He stood up and walked over to her chair. He sat down on the arm. Isabel didn't look at him. He reached out and smoothed a lock of hair off her forehead. "I know you're scared-"
Isabel jumped up, then spun around to face him. "You have no idea what I'm feeling," she cried.
"So tell me," he answered. He could hear the anger creeping into his voice, and he tried to clamp it down.
"Why should I?" she demanded. "Just because we've gone out a few times, that doesn't mean you have the right to know my every thought!"
"I don't think we need to be hearing this," Max said. He swung his bedroom door shut.
"Yeah," Liz agreed. Whatever was going on out there was between Alex and Isabel, and they definitely didn't need an audience.
She sat down on Max's bed and pulled her bio book out of her backpack. "I haven't read any of the chapter yet, have you?" she asked.
"No. I keep-"
"Thinking about Michael," Liz finished his sentence. "How do you think he's doing? I mean, what have you been feeling from him?"
"Anger. A lot of anger and frustration. But no pain. And not as much fear. I think they must be treating him okay," Max answered. "I can't stop picturing him down there, though. It makes me nuts. If anyone should be down there, it should be me. I'm the one who needed the crystals."
"Michael and Isabel are going to need them, too," Liz reminded him. "You just happened to go through your akino first."
"I know, I know. I keep telling myself that," Max answered.
"Well, start listening," Liz answered. She rooted around in her backpack until she found a rubber band. She tossed it to Max. "You should try this."
Max stared at it. "I don't get it."
"Put it around your wrist. Then every time you start thinking about how all this is your fault, you snap it, to sort of snap yourself out of it," Liz explained. "That's what my mom did when she wanted to stop smoking."
Max slid the rubber band over his wrist and then snapped the band. "That stings."
"It's supposed to," Liz said. "That's the point. It's supposed to jerk you out of your thought pattern or something. Although there is another method you could try." She tried to sound all serious, but she could feel her lips curving into a smile. "It's kind of experimental, though."
"It doesn't involve anything like placenta, does it?" Max asked. "It seems like every new cure has something to do with placenta. Did you see in the news about using blood from the placenta as sort of a substitute for a bone marrow transplant?"
"It has nothing to do with placenta," Liz promised. "It has to do with kissing me. See, whenever you're about to step on the plane for another one of your guilt trips, you kiss me instead."
"Well…" Max hesitated. "I guess I should keep an open mind about these new experimental treatments." He slid one hand under her hair, skimming his fingers over the sensitive skin of her neck. "I'm actually starting to feel a little guilty right now."
"Oh, really?" Liz wrapped her arms around his waist. "Well, let's see if the Ortecho method works." She kissed him-a long, slow kiss that spread warmth through her entire body. It was so amazing to be able to kiss Max whenever she wanted to. That was one good thing that came out of him getting so sick. He finally realized what a waste it was for them to be just friends.
Liz raised her head a fraction of an inch. "Did that help?" she asked, her lips still so close to Max's that they brushed against his with every word.
"Yeah. It did. A lot. But there's something else I'm feeling guilty about," Max answered. "I, um, um, I ate the last coconut cookie last night. And my dad loves coconut cookies. I just feel terrible about it," he said in a rush.
They kissed again. Liz's laughter turned into a little gasp as Max leaned back on the bed, pulling her down on top of him. Her long hair tumbled down, forming a curtain around their faces.
Liz felt like everyone in the entire world had vanished as Max began kissing her neck, flicking his tongue across the little hollow at the base of her throat. Every sense was filled with Max. Nothing else mattered.
Then she heard the front door slam.
Footsteps ran down the hall. And she thought she heard the sound of Isabel crying.
"Should we go out there and talk to her?" Liz asked.
"In a little while. She probably needs to be alone first." Max slid his hands down to Liz's waist. "Besides, I'm starting to feel sort of guilty again. It's not really fair that Isabel is fighting with her guy while I have you in my bedroom."
"Yeah," Liz breathed. "I'm feeling a little guilty about that, too."
Cameron strolled through the doorway of Michael's cell as if she couldn't even see the two guards with machine guns flanking it. "I'm having sort of a Planet of the Apes moment here," she said as they locked the door behind her. "You know that scene where they put the woman in the cage with Taylor the astronaut? Sort of as a present?"
Planet of the Apes, Michael thought. He and Maria had watched that during one of their late night movie marathons a few weeks ago. Back when things were normal between them, before she told him she loved him. He couldn't even think about that now. Not in here. It would make him stark-staring wacko.
"Yeah, I know the part you mean," Michael answered. He raised an eyebrow. "So am I supposed to unwrap you now?"
She snorted. "I wouldn't try it. Not unless you have a very high threshold of pain." She sat down on Michael's cot. "Where's your weird little friend?"
"Adam? The guards said they'd bring him over later. The doctor wanted to do a couple more tests on him," Michael said.
"What's his story? Is he, you know, all there or what?" Cameron asked.
Michael felt a surge of protectiveness. He'd only known Adam a couple of days, but already he felt like family. The kid definitely needed someone to look after him, and since there wasn't exactly a line of volunteers for the job, Michael had decided to step in.
"Adam was born in this place," Michael explained. "Everyone here treats him like he's five years old, so that's the only way he knows to act."
Michael noticed Cameron's brown eyes widen a fraction. That got to her, he realized. She's not quite as hard as she thinks she is.
"And what about you, Mickey? What's your deal?" she asked.
"I just got here. The pictures the travel agent showed me made the accommodations look much more inviting," he said.
"It's true. The hot tubs were supposed to be pink marble. I don't know about yours, but mine is just white porcelain," she shot back, doing a snobby rich girl impersonation. "Unacceptable."
She ran one of her fingers back and forth along the rip in the knee of her jeans. Michael noticed she had a tattoo-some funky little design-on the back of her hand. Usually Michael thought tattoos were trendy and chintzy. But on Cameron it worked.
"No, really," she said. "How did you end up in here?"
Michael figured everyone in the compound knew he and Adam were aliens. But she obviously didn't. Yeah, there were some yellow splotches of fear in her olive green aura. But nothing like what he'd expect to see if she knew the truth. That was a whole different kind of fear than the fear of being held prisoner. It was the fear of the unknown. Of the other. Of the monster.