Roswell High - The Seeker Part 8

"Nothing really to talk about," Max said. What was he supposed to say? That he was losing his mind because Liz-the girl he told he wanted to be just friends-was going out with someone else tonight?

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Ray glanced at his watch. "Blow the whistle-it's quitting time," he said. "You go ahead and take off. I'll close up."

"Thanks," Max said. He bolted out to his Jeep and swung into the driver's seat. Now what? he wondered. Go home and spend the night imagining Liz in Jerry's arms? He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. I'll go to a movie, he decided. That will keep my mind off what Liz is doing with Jerry.

He pulled out onto the street and headed toward the mall. When he made a left onto Cordova, he could see UFOnics' bright orange neon sign, with its s.p.a.ceship crashing over and over. Max planned to just drive on by, he really did, but it was like the Jeep had a mind of its own.

Now what's the plan, you big idiot? Max asked himself as he maneuvered the Jeep into one of the last parking spots. He couldn't just go inside and stare at Liz.

Unless . . .

With a soft whispering sound his hair began to grow. Max stopped it when it got to his shoulders. Black, he decided. He tilted down the rearview mirror and watched as his blond hair turned a molted orange, then darkened to a muddy brown, and finally became a deep shiny black.

Not too shabby, Max thought. He couldn't do the changes as fast and smooth as Ray yet, but still, not too shabby. He turned his attention to his face, and his skin began to bubble. It didn't hurt or anything, but it looked repulsive. Max squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, his cheekbones were higher, his nose was smaller, and his skin was several shades darker.

What everyone at the Aliens Among Us conference downtown wouldn't give to see this, Max thought as he climbed out of the Jeep and headed inside. He promised himself he'd just take a quick look. He pushed his way through the crowd and found a spot at one of the little tables circling the dance floor. He hated the chairs in this place. They were designed to look like gigantic moon rocks and they always wobbled.

Craig Cachopo stalked up and asked Max what he wanted to drink. As much as he hated the chairs Max loved seeing some of the school elite dressed in the worlds dweebiest, bad-sci-fi-meets-bad-disco-glitter uniforms. The expression on Craig's face made it absolutely clear that no comments on his shiny purple spandex s.p.a.ce suit would be tolerated.

Max ordered a Lime Warp. He was actually starting to like them now that Ray had forced a few down his throat. When Craig stomped off in his orange half boots, Max saw what he came there to see but didn't really want to see-Liz and Jerry on the dance floor. At least it was a fast song, so he didn't have to see them actually touching.

She is so utterly beautiful, Max thought. Liz smiled at Jerry, and Max felt his heart constrict. He wished he could get a clearer look at her aura to see if she was enjoying herself as much as she seemed to be. But UFOnics' flashing colored lights made everyone's aura difficult to read.

Max drank three Lime Warps and ate an order of extreme pile-on-everything nachos, watching Liz every moment. With the face of some other guy he could stare at her as much as he wanted.

Liz and Jerry sat down at a nearby table, and Max kept his eyes locked on her. He realized he hadn't really looked at her in days. Lately when he talked to her, he kept his eyes focused slightly to the side of her face. That's how bad things had gotten between them, how awkward and uncomfortable. He had totally screwed up with that kiss at the mall. That heart-pounding kiss.

Liz glanced up-right at him. Her deep brown eyes locked on his as if she were staring straight into his soul.

Oh no, Max thought frantically. She'll kill me for following her here!

He looked away, pretending he hadn't seen her. She can't know it's me, he told himself. I'm completely disguised. She can't know.

When he allowed himself to look at her again, Liz was leaning close to Jerry, whispering something in his ear.

A slow song started up, and Max felt every muscle in his body tense. Were they going to dance? Liz stood up. Jerry reached out, like he was going to take her hand.

Max bolted. He shoved his way through the crowd and out into the cool night air. He'd seen enough. He didn't need to see Jerry put his arms around Liz, slide his fingers through her hair.

I could go back in there and stop it, Max thought suddenly. He could b.u.mp into Jerry, make a quick connection, and stimulate the acid production in Jerry's stomach or something. Not enough to really hurt him. Just enough to make sure he spent the rest of the night dancing with the toilet instead of Liz.

He immediately felt disgusted with himself. To even think about using his power to do harm was totally sick. He jammed his hands in his pockets and started toward the Jeep.

"Max," a voice called behind him.

He turned around and saw Liz. He had no trouble reading her aura this time. She was furious.

"I knew it was you," she said. "Did you forget that today at lunch you told us Ray taught you to change your appearance?"

Actually, he had forgotten. Should he deny it was him? Say he had no idea what she was talking about? There was no way she could be one hundred percent sure.

"You want a little tip?" Liz demanded. "Next time change your clothes, too. Did you think I wouldn't recognize your jacket? Oh, and change the eyes. I would know your eyes anywhere-" Her voice broke.

Then Liz took a step closer to him. So close, the edges of her aura started to blend with his. All he wanted to do was pull her up against him and feel her mouth under his.

"You know what, Max?" she asked, her voice harsh. "You could have been the one dancing with me in there. You made the choice to push me away. Now live with it." She whirled around and strode back into the club without looking back.

Why didn't Michael kiss me? Maria asked herself for about the one hundred and fifth time since she'd helped him baby-sit. She added another dollop of her special home-blended bath oil to the water-she liked to be surrounded in a cloud of scent-then settled back against her sponge pillow and closed her eyes. And kept thinking about Michael, of course.

He'd at least thought about kissing her. She knew that for sure. She'd seen the way his eyes flicked down to her lips. He had definitely been thinking about moving in.

Maria sighed, sending little ripples through the water. Okay, he thought about kissing her. That was good. It meant he didn't totally see her as a buddy or whatever.

So what was the problem? Maybe it was an alien-human thing. Maria would never forget how Nikolas used to look at her, when he looked at her at all. It was so clear he'd thought she was a lower life-form. Much lower.

No, that couldn't be it. Michael wouldn't come crawling through her window every couple of nights if he thought of her as half an evolutionary step above mold.

So what was the deal? What was holding him back? I should get Liz to help me figure him out, Maria thought. Except Liz was going through a romantic trauma right now. Maria knew it was pulverizing Liz's heart to go out with another guy because that meant starting to accept the fact that she and Max were never going to be together.

Maria didn't want to torture Liz by making her a.n.a.lyze why Maria couldn't get something started with Michael while Liz was trying to deal with everything ending with Max.

That's why Maria hadn't even told Liz about being psychic. If she told Liz about it, Liz would want to do a bunch of experiments to make sure that Maria's imagination hadn't taken off with her again. And she'd probably get all worried about the blacking-out thing. Maria wasn't worried. It was just a side effect. Perfectly harmless. No, she'd let Liz get some of her equilibrium back before she announced that Liz now had her very own psychic friend.

I could tell Michael about my psychic powers, she thought. He's not going through anything devastating the way Liz and Isabel are. He'd have time to help me explore my powers.

Yeah, and then I'd have the perfect excuse to talk to him, she realized. Maybe we could bond over what a kick it is to have superhuman powers. Maybe if he'd known I had powers, he would have kissed me.

What was Michael thinking right now? Was he thinking she was a loser for throwing herself at him?

You could take a little peek at him. You do still have his sweatshirt, Maria reminded herself. It was lying right next to the bathtub-and she had the ring on. She wore it all the time.

Maria reached down and touched the sweatshirt with one finger. This is wrong, she thought. But it wasn't a big wrong. It was a little wrong. She only wanted to take a fast look, just to see if she could get any clue about what was going on in Michael's so-called brain.

I'm doing it, she decided. Where is Michael- Before she completed the thought, the bathtub dissolved into colored dots. When they clumped, they formed a warm white mist. Maria could hear the sound of running water.

She peered through the mist and made out the outlines of a gla.s.s door. And on the other side of that door Michael was taking a shower.

Maria started to giggle. Michael would really think she was throwing herself at him if he could see her right now. Thank G.o.d, he couldn't.

The tile floor wiggled under her feet, and a few moments later she was back in the bathtub. She turned on the hot water with her toes and warmed up her bath. She let herself slide completely underwater, her hair floating around her face.

Why was the water so cold?

Maria tried to sit up, but she couldn't move. She lay on the bottom of the tub, her body as heavy as lead. Water covered her nose, her mouth.

She felt a tightness in her lungs. She needed to take a breath. There was plenty of air inches away. But she couldn't move inches. She couldn't move at all.

I'm going to drown, Maria thought wildly. I'm going to drown in my own bathtub!

Kevin and her mother wouldn't hear a single splash. Because she couldn't move.

Her lungs began to burn. Her lungs were on fire.

How long did she have? Another minute? Two?

Maria's vision darkened, turning the water above her black.

This is it. This is where I die.

-=(9)=-.

Liz saw Jerry smile as she walked toward him. Good. The absolute rage boiling inside her must not show. It wouldn't be fair to make Jerry deal with that.

Max. He was the guy who deserved to have her fury come pouring down on his head like lava. He deserved to have to stand in that parking lot for hours listening to Liz tell him what a total and complete jerk he was.

He had gotten off way too easily. That's because if Liz had tried to say one more word to him, she would have burst into tears. And that's not something she'd wanted to do in front of him. No, the crying would have to wait until she got home and got into the shower. She didn't cry much, but when she did, the shower was her place. She would adjust the spray so it came down in those stinging needles and let the hot water wash away her tears-and drown out any sounds. She never let her parents hear her when she cried. Never.

"So was he the kid from your kindergarten cla.s.s?" Jerry asked when she reached him.

Liz shook her head. "Nope. It was a total stranger. I made a fool of myself."

"Yeah, poor guy," Jerry said. "Having some gorgeous girl chase him out to the parking lot." He took a long drink of his planet punch and stared at the dance floor. It was obvious he was embarra.s.sed by what he'd just said.

He's so sweet, Liz thought. He shouldn't be here with her. He should be here with a girl who didn't have ninety-nine percent of her brain focused on some other guy.

Suddenly the music screeched to a stop. The club went black. The crowd gave a long aaah of antic.i.p.ation, then a loud voice came over the PA. "Okay, everyone. It's that time-time for the alien bop!"

The alien bop. Roswell's answer to the bunny hop. As if the bunny hop needed any kind of answer. Liz could not figure out how it had become this hugely popular thing.

"I have something to tell you. I should have told you before," Jerry said as people began to make long, snaking lines through the club. He leaned closer. "I don't bop."

Liz laughed. A real laugh. "Me neither," she admitted.

It was a moment. One of those times when two people were totally in sync. Liz had them all the time with Max. At least she used to.

"Let's sit down fast," Liz said. She spotted a free table and led the way over to it. She cautiously perched on one of the wobbly moon rock chairs just as the bopping got started.

"Okay, it's time for the judging," Jerry said. "I get to be the East German judge. You can be the Swedish judge." He scanned the long line of alien boppers weaving around the tables.

"See that girl over there?" He tilted his head toward a tall girl dressed in a white shirt and pressed khakis. "I give her a ten for technique. See how she's always on the right foot and how she never breaks her grip on the person in front of her? But she only gets a two for originality. She's not letting enough of her shine through. She's not owning the bop."

Liz laughed again. It felt good. Maybe she wouldn't need a crying session in the shower after all. Maria was right, Liz thought. I'm glad she talked me into doing this.

"The guy over there has the opposite problem," Liz said. She pointed, trying not to be too obvious. "He's so original, I don't think he's even doing the same dance as everybody else."

"So what's his score?" Jerry asked.

"Hmmm. I'd say originality-an eleven. Technique-a minus three. And for the tattoo-four bonus points because I love a guy who's not afraid to walk around with a koala bear on his arm."

Jerry shook his head. "I don't know who let you on this panel. You can't just throw points around like that. Bop judging is a serious responsibility. You're deciding who gets the multimillion-dollar contract to do Cosmic Crunch commercials and who goes home with only a bucketful of shame."

Liz laughed so hard, she snorted. She didn't think Jerry heard because the room had erupted in the post-bop hooting and cheering. When the crowd finally calmed down, a slow song started up.

"You want to?" Jerry asked.

"Sure," she answered. The touching thing . . . it didn't feel like so much of a thing anymore. It was just a dance. She didn't know why she'd been so weirded out by the idea. What was the big deal?

"You positive you don't want to get some air, or go to the bathroom, or get a soda?" he teased.

Uh-oh. Jerry had caught on to her no-slow-dance strategy. "I'm sorry-," she began.

"It's okay," he interrupted. "I'm sort of shy, too."

Sort of. Liz remembered how she had pegged Jerry as a sort-of guy. But it wasn't true. Now that she'd gotten to know him a little, she realized there was nothing sort of about him.

Jerry held out his hand, and Liz took it. His fingers felt a little sweaty-he was nervous, she realized. He found a corner of the dance floor that wasn't totally crammed with people, then he slid his arms around her back and held her lightly. He didn't try to pull her up against him, and he didn't let his hands wander too low, the way some guys did.

Liz rested her head on Jerry's shoulder. That way there wouldn't be any awkward moment when he moved in for a kiss and she pulled away. She hoped Jerry didn't notice that she was holding herself a little stiffly. She was having a hard time getting comfortable. Jerry's shoulder was the wrong height for her or something. The muscles in her neck felt all tense.

Liz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Jerry was wearing some kind of musky aftershave. It made her nose itch. And his shirt was sort of rough under her cheek. Ever heard of fabric softener? she thought, and immediately felt bad.

She could feel Jerry's heart pounding against her cheek. It was beating so fast. And hers wasn't. Because she was totally calm.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why-Jerry wasn't Max.

When the song ended, Liz gently pulled away. "Would you mind if we left?" she asked. "I'm not feeling that well. I need to go home."

Yeah. She needed to go home so she could take a long, hot shower.

I'm going to die, Maria thought.

She felt the water enter her nose, trickle down her throat. I'm going to die.

Then she was free. Her body was under her control again. She scrambled to her feet, sliding on the wet porcelain.

She hauled in a deep breath of air and coughed, spitting water. When her legs felt steady enough, she carefully climbed out of the tub. She wrapped her bath sheet around her and sank down on the floor. She needed to rest for a minute before she could even walk across the hall to her room.

That was lethally stupid, she thought. She knew she lost time every time she used her psychic powers. And she decided to go spy on Michael while lying in the bathtub. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Maria grabbed another towel off the rack above her and scrubbed her face with it. She wanted every drop of water off her. She ripped open the cabinet under the sink and yanked out her blow-dryer. She leaned across the room and plugged it in. She pulled off the diffuser and turned the dryer to high. She didn't care that it would turn her hair into a matted mess. She needed to be dry right now. Completely dry.