Morning comes with a bang. Literally a huge crash that jolts me awake.
“Mom? You okay?”
The last syllable is cut off by another thunk of metal against stone and a “Shit!”
She must have dropped something on the kitchen floor. For a split second I forget why I’m sleeping in a chair in the guest bedroom and then the binoculars with G.I. Joe’s logo on them remind me. I peek through the window and see Priya awake and standing, her back to the house, her arms at her sides.
Seeing her jump-starts my blood. I stretch for a moment and shake out the kinks in my legs and neck and head downstairs.
Mom has started to make the coffee—except the grounds are all over the floor. Looks like she was reaching for the can on the top shelf, knocked over the toaster, and dropped the can.
“Shit,” she says when I walk in, barefoot.
“And a happy shit to you too.”
“Ugh! I am not in the mood for this crap.” She pinches the skin between her eyes and winces. “I need coffee. Lots. Make it, please.” She holds out the half-empty can and ignores the grounds on the floor. “And don’t let Ginger eat that. She’ll get sick.”
I salute her. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
“Not today, Matty. Not today.”
I resist the urge to say something snarky about her hangover because she’d probably smack me. I do the coffee thing, the dog thing, and scoot my mom out the door with her giant Thermos and a promise that yes, I will clean up the kitchen; yes, I will check on the Aokis’ house; and no, I don’t mind if Jack comes over for dinner after work.
All I can think about is Priya. I am determined to get the truth and get her home.
I grab some Cokes and toast, because breakfast, and when I get to the field, Priya is in the same place as when I woke up. Dangling from one hand is her notebook.
“Hey,” I greet her when she turns. She looks at me oddly, as if she can’t quite place me. “You okay?”
Her nod is slow and steady and her eyes dart from my head to my feet. When she sees Ginger trot up the slope, her face beams. She bends down and accepts a warm snuggle from my dog.
In the daylight, she takes my breath away. The sun’s rays sink into her skin, as if it were absorbing every molecule and making it contrast richly with her pale blue shirt. Her hair shimmers like a mirror, a brighter white than it was at night, the black under it a liquid sheet of ink. Everything about her is more than it was at night. More brilliant. More defined.
“Sleep all right? How’d you like the tent?”
“Tent, yes. I don’t need to sleep.”
“Uh, well, you did. I saw you.”
“You were watching me?”
“Um . . . not really watching, just . . .” I mentally stumble through all the inappropriate things I’m probably implying: stalker, predator . . . what says I just want you to be safe?
“Although that wasn’t necessary, thank you.”
“You’re still here,” I say. “I mean, I thought you were leaving for real last night.”
Priya’s lips twist and she shakes her head. “This is a puzzle for me. I have recalculated the projections several times.”
I take a deep breath. “Has it occurred to you that maybe you aren’t an alien?”
“I am not an alien, as you say. I am from another planet.”
I feel a grin and I don’t want to smile, but okay, I do. “Well, here we’d call you an alien.”
“If you feel the need to define me, then that is what I am.”
I pop open two cans of Coke and hand her one. “Toast?”
Instead of getting angry and upset, like my dad would if I called him on something, a “fact” about aliens or Area 51, she merely gazes at me. “Why can’t you accept what I’m saying as truth, Matthew?”
“Matty.”
“Matthew.”
“Matty—look, why don’t you just prove it to me?”
“Prove what?”
Oh my god, she’s exasperating. “Prove that you’re an alien. Prove you’re from Gliese 581c.”
“Near Gliese 581c.”
“Near. Far. Whatever.” I chomp a bite of buttery toast, and crumbs spray over my shirt. “Prove it to me.”
When she smiles, my stomach cinches up. Stop that! I want to shout. Stop giving me a mini heart attack whenever you look me in the eye.
“How can I prove it?”
“Do you have green blood? Or two hearts?”
She looks up at the sun. “No. No.”
“Then I guess you’re not an alien.”
“Matthew—”
“Matty.”
“Do you only believe in things that can be proved? Aren’t there things that can’t be proved that you believe in?”
“If you’re trying to talk to me about faith, that’s religion, which is way different than science and fact.”
“Is it? Can you prove gravity?”
I take my shoe off, hold it above my head, then let it drop. It falls to the ground with a gentle thump. “Gravity. Next.”
“But how do you prove that is what caused your shoe to fall?”
“Oh, wow. Are you one of those ‘gravity is only a theory’ people? I’ve heard of you all, but I’ve never met one of you before.”
A theory, as we all know from grade school, is what scientists call just about everything because science never proves anything. It can’t. Nothing is absolute. But the average person thinks “theory” means it’s a whim, a fantasy, a passing fancy.
“Gravity can’t be proved, like nothing in science can be absolutely proved,” Priya says with an impish grin.
“Reading my mind again?”
She shrugs. “You’re easily readable. The thoughts just jump from your head”—she taps my temple with her fingertip and then her own—“into mine.”
Does she also know how hot I think she is? Can she tell?
“I’m a pragmatist, okay?” I tell her, making my voice sound gruff. “I gotta see it to believe it.”
A smile and light laugh dismiss my concern. Her eyes shine in the sun, full of pity for me, a disappointment that I don’t believe what she does. I’ve seen that look before.
I don’t let her deter me, as charming as her laugh is, as infectious as her smile may be. “You’re still here,” I say for the thousandth time. “No ride last night.”
“That is unfortunate but correct.”
I pointedly glance around the empty field. “No ride this morning.”
“It is daytime,” she says with a sly smile.
“Only nighttime pickups, huh? It’s tricky to maneuver a ship at night.”
“Trickier to see them too. Night landings are less disruptive for you.”
I point to my chest. “For me?”
If she’s frustrated by my questions, she doesn’t show it. “For humans. If we landed during daylight, there would be far, far more problems.”
“Oh yes, nighttime landings . . . nobody would notice that at all. Like, at all. I think all our observatories are closed at night. Too hard to see stuff.” She doesn’t react to my sarcasm. “So, if you are an alien, where’s your mother ship? Running late? Stuck in space traffic? What would that be anyway, a comet’s tail? Meteor shower?”
“It is my fault.”
“How is it your fault?”
“My calculations were not precise,” she says. “I thought last night was correct, but perhaps it’s tonight.”
“Maybe you won’t ever get picked up.”
“I will, that is a definite. I am going home.”
We are both quiet for a long moment. I can hear traffic far off in the distance, a car horn, a truck on the single main drag of our small town. Finally, Priya breaks the silence. “Very well. I will give you evidence.”
I let my shoulders rise and fall. “I’m all ears.”
She pulls out her notebook and flips past a few pages with exceptionally neat handwriting, almost like it was typed. At the end of the book I see pages of diagrams and charts, not unlike Dad’s star charts. “This is the calculation we use to plan the route the ship will take from our planet, through the wormhole, and into your solar system.” She taps her finger on a complex algorithm that I swear uses the infinity symbol.
I shake my head. “Priya, I wouldn’t know if that’s real or not. I’m not an astrophysicist.”
“Neither am I.” She holds my gaze, drawing me closer to her with every blink of her deep-set eyes. We are so alone out here, and I feel the weight of the Universe around us. “I’m merely a data collector.”
I want to laugh, to make a joke of it, but she is deadly serious. My words choke in my throat and I swallow them back with a nod. “Data collector. Okay.”
“My planet, my people, we have a . . . a . . .” Her thin brow snakes into a question mark. “A hunger? Yes, a hunger for knowledge. There is so much we do not know.” Her eyes find mine again. “You share that too. You want to know things. About life. About your Universe.”
About you.
I allow my shoulders to shrug. She’s right, sort of. At least it used to be true, back when my dad believed in actual science instead of all the fakery and BS.
“I would like to show you something.” She points at my dad’s workshop. “I need what’s in there.”
“Uh, okay.”
Ginger follows on our heels as we head to the basement. The air temperature cools with every step we take.
I lead Priya through the underground tunnel and stop at the midway point like I always do. I do my thing because I have to, pretending to hold up a ton of earth above my head, feigning strain and flexing my puny muscles.
“Ta-da!”
Priya laughs politely.
“Oh, you think you can do better?”
She grins, a little cocky if you ask me, and then puts her hands on the ground.
“Yep, that’s awesome,” I say with some snark thrown in. I do a slow-clap but she ignores me and kicks her legs up in the air so her feet are on the ceiling of the tunnel.
“Whoa, nice!” I say. “Is that how they stand wherever you’re from?”
Her bare legs pump up and down so it looks like she’s walking on the ceiling, which is kind of cute and makes me smile. As soon as she starts to move, though, her hair brushes the dirt floor and her skirt flips up, revealing a very small pair of pink panties.
Oh my god.
I turn my head but I can’t avoid seeing her T-shirt falling to her shoulders and pulling down over her bra. Which is also pink.
I feel all the blood leave my face and brain and every other important organ and find its way straight to my crotch. I couldn’t blush if I wanted to. There’s nothing left up there to blush with.
Just then I hear Priya giggle, and that breaks my focus on her near-naked body.
Calm down, Matty. She’s just a girl.
And I have no idea how much longer she can hold herself up on those spindly arms of hers.
“Help?” she says in a small voice.
Right. Not very long. I grab hold of her calves and keep her upright. “Gotcha.” Her skin is soft and pliable in my hands; my fingers knead her delicate muscles without even trying. Her legs bend and she tucks her head under her arms, somersaulting to the ground to finish with her knees pulled up in front of her chest and her hands on her shins. She grins up at me. “Ta-da!”
I pull her to standing. “Is everyone a gymnast where you’re from?” I tease her.
Priya pushes me away playfully. “No. And we don’t walk on our hands.” She heads for the workshop, steadying her walk with one hand against the tunnel wall. “We’re like you.”
My mind pictures her pink underwear and bra and I think, Uh, no, you’re not.
At the door to the shop, Priya enters first and goes straight to the workbench. Her finger traces one of the star charts on the wall above the wooden bench and she murmurs a few words.
“What did you say?”
“Gliese 581c is crossed out? Why?”
“It’s not habitable.”
She laughs to herself and shakes her head. “So you think.”
“It is habitable?”
She rolls her eyes. “The inhabitants of Gliese 581c certainly think so.”
“What?”
“Although they do not call it that, naturally.”
“Naturally.”
She tilts her head to one side and leans closer to me. The air heats up between us. “Are you teasing me, Matthew?” She adds with a lopsided smile, “Again?”
Holy shit. Is she flirting with me?
“I, uh, I . . .” I’m not good at recognizing flirting. Emily’s told me a million times I’m dense. She’s right. I am. So what do I do?
I force a scowl. “Now why on earth would I tease you, Priya?” I wink exaggeratedly. “See what I did there? I said ‘earth’ ’cause we were talking about other planets.”
She blinks once, very slowly and deliberately. “You are not as clever as you think you are.”
I sigh. “I don’t think I’m clever at all.”
Priya turns back to the wall and finds another chart, the one that shows the the orbits of the Gliese 581 planetary system. Her finger taps the glossy poster. “My planet is not on this star map. It’s much too small to be seen.”
I snort. “Doubt that. NASA has some serious telescopes. And the observatory in Philly? They’ve got some pretty good refractors.” I pull a stool up to the bench and sit down. “Somebody somewhere has seen your planet.”
Wait. Did I just say . . . “your planet”? I wave my hand across the air as if I could erase what I just said. Because I sure as hell don’t mean it.
“So what did you want in here?”
“Your telescope.” Priya runs to it, nearly embracing it.
“I, um . . . I haven’t used it in a while. Not sure if it works.”
“If I had a telescope, I’d use it every night.”
I shrug. “Not really my thing anymore. Stars, planets . . . who cares?”
“I don’t understand,” she says, shaking her head. “You have a telescope. You have star charts. You live next to this field, which is filled with interstellar energy.” She gestures toward the small square-paned window facing the weeping willows. “And yet you claim to have no interest in any of it.” She crosses her arms at her waist. “I don’t believe you.”
She stares so hard at me, it should be laughable. Like when a little kid is trying to beat you at a staring contest. Eyes wide and bulging, chin jutted forward, that tapered jaw and dimpled chin, set and determined.
I squirm under her gaze and glance away. “I don’t have time for that crap. I have school and my friends and . . .”
What, Matty? What do you have? Smoking weed and riding a dirt bike? That’s all I have. I don’t do sports. Don’t play an instrument or sing or write. No chess club or drama club or Model United Nations.
I’ve never had a real girlfriend. Not unless you count hooking up once with Emily. And I don’t. Why should I? She sure as hell doesn’t.
“But the telescope—”
“Is my dad’s.”
“Not yours?”
“Not mine.”
“I think it’s yours.”
“You’re wrong.” I try to say it firmly, but my voice shakes.
Priya forces me to meet her gaze. “If you don’t care, then you won’t mind if I use it.”
“You gonna look for your ride?”
“I’m going to show you my home,” she says soberly. “I miss it.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay. Do whatever you want.”
“Thank you.”
The sun is hours from setting. There’s far too much daylight to see any stars at all, let alone a planet in another solar system. I watch Priya stare at the star chart. Her homesickness inhabits her entire body: her shoulders roll forward, her hands twist in her lap, and tears fill her eyes.
I have no idea what it’s like to miss home. I’ve never been anywhere that wasn’t in my home state. Except for Disney World. We went there the summer I was seven. I don’t really remember much about it except it rained the whole day, which meant we got to ride Space Mountain a dozen times. Otherwise, my world—my planet—has been my corner of Pennsylvania.
God, that’s boring.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. A text from Brian.
Dude how’s the cat?
Oh crap. Em’s cat.
I quickly type back: what cat haha
“Priya, I have to go out for a bit. I gotta take care of some things. You gonna be okay here?”
She blinks. “I have been fine for days. Why would that status change?”
Now I do laugh. “Good point.”
When she blinks again, though, her eyelids appear heavy and weighted. She looks suddenly exhausted. “Do you want to lie down? You can go upstairs, if you want.”
“No, no. This is fine.” She reaches a hand to the floor, steadying herself as she slumps to the concrete. “I will stay here. With the stars.” Her fingers trail up the legs of the telescope’s tripod.
“Okay, sure, um, I’ll leave Ginger with you and the door open. If you need to go upstairs, get a drink or whatever . . .”
“I will be fine, Matthew. Go take care of the cat.”
My gut flutters. How did she—?
My phone. She had to have seen the text from Brian.
She. Is. Not. An. Alien.
I still don’t know where she’s from or why she’s here. I take one last glance at her sitting on the floor, her legs stretched in front of her and her head resting uncomfortably against the wall.
Someone is missing this girl. But who? And where are they?