Before she’d finished the first page, Mom drifted into the room and settled at the other end of the sofa with one of those heavy sighs that said, I don’t want to bug you, but I’m going to keep making these little noises until you ask me what’s wrong.
So Cara cut to the chase. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Cara gave her mom a couple beats to change her mind, then reopened her book.
“It’s just . . .” Mom began.
Cara put her novel down with a sigh of her own. “It’s just what?”
“I think I’m being forced out of my own book club.”
“How does that happen?”
“Mindy Jordan keeps changing the meeting time and forgetting to e-mail me.”
Looked like Mom’s friends had stolen a move from the student government playbook. “That’s exactly what happened to Tori.”
Mom tucked a black curl behind one ear and made a sour face. “And they keep pushing to read that unedited fan-fiction book with all the spanking. They know how I feel about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Cara said, giving Mom a gentle nudge with her foot. “But you don’t want to hang out with people who treat you like that. You can do better.”
“I know.” Mom slumped back and rested her heels on the coffee table. “I just worry sometimes. I didn’t expect people to stay angry about Aelyx this long. He’s such a sweetheart. I just heard about a riot in Canada, of all places. Who riots in Canada?”
“Canadians?”
Mom didn’t seem to appreciate the joke. “You’re being careful at school, right?”
If careful meant antagonizing the student Patriots, then yes. “Really careful.”
“Good,” Mom said. “And by the way, SqueeTeen called again.”
“No interviews.” Between TV features, blogger e-mails, and now requests from magazines, Cara was feeling overwhelmed. Besides, it was really Aelyx they were after, not her.
“That’s what I told them.”
The doorbell rang, and Mom pushed off the sofa to answer it while Cara tugged open Jane Eyre.
“Mrs. Sweeney?” said a man’s low voice. “I’m Ron Johnson. This is my son, Marcus. Our kids go to Midtown High together.”
Cara dropped her book and sat up.
“Can we come in for a few minutes?” he asked. “It’s important.”
“Is there something wrong at school?”
“Yes, there sure is.”
Uh-oh. Marcus must’ve tattled to Daddy about the incident a couple of days ago. Cara stood and crossed to the other side of the room.
She watched Ron step inside, followed by Marcus, and she caught herself rubbing her backside, remembering how hard she’d fallen before Aelyx had nearly punched Marcus’s arm out of its socket. She couldn’t believe Brandi was actually dating this jerk. Reigning king or not, a seat on the homecoming court wasn’t worth swapping spit with Marcus Johnson.
Father and son had dressed identically in white button-down shirts and black ties paired with black slacks. Marcus’s hair had been neatly parted and slicked into submission. They looked like Mormon missionaries, minus the name tags and friendly smiles. Marcus slumped forward with both hands in his pockets and kept his eyes trained on the carpet.
Ron nodded a quick greeting to Cara. “Miss Sweeney, Marcus has something to say to you.” He elbowed his son in the ribs.
“My behavior the other day,” Marcus recited like a stiff, petulant child, “was not befitting a true Patriot of Earth. Please accept my sincere apology.”
Sincere her ass. But she’d say anything to get rid of these losers. “Don’t worry about it.”
Ron grinned and turned to her mom. “The kids had a misunderstanding.” He reached into his breast pocket and handed Mom a small pamphlet—the same one HALO members gave out at school. “But that’s not why I’m here. The government overstepped its bounds with this exchange program. A lot of us don’t want a L’eihr around our kids. It’s time to send him back where he belongs.”
“Oh.” Mom held up a hand. “We’re not—”
“Now, listen.” Ron darted a glance around the living room, wrinkling his nose. “I understand the money’s . . . tempting.” Translation: Clearly you schmucks are broke as a joke. “But let’s think of the whole community, not just what’s best for you.”
“Well, I think it’s a wonderf—”
“How could you bring him here without knowing anything about his kind?” Ron made himself at home, perching on the arm of the sofa while Marcus continued sulking by the front door. “I saw the interview. A total fluff piece! That idiot reporter had a chance to ask the boy about real issues, and she spent the whole time talking about his favorite food and how ‘advanced’ he is.” He made little air quotes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s working for the government.”
Oh, brother. Looked like this guy had a crazy sandwich for lunch—a footlong. Mom was too sweet to dropkick this jerk into next week, but Dad wasn’t. In the genetic lottery of life, Cara had scored two things from her father: flaming red hair and a temper to match.
“Hey, Dad,” she yelled down the hall. “Company!”
Ron turned his little weasel eyes on her. “And I can’t believe you let an alien sleep under the same roof as your daughter. He probably wants to breed with her. I’ve already heard some stories about those two . . .”
Cara’s head snapped up. “What?”
Dad strolled in from the hallway, rubbing his weary eyes. He’d just finished two back-to-back shifts, which meant epic sleep deprivation. Awesome.
“Look who’s here.” Cara used a pseudo-cheerful voice. “The Patriots of Earth!”
Dad groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not interested.”
“Just hear me out.” Ron didn’t give him a chance to object. “Our country’s gone to pot since the L’eihrs made contact. All that looting and rioting filled up our jails, so nobody’s enforcing the drug laws. Now there’s a dealer openly doing business a block from my house. You know what that does to property values?”
“The L’eihrs brought my wife back from the dead, and you think I give a damn about your property values?” Dad barked. “Get the hell out of my house.”
“But look at the ramifications of the cancer cure,” Ron said, foolishly refusing to budge. “Smoking’s increased three hundred percent, and don’t even get me started on the surge in chemical pesticide use.”
The whole room fell silent. Had this guy seriously complained about a universal cure for cancer?
All heads turned as Aelyx entered the room wearing a confused expression. He slipped a small gadget into his sweater pocket and glanced from person to person, narrowing his eyes when they settled on Marcus.
Dad hooked his thumb toward the back door. “You two go for a walk or something.”
In other words, he didn’t want their guest to witness the fury he was about to unleash.
Cara grabbed Aelyx’s sleeve and tugged him into the kitchen. “Hurry,” she whispered. “You don’t wanna be here when he explodes, trust me.”
As they scurried outside, she heard Ron’s hysterical voice calling, “He has a weapon! I saw him hide it in his sweater!”
What a lunatic. No wonder Marcus was so screwed up. Her dad’s voice boomed from inside the house. “I’ve got a Glock, a shovel, and five acres of woods, Johnson!”
The crackle and crunch of crusty dried leaves delighted Cara’s ears. She stomped through the windblown drifts like a child playing in a rain puddle.
“I love this sound. And the smell.” She raised her face to the sky and inhaled deeply through her nose. “The air’s so sweet this time of year.”