We just don't belong, he thought. We're never going to fit in. It's never going to feel right living here. And that's why he had to find a way out. He would make it back to his home planet, his real home, no matter what it took. Maybe he even had some relatives there.
Michael watched the sun sink lower and lower, turning the sky pink and orange. Slowly the colors faded, then turned to black, and stars began to appear.
He wished it could be night all the time. At night somehow it felt like his home planet was closer, almost in reach, up there behind the stars somewhere. At night he felt positive that he would find the ship, positive that he would somehow find his way back.
During the day… sometimes during the day it seemed hopeless. It felt like there was nothing up there at all. No home to go back to.
"We're coming up to the arroyo," Max said. "Do you want to drive or hike?"
"Hike." Michael needed to cool off. He figured after a long hike he might be ready to go back and see Mr. Hughes without wanting to punch his face in.
Max parked the Jeep. Michael sprang out and half slid, half climbed down the side of the arroyo. He could hear Max right behind him.
When Michael reached the bottom, he turned in a slow circle, scanning the walls and floor of the arroyo. He didn't know what he was looking for exactly, just something that didn't belong.
One of the other things Michael liked about night was how clearly he could see. His vision was better in the dark than it was during the day. It made the weekly nighttime searches easier. Having the advantage over any curious humans who happened by was a bonus, too.
"I'll go south, you go north?" Max asked.
Michael nodded and set off. We're due to find something, he thought. It's been way too long. It had been almost a year since Max found the strip of thin, flexible metal that they both figured was part of their parents' ship. It had to be. It was like nothing they'd ever seen before. If you crumpled it up, it immediately straightened itself out. It was indestructible. Michael had tried cutting it with pruning shears. He'd even taken a blowtorch to it once. But the metal, if that's what it was, always returned to its original shape, undamaged.
The sound of a bunch of sheep baaing interrupted Michael's thoughts. He stood still and listened. Was someone out there? Someone who had spooked the sheep?
The sheep quieted down again. Now all Michael could hear was the sound of his own breathing and the tiny scratch, scratch, scratch of a blue belly lizard's claws as it darted across a rock. Guess it was nothing, he decided.
He pulled a plastic bottle out of his backpack and took a swig of the grape soda laced with hot sauce. He knew it would make humans gag, but he figured his taste buds worked differently because he could drink it all day. He hiked forward.
When he was a kid, every time they came out to the desert, he'd been positive they would find the ship. He thought he would just hop in and fly himself and Michael and Isabel home. He was sure that somehow he'd just know exactly how all the controls worked.
Then when he was a couple of years older, he saw that old Superman movie on TV There was a scene where Superman found a crystal that showed a hologram of his dead father, and he got to have all these conversations with him.
For a long time Michael hoped he'd find something like that crystal. Something that would show him his father's face, at least.
But he grew up. And he never found anything to tell him who he really was. Now all Michael wanted was a clue, a hint. Anything that would lead him to the next place to look. Anything to keep him hoping.
He walked on and on, studying every rock, every crevice. He hadn't even found a gum wrapper when he heard Max's shrill whistle, the signal that it was time to head back.
Max was already in the driver's seat when Michael climbed back up to the top of the arroyo. Michael didn't ask him if he'd found anything. He already knew the answer.
"Drop me off at the cave on the way back, okay?" Michael asked as he swung into the Jeep. "I think I'm going to sack out there."
Max nodded and turned the Jeep toward town. The cave was about twenty miles outside Roswell, much closer to town than to the crash site.
Michael had spent more time in the cave than he had in any of his foster homes. It was a special place-the first place he had seen when he broke free of his incubation pod. He'd been about seven years old-at least he looked about the same as a seven-year-old human child, although he must have been incubating for about forty years.
He'd wanted to stay in the cave forever. The desert outside seemed too big and bright to him. He felt safer in the dim light with the solid limestone walls all around him.
Michael had spent days huddled next to the unopened pod-it was the one Max and Isabel shared, but he didn't know that then-pressing himself against its warm surface. The tiny rustling sounds he heard inside it kept him company.
Finally thirst and hunger drove him into the desert. A local rancher found him drinking from the same stream the guy's sheep used. The man took him into town, and Michael was placed in the orphanage. From there he went to his very first foster home.
It took him only a week to learn English. Less than that for math. The social services people had figured he was at a fifth-grade level when they started him at Roswell Elementary. They never could figure out why he didn't remember his parents or where he came from.
Michael still remembered the day Max brought in a piece of amethyst to show the class. He had said he liked it because it was the same color as the ring of light around their teacher, Mr. Tollifson. All the other kids laughed. Mr. Tollifson said it was nice that Max had such a good imagination.
And Michael had the amazing, joy-inducing realization that he wasn't alone anymore. Someone else could see what he saw.
"Mr. Cuddihy isn't going to be happy if the Hugheses complain that you've been staying out all night again," Max commented as they drove down the empty highway.
"Mr. Cuddihy is never happy," Michael answered. His social worker would have to deal. And if the Hugheses made too big a stink about it, Mr. Cuddihy would probably have to start looking for foster home number eleven. His social worker would just have to deal with that, too.
"You can come home with me," Max volunteered. "My parents won't care."
"Nah. I feel like being by myself," Michael answered.
He wouldn't mind hanging out all night at the Evanses'. But he didn't want to be there for breakfast in the morning. Mrs. Evans was always so cheerful. She'd be asking a million questions about school and stuff. And Mr. Evans would be reading the comics out loud with all his goofy voices. It was way too much family for Michael to handle.
Sometimes Michael wondered what his life would have been like if the Evanses had been the ones to find him instead of that rancher. If he had just been in a different place at a different time, he could have had Max and Isabel's life, growing up with parents who loved him. Don't even go there, Michael thought. It's pointless.
"You sure you don't want to come back with me?" Max asked. "My mom would probably make you blueberry pancakes, and we have that brown mustard you like to go with them."
Michael shook his head. He was used to being alone now. He was good at it. There was no point in getting used to something that would just get taken away.
Isabel pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and stared inside. Her makeup was neatly organized by use, brand, and color. Maybe I should make little combinations of blush, eye shadow, lipstick, and nail polish, she thought. Then I could just pull out the set that matched whatever outfit I have on and-
No. That would be way too anal. Isabel gently closed the drawer.
She had to stop driving herself nuts over this whole Liz Ortecho situation. If she didn't watch herself, she'd move on to organizing her shoes by heel height and width and embroidering the days of the week on her panties.