The next thing she remembered was Isabel shaking her, obviously one second away from a total meltdown. Maria knew using her power had caused her to lose another few minutes, but it didn't seem like a good time to explain that to Isabel. Especially after the way Isabel had snapped at her at lunchtime.
Maria knew psychic powers weren't the same as alien powers, but Isabel seemed ready to yell at anyone who even talked about using powers.
"Earth to Maria!" Liz's voice broke into her thoughts.
Maria narrowed her eyes at her best friend. "So," she said. "UFOnics with Jerry?"
Liz chewed her lip. "I don't know…"
Maria shook her head sadly. "I have two words to say to you-"
"Pomeranian better not be one of them," Liz warned.
"Just friends," Maria said. She didn't mean to be harsh, but sometimes Liz really needed a push. "You know I'm right," she added. "Max already made this decision for you."
Liz sighed. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay," she said. "I'll go tell Jerry."
"We have the place to ourselves," Isabel announced as she unlocked her front door. "Max is at work, and so are my parents." She led the way into the living room.
Alex wondered if girls had any idea what effect words could have on a guy. Words like "we have the place to ourselves." Six basic words, not one of them sexual or anything. But whoa. They sent a shock wave through Alex's body.
She just meant it as your basic informational statement, he told himself, like "we have some soda in the fridge" or "we get HBO." It wasn't some kind of invitation.
He sat down on the couch. Isabel sat next to him-so close, he could feel the heat of her body.
Or wait, he thought. Was I wrong? Was it a total girl-speak invitation? A notch down from something like "my bed has a very firm mattress"?
Because if it was an invitation, then he should accept. It was the polite thing to do.
Stop this. Right now, Alex ordered himself. Try to regrow a brain. Of course it's not an invitation, you moron. She saw the guy she loved get killed about two seconds ago.
Alex took a deep breath-and the scent of Isabel's spicy citrus perfume filled his nose. Oh, great. Would it look totally ridiculous if he got up and moved to that chair across from the couch? Because that would make things a lot easier.
Or maybe they could go upstairs. She could lock herself in her room, and he could sit outside the door and talk. He was really good at that.
"Do you want to watch TV?" Isabel asked.
No hidden meaning in those six words at least. "Sure," Alex said.
Isabel handed him the remote, a surprising move from her. Not that she was totally selfish. Not totally. But she did like things her own way-even little things like what TV show to watch-and she pretty much expected people to cooperate.
Alex flipped on the TV and started channel surfing. Isabel moved a little closer to him, making actual skin-to-skin contact between his arm and her arm. His brothers would laugh themselves sick if they could see their little brother getting all excited by touching some girl's arm.
But Isabel… she could turn him inside out with one look from those killer blue eyes. It had been that way since the first day he transferred to Olsen High. He saw her in the hall. She ignored him.
"Is this okay?" Alex asked, stopping on one of the endless talk shows.
"Sure," she answered. "Do you want something to drink?"
Another safe six words. But it would be even safer in here if he could get her away from him for a minute. Maybe when she was gone, he'd move over to the chair. That would be okay. Sort of casual.
And while he was over there, he'd remind himself a few hundred times that this was not a guy-girl event. This was a friend-friend event. Where one friend-that would be him-helped a beautiful, blond, perfectly bodied friend-that would be her-get through a really bad time. Maybe next time he did this, he'd bring Liz. Or Liz and Maria. He could use some chaperons.
Isabel stood up. He thought she would head into the kitchen. But she didn't. She just stood there, staring down at him. He stared back, trying to figure out what she was thinking from the expression on her face.
Then she was on his lap. He didn't know if he reached up and pulled her to him or if she flung herself into his arms. It didn't matter. She was there. And her lips were on his.
So maybe it really was an invitation, he thought. And then he couldn't think at all. He was totally caught up in the feel of her hands in his hair. Her breasts against his chest. Her tongue brushing his.
He was not going to survive this. He was going to combust. Burst into flames so hot, there would be nothing left of him but a pile of cinders.
He didn't care. All he cared about was getting even closer. He couldn't get close enough. Alex wrapped his hands around Isabel's waist and pulled her tighter against him. He thought he heard her give a little whimper of pleasure.
He reached up to stroke her cheek-and his fingers came away wet. His eyes snapped open. And the fire burning through him went out.
Isabel was crying. Tears streaked her face. Alex suddenly realized he could taste salt on his lips. Oh, God. She'd been crying her heart out, and he'd been so caught up in the feel of her mouth, of her body, he hadn't even noticed.
He was an idiot. A moron. Like that little whimper was Isabel getting all passionate because she was into the way Alex was touching her. Right.
"I'm sorry," Isabel mumbled, her voice husky.
"It's okay. It's fine." Alex wanted to jump up and run out of the house. But that's not what Isabel needed from him. She needed him to be there as a friend. She needed him to hold her as a friend.
Alex pulled Isabel's head down on his shoulder. He cradled her in his arms. "You should go ahead and cry. It's good to cry. My mom is always saying that. Try convincing a house full of guys that, though."
He kept talking, saying anything that sprang into his head, keeping his voice low and calm. Trying not to think about her arms around his neck, her body pressed against his.
"I'm so glad you're here," Isabel said, her voice muffled against his shirt.
Alex knew it wasn't true. He knew there was only one guy Isabel really wanted here with her. And it wasn't him.
"Dylan, do you know what the-" Michael stopped, censored himself. "Do you know what a kimbie is?" he yelled. He didn't know exactly where Dylan was, so Michael yelled loud enough that he could be heard anywhere in the entire house.
He hoped that little weasel Dylan hadn't snuck out. The Pascals had said he was supposed to be helping Michael with the baby-sitting. And he was going to be one very sorry junior high school rodent if he didn't answer Michael pretty fast.
Michael tried to spoon another bite of applesauce into the baby's mouth. Sarah, that was her name. After so many foster families it got a little hard to keep track.
Sarah let the applesauce slide into her mouth and spat it back out. Then she laughed. Michael actually had thought the move was kind of cute-the first time. Now that a jar of baby bananas, a jar of baby spinach, and half a jar of baby applesauce were decorating the kitchen, it was getting old. Very old.
"I want kimbie," Amanda screeched from the next room. Who knew a five-year-old girl who insisted on dressing up like a fairy princess every day could yell that loud? Maybe he should try telling her that fairy princesses had very, very soft voices.
"Dylan!" Michael roared. "Get in here now! If I have to come looking for you, it's not going to be pretty."