Roswell High - The Seeker Part 3

Michael stifled a groan. I can't take it, he thought. I'm not going to live until morning.

"Sleep, don't peep, don't creep, don't beep, don't seep," Mrs. Pascal crooned.

Seep?

"Just dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream."

Dream walking, Michael thought suddenly. That's what he should be doing. Just because he couldn't fall asleep himself didn't mean he couldn't go into someone else's dreams.

Michael closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Mrs. Pascal's singing grew fainter, and so did Dylan's snoring. He took one more breath, and the dream orbs became visible. The glistening, soapbubble-iridescent orbs swirled around him. Each gave off one pure note of music. Big improvement.

Michael didn't dream walk nearly as much as Isabel did. But he'd still spent enough nights channel surfing through the dream orbs to know which orbs belonged to which people at school.

Doug Highsinger's...o...b..spun past. Doug was usually having some kind of s.e.x dream. But watching a football star get off wasn't Michael's idea of fun. Pa.s.s.

Arlene Bluth's...o...b..whacked him on the back of the head. He definitely didn't want to go exploring in her dreams. She only dreamed about school. Right now she was probably having a nightmare about taking a test with a number three pencil. Pa.s.s.

Tim Watanabe's...o...b..was a pa.s.s, too. Big pa.s.s. For some reason Tim Watanabe kept dreaming about a big clown with a green tongue named Bobo. It was none of Michael's business, but he didn't think a little therapy would hurt that boy.

Michael caught the sound of a high, sweet note of music. Maria's...o...b.. He grinned. He couldn't go hang out in Maria's room. But he could visit one of her dreams.

Except it was kind of weird going into a friend's dream, like barging in on them in the bathroom or something. Sure, he'd gone into Maria's dreams a few times. But that was before he really knew her. It felt different now.

I'll just tell her I'm there, he decided. Then it won't be like I'm spying on her.

He began to whistle, drawing her dream orb to him. It whirled into his hands, soft and cool under his fingers. Michael drew his hands apart, and Maria's dream orb expanded. When it was big enough, he stepped inside.

Maria lay in a field of wildflowers. Doing some major making out with a dark-haired guy.

Whoa. Not what he expected. Michael backed out of her dream-fast. He'd thought Maria would be dreaming she was a bird or a mermaid or something. Those were the kinds of dreams he remembered her having.

Those were the kinds of dreams she should be having. Maria dreaming about boarding the love train with some guy-that just didn't feel right. And who was that guy, anyway? Michael had only gotten a glimpse of him, but he didn't look familiar. Was he someone from school? Did Maria have some kind of major crush going?

Michael sat up in bed, chewing on his lip. Maybe he should check it out. Maria had no concept of what guys were really like. She didn't know that they-some of them, anyway-lived to scam girls like her. Sweet girls. Innocent girls. Yeah, he should make sure Maria wasn't getting all gooey over some total jerk-off.

Michael closed his eyes and called Maria's dream orb back over to him. He coaxed it into expanding, then stepped inside. Maria and the guy were still going at it. He couldn't quite see the guy's face, though. Maybe that's because half of it was down Maria's throat.

Michael did not like this. At all. He moved closer, circling around Maria and the s.e.x fiend. They didn't notice. They wouldn't notice a nuclear explosion right now.

No guy should be doing that with Maria. Maria was the girl Michael watched stupid horror movies with. Maria was the girl who insisted on teaching him how to bake a cake. Maria was the girl who made him wear an ap.r.o.n. Maria was his buddy. She should not be kissing some guy. It was just wrong. So wrong.

It's a dream, he reminded himself. Dreams are weird. Dreams aren't always about what you wanted. Maria probably has no interest in that guy or any guy.

It's not like Arlene Bluth wanted to take tests with the wrong pencil. It's not like Tim Watanabe wanted to live in a doghouse with Bobo the green-tongued clown. It's not like Doug Highsinger wanted to bed half the girls at- Bad example.

"Do you think guys have some kind of on-off switch in the back of their heads?" Liz asked. "I mean, I've never seen it in any diagram in a bio textbook, but I'm really thinking it has to exist."

Liz tried to keep her tone light. Maria was her best friend, but that didn't mean she wanted to listen to Liz cry over Max every moment of every day.

Maria didn't answer. She sat on the low wooden bench in front of her locker, holding one of her sneakers. She kept staring at it as if she'd forgotten what it was.

Liz took the sneaker out of Maria's hand and stuck it in her locker. "We take the gym clothes off, then we put the street clothes on, then we leave school and go home," Liz said in her best kindergarten teacher voice. "At the speed you're moving, we might as well spend the night in here. Everyone else is already gone."

"Sorry," Maria mumbled. "I was s.p.a.cing. What did you ask me?"

That was so unlike Maria. Maybe some people s.p.a.ced out once in a while when their friends were talking to them. Even their best friends. But not Maria. She had the gift of listening with almost maniacal attention.

"I wanted to know if you think guys have a hidden on-off switch," Liz answered. "Something that makes them kiss, totally, completely kiss you one day and then treat you like the girl who works behind the counter at some convenience store the next day. Some girl they say hi to when they buy pork rinds. Some girl whose name they don't even really know. Some girl who looks sort of familiar. Some girl-"

"Stop," Maria begged. "I not only get the picture, I get the whole photo alb.u.m. You. Max. He loves you. He loves you not. Do you want to hear my theory?"

"Please." Liz grabbed her brush from the top shelf of her locker. She whipped it through her long dark hair.

She hoped Maria could help her figure this out. She couldn't stop thinking of that kiss. That incredible kiss. Every time her mind touched on it . . . whoa. It was like her stomach dropped down to her toes and bounced back up again. A scientific impossibility, yes. But that's how it felt.

"I just don't understand how Max could kiss me like that and then shove me away," she muttered. "Unless . . . unless maybe he doesn't feel the same things I do. But I mean, he was trembling when I touched him."

"h.e.l.lo? I'm giving my theory," Maria reminded her.

"Sorry." Liz took a deep breath. "Shoot."

"Okay. First, I think Max is totally and completely in love with you," Maria said.

"But then why-," Liz began to protest.

"Wait, I'm not done." Maria pulled off her other sneaker and tossed it in her locker. "Second, Max thinks the closer you get to him, the more danger you're in. So he pushes you away and treats you like you're the girl who sells him pork rinds to keep you safe. It's actually sort of sweet."

"But I don't care about being safe." Liz brushed her hair so hard, it crackled. "All I care-"

"I'm still not done," Maria interrupted. She pulled off her gym shorts and pulled on a long saffron yellow skirt. "Third, the kiss. The important thing about the kiss is when and where it happened. Sheriff Valenti was this close to finding you. You were in a we-could-die-any-second kind of mode. And when you think you're going to die, you do things you wouldn't usually do."

Liz threw her brush back in her locker and slammed the door.

"So all I have to do to make Max kiss me again is to almost get myself killed."

Maria pulled off her T-shirt. "Yeah. So next time try and almost get killed somewhere where there's candlelight, maybe some music. Somewhere romantic."

Liz tried to smile. But if Maria's theory was correct, and it made total sense to Liz, then Max's on-off switch was pretty much locked in the off position.

Maria reached for her camisole. Liz caught sight of a ring on a chain around her neck. "Nice," Liz said, reaching for it. "What kind of stone is that?" The color shifted from purple to green and back with each movement Maria made.

"I'm not sure exactly," Maria answered. "I've never seen one like it." She pulled on her shirt, slid her feet into her sandals, and grabbed her purse. "Let's get out of here." She led the way out of the locker room.

"So do you think I should send Valenti an anonymous note?" Liz joked. "Tell him he can find Max at one of those dark tables at the Rings of Saturn restaurant, where I'll just happen to be, too, doing the just-friends thing?"

"That's one possibility," Maria answered as they crossed the polished wood floor of the gym. "Or, and I know you're not going to like this . . ."

There were times when Liz knew exactly what Maria was going to say before she said it. This was one of them. "You think I should go out with other guys," Liz said before Maria could. The words hurt coming out of her mouth.

"Got it in one," Maria answered. "There's more to life than getting straight A's and raking in the tips at your dad's restaurant. You should have some fun."

"Like you're out with a different guy every night of the week," Liz teased. Maria wasn't exactly a party girl lately, either. And Liz thought she knew why. Liz had known Maria since the second grade. She'd seen her go through some major crushes. But she'd never seen her look at a guy the way she looked at Michael.

And Maria hadn't said a word about him to Liz. That meant she felt something big. So big, she couldn't even confess it to her best friend. Liz wondered if Maria had even confessed it to herself.

"Hey, I'm still a junior," Maria answered. "I have time. I'm not an old woman like you."

"Ha. Ha, ha," Liz muttered. She pushed her way out the big double doors leading to the main hallway.

"You know I'm right," Maria pressed. "If you keep going this way, you'll end up at your own senior prom with a just-friends guy."

That was a depressing thought. Liz still remembered back when she and Maria were eight years old. Every time they had a sleep over they would haul out the Barbie and Ken dolls and dress them up in their formal wear. Then they were off to the prom.

At one of those sleep overs Liz had called her papa and asked him if she could stay up until midnight on prom night. She hadn't thought there was anything silly about asking permission ten years in advance. He'd pretended to think it over very seriously, then said yes.

"And what about after high school?" Maria pressed. "What about college? What about the whole endless rest of your life? Are you going to spend all those years thinking about Max?"

Liz's stomach lurched. Maria had a point. She was starting to feel like she had some kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder, one where she had to think of Max sixty times a minute.

Maria grabbed her elbow. "You want a good place to start," Maria whispered. "A training-wheels guy? Look over there." Maria gave her chin a jerk toward the far end of the hall.

Liz glanced over and saw Jerry Cifarelli standing in front of his locker. Jerry was one of those guys who seemed like an extra in the movie of high school. Always in the background. Sort of cute. Sort of smart. Sort of athletic. Sort of . . . sort of in every way, just not outstanding in even one area.

"Go on," Maria urged. "He's had a thing for you since you beat him out of the finals for the science fair when you were freshmen."

"First year," Liz corrected automatically. "Freshmen is a s.e.xist term." She took another quick look at Jerry.

"At least go talk to him," Maria urged.

Max had made it totally clear that he wasn't going to let her get too close. She could either cry herself a river or move on.

"Okay. Time to move on," she muttered. She smiled at Maria. "I'll call you later."

A huge grin broke across Maria's face. "You better. I want to hear every word."

Liz felt calm as she walked toward Jerry. Totally calm. Calm in a way she never felt around Max. Not that she felt nervous around Max, exactly. Being around Max made her feel like she'd just taken a shower with a loofah sponge-all tingly and alive.

I sound like a bad commercial, Liz thought. Use loofah sponges and feel like you're in love.

In love. That was the whole problem. She was in love with Max. And that made every other guy seem sort of.

Too bad, Liz told herself. You're not getting out of this.

She tapped Jerry on the shoulder. "That pop quiz in bio was killer. I can't believe either of us is still standing."

"Yeah," Jerry agreed. "I stayed up till three, studying for a French test. I barely got through that, then-bam, pop quiz."

"My friend Maria always tells me to drink a peach smoothie after monster days. She says that peaches are ant.i.toxins. Or that the smell has a soothing effect. I can't remember which."

Okay, that was a nice, not too obvious hint, Liz thought. But did the boy get it?

Jerry heaved his backpack over his shoulder. "You, uh, want to go get one?" he asked.

"Sure," Liz said. "There's a place at the mall."

Jerry grinned. "Let's go."

Maria would be so proud, Liz thought as she followed him out into the parking lot.

"I'm right over there." Jerry pointed to a bright yellow Beetle, which was parked right next to Max's Jeep.

Just a little h.e.l.lo from the G.o.ds of irony, Liz thought. She forced herself to look over at the Jeep. She found Max staring back at her. The second her eyes met his, he dropped his gaze. But not before she saw the hurt expression.

Poor Max. She felt like running over to him and apologizing. But he'd had his chance. He could have had her in a heartbeat-and he knew it. It was his decision to push her away.

Now he'd have to live with it. They both would.

-=(4)=-.

"Kevin, are you home?" Maria called.

Her little brother didn't answer. She didn't bother calling for her mom. Her mom was never home anymore. She was either at work or out on some date. Someday, maybe when she was about thirty-five, Maria would get used to the idea of her mom dating. And maybe when she was fifty, she'd get used to the idea that her parents were divorced.

Maria wandered into her room and spotted a folded piece of paper on her bed. She sat down and smoothed out the note. It said:

Dear Maria, I'm going out to dinner with friends after work. I borrowed your black sweater. Isn't it fun that we can wear the same size? Would you be an angel and make spaghetti for you and K? Thanks a trillion.

Love, Mom

Her black sweater. Her accidentally shrunk, so-tight-she-only-wore-it-around-the-house black sweater. Her midriff-baring black sweater. Sorry, but Maria didn't buy the whole dinner-with-friends line. That sweater wasn't what you wore for something like that. Her mom was obviously going out with one particular male friend.

I'm never wearing that sweater again, Maria thought. No, not even. I'm going to start using that sweater as a dust rag. I can't believe she would wear that on a date. She shouldn't even be going on dates!

She decided she needed a shot of cedar. Cedar was the most calming scent. Maria grabbed her backpack and rooted around inside. She knew she'd brought a vial of cedar oil to school so she could take a whiff right before her oral report in English.

Maria's fingers closed around a tube, and she pulled it out. Nope, just a lipstick. It wasn't even hers. It was superdark, one of those plum shades. She loved the color, but it didn't work on her. Her face was all pale, and she had this light hair, so when she wore that color, she felt like a walking mouth, as if that was the only thing people saw when they looked at her.