Straightening up, Max rubbed a hand across his tired eyes, then stood to stretch out his back. He'd been sitting at his desk for hours, staring at the metal sheets they'd retrieved from Nasedo's room, and he had nothing to show for it. Not one of the symbols incised into the metal meant anything to him.
But he wasn't giving up yet. Maybe if the others studied them, they'd come up with something. Michael hadn't even glanced at the sheets yet; maybe when he did, his photographic memory would kick in. If it was part of his former life and not limited to his current hybrid state. One of them had to be able to read them.
With a sigh, he put the pages into a desk drawer and waved a hand over it to weld it shut. Then he headed to the kitchen.
He was pouring himself a glass of orange juice when the back door opened and Isabel came in. "You're out late," he observed.
"Were you waiting up for me, Dad?" his sister asked with a smile.
Max held up the juice carton and, at Isabel's nod, reached into the cupboard for a second glass. "Mom and Dad have gone to bed, but you know they won't go to sleep until they know you're home."
Isabel took a sip of juice. "I know. I'll check in with them in a minute."
"Where were you?"
"At Maria's. I was helping her with her costume for tomorrow."
"Helping her...how?"
"Just how you think," Isabel retorted. "It's fine; both Maria and her mother know about us, remember?"
"Sorry. Habit," Max said apologetically. "So what's she going as?"
Isabel smiled. "Let's just say that Michael's not going to hate it." Max raised an eyebrow, but she declined to comment further, at least on that topic. "Speaking of costumes," she said instead, "I know what Liz is going as."
"Oh?"
"Mm-hmm."
He decided to give in and ask; it was what she was waiting for. Besides, he was curious. "Okay, what is she going as?"
"Dorothy from 'The Wizard of Oz', Isabel told him. "You could go as the Tin Man, you know. Be a matched set."
"I already have a heart," Max said calmly.
"You had one," his sister teased. "Now I believe it's in the possession of one Liz Parker." Her expression grew more serious. "Have you even told her that your whole mission no longer exists?"
"I'm not so sure it doesn't," he said.
"Max, we can't go there. It's impossible," she protested.
"I know that. But that doesn't necessarily mean we can't do something to help our people. I just don't know what yet."
"Max, I--" she began, then brought herself to a screeching halt. "So I take it we won't be seeing you in tin tomorrow?" she asked instead.
"I've still got my 'Men in Black' costume from the Crash Festival last year. I can wear that."
"Too bad. We could have had a whole theme going. Liz as Dorothy, you as the Tin Man...Michael could have gone as the Cowardly Lion."
Max smiled at the absurd mental image of them trying to stuff Michael into a lion suit. "Are you trying to tell me that you think Michael lacks courage?" he asked.
"Well, he hasn't gotten back with Maria yet, has he?" she said, her tone reasonable.
"That's not a lack of courage, it's just refusing to go along with your overly-convoluted schemes," he said in defense of his best friend.
"It's not that complicated. And he asked for help, anyway."
"But did you really think he was going to follow your instructions down to the last letter? His natural reaction is to avoid doing what he's told. Even if he actually liked your plan, Michael would be more likely to...to try out for the basketball team before he'd do everything you suggested," Max told her quite honestly. "He needs to find his own way."
"I'm just tired of seeing him unhappy," she complained.
"I know. But don't you think having him sweep Maria away from school in a coach-and-four is just a little over the top?"
"Maria would probably think it was romantic," Isabel said with a toss of her head. "For that matter, so would Liz."
"Hold it there," Max protested, putting his hands out to stop her from any more words. "Let's leave Liz out of it, okay?"
She opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her. "Besides, why is it that you're so interested in Michael's love life, and my love life, and yet you don't seem to have one of your own?"
She gave him a disgruntled look. "Oh, fine. There will be no romantic gestures, no cute themed costumes," she sighed.
"Well, what would you have gone as, anyway?" Max countered. "A flying monkey?"
"Of course not," Isabel said indignantly. "I'd be Glinda, of course. After all," she added as she headed out of the kitchen, "I can already do magic."
*****
"How long is he going to sit there?" Maria fumed. "Shouldn't he be off...like, brooding or something?"
Alex swiveled the stool around and took a sip of his root beer. "He's eating," he said calmly.
"Yeah, I know. I took his order--three hours ago. Michael doesn't take three hours to eat. Michael wolfs his food down like he's scared it'll bite back or something."
"Maybe he's not hungry."
"Then why can't he go be not hungry someplace else?"
Glancing around the half-empty restaurant, Alex asked, "Why? D'you need the booth?"
"Okay, that is so not the point, Alex."
"Then what is?"
"That he's stalking me again. It's like everywhere I've gone today--no, make that the last three days--he's been there. And since, contrary to his warped imagination, no one's been threatening me, there's no reason for him to follow me around!"
Alex couldn't help but grin. "Hey, maybe he likes you, DeLuca."
"That's not the point either."
He turned to look in Michael's direction again. The alien took a bite of cold french fry and turned the page of the book he was reading, one of several that were strewn haphazardly across the table. Maria was right--it looked like Michael had settled in for a long stay.
Michael must have felt Alex's eyes on him, because he looked up; but other than a brief nod in Alex's direction, he didn't pay him much attention. Instead his glance slid past Alex to Maria, who stiffened and looked away. Alex saw with some amusement that Maria's hand trembled as she straightened the silver antennae she wore in her dark brown hair.
"He's been watching me all day," she complained.
"Told you you were going overboard with the whole Spirit Week thing. Maybe you should have dressed like one of 'The Sound of Music' nuns instead of Catwoman."
"I told you, I wasn't Catwoman. I was Trinity from 'The Matrix'. And I was just going along with your scheme, Alex. It was movie character day; what did you think I would wear?"
"And your choice had nothing to do with the fact that Michael's seen 'The Matrix' seven times?"
"As a matter of fact, it didn't. I just happen to like black leather, okay?"
"Since when?"
"Since Isabel did her Czechoslovakian thing and helped me make it," Maria admitted.
Alex nodded. "Did she do your hair, too?" he asked.
Her hand flew up to her hair. "No, it's just a rinse. It'll wash out." She hesitated. "Why? Does it look better dark?"
Alex had been friends with Maria and Liz too long; he knew better than to answer that one. "I am not about to be caught up in that. Ask somebody else." He paused, then said slyly, "Ask Michael--you said he'd been watching you all day anyway. He's probably got an opinion by now."
Maria's gaze shot back over to the other side of the restaurant. "Oh, thank god," she muttered. Alex looked over to see that Michael had closed the book he'd been reading. And then, as Maria made a sound that was half gasp and half moan, Michael opened another text, pulled out a pencil and notebook, and began to scrawl. Alex snickered. Looked like Michael wasn't planning to go anywhere.
*****
"Okay, that is the last straw!" Maria snapped. Dropping the sponge she'd been pretending to use on the counter, she ignored Alex's grin and stalked around the counter, heading directly toward the source of her indignation.
Michael looked up as she approached. "Hey."
Hey? That was all he had to say? Well, that figured. God forbid Mr. Taciturn should actually hold a conversation. Give her orders, yes. Make decisions for her, sure. But a conversation? No way. She smiled her best icy smile at him. "Can I get you anything else, sir?"
Blinking, he contemplated her face for a moment, then asked, "What's wrong with you?"
What was wrong with her? "What do you mean, what's wrong with me? You're stalking me again!"
"I'm not stalking you."
"Well, you could have fooled me. You've been following me around again."
"So?"
Maria watched dazedly as a rare smile flitted across his lips. His lips, that she wished were kissing her--no, she didn't. That way led to madness and heartbreak. And racing pulses and tingling skin and the feeling of flying through space....
"Does this have anything to do with yesterday?" she demanded. "You know, with the man you saw?"
"I told you I'd drop that, didn't I?" he said, obviously affronted.
He had said that; he'd promised. And she was certain he would keep that promise, so why had she even brought it up? "Well then, quit watching me!" she snapped.
"But I like watching you!" he snapped back.
What? That didn't sound at all like Michael. Not so much the sentiment--because he was, after all, a very visual person--but the fact that he'd actually said it. Out loud. In a public place, where anyone could overhear. Even if it was more argumentative than complimentary, which was very like Michael.
So what was this? He was the one with no interest in their relationship, so what gave him the right to act like he had? "Look, if you don't want anything else, could you just finish up and go?" she demanded, not caring how rude she sounded. "We need this booth for our paying customers."
Unfortunately, this didn't seem to phase him in the least. In fact, one side of his mouth curled up in a half-smirk. "But I am a paying customer," he advised her, pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and tossing it carelessly onto the table.
Where did he get money to throw around like that? Especially since he'd been too busy being abducted to work a whole lot recently. And, come to think of it, when had he ever come to the Crashdown by himself, sat down and ordered just like anyone else? He usually just tagged along with Max and Isabel. So when had--
"And you're wrong, Maria--I do want something else."
Startled, she tore her eyes from the crumpled bill and jerked her gaze up to his. His eyes burned through hers, and she lifted her chin in defiance. Darned if she'd show him just how thrown she was. "What?" she challenged.
One eyebrow rose. "Looking at your expression, I don't think I'm gonna get it. So I'll settle for...chocolate cake," he said, then added, "And more Tabasco."
Chocolate cake and Tabasco. "Sweet and spicy, huh?" she blurted, then wished she could take the words back. "Uh...yeah, I'll get it for you," she said hastily, then scurried away from the table, half flustered and half furious with herself. How could she let him do this to her? Why was he making her feel so...so unsettled? And what did he think he was he doing, anyway? What happened to the Michael who didn't give a hoot about them being together? Sure, he was infuriating, but at least she knew where she stood with him. This version of Michael was different. Contrary to the way she'd acted the other night Maria was not an idiot; she was certainly more than capable of recognizing Michael Guerin's perverse form of flirtation.
Because he was flirting with her. He was opening up and talking to her like she meant something. Like they meant something.
Her mind flashed back to the conversation she'd had with Liz earlier that week. In the light of day, she was a little embarrassed about her behavior. How could she have let herself abandon everything she was sure of and let that old monster, insecurity, claw its way through her? She knew what Michael was like, how annoyingly thick-headed he could be about their relationship, so why had she practically given up on them? Liz was right; he just needed a little guidance. And a whole heck of a lot of patience.
Although the way he was acting today--Maria wondered if her best friend had blessed Michael with a lecture, too. Because something sure had him acting differently. Maybe there was some hope for them after all.
*****
Michael was more than ready to push his books away when Maria, dressed in the tight black leather outfit she'd worn to school, came out of the back room a few hours later. She made a beeline to his booth and stood there, her hands on her hips. She looked...good. Different, with the dark hair, but still....
"So why are you still here?" she asked, but the earlier harshness had disappeared from her tone. "Don't tell me you're still hungry."
"No." He could hardly be; he'd been ordering food for her entire shift. He was experiencing an unaccustomed sensation of repletion; it had probably been the third huge wedge of cake she'd served that had done him in. "Just doing some homework."
"The library's a lot quieter."
"Yeah...but the scenery's better here."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah." Like she didn't know it.
"Well, this piece of scenery is off for the evening and is heading home. See you."
Swinging the cover of his notebook shut, Michael began piling up his books. "Hold on a minute. I just gotta pay."
Maria paused, then turned back to him. "Did we have plans I don't know about?"
"No. I just thought I'd make sure you got home okay."
"Why? Are you expecting more visits from your relatives?"
Did she have to make this so hard? "No. They're pretty much either dead or...uh, incapacitated, remember?" He slid out from the booth and grabbed his books, shoving them into an ancient-looking backpack that Max had passed along to him in junior high. It hadn't actually gotten used all that much since then.
Crossing to the cash register, he paid the check and pocketed his change, then turned to Maria. "You ready?"
"First of all, I don't recall saying I needed a babysitter just to go home--" she began. Enough of this. With a shake of his head, Michael reached out to grab her hand and pulled her through the front door.
Her mouth never stopped moving. "--and second, you left this on the table." She held out her other hand, showing him the twenty-dollar bill he'd tossed there earlier.
Well, duh. "Maria, that's the tip."
"What? That's more than your whole bill came to, even with all that cake, which, by the way, must be what is causing your delusional sugar-high. Michael, you can not afford to be throwing money around like that," she protested.
What was it that made all the women he knew want to manage his money? First Isabel, now Maria. The next thing he knew, Liz would be designing a low-risk investment plan for him, and Mrs. DeLuca would want him to donate it to Save the Rainforest or something. But he'd decide for himself, thanks; he preferred to concentrate on saving Michael Guerin. And maybe a big-screen TV....
And he suddenly realized that Maria was trying to press the bill into his hand. "I'm not taking your money, Michael," she said. "You need it."
He pulled away from her. "You earned it."
"I can't take money from you. It doesn't feel right."
"Yeah? So what if I was somebody else, like..." Michael racked his brain for his polar opposite, and settled on, "...like the Vice Principal? Would you take the tip then?"
"Mr. Sutter never comes to the Crashdown. And if he did, he wouldn't order three desserts."
Would she quit it with the three desserts? She'd given him a hard enough time when she'd served him earlier. He liked chocolate, and the cake they had at the Crashdown was pretty good, especially when slathered in Tabasco. So if he wanted to eat three pieces, he'd eat three pieces. "Yeah, but if he had, would you keep it then?"
She hesitated. "I guess."
Then what was the problem? "So keep this."
"Take it back, Michael."
"No."
"Take it."
God, she was stubborn. "No."
"Fine," she said. "Then I'll make sure you take it." She reached for his jacket pocket, and he grabbed her wrist to stop her.
"You do that, I'll do the same thing," he warned.
Her voice was triumphant. "You can't. My jacket doesn't have any pockets."
No way was he letting her win this. Besides, he was kind of having fun. Arguing with Maria felt...normal. Deliberately, Michael moved close to her, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He raised one eyebrow. "Then I'll have to find another place to put it, won't I?"
He watched as her eyes widened and she actually blushed. Lifting his hand, he ran a finger down the bridge of her nose and tapped it lightly. "It's okay, Maria. I want you to have it."
"It feels wrong to be taking money from you," she said.
"It's okay," he repeated with a shrug. "When I run out, I can always go rob another bank."
"Michael!"
She sounded peeved. Maybe he'd better explain. "It's not a big deal, okay? Bob had a car that he drove out to the bunker. He won't exactly be needing it any more, so Nasedo sold it. I'm independently wealthy--at least for a little while." Okay, now was her chance to go all crazy and rag on him to blow it all on clothes and stuff, just like Isabel.
Maria looked up at him, considering. "I'll make a deal with you," she said finally. "Christmas break starts next week. One day when we're both not working, we can go see a movie. If we catch a matinee, this should pay for the tickets and some popcorn. Do we have a deal?"
Did they have a deal? What, did she think he was stupid or something, that he'd turn down the opportunity to sit for a couple of hours in the dark with her? But what exactly did she mean by it? She'd never said what she'd decided as far them being together went. Michael cleared his throat. "Uh...I don't know. Is this a date or something?"
She looked away, her eyelashes sweeping down to hide her eyes. "Why? Do you want it to be?"
He barely recognized his own voice. "Yeah."
There was a tense pause before she said, "Well, then, I guess it's a date."
For some reason, that statement seemed to make her nervous, because she began to jabber away. "Well, I've got Mom's car, and it's parked around the corner, so I guess I should go. You don't need to see me home or anything; I'll be fine. So why don't you take the money for now and we'll set up a time to go once our schedules are fixed--"
This time, Michael let her press the contested twenty-dollar bill into his hand, wishing she'd just calm down. There was nothing for her to be nervous about; they were just talking about a date. His stomach flipped. Then again....
Oh, what the hell. Reaching out, he framed her face in his hands and gave her a swift kiss, not caring that they were on the Crashdown's sidewalk in full view of any passers-by.
Maria looked up at him, her expression unreadable. Realizing he was still holding her, he hastily dropped his hands but didn't look away. "That was...uh, that was just to calm you down," he said. Well, it had worked before.
"Uh-huh." Why did she sound so unconvinced?
"Well...I'll walk you to the car."
This time she didn't argue. "Okay."
It only took a moment to get there. Neither said anything on the short walk but, to his relief, Maria gave him a quick smile as she climbed in and turned the key in the ignition.
Suddenly, Michael didn't want her to go. "Maria!" he shouted, knocking on the Jetta's window. She unrolled it, and he stood there, trying to come up with something to say.
Her eyebrows rose. "What, Michael?"
Dammit! Why was he so tongue-tied all of a sudden? He should just bite the bullet and tell her how he felt. It had been one of the many things on Isabel's list: tell Maria just how much she meant to him. Even though she already knew anyway. Girls liked that kind of thing. He had to stop being a loser, Isabel had instructed, and become very verbal about his emotions, no matter how hard it was. Take that chance....
"Uh...uh, no chick flicks. You know, on our date." Great. Not only was he a loser, he was now a pathetic loser.
"I guess I'll have to give you instruction on what makes a proper date movie," she said with a sigh. "See you tomorrow, Spaceboy."
Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her drive off. Looked like he was in for a couple of hours of soppy feel-good feminine crap.
And taking everything into consideration, he almost didn't mind.
CHAPTER 42
By dint of rushing through his cleanup in metal shop, Michael made it to the cafeteria and staked out a table in the corner before anyone else got there. He sat and crossed his arms over his chest, adopting a foreboding expression to keep away anyone who wasn't willing to brave it. Which was anyone other than those in his immediate circle. Alex was the first of the gang to arrive, and he grinned as he dropped into a chair across from Michael.
"So, who won last night?" he asked, sticking a straw into his milk carton.
"What?"
"Did Maria finally kick you out, or did you manage to outstay her?"
"Neither. We left at the same time," Michael answered.
"Ah, a tie! Well, better luck next time."
Michael frowned. "It isn't a game, you know."
"What's not a game?" asked Isabel, taking the seat next to Alex.
Although Alex opened his mouth to respond, Michael hastened to cut him off. "Nothing." He wasn't about to let Isabel get back on the subject of Maria. He was still reeling from all the crazy instructions she'd loaded on him the other night. Instructions which he had no intention of following. Hurriedly, he changed the subject. "When can we start working on...on my problem?" he asked, gesturing to his cheek and the alien mark that was the prototype for those that half the school--and all of his friends--bore. "People aren't gonna buy it after today."
"We can start after school, if Max doesn't have to work," she answered promptly. "We have all Christmas vacation to work on it if we need to. Don't worry; we'll get it off."
"You don't think you'll need that long to fix it, do you?" Alex asked her.
"I hope not. I've got too many other things to do to get ready for Christmas. I'm starting late as it is."
Michael rolled his eyes. He'd seen this too many times before. "Clear out while you can," he advised Alex. "Isabel on her annual Christmas rampage? Not a pretty sight."
Isabel fixed her gaze on him, but he refused to back down. They'd had this argument too many times before, too. He'd never given in, and he wasn't about to now.
"And what about you, Michael?" she said. "Since you actually have some money this year, not to mention a girlfriend, don't you think it would behoove you to put some time into a little Christmas shopping?"
Leaning forward, Michael looked her straight in the eye. "First of all, nothing 'behooves' me to do anything. And second, you know I don't do Christmas, so don't push me, Iz."
"You don't do Christmas?" repeated a shocked voice. He looked up; Maria and Liz stood there, lunches in hand. Maria looked absolutely horrified.
"No," he said shortly. Great. He should have known this would come up.
"What are you, like Jewish? Can Czechoslovakians even be Jewish?" she asked.
"I'm not anything," he said, then corrected himself as she opened her mouth to speak again. "I don't have a religion."
Maria frowned, but she didn't push it any further, to his relief. Instead, she took a seat beside him and addressed herself to unpacking her lunch. A moment later, Max joined them and sat opposite Liz.
"So, any of you see Kyle Valenti today?" Alex asked, changing the subject. Several smiles appeared. "I tell you, it's the best thing about this whole week," he chuckled.
"Alex--" Liz began, warning audible in her voice.
"No, really, he makes a really pretty girl."
"Glad you approve, Whitman," Kyle said dryly from behind him. Silently Michael took in the view. He'd seen several of the cheerleaders dressed in basketball uniforms, and a couple of players in drag in the hallway, but this was the first time he'd seen Kyle.
The jock wore a cheerleading uniform--that couldn't possibly be a real one, could it? Michael didn't remember ever seeing a cheerleader built like Kyle--with a red wig vaguely reminiscent of Laura Lindos, the head cheerleader. Kyle's face was made up carefully, but Alex was wrong about him. He wasn't at all pretty, especially wearing his current expression. Michael's fingers suddenly itched for a pencil and a drawing pad.
Being caught out didn't seem to bother the irrepressible Alex Whitman one bit. He turned in his chair, gave the jock the once over, and grinned. "Nice knees, Ms. Valenti," he commented.
Michael couldn't help it--he began to chuckle. His fellow lunchmates stopped staring at Kyle and turned to stare at him. Well, he guessed the sight of him laughing was just as astonishing as Kyle's getup, but their expressions only made him laugh harder.
"You owe me for this, Guerin," Kyle said pointedly.
"Hey, I didn't ask you to do any of it," Michael shot back. "Don't blame me 'cause you're wearing a dress."
"I don't care. You owe me," Kyle insisted. "Basketball practice. 4:00."
Shaking his head, Michael said, "Not gonna happen. Besides, what makes you think I wouldn't suck, anyway?"
"Have you seen who we've got playing this year? I'm telling you, I'm desperate, man."
Michael couldn't deny that, in his current getup, Kyle certainly looked it. But there was no way he was going to try out for the basketball team, and he said so. "I like to keep a low profile, okay? If people don't see me, then they won't start to wonder about me," he explained. "And I'm not gonna jeopardize that for a stupid basketball team. Nothing could make me do it."
Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Nothing? Nothing could make you do it?" He glanced around the table, then turned back to Michael and challenged, "What if Maria asked you to?"
Opening his mouth to reply in the negative, Michael suddenly remembered that Maria was watching. The word froze on his lips, and he closed his mouth. The Michael of a year ago would've barged right ahead and said it, but he'd learned some stuff since then. And he didn't want to mess up the progress he'd made with Maria last night. Especially since he wasn't the only guy who'd been watching her parade around in her skin-tight clothing all week.
So instead of answering, he tried to worm his way around the question. He said, quite truthfully, "She wouldn't ask me to."
"But what if she did? What if she begged you to?" Kyle pressed.
Michael stopped and actually gave it some thought. He was pretty sure Maria would never give a rat's ass if he was on some sports team or not; she wasn't one of those brainless jock-groupie bimbos. But if she did care, if she really wanted him to, would he do it? He thought back over their tumultuous history. There were other things he hadn't wanted to do, but he did them for her. He'd let Alex talk him into building the plant puppets for Maria's play, just so he could be near enough to protect her. It hadn't been so bad--it even became a kind of artistic challenge--but he hadn't wanted to do it. And even earlier than that, he'd been perfectly happy with the whole Eraser Room/apartment make-out scenario, but she'd wanted a real date with a real boyfriend, so he'd tried to give it to her. Sure, he'd failed spectacularly, but he'd wanted her to be happy. And that was what he still wanted. Well, happy and safe.
He glanced over at her. Her eyes were now focused down on her lunch, the corners of her mouth drooping just slightly. She didn't say anything. But she certainly didn't look happy.
And he wanted her to be. Maybe it was time she knew that. Even if it meant showing himself as a complete wuss. Crap.
He looked Kyle straight in the eye. "She wouldn't care about it," he said slowly. "If she did, I'd try to talk her out of it, but if she really wanted it...yeah, I guess...I guess I'd do it."
There was silence at the table, and he took a very self-conscious bite of what the cafeteria said was a burger. Why didn't they all quit staring at him? It was making him very uncomfortable. He kept his gaze from Maria and fought the urge to bolt.
Then Kyle seemed to shake off his shock. His eyes darted to Maria. "Maria--" he started eagerly.
"Michael's right. I don't care if he plays basketball or not. So I'm not going to ask him to," she said, but her voice sounded odd to Michael. He looked down at her, trying to read her expression, but failed miserably.
"You could always make it the consequence of your winning that bet, Maria," Alex piped up.
"But I'm not going to win," she answered quite seriously. "Michael is."
The knowledge of her faith in him, at least in this respect, warmed Michael's heart. Relaxing, he reached over and grabbed a carrot stick from the baggie of cut vegetables she'd packed in her lunch. Not that he really wanted it, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do.
"Hey!" she scolded, giving him a playful slap on the hand. "Give me that!"
Shaking his head, he took a bite. Yep, that's why he didn't particularly like carrots. Decent crunch, but bland as hell. Maybe he could improve it if he had some cream cheese frosting and hot sauce to zip it up a little. Absently he took another bite. It sure needed something.
"Well, crap. What good is doing you a favor if I don't get paid back?" Kyle said petulantly.
Michael wasn't the least bit swayed. "Sucks, doesn't it?"
"You're not kidding. Well, it was worth a shot." Kyle shrugged, then started to move away. "Of course," he added over his shoulder, "if you change your mind...."
Michael was quite definite. "Not gonna happen, Valenti."
*****
Max was busily straightening out a display case full of supposed 1947 crash fragments when someone halted right in front of him. He looked up in surprise.
"I'm on a break," Maria said point-blank, answering his unasked question. He'd guessed as much from the waitress uniform she wore. She'd thrown her coat over it sloppily, not bothering to button it up for the quick dash across the street from the Crashdown to the UFO Center.
"What's on your mind?" Max asked.
"Two things," she admitted. "First is a favor." She looked around, then lowered her voice to try and keep several Friday afternoon tourists from overhearing. "Now that my mom knows about you all, I was wondering...well, she's stuck in a cast for at least another month, and it's hard for her to do things. Everyone's been really great about helping her out in the shop, but I know it's still hurting, and she's got a lot going on right now. So I was wondering if you could do your magic voodoo thing and fix her up."
It certainly wouldn't be difficult to heal Mrs. DeLuca's arm, especially since it had already been set. He'd just need to repair the break. But the real question was whether or not she'd want it done. It was one thing to know aliens existed, and another to actually allow one to use his powers on you. Liz and Kyle hadn't had a choice--he'd healed each of them without getting their permission first, to save their lives. And when he'd healed Maria's broken ankle earlier that fall, it had been long after she'd accepted what his small family was. Mrs. DeLuca, on the other hand, had only had a short time to get used to the idea. A week. Had it only been a week? It seemed much longer. She might not feel comfortable with it. Although she evidently hadn't forbidden Maria to stay friends with the hybrids...it made him wonder what it would be like if his parents found out. But they couldn't risk it, no matter how badly Isabel wanted to tell them--
"Max?"
Oops. He'd gotten lost in thought, almost forgetting she was there. "Does your mother know you're asking?"
Maria shook her head. "No. She's taking it pretty well, but she's still not used to the whole Czech thing."
Just what he'd been thinking. Taking one last look at the display case before closing it, Max said, "Ask her about it. If she's all right with it, I'd be happy to help, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable."
"Okay. I'll call her and see."
"The UFO Center closes at 7:00. I could stop by the Crashdown afterwards and see what she says," he offered. Plus, he was pretty certain Liz was working the evening shift, too. He could say hi, and maybe talk to her on a break.
"Thanks," Maria said with a smile. He suspected she wasn't fooled. Then again, unlike another alien-human hybrid, he didn't try to hide what he was feeling.
"Sure. Now what was the other thing on your mind?"
The smile faded from Maria's face. "Does Michael really not do Christmas?" she asked.
"Yes. He doesn't."
"I don't get it. I mean, I know he worked all day on Thanksgiving, but how can anyone bail on Christmas? Christmas is...well, it's Christmas!"
Carefully, Max said, "He doesn't really believe in it, Maria."
She gave an almost imperceptible sigh. "I guess it shouldn't surprise me. He hasn't been given much reason to believe in anything, has he." It wasn't a question.
"Not really," Max admitted.
She cocked her head to one side and studied him. "What about you and Isabel?"
"Oh, we do Christmas." Max found himself smiling wryly. "Isabel does a little too much Christmas, I think. She's obsessed with it being perfect, having everything just right."
"And she hasn't managed to drag Michael along with her?"
"Not so far."
"Figures," she muttered. He could almost see her mind working. "Well, okay, I get the whole avoidance of religion part, but what about the commercial side of things? What about...what about presents?"
Uh-oh. "Maria, I don't think--" Max began. She cut him off.
"Not for me, silly. For Michael. What do you do about Michael's Christmas present?"
"We don't give him one," he said, and enjoyed her aghast expression for a minute before relenting and explaining, "We each give him a present, Maria, just not on Christmas. We have to find an excuse each year, that's all."
She looked relieved. "Oh, okay."
Michael must have done something right, if Maria had gotten over her case of the mads enough to be worrying about giving him a Christmas present, Max thought. But it made sense that she'd be asking about it. If he was remembering correctly, Michael and Maria hadn't been together last Christmas, so the whole issue of presents wouldn't have come up. Ditto for Valentine's Day. And as for...Uh-oh again. It was a ways off, but Max thought he'd better warn her. "Maria? He doesn't do birthdays, either."
"What?" she exclaimed. "Okay, that's just enough. I can see how he might skip the birth celebration of someone he doesn't even believe in, but his own? That's ridiculous!"
Max couldn't help but smile a bit at her indignation. "Well, technically we weren't born. At least not in the usual way of things," he pointed out.
"But does that keep you and Isabel from celebrating your birthday?"
"Birthdays. Our parents wanted each of us to have our own day."
"Well, then, why doesn't he?"
"Well, legally, he does have one. Social Services assigned it to him. But all it ever meant to him was the date when the state foster support would stop and he'd be able to get out from Hank." He paused, then added, "Which didn't even matter, really, once...once he was emancipated." He wasn't sure she knew that Hank was dead, but he wasn't going to bring it up.
"When is it?"
"What, Michael's birthday?" She nodded, and Max said, "Not for a while--August thirteenth. But it doesn't matter to him, Maria."
"You mean he won't let it matter," she corrected him. "Well, that's just too bad. If he thinks he can get away with not letting us celebrate his existence, if not his birth, he is woefully mistaken!" she said passionately. "And he has eight whole months to get used to the idea."
Max smiled at her. Something told him that, in eight months or so, Michael Guerin would be celebrating his birthday whether he liked it or not.
*****
Isabel sat on her bed, feverishly writing in her planner. She could hardly believe that she'd put off preparations for Christmas this long. Of course, in other years, she hadn't had to deal with her almost-brother's abduction, and she knew her mother would have at least the basics for the family Christmas well in hand. Still, she really should have gotten started on this long before Thanksgiving.
When the knock came on the window, she didn't even have to look up to know who was there. Although he usually visited Max's room instead of hers, there was only one person she knew who habitually used windows instead of doors.
"Come on in, Michael," she called, trying to decide how many hours she could give to the annual West Roswell High Boosters Christmas gift-wrapping fundraiser. "It's open."
The window slid up and Michael climbed through, landing with a light thud on the carpet. For once, he actually remembered to shut the window behind him and close out the cool December air before she had to remind him.
He didn't waste any time with greetings. "Where's Max?" he asked.
"At work, I think."
Michael shook his head. "I went by the UFO Center. It's closed and he's not there."
"He did call and say he wouldn't be here for dinner. Maybe he ate at the Crashdown with Liz."
"Oh." He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stood, looking fairly uncomfortable.
Recapping her pen, Isabel stuck it in her planner to mark her place. "What's wrong, Michael?"
"What? Nothing. Nothing's wrong," he said. She gave him a pointed look, and he unbent enough to explain. "Really. Nothing's wrong, exactly. I just...I just feel antsy, that's all. Thought if Max was here the three of us could work on my powers, or getting the stupid mark off my face. Or something."
She wasn't buying it. "Is it Maria?"
"No," he said, but if he weren't Michael, she would have described his expression as embarrassed.
"Michael, you can tell me. Maybe I can help."
"I had enough of your help the other day, Iz. Your plan is impossible."
"I knew some of it--most of it--would be a stretch for you, Michael, and I did tell you you weren't going to like it, but if you want to fix your relationship with Maria, you're going to have to--"
He interrupted her. "Uh...actually, we kind of have a date. Next week. Me and Maria."
"How on earth did you manage that?" she asked, startled.
"Honestly? I have no idea."
She smiled at him. "That's great, Michael. My offer's still open if you want me to help you pick out a new outfit--"
"Uh-uh. We're just going to catch a movie. It's no big deal." He didn't exactly sound convinced, though.
"Well, let me know if I can help."
He nodded once, then let his gaze wander idly over the room.
"If you like, I could give your cheek another try," she offered.
"It's okay. I can wait for Max," Michael said. "It might take all three of us to figure it out." He remained standing, an immovable lump in the middle of the room.
Isabel sighed. "Look, if you're going to wait for Max, at least do something productive," she ordered. Crossing to her desk, she pulled out a pencil and a spiral notebook and thrust them towards him. "Here."
"What'm I s'posed to do with this?"
Shoving the school supplies at him, she threw her hands into the air. "Who knows? Make a grocery list. Write the great American novel. I don't care what, just amuse yourself until Max gets here. I have work to do."
Michael didn't move. "Or if you prefer, you can read. I have a whole stack of fashion magazines," she threatened.
"No, this is good," he said hastily. She kept an eagle eye on him as he sat at her desk. He hesitated for a moment, then applied pencil to paper. Relieved, she went back to her Christmas checklist. Now who could she get for the living Nativity?
TBC...
continue to chapters 43 and 44
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