After what happened today, she didn't know what the rules were anymore. And that frightened her.
"You remember the end of ET?" Maria asked suddenly. "How those government guys were going to come in and take him away?"
Liz nodded, her thoughts still on a world where the periodic chart no longer applied.
"Do you think that's what would happen to Max if we told people the truth about him?" Maria continued.
"I don't know," Liz admitted. "I doubt everyone would just be like, Oh, an alien, that's interesting. There must be people out there who would want to study him or do tests on him. They could lock Max away for the rest of his life or even-"
Liz couldn't say it.
"Or even kill him," Maria finished for her.
Liz flashed on an image of Max lying on the ground, still and cold. She felt a rush of pure emotion that went beyond any facts. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let Max die.
"We can never tell anyone the truth," she told Maria.
"Never," Maria repeated. "Wait. What about Alex? Can't we even tell him?"
"Maria, no! We can't tell anyone."
Liz wished they could tell Alex. She totally trusted him, and they both told him practically everything. But Max's secret was like a deadly virus-it had to be contained, or someone could die. Max could die.
Maria flicked a crumb off the table. "So, um, what do you think Max really looks like?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what are the chances that the beings on the planet he came from look exactly like humans? Don't you think the way Max looks must be sort of a disguise?"
Liz didn't know how to answer. Max was just Max. She wasn't used to thinking of him as some kind of creature.
Maria stood up and wandered back to the sink. She set the teapot on the stove. "I wonder if he can eat the same food we do. I saw this movie where the aliens could only eat decomposed flesh-you know, where bacteria and bugs did part of the digesting for them."
Liz watched Maria pour tea leaves into little silver balls. She couldn't believe the way her friend was talking about Max. They had both known him forever, but Maria was talking about him as if he were something on the Discovery Channel.
"Maybe he's like the Fly. Maybe he just spews some kind of acid on his food and then-sluurp, sucks it up. What do you think? You're the science guru."
"God, Maria," Liz muttered.
Maria didn't hear her. She kept on chattering away. "Do you think he sees humans as some kind of inferior life-form? Like, are we just lumps of meat to him?"
Max always picked Maria to be on his team when they played softball in the sixth grade-he picked her first, even though she was one of the worst players. He made Paula Perry stop harassing Maria the first year of junior high. He didn't tell his insurance company when Maria dinged his car in the school parking lot last year.
It's like she's forgotten all the nice things he's done for her-and for half the other people in school, Liz thought. Now he's just the alien boy.
No wonder it was so hard for Max to tell Liz the truth about himself. He probably thought she was going to treat him like some kind of freak.
And I did, Liz realized. I practically ran out of his room.
She shivered as she pictured Max's eyes. The pain and humiliation filling his beautiful blue eyes as she backed away from him.
I never even thanked him for saving my life.
Come on, Max, Michael thought. Get me out of here.
Right on cue he heard the horn of Max's Jeep. Yes! He couldn't stand being in this house one more second. Michael strode toward the front door, shrugging on his jacket as he walked.
"Hold it," Mr. Hughes called as Michael started past the kitchen. "The backyard looks like a jungle. I want it mowed before you go anywhere."
"It's going to be dark in half an hour," Michael protested.
Mr. Hughes smirked at him. Michael hated that little smirk. "Then you'll have to work fast, won't you?"
Michael didn't want to get into a shouting match with the guy. It wasn't worth it. He struggled to keep his voice calm. "Is there some reason you couldn't have told me you wanted the lawn mowed this morning, or this afternoon, or even an hour ago? Max is outside waiting for me."
"Well, he'll just have to keep waiting. Come and get me when you're finished. I want to see what kind of job you did before you take off anywhere."
Michael hated the way Mr. Hughes was always playing his little power games. Hughes didn't care about the backyard. That old green truck of his had been up on blocks in the far corner since before Michael moved in. It had totally destroyed that patch of grass, but he didn't care. Hughes only cared about showing Michael who was in charge.
In less than a year I'll be eighteen, Michael thought. Then I'm out of here. No more foster homes. No more foster parents. No more being told that an endless string of strangers are my family.
"Fine. I'll mow the backyard," Michael muttered. Then he walked out the front door and closed it quietly behind him. He trotted over to Max's Jeep to tell him he had to wait…
But when he reached the Jeep, he snapped. Forget Hughes. Forget the idiotic social services people who thought sticking him in strangers' houses meant he was being taken care of. He just couldn't deal with it tonight. He couldn't stand out in the backyard while Hughes inspected his work, finding a dozen little things Michael forgot to do or did wrong.
He climbed into the Jeep. "Floor it," Michael ordered.
Max didn't ask any questions. He just took off down the street, past the well-tended houses and neatly kept yards of the south side.
Michael had lived in every neighborhood in town-from the run-down section by the old military base to the historic district with its big houses and big trees. Living in the historic district was cool. He didn't really care about the nice houses, but he liked living so close to Max and Isabel.
"Where to?" Max asked as they headed out of town, miles and miles of flat desert stretching in front of them.
"I want to try that arroyo we saw on our way back last week." Michael pulled a battered map out of his pocket. He popped open the glove compartment, grabbed a pencil, and began shading in the area he planned to search tonight. It was about sixty miles out of Roswell and fifteen miles from the crash site.
Max glanced over at him. "A couple more years of this, and you'll have half of New Mexico colored in."
"Not quite," Michael answered. They had covered a lot of ground over the years. But Michael wanted to do more. He wished he could search all day every day instead of once a week.
"It's been a while since we've found anything. Maybe we're getting too far away from the crash site," Max said.
"We might be too far to find debris, but I still think the ship is stashed somewhere in the desert, not more than a few hours' drive from the site," Michael answered. "They wouldn't want to risk taking it farther. Too many people would have to be involved. There would be too many questions."
Max gave a noncommittal grunt. Michael knew that Max doubted they would ever find the ship. And Isabel kept saying they were fools to keep looking. She'd given up the search a long time ago. But Michael was never going to give up. And Max would keep coming out to the desert with him every week as long as Michael wanted him to. Michael could count on Max. Always could, always would.
Michael clicked on the radio. He didn't really feel like talking, and it didn't seem as if Max did, either. He was probably thinking about Liz.
Michael didn't know what that girl had said to Max when they were alone in his room. But whatever it was, it had totally annihilated him. After she left, Max told Michael and Isabel that Liz would keep their secret. He promised them they weren't in any danger. But Max hadn't sounded happy or even relieved, and he looked like he'd been punched in the gut.
Liz couldn't handle the truth. Michael was sure of that. She probably treated Max like some kind of freak.