Roswell High - The Seeker Part 6

Max pressed his soda can against his pounding head. Ray had kept the drinks icy cold by slowing down the movement of the molecules. Max could have done that, too-if he'd thought of it-but it would have taken total concentration. Ray did it as easily as popping the top of the cans.

"I'm confused," Max admitted. "Maybe it's because I still have brain strain, but I don't get it."

"It's not all that complicated," Ray answered. "Here's the short version. Our bodies are highly adaptable. They adjust to whatever environment we're in. That means we can travel to any planet without the elaborate s.p.a.ce suits humans use because our bodies automatically configure themselves for optimal functioning. Even on our own planet our bodies change, depending on factors like the climate."

"Can I just say, huh?" Michael asked.

"I sort of get it," Max said. "Earth is an environment with an oxygen-rich atmosphere. So our bodies configured themselves to breathe oxygen. Is that what you mean?"

"Ding, ding, ding. Give the boy a prize," Ray called out. "That's it exactly. What you just described is one of the thousands of ways our bodies adapt."

"Okay, I know I haven't read every science book in the world, like Max has, but I do know human bodies aren't the best choice for adapting to life in the desert," Michael said. "How come we don't look more like scorpions or cacti or something?"

"The answer is that our bodies don't just adapt to the physical environment," Ray said. "They adapt to the social environment, too. Humans are the species that dominates the planet, so our adaptation system gave us bodies to match theirs."

"So how do these guys fit in?" Max held up the Lime Warp can.

"Another adaptation, this time to life in s.p.a.ce. The density of the small bodies protects their internal systems from the effects of rapid s.p.a.ce travel. And the small bodies take up less s.p.a.ce on board, freeing up room for more important items," Ray said.

"Cool," Michael said.

"Very cool," Max agreed. "Could you show us some hologram pictures, or whatever you call them, of some of the adaptations we have at home?"

"Home. I don't understand why you're calling it home," Ray said. "This is your home. Earth. It was a mistake for me to tell you anything about . . . that other place. I try to think of it as a dream, a beautiful dream. But not something real, not something I can ever go back to. This is my home now, too."

He sounded so sad suddenly, not his usual joking self. Max wondered how he would feel if he had to make a life on another planet, knowing he'd never see his parents or Liz or anyone else he cared about again. He didn't know if he'd cope as well as Ray seemed to have.

Ray stood up. "Let's get out of here."

"So that's it. You're not answering any more questions? You're just deciding for us that we shouldn't know anything about where we come from?" Michael demanded.

Ray looked directly at Michael. "I'm not going to encourage you to spend your lives wishing you were someplace else," he said. "Your lives are here. Get on with them."

"Thanks for nothing," Michael muttered.

Ray turned to Max. "I know it must seem that I'm being incredibly harsh. But trust me, living one place when your heart and mind are always somewhere else is guaranteed to make you miserable."

Max didn't want to push Ray. It was pretty clear that he was protecting himself as much as he was Max and Michael. But there was one thing he had to know.

"Can you just tell-," Max said.

"Max, I've made up my mind," Ray interrupted.

"This is important," Max insisted. "I just want to know if there's anything you can teach me that will help protect us from Valenti."

Ray sighed. "I guess that is something you actually do need to know. We can do some more work freezing time inside a particular location. But that's not something you can do often. I won't be able to do it again myself for at least a month-it takes too much energy."

"Is there anything else?" Max asked. He wanted to be prepared, no, he needed to be prepared if he had to go up against Valenti again. It's not like Ray would always be able to come to the rescue.

"Lay low. That's what got me through the last fifty-something years," Ray answered.

"That's it? Lay low?" Michael demanded.

"Well, there is a little trick I use sometimes," Ray admitted. "Watch this."

"Watch what?" Max asked. Then he saw it. Ray's face was moving. His hair was growing and darkening. His body was shrinking and changing shape.

He looked like . . . Liz. Ray looked like Liz.

"Aaaah." Michael gave a high, comical shriek.

"We can also give ourselves little makeovers whenever we want to change our appearance," Ray said. He even sounded like Liz. "I gave myself one after the crash. I didn't feel like being the scientist the people in Roswell knew anymore."

"You're giving me the creeps," Max said. He could hardly stand to look at Ray. There were just way too many things he didn't want to think about. Like the fact that Ray had grown a set of b.r.e.a.s.t.s . . . Liz's b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Okay, okay." Ray's voice got deeper as he took back his usual form.

"You even sounded like her," Max mumbled.

"It's all in the vocal cords," Ray said. "Did you hear about that Elvis sighting at a little taco stand in El Paso?" he asked.

Max shook his head.

"Me," Ray bragged. He sounded totally proud of himself.

Max cracked up. He knew Ray was an Elvis fan, but this was pretty out there.

"Doing my part to keep the King alive," Ray said. "Thank you very much," he added in a decent Elvis mumble.

"You've got to show us how to do that," Max said.

"Why didn't you say yes when Jerry asked you to go to UFOnics with him?" Maria demanded as soon as Liz stepped back behind the Crashdown Cafe's counter.

Liz snorted. "I knew you heard the whole conversation. You only wiped down the booth next to Jerry's three times."

"Four," Maria admitted. "But if I don't watch you every second, you'll slide back into daydreaming about Max, ignore all other guys, and end up a dried-up old woman with sixteen yapping Pomeranians."

"If you don't stop, you're going to end up with this sponge down your throat," "Liz threatened. She held up the sponge and advanced on Maria.

Maria backed away. "Did I mention that you'd be so pathetic that all the Poms would be named Max? Or Maxine? Or Maximilian? Or Maxi? Or-"

"Did I mention that I used this sponge to wipe off Mr. Orndorff's table?" Liz asked.

"The spitter?" Maria squealed. "Okay, I'll stop, I'll stop. But I still want to know why you told Jerry you'd let him know tomorrow instead of saying yes."

"It's the dancing thing," Liz said. "If he'd asked me to go somewhere besides UFOnics, I'd probably have said yes."

"But you're a great dancer," Maria protested.

"It's not the dancing part of the dancing," Liz explained. "It's the touching part of the dancing."

"The touching thing is going to come up, dancing or not," Maria said. "Say he asked you to a movie. Major touching potential sitting in the dark. Even if he asked you bowling, at some point he'd take you home, and then the touching issue would be right there."

"I guess." Liz didn't sound convinced.

The opening bars of the Close Encounters theme filled the cafe. Maria glanced over to see Liz's dad come in, whistling a Grateful Dead song.

Maria swung up the hinged section of the counter for Mr. Ortecho. "I won't dock you this time, but if you're late again, you won't be so lucky," she teased.

"Oh, Ms. DeLuca, I'm sorry. Don't be mad," Mr. Ortecho cried in a breathy voice. "There was a sale on this suit that I've had my eye on for, like, months, and I had to get it on my way to work or it would have been gone. Here, just smell this. It will make you feel better."

Maria giggled. "I don't sound like that," she protested.

"You sound exactly like that," Liz said. She grabbed the coffeepot and headed over to a table where two very serious UFOlogists were studying a map of the crash site.

Maria yawned and rested her elbows on the counter. She was exhausted. Ever since school today she'd felt weird. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about that blackout in English cla.s.s.

Maybe I should have told Isabel the truth, she thought. But it was Isabel's first day back at school, and she had enough to deal with. Someday soon I'll tell them all about my psychic abilities, Maria thought. As soon as I figure out how to control my powers, then I'll give everyone a big demonstration.

But she couldn't control them. Today in cla.s.s, for instance. Maria had been sitting at her desk, waiting for Ms. Markham to show up. She started running her fingers across one of the names that someone had carved into her desk, wondering how long the name had been there and what the guy who carved it was doing now.

She hadn't been trying to see the guy. But the dots had started to swirl, and a few seconds later she'd been standing in a used-car lot watching a paunchy guy try to sell a Honda to a twenty-something woman in a business suit. The dots had swirled again, and the cla.s.sroom had re-formed.

The next thing she remembered was Isabel shaking her, obviously one second away from a total meltdown. Maria knew using her power had caused her to lose another few minutes, but it didn't seem like a good time to explain that to Isabel. Especially after the way Isabel had snapped at her at lunchtime.

Maria knew psychic powers weren't the same as alien powers, but Isabel seemed ready to yell at anyone who even talked about using powers.

"Earth to Maria!" Liz's voice broke into her thoughts.

Maria narrowed her eyes at her best friend. "So," she said. "UFOnics with Jerry?"

Liz chewed her lip. "I don't know. . . ."

Maria shook her head sadly. "I have two words to say to you-"

"Pomeranian better not be one of them," Liz warned.

"Just friends," Maria said. She didn't mean to be harsh, but sometimes Liz really needed a push. "You know I'm right," she added. "Max already made this decision for you."

Liz sighed. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay," she said. "I'll go tell Jerry."

-=(7)=-.

"We have the place to ourselves," Isabel announced as she unlocked her front door. "Max is at work, and so are my parents." She led the way into the living room.

Alex wondered if girls had any idea what effect words could have on a guy. Words like "we have the place to ourselves." Six basic words, not one of them s.e.xual or anything. But whoa. They sent a shock wave through Alex's body.

She just meant it as your basic informational statement, he told himself, like "we have some soda in the fridge" or "we get HBO." It wasn't some kind of invitation.

He sat down on the couch. Isabel sat next to him-so close, he could feel the heat of her body.

Or wait, he thought. Was I wrong? Was it a total girl-speak invitation? A notch down from something like "my bed has a very firm mattress"?

Because if it was an invitation, then he should accept. It was the polite thing to do.

Stop this. Right now, Alex ordered himself. Try to regrow a brain. Of course it's not an invitation, you moron. She saw the guy she loved get killed about two seconds ago.

Alex took a deep breath-and the scent of Isabel's spicy citrus perfume filled his nose. Oh, great. Would it look totally ridiculous if he got up and moved to that chair across from the couch? Because that would make things a lot easier.

Or maybe they could go upstairs. She could lock herself in her room, and he could sit outside the door and talk. He was really good at that.

"Do you want to watch TV?" Isabel asked.

No hidden meaning in those six words at least. "Sure," Alex said.

Isabel handed him the remote, a surprising move from her. Not that she was totally selfish. Not totally. But she did like things her own way-even little things like what TV show to watch-and she pretty much expected people to cooperate.

Alex flipped on the TV and started channel surfing. Isabel moved a little closer to him, making actual skin-to-skin contact between his arm and her arm. His brothers would laugh themselves sick if they could see their little brother getting all excited by touching some girl's arm.

But Isabel . . . she could turn him inside out with one look from those killer blue eyes. It had been that way since the first day he transferred to Olsen High. He saw her in the hall. She ignored him.

"Is this okay?" Alex asked, stopping on one of the endless talk shows.

"Sure," she answered. "Do you want something to drink?"

Another safe six words. But it would be even safer in here if he could get her away from him for a minute. Maybe when she was gone, he'd move over to the chair. That would be okay. Sort of casual.

And while he was over there, he'd remind himself a few hundred times that this was not a guy-girl event. This was a friend-friend event. Where one friend-that would be him-helped a beautiful, blond, perfectly bodied friend-that would be her-get through a really bad time. Maybe next time he did this, he'd bring Liz. Or Liz and Maria. He could use some chaperons.

Isabel stood up. He thought she would head into the kitchen. But she didn't. She just stood there, staring down at him. He stared back, trying to figure out what she was thinking from the expression on her face.

Then she was on his lap. He didn't know if he reached up and pulled her to him or if she flung herself into his arms. It didn't matter. She was there. And her lips were on his.

So maybe it really was an invitation, he thought. And then he couldn't think at all. He was totally caught up in the feel of her hands in his hair. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest. Her tongue brushing his.

He was not going to survive this. He was going to combust. Burst into flames so hot, there would be nothing left of him but a pile of cinders.

He didn't care. All he cared about was getting even closer. He couldn't get close enough. Alex wrapped his hands around Isabel's waist and pulled her tighter against him. He thought he heard her give a little whimper of pleasure.

He reached up to stroke her cheek-and his fingers came away wet. His eyes snapped open. And the fire burning through him went out.

Isabel was crying. Tears streaked her face. Alex suddenly realized he could taste salt on his lips. Oh, G.o.d. She'd been crying her heart out, and he'd been so caught up in the feel of her mouth, of her body, he hadn't even noticed.