Sprawled out across his couch, Michael watched as a thin shaft of light snuck over the top of his make-shift tie-dye curtain and played across the opposite wall. The forthcoming Christmas break stretched interminably out in front of him.
He'd almost rather be in school, he thought, then abandoned that idea like a Tabasco-free cherry coke. There were worse things to do on a Monday morning in December than laze about at home. He could still be living in the trailer park with Hank instead of being in his own place, for one. Except he'd emancipated himself. And Nasedo had killed his erstwhile foster father. Michael well remembered the abuse and squalor of his life with Hank--it was something he'd never be able to forget. His life, abnormal as it was, was much better now. And though his current situation was at the cost of Hank's life, that hadn't been Michael's choice. He might regret it, but he wasn't going to reject his freedom because of it.
Freedom to choose to sprawl on the couch and do absolutely nothing. Life could be a lot worse.
Plus he still had the movie with Maria ahead of him. On the way home from the quarry, they'd settled on Wednesday for their date. Michael didn't even want to think about what he'd be watching on that afternoon. He wouldn't put it past Maria to choose the sappiest, most asinine piece of chick-flick sludge available, just because she could.
But the date would serve as the official rekindling of their relationship--Michael suspected that Maria would consider their recent conversations and make-out sessions as unofficial and therefore not part of a relationship, although she'd sure seemed to enjoy the kissing part--and after that, he could spend as much time as he wanted with her. Hell, she'd said if her uncle hung around too long, she'd move right in.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. Even if her mother didn't object to her seventeen-year-old daughter staying with a guy (not to mention a half-alien, semi-delinquent guy), Michael couldn't really picture Maria living in his apartment, not even on a temporary basis. Besides the fact that he kind of liked living alone, found it safe--no, make that comfortable, it was a much better word--his place was too empty and drab to suit Maria. She was vibrant; she lived her life with the volume way, way up. Any place would need color, color and life and light, to fit her.
He looked around. His place had none of that.
Well, he might be able to supply one out of the three. Reaching out a hand, Michael closed his eyes and tried to focus his energy within. If he could duplicate that strange dichotomous concentration that he'd felt under Bob's tutelage...
It wasn't working. What had Bob said? He had to think about it but not think about it. Concentrate, but not too much. Focus and distraction, all at the same time. He was just about to give it up as pointless when something inside jerked his brain half a thought to the left, and he opened his eyes to find he'd been successful. A small spark of bluish light--pure energy--shimmered in the air above him.
Narrowing his eyes, he gave it a mental push, and it eddied through the air, moving closer to the wall. Another push, and it spun in a circle. He tried a third time but instead of moving through the air, this time the spark grew to about the size of a baseball.
After a little experimentation, he found that by feeding it energy, he could finesse its size and brilliance. He could feel an uncustomary grin on his face. He'd done it. He was controlling his powers again, all by himself. He hadn't needed any help from Max or Isabel, Nasedo or Bob. This he'd done on his own.
And he hadn't even blown anything up, either--
The sudden knock on the door, startling, scrambled his concentration, and the ball of energy streaked across the room and exploded the half-empty box of cereal he'd left on the counter.
"Dammit!" he shouted, watching the sudden rain of cornflakes on the counter and floor.
There was a pause, then another knock. With a growl, Michael stalked over to the door, barking, "What the hell is it?" as he unlocked it.
It was already starting to swing open when he realized that the person he'd just blown up at was probably Maria. Max and Isabel wouldn't have needed to knock, they could just come in; and Maria was the only other person who ever came over. Somehow he knew she was going to take his little outburst the wrong way. He doubted she'd be in any mood for moving in, or anything else, now.
But it wasn't Maria. Instead, the gangly form of Alex Whitman greeted him. "Morning," he said.
"What's wrong?" Michael demanded, instantly on the alert. "Maria?"
"Nothing's wrong," Alex interjected. "She's fine, as far as I know."
"Then what're you doing here?" He probably sounded rude, but he didn't really care. He'd been minding his own business, making progress on his powers, and he hadn't asked for any interruptions. If there wasn't an emergency--
"It's Christmas vacation."
"So?" Michael demanded.
Alex didn't look the least bit phased. "So do I get to come in?" he asked mildly. Michael stood for a moment, giving him the eye, but it didn't seem to have any effect. Finally, he stepped aside and let his visitor enter, not sure whether or not he should be offended by Alex's lack of fear.
Alex took several steps into the apartment before stopping to stare at the ruin of Michael's cereal box. To his horror, Michael felt himself flush. "I had an accident, okay?" he blustered, closing the door and leaning against it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he silently dared Alex to say anything about it.
Either his mental challenge or his intent to intimidate--or both--failed, because Alex gave him a quick grin. "What, did you think your cereal box was a shapeshifter in disguise?"
"No," Michael snapped. After a moment, he unbent enough to say, somewhat grudgingly, "I was playing with some energy. You...startled me."
"Cool," was Alex's reply. He crossed over and plopped down on the far end of the couch. "Let's see it."
"See what?"
"You know, the energy. Do your stuff."
Michael stared at him. He wasn't a trained monkey, performing on command. He could feel his jaw get tighter as he gritted his teeth. "What did you come over here for, Whitman?" he demanded.
"I told you, it's Christmas vacation," Alex replied affably.
"And I told you 'So?'" Michael shot back.
"So I asked myself, what better to do with my vacation than hang with one of my reconstituted alien buddies? And I came up with--nothing."
"You wanted to hang out. Here."
"Yep."
"Did Maria put you up to this?" Michael demanded, eyes narrowing.
"Nope. Haven't seen her since she hauled you off after our gig yesterday. But she and Liz and I are having our traditional Girl's Night tonight."
This diverted Michael's attention. "You're having a girl's night?"
"Uh-huh," Alex said. "We've been doing it since fifth grade. First real day of vacation, we have a junk food and movie fest. It's tradition."
Michael smirked; it was pretty damn funny that Alex was harmless enough to be considered one of the girls. Then again, Alex didn't seem bothered by this evidence of his feebleness. And, come to think of it, he was spending time with Maria...
Maybe Michael should feel less amused and more envious. Maybe.
But regardless, he was still suspicious about the other guy's presence. "Why are you really here?" he asked. The only reason he could come up with, besides Maria, was the other bossy female in his life. "Did Isabel send you?"
For the first time, Alex looked affronted. "I'm not some puppy dog, you know. I don't leap to do everything Isabel says."
Michael wasn't so sure about that. He'd seen the way Alex looked at Isabel: whipped, and they weren't even a couple. "You're still here 'cause of her," he said, shaking his head. "If she didn't send you, then you're here about her." The explanation popped into his head. "Look, if you're here for advice on asking her out or getting her a Christmas present or something, you got the wrong guy. Talk to Max."
Alex looked at him for a moment. "You've got the wrong end of the proverbial stick there. I'm not here for Isabel--and if I needed advice about her, I'd talk to Maria and Liz; that's what having female friends is for."
"Why are you here, then?" Michael demanded impatiently. How many times did he have to ask?
"My two best friends in the world are girls, which is great; they're great. And I spend time with the guys in the band, but other than that and whatever alien protection stuff we all do as a group, it's pretty much Liz and Maria. I know more about make-up and shoes than any straight male should. So I decided I need a guy friend."
Michael let out a snort. "And you came to me? Whitman, you're even more pathetic than I thought."
"Not the best way to start off a brand spanking new friendship--though there won't be any spanking involved, thanks--but I'm not counting you out yet." His tone was annoyingly cheerful.
"Look, Whitman, you got yourself roped into the whole alien mess. And, okay, you've even been a help," Michael added grudgingly. "But from what I understand, real friends are supposed to have something in common. Something besides the alien crap, I mean."
He firmly believed it, too. It had always bothered him, but he suspected that if they hadn't had the whole alien-hybrid thing in common, Max would have never been his friend, much less his best friend. Their secret had thrust them together, shielding them from outsiders. And now that there were others in on the secret, sometimes Michael worried that he and Max were losing what ties they had.
He wasn't going to tell that to Max, though, much less to Alex Whitman.
"You're one of Maria's best friends," he said. "That's it; she's all we got in common."
"How do you know?"
Michael raised his eyebrows at the challenge in Alex's voice.
"So your friends are limited to a very small circle. So what? My circle isn't that much bigger. The Whits aside, a dodge-ball-playing computer geek isn't going to win many high school popularity contests. If you can afford to pass up the chance on a friendship, good for you. I can't."
Michael was completely taken aback. He'd thought before that a friendship with Alex would be a valuable commodity, but he'd never expected to be offered it. He wasn't even sure he could keep up his end of things. But here Alex was, offering that friendship, not for Maria's sake, but for his own.
He should latch on to it, and fast. But he wasn't quite sure how.
He found his feet moving slowly to the couch. Sitting on the other end, he glanced over at Alex.
"No getting sentimental on me, or any of that crap," he warned.
"Gotcha." Alex grinned. "So let's see your powers in action."
*****
The heat of righteous indignation kept Maria more than adequately warm on the trek across town to Michael's apartment. It wasn't fair. This was supposed to be her vacation, at least from school, so she should be able to enjoy herself between shifts at the Crashdown. And she'd had plans with Liz and Alex, too, traditional Girls' Night plans, just like the three of them had made every vacation since the fifth grade. Liz had even wangled the lunch shift for herself and Maria, so they could spend the whole evening eating ice cream and watching part of Alex's growing DVD collection.
But did any of that matter to her mother? No. She had decided, quite unfairly, that an impromptu 'family night' with someone who didn't even deserve to be thought of as family was more important than a long-standing tradition with two friends who were practically family themselves. It was totally unreasonable.
And Michael had said, just last night, that she could talk to her mother about anything, now that the whole Czechoslovakian thing was out. Ha! He was so very, very wrong. And he deserved to hear all about it.
Clomping extra-heavily up the stairs to his apartment, Maria held in a scream of frustration. If this was the way her whole vacation was going to go, she might as well be in school. At least there she wouldn't have to deal with unwanted reminders of the past, just with homework. Michael was going to hear all about that, too.
Without a second thought, she marched right up to his apartment door. It was unlocked, and she barged right in, blurting, "Spaceboy, you are never going to believe--"
What she saw brought her to a sudden halt. The whole apartment was in disarray, with the couch tilted onto its back in the center of the room and an assortment of Michael's possessions piled around like giant Lego building blocks. For a moment, she thought her heart had actually stopped beating. Then she saw him--no, them: Alex and Michael were sitting at the counter, surveying the chaos before them. Michael's right hand was outstretched.
"What are you doing?" Maria burst out.
Neither of them looked in her direction; they remained focused on the jumble that had been Michael's studio apartment. A flash of light caught the corner of Maria's eye, and she swung around just in time to see a glowing ball of light dart around the corner of the couch, pass under a bridge-like structure made of a shoebox, the couch cushions, and what looked like Michael's history textbook, and fly straight at her. With a startled cry, she ducked, but the ball of light circled crazily around her head. It then swooped up toward the ceiling and shattered into a shower of glistening fairy lights that sparkled, winking out of existence as they fell.
"Seven point five," said Alex.
"What? That was at least a nine!" Michael protested.
"The fireworks display at the end was nice," Alex said, "but the arc around the couch was better last time, and you missed the chest of drawers completely."
"I missed the chest of drawers, but I added in Maria. That makes it even."
"Sorry. Seven-five is as high as I'm willing to go."
Maria cleared her throat. "Hello? Would one of you at least care to acknowledge my presence?"
At last they looked over at her. "Michael already did that--didn't you notice you were the finale of the light show?" Alex asked.
Rolling her eyes, Maria said pointedly, "Hello, Alex. Hello, Michael. Nice to see you both." Not giving either one a chance to respond, she continued in a deep voice, "Hello, Maria. Nice to see you, too. I hope you weren't startled by the giant firefly zooming around your head." Her voice back in its normal register, she said, "Now what on earth is all this?"
Alex grinned and gestured towards the mess. "It's an obstacle course."
Wrinkling up her nose in consternation, Maria asked, "And you need an obstacle course why?"
In response, Michael raised one eyebrow, then stuck his hand back out. Another ball of light circled around the couch before disappearing. "Practice," he said.
"Practice?" she repeated, and then suddenly realized. "Oh my god, Michael, your powers! Your powers are working!" Rushing over, she flung her arms about him.
"Yeah, I know," he said, trying to fend her off. "I was here."
"But that's so good!"
"It's okay. Now will you get off me?"
Maria took a small step back, but stayed close enough to grab him again if she felt like it. Behind her, Alex cleared his throat dramatically. "You know, if the two of you want to be alone..."
"No, silly," she laughed, "I just didn't expect to come over here and find this."
"Why're you here, anyway?" Michael asked. "Thought you were forbidden from ever setting foot in my apartment again."
"Oh!" In her excitement, she'd forgotten about that. She'd also forgotten why she'd come over in the first place. "If my mom is going to be unreasonable, I don't think there's any reason to follow her stupid rules. Besides, she'd have given in eventually. But that's not the important thing. Alex," she said, turning to him in distress, "I can't do Girls' Night."
"How come?"
"I have to do this totally stupid family thing," she complained, not wanting to get into the details. Alex didn't know about Uncle Teddy, after all. "Mom won't let me out of it."
She heard Michael take a quick breath in, and gave him a glare. "I have to have dinner with a certain someone," she said darkly. "And it's all your fault!"
"My fault? What'd I do?"
"You said I should talk to Mom about...about stuff. And when I try to, look what happens! I am never listening to you again, Michael Guerin. Your advice stinks."
He had the nerve--the gall--to shrug. "It probably won't be that bad."
"Easy for you to say; you won't be there!" she spat; then the stroke of genius hit her. "Yes, you will."
"I will what?"
"Be there. If Mom can invite someone to dinner, then so can I."
Slipping of the stool, Michael backed away as far as the counter would allow. "No."
"Michael--" she began.
"No way am I having dinner with you. The last time was bad enough, with just your mother. This would be worse."
"That's what I'm saying! That's why you have to come."
A voice interrupted. "Far be it for me to butt in, but what are you talking about?" Maria swung around, startled. She'd actually forgotten Alex was there.
"Family stuff--" she began.
"She's crazy, is all," Michael said at the same time.
"What?" she gasped. "I am not crazy, Michael! If you think--"
"Whatever," he said, cutting her off. "No dinner."
"That's not fair!"
"Hey, she's your mother."
"Did I or did I not say we would share her?"
"Did you tell her that?" Michael shot back.
"Okay, I think this is where I head out," Alex put in. "If you need help reassembling your apartment, I can come back later, Michael."
"Why? What time is it?" Maria asked, grabbing Alex's wrist to look at his watch. "Oh my god, I'm going to be late for work!" she cried out.
Michael didn't even bother to try and hide the relieved smirk on his face. He probably thought he was going to wiggle out of it, but he was wrong. "Oh, no, Spaceboy, you're coming with me," Maria ordered, grabbing a handful of his t-shirt. "Get your jacket, mister." She turned to Alex. "Want some lunch, Alex? Galaxy Melt's on me."
He looked at her, then at Michael. When he looked back at her, a smile was creeping onto his lips. "Sure," he said, slipping into his jacket. "Gotta watch out for my man, here."
Giving up waiting for Michael to move, Maria grabbed his jacket from its spot on the counter and tossed it at him. "Come on, Spaceboy. I'm already late."
He gave in with what was for Michael remarkable grace: he glared at her for a moment, then shook his head and stalked out of the apartment. With a pleased smile she followed, Alex by her side. As Michael locked the apartment door behind them, Maria and Alex headed for the stairs.
"So, Alex," Maria said, tucking her hand companionably into the crook of her friend's arm, "Just when did my boyfriend become your man?"
*****
If Michael hadn't known better, he would've thought it was a setup. The three of them arrived--only seven minutes late, to Maria's audible relief--to find the Crashdown already hosting some familiar faces. Max was at the counter, chatting with Liz as she filled soda glasses, and Kyle and Tess sat together in a booth towards the back.
"Michael! Alex! Come sit with us," Tess called across the room. Michael was a little surprised at Alex's inclusion; the last he knew, Tess wasn't that big on the human element. Then again, she was sitting with Kyle Valenti...Narrowing his eyes, he peered at the couple in the booth. They looked awfully...friendly.
"Well, don't just stand there, Michael," Maria admonished, then reached up to press her lips fleetingly against his. "We'll talk more when I get a break." Heading to the back room, she disappeared behind the swinging door.
Trying to pretend he hadn't just been kissed in front of everyone, Michael nodded to Max, then followed Alex over to the booth and slid in beside Tess. "Hey," he grunted out.
"Guerin," Kyle said with a nod.
"Valenti," he responded.
"Whitman," Alex chimed in. "So how's it going?"
"Pretty well," Tess said with an excited smile. "Kyle and I were just talking about Christmas. Nasedo wasn't big on celebrating, you know, so this is my first..."
She kept talking, but Michael purposely let his attention stray. If he wanted all that Christmas crap, he could talk to Isabel. He didn't even know why he was here; he shouldn't have let Maria drag him out of his apartment. Except for the alien quest and the movie date, it had been his intention to hole up and not set foot outside until his face was back to normal. And now that it looked like he was going to be permanently scarred, that meant pretty much forever.
He shouldn't even be here now. In fact, he would just leave, except he was kind of hungry, and his cupboards were pretty much bare now that his last box of cornflakes was dust. He'd have to go to the grocery store, a chore he'd always hated. It was too much like shopping. When he could, he got Isabel to go for him--
The soft clink of glass against a hard surface brought him out of his fugue, and he looked up. Liz placed a drink in front of him and then fished a bottle of Tabasco sauce out of her apron pocket. "Cherry coke," she said, "and root beer for you, Alex. Want your regular?"
Alex chuckled, "Do you even have to ask?"
Liz laughed with him as she made a notation on her order pad. "And you, Michael?"
"Don't order too much," Maria said as she joined them, dressed for work. "You have to save room for dinner."
"I'm not going," Michael reminded her, then turned to Liz and ordered. "Will Smith burger and fries. And a big slab of cake," he added, looking at Maria. "Chocolate if you got it."
Her lips curving upwards, Liz wrote the order down, then turned to Kyle and Tess. "Can I get you two anything else?"
"We're good," Tess said politely, and Liz headed off to put the order in.
Unfortunately, Maria didn't go with her. "Michael, you have to--"
"No way," he said, cutting her off. "Maybe I got plans."
"Plans?" she asked derisively. "Like what?"
"Just plans," he said firmly, then busied himself with adding hot sauce to his soda. And if his plans were to sit on the couch and do nothing, well, that was his business, wasn't it? He actually heard her say "Arrrgh!"--something he thought was limited to pirates--before she stormed off.
There was silence at the table. He looked up to find three pairs of eyes fixed on him.
"What?"
"Michael," Tess said, "Maybe now isn't the best time to be fighting with Maria."
"Why not? What's going on?" he demanded, slipping instantly into action mode.
Tess took a sip of the coffee in front of her before she answered. "Well, aren't you in a rather...delicate stage of negotiations?"
Negotiations? There were no negotiations. Maria'd said come to dinner, and he'd said no. End of story.
"She means you shouldn't screw things up right before your date," Kyle announced.
"My what?" Michael said sharply.
"Your trip to the movies," Tess put in. "It's on Wednesday, right?"
"For god's sake, does the whole world have to know my business?" Michael exploded.
Alex shook his head. "Michael, who's the other person going on this date?"
Duh. "Maria, but--"
Oh.
Well, that kind of explained how the whole world knew, but they'd just decided on Wednesday last night. Did the Maria-grapevine work that fast?
Probably.
"Whatever," he mumbled, and set his jaw. If he didn't say anything else, they'd move on to some other topic of conversation, right?
Right?
It wasn't even partially true. By the time Liz set his lunch down in front of him with a quiet, "Here you go, Michael," he had heard so much discussion about his upcoming date that he almost wished it wasn't going to happen. Yeah, he wanted the 'spend time with Maria' part, but did everyone have to force their opinion on him? He hadn't even asked what they thought.
Of course, the last time he'd asked for dating advice, he'd totally screwed up Max's instructions. This time he wasn't going to try things Max's style; he was determined to handle the date with Maria in his own way.
God help them both.
One thing was the same, though, as that last time. He still wanted to make Maria happy. He just had to figure out how for himself.
Turning his head, he watched Maria as she loaded up on plates and delivered them briskly to a table of old people. One of them said something to her, and he could hear her laugh. That was the way Maria should always look. Not the hokey--and rather insulting, considering--uniform, but the laughter. She looked like she'd forgotten all her worries for a moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, Michael fixed her image in his mind's eye for later drawing inspiration.
The others were back to discussing Christmas plans when he opened his eyes again. Alex looked over at him, a question in his eyes, but Michael just shrugged and picked up his untouched burger.
He was finishing up his generously-sliced portion of chocolate cake when Maria rushed up to the table. "Tell Liz I had to take my break," she said, the words rushing from her mouth even faster than usual. Then she ran for the back room. Michael wasn't sure he could've moved any faster.
"What's that about?" asked Kyle.
Michael frowned. It couldn't be break time yet; Maria'd been at work for less than an hour. Plus she'd said she wanted to talk to him on her break, probably to try and wangle him into the DeLuca family dinner again.
Looking around the busy restaurant for Liz, he spotted just why Maria had taken off.
Dammit. Trouble.
CHAPTER 50
The man was standing by the cash register, looking around just as Michael had done seconds ago. His eyes met Michael's, and he frowned before heading in Michael's direction. It only took a moment to reach the table.
"Where is Maria?" Theodore Laterro demanded, not bothering with any greeting.
Michael didn't really care; he wasn't one for false pleasantries. He gave a disinterested shrug and took a noisy slurp from his glass.
"Her mother said she was working today. So where is she?"
Michael purposely didn't answer him. Alex spoke up before he could say anything else. "Hi. I'm Alex Whitman, a friend of Maria's. And you are...?"
Laterro ignored his outstretched hand, but he answered, "Her uncle."
Throwing a surprised glance in Michael's direction, Alex repeated, "Her uncle? Oh. Nice to meet you. I didn't know--"
"She's not here," Michael said curtly.
"Listen, you little punk--"
"She's really not here," Alex put in. "She was, but the owner sent her on a delivery."
The man looked at Alex for a moment, then nodded. Of course he believed him; Alex had that kind of face, after all. Michael felt a momentary pang of envy: people believed Alex implicitly; Michael they always mistrusted. Not that he wanted anybody's trust anyway, anybody outside their own group.
"When she gets back, tell her I was looking for her," Laterro ordered.
"Sure, no problem," said Alex with a friendly smile.
The four of them watched as he turned on his heel and strode out of the caf�. "Okay," drawled Kyle. "Want to explain what that was about?"
"I don't know," Alex replied. "Michael?"
"Ask Maria. She'll tell you if she wants you to know." He stared across the table at Alex. "So how come you lied?"
"I didn't like his attitude."
"You didn't..." Michael repeated, trailing off. He'd known Alex was loyal, but he hadn't realized he was perceptive.
"Nope. Maybe I've been hanging with you Czechoslovakians too long, but he didn't seem entirely on the up-and-up to me. Plus, in seven years Maria's never mentioned an uncle."
"The uncle part is real," Michael admitted. "But I don't think she wants to talk to him."
"We kind of got that when she did the 440 to the back," Kyle said.
Tess spoke up. "Maybe you should go talk to her, Michael."
More unasked-for advice, although this time Michael actually considered it. But Liz and Alex were both there, and maybe there was something else he could do about the situation.
Because Alex had been right; Maria's uncle wasn't on the up-and-up, as Alex put it. Why else would he try to corner her at work? They were supposed to see each other at the dinner Maria was dreading. What was so important it couldn't wait until then? Or what couldn't be said in front of Mrs. DeLuca?
He was up to something, all right, and Michael was going to find out what.
"Tell Maria it's safe to come out again," he told Alex. "I gotta jet."
Sliding out of the booth, he found Liz and thrust the money to cover his lunch into her hand, then wheeled around and headed for Max before she could say anything.
His best friend was seated at the counter, stirring the remnants of an Alien Blast with his straw. He looked up and swung around as Michael approached.
"Hey, Maxwell," Michael greeted him, then got straight to the point. "Where's Isabel?"
*****
When he got to the Evans house, he headed straight for the back door. There was no point in using his usual mode of entry, Max's window, with Max at the Crashdown, and he wasn't going to chance being caught in Isabel's room if her mother was home. Not now that Mrs. Evans seemed to think he was some kind of threat to her girl-child. She wasn't quite as scary as Mrs. DeLuca in that matter, but she was bad enough.
If he was lucky, Isabel would be the only one home anyway, and he could do a quick in-and-out and be on his way.
With typical disdain, good luck passed him by. Mrs. Evans herself answered his knock.
"Oh, Michael," she said.
"Is Isabel here?"
"Isabel?" She sounded surprised, but then again, he was supposed to be Max's friend. "No, she ran out for a few minutes to pick up some more cinnamon red-hots. We're baking Christmas cookies," she added. There was a quick beat, then she asked, "Would you like to come in and wait? She should be back soon."
No, he didn't want to come in and wait. But he did need to talk to Isabel, and what was his other alternative? If he lurked around outside until she showed up, Mrs. Evans might call the cops.
"Uh...okay." He followed her into the kitchen, praying for Isabel to show up fast. At Mrs. Evans's urging, he took a seat at the kitchen table.
"Help yourself to a cookie," she told him as she went back to her mixing bowl. "The gingerbread men should still be warm."
Michael reached out for one, just to give his hands something to do. He studied it; it was a little lopsided, with raisin eyes and buttons and a smile made of some kind of red stuff he couldn't identify. It could be worse; if Mrs. DeLuca had made it, she probably would've added antennas and huge alien eyes. But this cookie looked just like he'd expect a traditional homemade gingerbread man to look. Its crooked mouth smiled inanely at him. Superior. Suddenly angry with its false cheer, he took a savage bite of its head. He felt immediately better.
That is, until he glanced up to see Mrs. Evans's eyes upon him. "'S good," he mumbled through the mouthful of cookie, and swallowed.
"So, Michael," Mrs. Evans said as she went back to measuring flour into her bowl. "How are you liking living alone? Max said you had your place fixed up pretty well, but do you need anything?"
"No, I'm okay," he said, then as an afterthought, "Thanks."
The only sound for a moment was the soft clink of the measuring cup against the side of the flour container. Without looking up, Mrs. Evans said, "I see you're still sporting the temporary tattoo that Max and Isabel wore last week. I thought Spirit Week was over?" Her voice rose at the end, making it a question.
Hunching down into the chair, Michael began to regret showing up here in the first place. He at least should have sat on the other side of the table; then the brand wouldn't be so obvious. "I guess I got a lotta school spirit," he grunted. Hopefully that would put paid to the subject.
Evidently she wasn't finished with him yet, though. Michael didn't know what it was about the female sex that made them talk all the time; it was as if they had a biological need for conversation or something. Maybe he should ask Liz about it. But Mrs. Evans kept talking, and what she said next was even worse than asking about his apartment, or even the brand.
"Isabel showed me the sketch you did of her," she commented. "It's very good. Do you enjoy art?"
Oh, hell. Why did Isabel have to show it around? Hadn't he told her not to make a big deal over it? "Uh, well, they made me take this art class last year," he said. He hadn't done much in class but draw geodesic domes, though. He'd always thought art was kind of stupid, a waste of time. He'd never so much as lifted a pencil to draw until the flashes he'd gotten from Atherton's key had invaded his mind, pressuring him to get the image in his head onto paper, and then onto canvas. He'd been surprised how easy it came to him once his fingers got used to the feel of holding a pencil for anything more than the messy scrawl that passed as his writing.
And once he'd started, he found himself with a startling urge to draw. Mostly pictures of Maria, but of anything else his eyes lit on, too. That's how he'd come to do the drawing of Isabel in the first place.
"You should take more art classes, then. I think you've got a lot of talent."
Michael was surprised at just how pleased he was by Mrs. Evans's remark. It was so rare that anyone said anything complimentary about him. To be honest with himself, he didn't really give them reason to be complimentary. Besides, what did Mrs. Evans know about art, anyway? She could just be being nice to one of her son's friends.
Still, it felt good. "Thanks," he said, and was rewarded with a warm smile, maybe the warmest Mrs. Evans had ever bestowed on him. It was eerily reminiscent of Isabel at her least somber, which was weird because they weren't even related, not by blood. The shapes of their faces weren't remotely similar, Michael thought, narrowing his eyes as he studied the woman before him, but the smiles were the same.
"What is it?" Mrs. Evans asked. "Do I have flour on my face or something?" She reached up to brush her hand across her cheek.
"You and Iz have the same smile," Michael blurted.
The smile grew warmer, if that was even possible. "Thank you, Michael. That's the nicest compliment I've gotten in a long time." She sounded especially pleased.
He hadn't intended it as a compliment; it was the truth. But it was probably best not to explain that. He had a feeling that he'd just flounder around and feel stupid, anyway. Instead, he took another bite of gingerbread man, an arm and part of a shoulder this time. It wasn't bad. Bland, to his hybrid tongue, but definitely edible.
Isabel's entrance saved him from having to make any more conversation. "I'm back," she announced as she entered the kitchen, grocery bag in hand. "Did you--Michael," she interrupted herself. Stuffing the last of the cookie in his mouth, he rose to his feet, eager to get moving on his plan.
"I need to talk to you," he said bluntly.
"Oh...sure," Isabel answered. She turned to her mother, who was watching the two of them curiously. "Mom, we're going into the living room, okay?"
She set the bag down on the counter and led the way out of the kitchen, Michael following closely on her heels. "We shouldn't talk here. She might overhear," he said.
"She's too busy to eavesdrop," Isabel told him, and was proved right by the sound of the mixer starting up in the kitchen. "And if she asks, I'll just tell her you needed advice about your girlfriend or something." She sat down on the couch. "So what's going on? Does this have anything to do with your mood lately?"
He ignored the last comment. "I need to know if you can dreamwalk somebody you don't know," he said as he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He'd made a detour on his way from the Crashdown, specifically to get it from his apartment. "If this will work," he added, handing it to her.
Isabel unfolded the slightly wrinkled page and smoothed it out on her knee. "This is the sketch of the man Max saw at the Crashdown," she said. "Maria's uncle."
"Yeah. I need to know why he's in Roswell. What he's up to. Can you do it?" he pressed.
She frowned. "What do you mean, what he's up to? You don't think he knows about us, do you?"
"No. But he's up to something. I can feel it. Hell," he added at her doubtful look, "even Alex can feel it."
She rolled her eyes upward and shook her head slightly. "I believe you, Michael. I don't need the Alex Whitman seal of approval."
"Well, then?"
"I don't know if a sketch will work, but I'll try it."
"Good." When she didn't move from the couch, he barked, "Come on, then."
"Michael," she said dryly, "it's the middle of the day. I can't dreamwalk him if he's not asleep."
Oh, yeah. "I know that," he cut in. "I just..." He just needed to know, dammit.
"I'll try it tonight," she said, and he forced himself to relax.
"Okay."
Then the expression on her face grew speculative, and Michael felt himself grow tense again. "But there's a condition."
"What?" he asked warily. She'd never needed conditions to exert her dreamwalking abilities before. She hadn't ever needed much of an excuse, either.
"I will do this for you," Isabel said carefully, "if you will let me pick you out a new outfit for your date with Maria."
"No way," he snapped. He should have known Iz would try to take advantage of this, would butt in on his plans for the date, such as they were. Everyone else had shoved advice at him; she wasn't going to be an exception.
She waved her hand airily, dismissing his objection. "Think of it as a 'Congratulations on getting back together' gift."
"I don't want a 'Congratulations on getting back together' gift," he said, mimicking her. Nor did he want a Christmas present, which was what this really was. Did Isabel think she was fooling him? He didn't want any charity. She should know better.
"Then think of it as a gift for Maria. I know her style can be kind of eccentric, but at least she has one. You don't want her to be seen with you and your total lack of style, do you?"
Maria would deal with his style; she always had before. "No new clothes, Isabel." His voice was firm.
Hers was just as firm. "Take it or leave it, Michael."
Dammit, she was serious. Maybe the whole dreamwalking thing wasn't that important. They didn't even know if Iz could do it from a sketch. If it wasn't even going to work, why put up with blackmail?
Just how badly did he want to know about the guy?
"I am not going shopping with you," he warned. "You're not getting me anywhere near a store."
"But if I bring it to you, you'll wear it?"
Michael felt no lessening of his trepidation. "I get veto power," he countered.
She shook her head. "You'd automatically veto anything I brought over, just on principle."
The notion had occurred to him. And he didn't like the idea of agreeing blind--he could end up looking and feeling like an idiot. He wouldn't put it past Iz to put him in a necktie or something, and he didn't do ties, especially for a casual movie date. It'd probably choke him. And if she--
She must have been reading his mind--not that he thought that was really possible. "I promise I won't get anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just something a step or two nicer than your t-shirt collection. Something Maria will like, to show you made an effort." She waited for a response; when she didn't get one, her smile faded. "Don't you trust me, Michael?"
She would have to put it on that basis, he thought, running a hand over his face. But she actually sounded disappointed. Hurt, even. He didn't think she was faking it either. And he would trust her with his life; why was it so hard to trust her with this?
"Okay," he said reluctantly. "But if Maria laughs at me, you're gonna owe me. Big."
The smile reappeared instantly, so much like her mother's. "She won't laugh at you, I promise," she said with a confidence he wished he shared. Rising gracefully to her feet, she moved towards the doorway, ushering him from the room. "I'll go shopping tonight and bring things over tomorrow for a test run."
Test run? He hadn't signed on for that. "Iz--"
"It's okay," she said, ignoring his discomfort. "The mall is open late every night until Christmas. I'll have plenty of time to find just the right thing."
By now they were back in the kitchen. "Mom, where's the measuring tape?"
Mrs. Evans looked up from the dough she was spooning onto a cookie sheet. "It's in the junk drawer, I think. Why?"
Staring intently at Isabel, Michael gave her a silent command to keep quiet. She had practically read his mind before; she could just do it again.
She didn't. "I'm helping Michael get some new clothes. He and Maria--Maria DeLuca, that's his girlfriend--have a date Wednesday, and he wants to look nice for her."
Michael glared at her. He didn't want anything of the sort--this had been forced on him. Isabel just grinned at him and rummaged in a drawer. "I need to get his measurements," she said, then held the tape up triumphantly.
"Come anywhere near me with that thing and you'll be swallowing it, Iz," he grated out, not caring how her mother took it. He'd put up with enough already.
"I'm just kidding, Michael," Isabel laughed. "I think I can approximate the right sizes without this. You're not that oddly-shaped." He glared at her some more, and she gave him an actual smirk before turning to her mother. "I think he needs some color, don't you, Mom? Something in a nice Christmas red?" she teased.
Michael sighed. Forget Maria laughing at him; Isabel already owed him one just for this.
"--or maybe a nice shade of lavender?"
TBC...
continue to chapters 51 and 52
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