Page 23

Jennette

The RV park is small but well-kept, greener than I expect, bits of scrub bush dotting the landscape in the distance.

Overhead, the sky is heartbreakingly blue, not a cloud in sight.

It will be a scorcher later, and it’s already hot enough that I can taste the shimmer of asphalt when I breathe.

The office is a gray building and the bathhouse is nearby.

Everything seems clean. The campers are all wedged in tight as a drum, not a single lot vacant.

And the overflow area has tons of tents, but it’s not crowded at this hour.

Everyone must be in town, prepping for a wild day at Space Con.

Poppy, Jaz, and Ravik are already present outside Tad’s pop-up trailer.

I don’t know how comfortable it is, but it’s freaking adorable, and I don’t even like camping.

He has a firepit and a picnic table, essential for an al fresco breakfast. I park behind Poppy’s car and hurry over to help with the food.

We’ve got containers of cut fruit, pastries, bottled water, and cold sandwiches. Not a gourmet breakfast, but I suspect they got what they could from the small supermarket. Local shops must make a ton of money during Space Con.

“This looks great,” Tad says, rubbing his hands together.

Poppy nods. “I’m so hungry I could eat at Arby’s.”

I laugh. “Classic Simpsons .”

I serve myself some nibbles while chatting with Tad and Jaz.

It takes all my self-control not to drag Seeker away to find out what he needs to tell me.

Based on our private chats, he might be ready to admit he can see us together.

Like, dating. I hope. If he reveals that he’s got a thing for Jaz, I hope I can cover my hurt without wrecking our friendship.

Regardless, whatever it is, the news must be big. And private.

Be patient, I tell myself. Good things come to those who wait. Once again, Seeker isn’t eating. He said he had food earlier, but I’m concerned about him. He hasn’t looked away from me once, and I’m starting to get self-conscious. Does my costume look weird?

For Day Two, I put in a little more effort, as did Poppy, although Ravik is blue again, the exact same look as yesterday, and come to think of it, I don’t recognize what alien they’re representing. Which is unusual for me.

“You’re not from Avatar,” I say to Ravik. “The face isn’t right. But I can’t think—”

“I’m an ice planet barbarian,” Ravik cuts in.

“No way ,” Poppy gasps.

“You must really love those books,” Tad says around a mouthful of food.

Jaz isn’t eating either. She’s tapping away at her phone. She glances up as if sensing my attention. “Sorry, I was just answering a question from someone in the orchestra.”

“For our next meetup, we should go to one of Jaz’s concerts,” I suggest.

“I would love that,” she says.

Seeker has been so quiet that I find it a bit troubling. Finally, he speaks, swirling the water in the bottle so it catches the light, almost like a prism. “Where would that be?”

“Minneapolis. We perform February through June. If you let me know ahead of time, I can get tickets.”

“We can buy them,” I say quickly. I don’t want her thinking that I’m angling for a free concert or anything.

“I love that we’re making plans past Space Con.” Poppy finishes her sandwich in two huge bites. “But there’s a how-to class on professional-level special effects makeup and I don’t want to miss it. Who’s ready to leave now?”

To my surprise, Tad, Ravik, and Jaz all jump up, but then they look at the messy campsite in dismay. “I should clean up,” Tad says.

I can tell he wants to rush back to the excitement. And I’m aching for a moment with Seeker. “If you’ll all fit in Tad’s car, we can tidy up and head over.”

Tad beams at me. “You don’t mind? You’re an angel!”

Now that they’ve eaten, the others are gone so fast that it reminds of the Road Runner with Wile E.

Coyote in The Road Runner Show cartoons.

To keep my promise, I stash the leftovers in Tad’s cooler and Seeker throws away the trash.

He follows me into the shadows of the camper and I take a step back, suddenly aware of how alone we are.

My pulse skitters. Not in fear. Anticipation. When he closes the door tight behind us, I lick my lips. There’s only one reason he’d want privacy, right? He’s planning to kiss me.

Only he checks the windows in all directions in a most unromantic manner, making me think this isn’t what I imagine.

“More privacy would be better, but I hope this will do,” he whispers. “I need to tell you something. And I’m so afraid of how you’ll react.”

“You’re starting to freak me out.”

“Showing you will be faster. And I doubt you’d take my word for it anyway.”

There’s an odd pop, as if my ears have suddenly equalized in pressure and my head feels odd. When I recover from that sensation, Seeker is gone. I don’t recognize the person standing here with me, and I use the p -word liberally.

This being is tall and slim, with an androgynous build and skin layered in what could be scales, but it could also be a pattern.

A triangular head with an elongated jaw, not teeth like a human has, but more like a lizard’s maw.

Sensory organs of some sort, but they’re set to the side, allowing for a completely different field of vision, and there are motile spines quivering all over the skull plate.

Roughly humanoid, but the joints and the curves of their spine—this looks like an alien I’d see in a science fiction movie.

And the colors…unearthly gorgeous, a peacock green deepening to the darkest hue of a forest, dotted with patterning in cobalt blue and violet.

“How did you do that?” I demand. “How did you get into costume so fast?”

“I didn’t.” Seeker’s voice sounds different now too. It’s deeper and so beautifully modulated that it makes my toes curl, like he’s singing the notes in harmony with himself.

“This is how I look normally. I’ve switched off the tech that makes me appear human.”

“This isn’t funny.”

I’ve been punked before by people who thought it would be funny to prove how gullible I am.

Back in college, they planted transmissions to make me think I’d gotten in touch with intelligent life.

I exchanged messages for a full week before another volunteer admitted to messing with me.

But I never suspected Seeker would do this.

“No, it isn’t.” He extends a limb. His hands aren’t like mine either. Seven digits on each one, and two seem to be like opposable thumbs.

I have the ridiculous thought that those hands explain the unearthly beauty of the song he sent to me. The one that didn’t sound like any music I’d ever heard…

I pause. I can’t take this seriously, right? The minute I believe him, he’ll say, “PSYCH,” and tell everyone what a dork I am.

“What do you want from me?” I demand.

“I just want you to know who I am.”

Now I have a Goo Goo Dolls song in my head, “Iris.” The words slam into me as I stare at his outstretched arm. “And?”

“If you can’t believe my words, touch me. Will your senses lie to you?”

I don’t believe him. This is impossible. It’s a trick, has to be.

But I close the distance between us anyway, my mind ticking over all the little inconsistencies I’ve noticed. He doesn’t eat human food. When I touch him, the temperature feels wrong. And his expression doesn’t change. Which could explain—oh. Oh. Oh my God.

When I touched him before, I knew then, didn’t I?

That his skin felt wrong. Not human. But then the tech he uses kicked in, I think.

Made me doubt myself. And he pulled away.

But now, now he’s holding on to me. And I can test the resilience for myself.

His skin is more like hide with velvety patches here and there, usually where the pattern changes hues.

The purples are mossy soft, and he trembles a little when I brush over the spot on his forearm. Or whatever he calls it.

“You’re not human.”

“I’ve been trapped here for almost a year. It was supposed to be a vacation,” he admits in a heart-wrenching tone.

The overwhelming loneliness, how he’s felt trapped? It was so much deeper and more desperate than I knew. He’s lived in mortal fear every single day, I imagine.

“What can I do?”

“You’re already doing it. I told you, and you’re not screaming. You’re still here.”

I stifle the urge to pinch myself, because if I could write myself into a story, this is exactly how I’d want it to go.

My entire life, I’ve felt like I was on an impossible quest, one that made me the target of mockery, too, and now I’m with Seeker.

But I don’t want this to turn into a thriller, where we’re constantly imperiled by hunters or government agents who want to carve him up.

God, he’s beautiful. I may never let go of his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise.

“Not even to Space Con?” His face moves now. Though I can’t read his expression, it’s no longer supernaturally static.

“This feels more important. This is life-changing. Do you want to go back to my room so we can talk more?”

“I have a lot to say,” Seeker warns.

“My time is yours.”

Along with anything else you might want.