He couldn’t hold it in another second. Laughter erupted from his chest, so he had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from spraying the floor with the half-chewed bits he hadn’t managed to swallow. Cara joined in, tossing the plate into the sink before collapsing against the counter in a wild fit of giggles. She kept pointing at him and trying to speak but couldn’t manage to get out the words. After a dozen tries, she snorted and said, “I wish you could’ve seen your face when you put that bite in your mouth. It looked like you were chewing glass.”
“It felt that way, too,” he barely managed.
She threw an oven mitt at his head, which he dodged by ducking behind the kitchen island. He doubled over in another bout of uncontrollable laughter. Soon his muscles ached, and he pressed both hands over his abdomen to still the pain.
“Either you’ll starve,” she said, “or I’ll kill you with my cooking. Either way, you’re screwed.”
“Completely fashed,” he agreed.
“I can see the headline now,” Cara choked out. “Midwest girl slays exchange student with flatbread, ends alliance negotiations.”
“L’eihrs retaliate by forcing humans to eat Sweeney’s creation,” he added, “ending all life on Earth.”
She burst into another fit of giggles at that before gasping, “What a terrible way to go.”
“The worst,” he agreed. But at least he’d be in good company.
Chapter Seven
Cara lifted one leg from the water and watched tendrils of steam swirl up from her reddened skin. The bath was one of the few places she could be alone now. Colonel Rutter wasn’t kidding when he’d called the LEAP a job—she’d worked overtime making Aelyx feel at home these last couple of weeks.
With her laptop perched securely on the tub’s porcelain ledge, she tapped the screen with a dry index finger and pulled up her blog. Her eyes automatically darted to the followers—a whopping 120,467—before skimming the comments from that morning’s post.
Wednesday, November 5
The good, the bad, and the useless: it’s Trivial Wednesday.
A special thanks to Vegan Mandy for suggesting the following theme days. I’m sending you an extra gooey, totally vegan, home-baked virtual cookie. Can you taste the love? Anyhoo, here’s what my esteemed followers can expect when they visit my page:
• Culture Clash Mondays: tidbits on how L’eihr customs differ from ours.
• Trivial Wednesdays: a sampling of pointless L’eihr trivia.
• FAQ Fridays: I’ll try to answer the most commonly e-mailed question that week. Notice I said try. Despite what my best friend might’ve told you, I don’t know everything.
So, without any further ado, here is a fact that will benefit you in no way whatsoever: L’eihrs do not have facial hair. No, really, I’m serious. Geneticists bred the stubble right out of their cheeks about three thousand years ago after deciding it didn’t have the same benefits as body hair. Um, scientists of Earth, can you get to work on that? I don’t have a mustache—not that there’s any shame in that—but I’d love a break from shaving my legs. Please and thank you.
Posted by Cara Sweeney 7:07 a.m.
28 comments
Amanda said ...
You’re so lucky! I wish our school had gotten him.
Olca said ...
Beam me up, Hottie!
Ashley said ...
He doesn’t shave? That’s so cool. No wonder his skin looks sooo soft. ::swoon::
Keith said ...
STFU, Ashley. I have three classes with the smug jerk, and it sucks.
Marcus said ...
True dat, Keith. Dude’s a total douche-guzzler. HALO meeting tomorrow @3pm.
Humanist said ...
Who gives a damn about beards? What about weapons? Ask him that, you stupid BITCH.
Tori said ...
@Humanist: Post that under your real name, coňo. So I can come put my foot up your ass.
From there, it got really ugly. Who knew an innocent bit of trivia could incite so much drama? She changed her blog settings to suspend comments pending her approval and closed the computer screen.
After plunking a grapefruit-scented bath fizzy into the water, she sank down and tried to decide what to wear when she got out of the tub. Tonight the camera crew would film the first round of interviews—nationally televised interviews—so millions of people could kick back in their recliners, crack open a cold Bud, and laugh at the idiotic things she’d undoubtedly say. At least it wasn’t live, so the film editor could delete any incidents of projectile vomiting.
A knock on the bathroom door interrupted her solitude. “Hey, Pepper,” shouted her dad. “Tori’s here.”
“Okay. Tell her to hang out in my room.”
“Already did.” The thud of Dad’s heavy work boots retreated toward the kitchen.
Cara dried off and wrapped herself in a fluffy blue bathrobe before padding to her bedroom, but Tori was nowhere to be found. Just as Cara started toward the kitchen, she heard a thump against the wall coming from Aelyx’s bedroom. A quick peek down the hall showed his door ajar—odd, considering he’d never left it open before.
On tiptoe, she peered into his room and found Tori rifling through the dresser drawers, hunched over piles of clothing like a bargain bin shopper on half-price day.
“What the hell!” Cara glanced over her shoulder. Luckily, Aelyx wasn’t within earshot . . . yet. “Get outta there!”
Without bothering to turn around, Tori held up something that looked like a metal golf ball. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know, but put it back!” Clearly she’d have to haul Tori away by force before Aelyx discovered them snooping through his things. She rushed forward, snatching the ball from Tori’s palm. It felt lighter than she’d expected, and she couldn’t help taking a closer look. The brushed, steely surface felt cool to the touch, not conducting her body heat the way metal should. She gave it a light shake, but nothing rattled inside. “Where’d you get this?”
“Top drawer, under his boxers.”
“Seriously? You went through his underwear? You’re deranged.” Cara opened the drawer and shoved the sphere beneath Aelyx’s . . . personal articles. Then, after hastily refolding the shirts Tori had rumpled, she grabbed her friend’s hand and hauled her out of Aelyx’s room, closing the door behind them.
She had barely enough time to shove Tori across the threshold to her bedroom when Aelyx rounded the corner and strode into the hallway. He stopped short when he noticed her, eyes wide as if she’d caught him doing something wrong instead of the other way around. Cara hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she felt.
“Hey,” she said casually, pulling her robe’s belt a little tighter. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” He folded both arms across his chest, which drew her attention to his dirt-streaked sweater. “Just getting some fresh air before the interview.”