs. Bruner said, "I'd be very interested in seeing this, Doris. Ask him something."
Wearing an unattractive put-upon expression, Mrs. Lyons fixed flinty eyes on Michael. "All right. Who led the Roundhead forces in overthrowing Charles I during the English Civil War?"
"Oliver Cromwell," replied Michael, staring at the floor. He paused a moment, then added, "Born 1599, died 1658." The teacher looked surprised.
"What was the political scene in turn-of-the-century China?" she asked. Amy was pretty sure that the class hadn't gotten to the turn of the century yet--unless Mrs. Lyons was speaking of a different century.
But once again, Michael gave her the answer. "Boxer Rebellion. Chinese nationalists tried to drive foreigners out of the country."
Amy watched in rapidly escalating glee as Mrs. Lyons began spouting out questions, faster and faster. Michael shot the answers back just as quickly, although he never looked up. Mrs. Lyons quickly dispensed with the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and moved on to more modern events; still Michael was able to respond. He reported that overwhelming speculation in Dutch tulip bulbs led to a seventeenth century market crash in England; that Mexico won its independence from Spain in 1821; that two thousand ANZAC soldiers were slaughtered at Gallipoli on April 25, 1915. By then Amy had stopped really listening to the questions, too caught up in the rhythm of the question-and-answer game.
So it came as a sudden shock when that rhythm faltered. For the first time, Michael looked up from the floor.
"Well, Michael?" the principal asked. Amy hadn't even heard the question.
The boy's jaw tensed. "I don't know," he growled. "That's not in the textbook."
"He's quite right," Mrs. Lyons said unexpectedly. "It isn't." She let out a deep breath. "Obviously I was in error," she continued, turning to Mrs. Bruner. "This boy had no need to cheat. I would recommend that his expulsion be overturned."
"I am in complete agreement," the principal added. Amy couldn't help herself; she let out a cheer. Mrs. Bruner smiled.
Mrs. Lyons stood and faced Michael. "When I am wrong, I admit it. Mr. Guerin, I apologize to you for being so quick to judge."
He sank down further in his chair, obviously uncomfortable. "Whatever," he muttered.
"You have shown a most impressive command of the material," she continued. "You should be quite proud. Well. If that's all for now, I had best be getting back to my classroom before the next period starts." She crossed stiffly to the door, then stopped and turned back to the boy. "You realize, of course, that now you have no excuse not to succeed in my class," she said calmly. "I expect results from you." With a nod to Amy and Mrs. Bruner, she headed back to her classroom.
The principal pushed back her chair and stood. "I have to agree, that was very impressive, Michael. As was your score on the exam."
Shrugging, he said, "It wasn't hard. All she ever wants is for you to parrot facts back at her. She doesn't make you think or anything."
"If it wasn't hard, why the poor results up until now, Michael?" Mrs. Bruner asked, her voice kind.
Another shrug. "History's not really my thing, I guess."
"I see. Well, even so, I am glad to see that you're taking your schoolwork a little more seriously. I do have some paperwork to do before you can be reinstated, however, so why don't you take the rest of the day off and we'll start fresh tomorrow? What do you say?"
"Yeah," he said, rising in some haste now that his ordeal was almost over.
"And Michael?"
"Yeah?"
"Please don't allow things to come to this head again. If you have been falsely accused of something, I want you to come and tell me about it, all right?"
"Yeah. So are we done?"
She laughed. "Yes, we're done. I look forward to seeing you back with us tomorrow, Michael. And Mrs. DeLuca, I appreciate your bringing this matter to my attention. You've helped us rectify a very serious mistake." Ushering them out of her office as the bell rang, Mrs. Bruner gave them another smile.
"That went pretty well," Amy said cheerfully as she started down the rapidly filling hallway.
"Yeah. I guess so."
"You guess so? Michael, you blew them away. You did great." She suddenly realized that he'd halted. "Michael?" He was staring uncomfortably down the hallway, his face grim. She followed his gaze and found it to be focused on a tall boy with dark hair and slightly protruding ears. "Isn't that your friend Max Evans?"
Michael hesitated. "That's Max," he said carefully, then started down the hallway. He turned at the front doors before he reached the other boy, and strode outside without glancing Max's way again. Following, Amy noticed a matching tension on Max's face. He and Michael made a good pair.
It only took a moment for her to catch up to Michael, who was standing on the sidewalk, looking as if he had nowhere to go. "Come on, Michael. I'll give you a ride home," Amy said gently. Without protest, he followed her to the Jetta and climbed in. He was silent for most of the trip back to his apartment building.
Finally he spoke up. "Did Maria ask you to do all this?" His face was impassive, and Amy couldn't tell whether or not he hoped she had.
"No, she didn't know about it."
"Oh." Still a blank look. "Then...why did you?"
Amy pulled up in front of his apartment building, once again ignoring the no parking sign. She looked at him. "Why did I? Let's see. On the one hand, you just broke up with my daughter, once again hurting her in the process. You have a history of getting into trouble. You don't seem to have any direction or ambition, and on the surface, you don't appear to care very much about yourself or about anything around you." She didn't miss the slight clenching of his jaw, although she was aware that he was trying to hide it.
"On the other hand," she continued, "I've seen a little bit more of you in the last few weeks. I've seen you do some very kind things when I know you didn't want to. I've seen that you care about my daughter, whatever the current status of your relationship. And although it makes me very, very nervous, I've seen how much you mean to her. You are constantly surprising me, pushing the limits of what I think.
"Mostly, I think you have potential. And I think everyone deserves a second chance," she added, for a moment feeling a bit far-off and sad; then she smiled. "So, Michael, as far as I'm concerned, this is your second chance. Don't blow it, okay?"
He nodded mutely, still staring through the windshield. "Mrs. DeLuca...thanks," he said softly. "I...I owe you."
It was her turn to shrug it off. "Enough of this nonsense. Work calls. And Michael, if I were you I'd go try to plow through the rubble that is your apartment. You've got the rest of the day off from school, so you might as well use it."
He nodded and climbed out of the car. Amy smiled through the window, then pulled smoothly away from the curb. Lighthearted, she headed off to do further battle, this time on behalf of a multitude of plastic aliens instead of one lonely teenager.
CHAPTER 16
Michael balled up a final T-shirt and jammed it into a dresser drawer before collapsing onto his couch in exhaustion. Other than the hole in the plaster of one wall, he could barely tell he'd completely wrecked the apartment on the previous day. Sure, without the now destroyed posters that had decorated the walls, it looked a little barren. Habitable, but Spartan. At least he'd been able to re-drape the tie-dyed cloth Isabel had given him over his window. It added one splash of color to the drab room.
Leaning his head back, he stared up at the ceiling. He'd cleaned up most of yesterday's damage, but he didn't feel particularly good about it. Even the thought of how Mrs. DeLuca had championed him and gotten him back in school didn't really give him any joy. His whole life was such a pit that one positive thing--unbelievable as it was--didn't go far to brighten up his existence. He was too far down in the blackness. What little light there was was dim and seemed very, very far away. Five days away, at the very least.
He closed his eyes in resignation, allowing himself to relax just the slightest bit. It was early afternoon; Isabel would still be in school. So maybe it would be safe to catch up on some much-needed rest after the last few sleepless nights. After all, he was still trying to catch up from the sleep deficit he'd accrued the previous month. He could grab a few hours with no chance of Isabel popping into his dreams.
Not that she was likely to now, anyway.
Depressed, he stretched out on his dilapidated couch and let his fatigue overwhelm him. Almost immediately he was caught up in a welter of uneasy dreams; images of pain and fear and loss overwhelmed him. He found himself running down a long corridor of strangely shifting walls; from who or what, he couldn't say. Maybe from a dream Hank, towering over him like an avenging giant. Maybe from his own cowardice and shame. Maybe from a Max and Isabel who loathed him for what he was, and pursued him ruthlessly, intent on harm.
There were others in the dream, crowds of careless people who didn't see him barreling through their tightly-knit groups, who didn't hear him call out. He grabbed a guy in a denim jacket by the arm, swinging him around--and found he had no face, just a blurry impression of eyes and mouth. And this faceless person turned and walked away, as if Michael weren't there.
Others soon followed, one or two at first, then whole groups of people, scrambling away from him as if to avoid some dreadful plague. Leaving Michael isolated in a world of shifting walls and uneven floors, sole prey of whatever followed.
It grew brighter then, an unpleasant yellow-tinged light illuminating everything around him with almost painful clarity. On his left, the fluctuating walls solidified, freezing in place as they changed from endless corridor to a series of maze-like passages. Corners jutted out wherever two walls adjoined, looking abnormally--almost vindictively--sharp; even the floor itself seemed polished to a particularly brilliant hardness.
Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, Michael turned to see a distant figure to his right, too far down the remaining piece of corridor to recognize. A sudden gut-wrenching panic overwhelmed him, and he began to run again, frantically searching the twisted passages for a place to hide, a place where he would be safe.
He glanced over his shoulder as he ran and saw the figure catching up, even though it didn't seem to be moving at a fast pace. He ducked around another corner, and finally saw it--a safe haven. His own apartment door.
Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his key. He dropped it twice before he was able to get the door unlocked. Bursting through, he slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, his chest heaving from exertion.
"Are you okay?"
His head shot up, and he found he wasn't in his apartment after all. Instead he was in a familiar room. He looked behind him; sure enough, there was no door, just a blank expanse of pale wall. In front of him was a low blue chaise lounge. And standing behind it was Maria.
He didn't have to question whether or not she was real. He knew she was, even though she was wearing a vibrantly colored top and knee-length denim skirt instead of the accustomed pajamas. She was real, all right, but what was she doing here?
So he asked, rather rudely. "What are you doing here?"
She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Dreaming, what's it look like?"
"It's daytime," he pointed out. "Why aren't you at school?"
Rolling her eyes, she answered, "School's over for the day. I'm just catching a quick nap in Liz's room before I have to start my shift at the Crashdown. I haven't exactly been sleeping well, the last few nights."
A pang of guilt struck him. He had a pretty fair idea of what was keeping her awake. He wanted to tell her that she needed the rest, but he knew he didn't have the right to. Not when he'd caused it.
He could feel his frantic pulse slowing, becoming more steady, his breathing evening as his body shook off the adrenaline kick it had been riding. These changes evidently hadn't escaped Maria either; looking at him calculatingly, she said, "You looked pretty freaked when you burst in here."
He didn't bother denying it. She knew him too well for him to lie about it. Instead he grunted out one word, "Nightmare." Maria nodded, and they both stood there uncomfortably.
Not surprisingly, she was the first to break the silence. "So we can't even talk now?" she complained, pain evident in her tone.
He gritted his teeth. "Talk about what?"
"Talk about what?" Maria shouted, advancing on him. "How about the fact that I have no idea what's going on here? God, Michael, you call me up and tell me that you need my help. Like an idiot, I say, 'Sure. No problem,' because I'm thinking that this is the first time you've actually come out and asked me for help--it's probably the first time you've asked anyone for help--so how can I say no? And even when you proceed to tell me exactly what you need, I don't refuse. No, I go along with the big plan to watch you cut yourself off from Max and Isabel without interfering, even though I have no earthly idea why you think you need to do it, because you certainly aren't telling me!
"I watch you hurt Max, and Alex, and Isabel. And god knows you hurt me. I used up all my cedar oil, and my friends are devastated, and you end up breaking things off with me with no explanation even though you promised me you wouldn't push me away...I think I have a right to know what in the hell is going on!"
"I can't tell you," he said hoarsely.
"Why not?" she shrieked.
"I...I just can't, all right?" He lifted hollow eyes to hers, hoping she wouldn't press him any further.
"All right," she answered, her tone grudging. "Then can you at least tell me one thing?"
He wasn't making any promises. "What?"
"For some inexplicable reason, you feel the need to avoid Max and Isabel. I get that, even if I don't have a clue why. But how come you decided you had to include the rest of us in that group?"
"I didn't want to," he said slowly, trying to put things into words that made sense. "If I'd cut myself off from them, and not from you and Alex and Liz, it would've ended up pulling everyone apart. You guys would have ended up having to choose them or me, and nobody would be happy with it. It would have gotten really ugly."
"As opposed to the scene yesterday?" she commented dryly.
"Yeah."
"So instead of tearing the group apart, you tore yourself out. Very quixotic. God, you don't do anything by half measures, do you, Spaceboy?"
His only response was a shrug. Couldn't she see how sticky things would have gotten for the humans, caught in the middle? He'd had good intentions. Yeah, maybe the reality of it wasn't that pristine, and she would probably say he should have asked before making the decision for them, but it was too late. He'd done what he had to.
Maria sighed. "Did you have any idea it would be this hard?"
"I pretty much knew the whole thing was gonna suck, yeah." He shifted from foot to foot and his voice got quieter. "I didn't mean for it to go as far as it did. Not with anybody. But Max wasn't buying it; he wasn't gonna let me just stay away. I had to try something else. It just kinda escalated from there." He jammed his hands into his pockets and stared down at the floor. "Do they...do they all hate me?"
The question was so quiet that, for a moment, he wasn't sure she really heard it. Then she stiffened as its meaning got through. He hoped she could tell how important this answer was to him, that she wouldn't give him an hasty response without really thinking it through first.
"They're...upset," she said carefully. "Max feels as much guilt as anything else, I think. He really was trying to help, Michael. Isabel doesn't want to believe it happened at all. She's spending a lot of time with Alex--he seems to be able to make her forget about it. He's really good at covering up how he feels with a joke, so I'm not sure what he thinks. Liz is mostly upset because she thinks you've wasted your photographic memory." He gave a grunt of disbelief, but grew more serious again as she continued, "Then again, you missed her in your little relationship-destroying mission. They'll leave you alone for now. But none of them hate you, I promise."
Michael lifted his head to study her. Almost afraid of the answer, he asked, "And you?"
"I don't hate you either, Michael. I don't think I could."
"But?"
She hesitated for just a moment. "But I don't know if I like you very much right now, either. I know you have your reasons for doing what you did, but how you did it--that was cruel. I didn't know you could be like that."
He nodded and looked away. He hadn't known either. It was a dark side that he didn't like. "Maybe you should just get out of here," he said quietly.
Planting her feet firmly, she put her hands on her hips. "Why? You expecting another drop-in visit from Alien Bob?"
"No...but he only appears when we're in this room, together. I don't want you around him. It's not safe."
She took a few more steps towards him, and looked up to meet his eyes. "Michael...the last time he came, when you told me to get out...what did you see?"
His jaw clenched. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Why am I not surprised at that?" she shot back. "You never want to talk about anything." She let out a deep breath. "I really think I need to know. I mean, I'm not coming here on purpose. If I keep winding up here, I should know what I'm facing, don't you think? Or else we're going to have to take turns sleeping, so we don't accidentally meet here. And you may not have noticed, but I don't do so well on a chaotic sleep schedule. I get cranky."
Yeah. He knew that. For a moment, one corner of his mouth twitched upwards, just the littlest bit; then he said, "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."
"You shouldn't have to take care of it. We should take care of it. It's my problem too, you know."
"No, it's mine. This whole thing has to be my fault. Unless you're gonna tell me you suddenly developed alien powers or something," Michael scoffed.
"Ummm...actually...." She looked away from him.
"What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Well, aside from the dreamwalking thing that keeps happening, I kind of healed Isabel."
"What?"
Michael looked at her, unable to form a coherent thought, as she explained how they'd come across the booby-trap at Tess's house, and how she'd healed the alien from her frozen state. At no point did he doubt her, but his brain couldn't seem to wrap itself around the idea that Maria--his very human Maria--was exhibiting powers that they'd always believed to be alien.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked finally. She seemed relieved that he believed her, but frustrated at his question.
"When? You weren't exactly in the mood to talk that night, and the last time I saw you in here, Alien Bob popped in before I got to it. So when was I supposed to--during our last phone conversation, when you were too busy scheming and avoiding my questions? Yesterday morning when you were doing your best to, if you'll excuse the expression, alienate everyone? I'm telling you now."
Feeling rather sheepish, Michael reached up and absently scratched his eyebrow. "So what does Max think?"
"He doesn't have a clue," she admitted. "Just one more mystery for us to deal with, as if we didn't have enough already."
"Maybe you could let him scan you," he suggested somewhat diffidently. "See if he can find anything...unusual." She looked at him skeptically. "I just want to make sure you're all right," he muttered.
"Of course I'm all right. If I hadn't been able to help Isabel, who knows what might have happened? And it's not so bad, being here with you. Or at least it wouldn't be, if you hadn't decided to play Mr. 'Me against the world'."
"I have to," he ground out.
"So you say," she said, nodding. "Look, for the fifteen billionth time, I'm going to do what you want, even though I have no idea what's going on. I'm going to leave you alone. I won't talk to you, call you...I'll try not to even look at you if I see you on the street, if that's what you want. But that's out there. If we meet up in here, it's a different story. And once this whole horrible week is over, you owe me an explanation, got it? You owe us all one." Suddenly her head jerked around, as if she were hearing something far off in the distance. "I think Liz is trying to wake me up," she said. "I must be late for work. But start thinking, Michael. You have five days to figure out how you're going to get everyone to forgive you."
He nodded, knowing she was right. It wasn't going to be easy, either. She seemed to think that he'd be able to do it, though; he wasn't nearly that certain. But he didn't argue with her, merely watching her for a moment until she blinked out of sight, and he woke up in his apartment. The real one, this time.
* * * * *
With a carefully pasted-on smile, Maria served a tuna melt and onion rings to a customer, then moved over to the booth where Alex, Isabel and Max sat. Isabel toyed with the straw in her Tabasco-laced cherry cola while her brother and Alex scarfed down french fries. "We aren't just going to let him get away with it, are we?" she asked. "I don't care how much of a jackass he's being; he still needs our help."
Maria knew instantly what--or rather, who--was the topic of their discussion. The same person they'd been talking about for the last three days, ever since the brutal confrontation in the school parking lot Monday morning. Actually, it had been longer than three days, what with the search for him over the weekend, and Nasedo's rejection before that.... She glanced around the almost-empty restaurant and waved Liz over.
"I don't know," Max answered his sister. "He doesn't seem to want our help any more. Maybe we should respect that."
"I don't care if he wants it--he needs it," Isabel said fiercely.
"Do we all still want to help him, though?" Maria asked, her voice soft. The others looked at her in shock, and she continued, "I mean, I know how I feel, but maybe the rest of you feel differently. He was...." She swallowed. "He said some awful things," she finished.
"I still think there's more to it than that," Liz insisted. "He's been rash before, and certainly thoughtless, but not this deliberately cruel. I think he acted that way on purpose." Maria bit her lip, badly wanting to tell her best friend how right she was. But she would keep her promise to the so-called jackass.
Alex nodded. "I agree. I don't think he's suddenly gone over to the Dark Side, no matter what Nasedo says. Not that I'm not still pissed off at him, but it's going to take a lot more than a few nasty cracks for me to turn my back on him. On any of you, for that matter. We should give him the benefit of the doubt."
The others nodded. "That's settled, then," Max decided, sounding particularly relieved. He lowered his voice to avoid being overheard. "I think we should focus on Nasedo right now. If we can find out exactly why he's against Michael, maybe we can fix it. And then Michael will calm down some, if that's what's bugging him...." He trailed off doubtfully.
"At least he's back in school," Liz pointed out. Maria snickered to herself. Trust her best friend to be excited about that.
Although Maria herself was happy about it. She did still want Michael to have a future, after all, one that didn't include a lifetime of servitude at the Lift-Off. She just wasn't sure how it all had happened. She'd been totally unprepared to walk into English that morning and see Michael sitting there. And no one had acted like there was anything wrong. If she didn't know better, she'd think she imagined the whole expulsion in the first place. With a frown, she voiced her confusion. "What I don't get is how Michael got readmitted," she stated.
"You of all people should know," said a dry voice behind her. What? Turning, she found a sardonic Kyle and a determined-looking...Tess?
"What do you mean, Kyle?" she asked.
"I'm surprised you don't know about it," he said. "Brad Phillips was in the office waiting to see Mr. Sutter when your mother stormed in, dragging Guerin behind her."
Maria stared at him, slack-jawed. Her mother? The woman who called Michael a juvenile delinquent, and tried to keep Maria away from him, had stood up for him? And she didn't even tell her own daughter? "My...my mother?" she stammered.
"Yep. She was on a real tear, Brad said."
Maria blinked, still trying to comprehend how her mother could have done something like that. Without telling her about it. Sure, she had offered to share her mother with Michael, days ago, but she'd certainly never mentioned anything about it to her. And yet she had helped Michael anyway. A smile plastered itself on Maria's face. Way to go, Mom.
"You didn't know anything about it?" Liz asked her. Maria shook her head, still smiling widely. If Michael wouldn't let her help him, wanted her to stay away, at least one DeLuca woman wouldn't be put off from standing up for him. He couldn't escape them, that was for sure. No matter how stupidly he behaved.... But she was definitely going to have a little chat with her mother.
She suddenly realized everyone was looking at her, and shook off her abstraction. She in turn looked at Kyle and Tess. "So...I didn't expect to see the two of you together," she commented. They weren't holding hands or anything, but they obviously hadn't come into the Crashdown separately, either. When did they become friends, anyway?
"We need to talk," Tess said quietly, carefully focusing on Maria and not on the others.
"What, you and me?" Maria said, startled.
"No, all of us," the tiny blonde answered. She still kept her focus on Maria. "About Michael."
Maria nodded, then glanced around the cafe. "We'll be closing in about twenty minutes, anyway. We can talk afterwards."
Beside her, Liz spoke up. "Can I get you guys anything while you wait?" Her voice was serene even though Maria knew she couldn't be happy about the whole thing. Maria caught her eye and smiled, feeling particularly proud of her best friend.
"We'll just sit over there," Tess said, pointing to an empty table.
Maria turned back to the three sitting in the booth. Isabel in particular didn't look too happy. "You might have asked the rest of us if we were willing to talk to her," she chided. "Some of us aren't too fond of her."
Maria's response was simple. "It's for Michael," she said.
Some thirty-five minutes later, the restaurant was empty of patrons and reasonably clean. Pulling a table and three chairs up to the booth, they gathered to talk.
"I think we should set some ground rules," Max said, starting them off. He looked directly at Tess. "No talk about destiny, or that book, or the idea of you and me being paired together."
"That's not why I'm here," Tess snapped. "I'm worried about Michael, and I think you should be too."
"Why do you say that?" asked Alex. "We are worried, but I'd like to know your reason for it."
"Not to mention why you care," Isabel put in rudely. "Because Michael and I aren't following your little mating plan, either."
"It's not my plan," Tess shot back, holding her own. "I didn't come up with it. And I care because I think that Michael is my brother."
There was silence. Everyone looked stunned except for Kyle. He seemed to be enjoying the discomfiture on their faces, especially Max's.
"Does Michael know?" Maria whispered finally.
"I told him, but I don't think he was happy about it," Tess admitted, sadness entering her eyes.
"Are you sure? Because family is really important to him. He's wanted it so badly, all his life," Maria told her, stopping at Max's look of surprise. "We talked about it," she said, smiling. "I know it's hard to believe, but he is capable of sharing his feelings, you know. He's actually pretty good at it, once you get used to him." She turned to Tess, then back to Max, a saucy grin on her lips. "And if you ever tell him I said so, I'll see to it that you never get served the right order in here again, Max, got it? Tess," she continued, focusing on the alien, "Maybe you misunderstood him. I think Michael would be...overjoyed to have a sister."
"Only if it weren't me," Tess said earnestly.
"She's right--he didn't take it well. But she didn't exactly break it to him gently, either," put in Kyle.
"You were there?" Isabel asked.
Kyle nodded. "She told me he was her brother; he looked shell-shocked; he split. That's about all there was."
"When was this?" Maria asked faintly.
"Saturday evening. He came to see me." Ahhh. So this was what Michael was so upset about. Or at least part of it. And it happened when he was supposed to be distracting Tess so they could search her house....
If Tess really was Michael's sister, maybe she deserved to know what was going on. She'd seemed so concerned about him when he'd been expelled, after all.... Biting her lip, Maria looked around at the others.
Ever positive, Alex was the first to nod. Liz followed soon after, although she didn't look terribly happy about it. But then again, who could blame her for that? Isabel, however, shook her head adamantly. "No. No way." Her brother looked at her, then at Liz, then back at Isabel. He didn't seem to know how he felt.
These obvious visual cues did not go unnoticed by Tess. Well, she'd never struck Maria as stupid, after all. "Please. Tell me what's going on. I want to help Michael if I can."
"You'd go against Nasedo?" asked Max, torn.
"Nasedo has taken care of me my whole life, but Michael is my brother. He's not the only one who's grown up wanting a family," Tess answered steadily. "If I can help him, I will." Her voice grew a little desperate. "I'm not spying on you for Nasedo, and I'm not here to hurt you or make you do anything you don't want to. I just want to help my brother."
"I'm sorry, Tess," Max said slowly. "I just don't know if we can trust you."
"So read me and see for yourself," she flung at him. "I won't be able to lie to you that way. You can do it, can't you? Michael wouldn't, but I thought your powers were stronger than his...."
"Give her a chance, Evans," Kyle put in. "She means it."
"I'll do it." Isabel's voice was cold as she looked Tess directly in the eye. "I don't want you messing with my brother's head again. With either of my brothers' heads, as a matter of fact."
"Isabel--" Max began.
"No, Max. I want to try this," his sister said. "We need to know." Max moved aside to let her out of the booth, and she crossed to Tess. Blue eyes met brown. Tess looked very young and unthreatening with the other alien towering over her. Isabel reached out, wrapping her fingers tightly around Tess's arm, and closed her eyes. Maria held her breath.
When Isabel finally reopened her eyes, she seemed a little less tense. She turned towards Max. "She's still pretty fixated on our so-called destiny," she reported, "but she sincerely wants to help Michael. Unless she's hiding something."
"I'm not," Tess vowed.
Isabel scooted back into the booth next to her brother. "So I vote we tell her. Both of them."
The two outsiders listened with apparent interest to the story Max spun. Tess did look a little sad when she found out Michael had only approached her as a diversion, but managed to keep her hurt in check long enough to listen to the rest of the tale. When Max had finished, she and Kyle sat there for a moment, processing what they'd just heard.
"So you think that there's something about Michael in the secret room you discovered," Tess said finally.
"Yeah. About him, or about all of you. Know anything about it?" Alex asked.
Tess shook her head. "And we can't get in, because an alien will set off the booby-trap, and humans can't use the handprint," she mused aloud.
Maria agreed wholeheartedly, remembering what had happened the first time. There was no way she was going through that again.
But beside Tess, Kyle began to grin. "You know, I think I might have a way around that."
continue to chapters 17 and 18
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