Maria didn't want to torture Liz by making her analyze why Maria couldn't get something started with Michael while Liz was trying to deal with everything ending with Max.
That's why Maria hadn't even told Liz about being psychic. If she told Liz about it, Liz would want to do a bunch of experiments to make sure that Maria's imagination hadn't taken off with her again. And she'd probably get all worried about the blacking-out thing. Maria wasn't worried. It was just a side effect. Perfectly harmless. No, she'd let Liz get some of her equilibrium back before she announced that Liz now had her very own psychic friend.
I could tell Michael about my psychic powers, she thought. He's not going through anything devastating the way Liz and Isabel are. He'd have time to help me explore my powers.
Yeah, and then I'd have the perfect excuse to talk to him, she realized. Maybe we could bond over what a kick it is to have superhuman powers. Maybe if he'd known I had powers, he would have kissed me.
What was Michael thinking right now? Was he thinking she was a loser for throwing herself at him?
You could take a little peek at him. You do still have his sweatshirt, Maria reminded herself. It was lying right next to the bathtub-and she had the ring on. She wore it all the time.
Maria reached down and touched the sweatshirt with one finger. This is wrong, she thought. But it wasn't a big wrong. It was a little wrong. She only wanted to take a fast look, just to see if she could get any clue about what was going on in Michael's so-called brain.
I'm doing it, she decided. Where is Michael-
Before she completed the thought, the bathtub dissolved into colored dots. When they clumped, they formed a warm white mist. Maria could hear the sound of running water.
She peered through the mist and made out the outlines of a glass door. And on the other side of that door Michael was taking a shower.
Maria started to giggle. Michael would really think she was throwing herself at him if he could see her right now. Thank God, he couldn't.
The tile floor wiggled under her feet, and a few moments later she was back in the bathtub. She turned on the hot water with her toes and warmed up her bath. She let herself slide completely underwater, her hair floating around her face.
Why was the water so cold?
Maria tried to sit up, but she couldn't move. She lay on the bottom of the tub, her body as heavy as lead. Water covered her nose, her mouth.
She felt a tightness in her lungs. She needed to take a breath. There was plenty of air inches away. But she couldn't move inches. She couldn't move at all.
I'm going to drown, Maria thought wildly. I'm going to drown in my own bathtub!
Kevin and her mother wouldn't hear a single splash. Because she couldn't move.
Her lungs began to burn. Her lungs were on fire.
How long did she have? Another minute? Two?
Maria's vision darkened, turning the water above her black.
This is it. This is where I die.
Liz saw Jerry smile as she walked toward him. Good. The absolute rage boiling inside her must not show. It wouldn't be fair to make Jerry deal with that.
Max. He was the guy who deserved to have her fury come pouring down on his head like lava. He deserved to have to stand in that parking lot for hours listening to Liz tell him what a total and complete jerk he was.
He had gotten off way too easily. That's because if Liz had tried to say one more word to him, she would have burst into tears. And that's not something she'd wanted to do in front of him. No, the crying would have to wait until she got home and got into the shower. She didn't cry much, but when she did, the shower was her place. She would adjust the spray so it came down in those stinging needles and let the hot water wash away her tears-and drown out any sounds. She never let her parents hear her when she cried. Never.
"So was he the kid from your kindergarten class?" Jerry asked when she reached him.
Liz shook her head. "Nope. It was a total stranger. I made a fool of myself."
"Yeah, poor guy," Jerry said. "Having some gorgeous girl chase him out to the parking lot." He took a long drink of his planet punch and stared at the dance floor. It was obvious he was embarrassed by what he'd just said.
He's so sweet, Liz thought. He shouldn't be here with her. He should be here with a girl who didn't have ninety-nine percent of her brain focused on some other guy.
Suddenly the music screeched to a stop. The club went black. The crowd gave a long aaah of anticipation, then a loud voice came over the PA. "Okay, everyone. It's that time-time for the alien bop!"
The alien bop. Roswell's answer to the bunny hop. As if the bunny hop needed any kind of answer. Liz could not figure out how it had become this hugely popular thing.
"I have something to tell you. I should have told you before," Jerry said as people began to make long, snaking lines through the club. He leaned closer. "I don't bop."
Liz laughed. A real laugh. "Me neither," she admitted.
It was a moment. One of those times when two people were totally in sync. Liz had them all the time with Max. At least she used to.
"Let's sit down fast," Liz said. She spotted a free table and led the way over to it. She cautiously perched on one of the wobbly moon rock chairs just as the bopping got started.
"Okay, it's time for the judging," Jerry said. "I get to be the East German judge. You can be the Swedish judge." He scanned the long line of alien boppers weaving around the tables.
"See that girl over there?" He tilted his head toward a tall girl dressed in a white shirt and pressed khakis. "I give her a ten for technique. See how she's always on the right foot and how she never breaks her grip on the person in front of her? But she only gets a two for originality. She's not letting enough of her shine through. She's not owning the bop."
Liz laughed again. It felt good. Maybe she wouldn't need a crying session in the shower after all. Maria was right, Liz thought. I'm glad she talked me into doing this.
"The guy over there has the opposite problem," Liz said. She pointed, trying not to be too obvious. "He's so original, I don't think he's even doing the same dance as everybody else."
"So what's his score?" Jerry asked.
"Hmmm. I'd say originality-an eleven. Technique-a minus three. And for the tattoo-four bonus points because I love a guy who's not afraid to walk around with a koala bear on his arm."
Jerry shook his head. "I don't know who let you on this panel. You can't just throw points around like that. Bop judging is a serious responsibility. You're deciding who gets the multimillion-dollar contract to do Cosmic Crunch commercials and who goes home with only a bucketful of shame."
Liz laughed so hard, she snorted. She didn't think Jerry heard because the room had erupted in the post-bop hooting and cheering. When the crowd finally calmed down, a slow song started up.
"You want to?" Jerry asked.
"Sure," she answered. The touching thing… it didn't feel like so much of a thing anymore. It was just a dance. She didn't know why she'd been so weirded out by the idea. What was the big deal?
"You positive you don't want to get some air, or go to the bathroom, or get a soda?" he teased.
Uh-oh. Jerry had caught on to her no-slow-dance strategy. "I'm sorry-" she began.
"It's okay," he interrupted. "I'm sort of shy, too."
Sort of. Liz remembered how she had pegged Jerry as a sort-of guy. But it wasn't true. Now that she'd gotten to know him a little, she realized there was nothing sort of about him.
Jerry held out his hand, and Liz took it. His fingers felt a little sweaty-he was nervous, she realized. He found a corner of the dance floor that wasn't totally crammed with people, then he slid his arms around her back and held her lightly. He didn't try to pull her up against him, and he didn't let his hands wander too low, the way some guys did.