WHY ON EARTH

AN ALIEN INVASION ANTHOLOGY

Edited by ROSIEE THOR and VANIA STOYANOVA

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PROLOGUE: NO STRANGERS TO LOVE

BY VANIA STOYANOVA AND ROSIEE THOR

CHIP: In a world filled with uncertainty, one group of teenagers will shake the world to its core. Humanity’s greatest fear becomes a reality when the skies part to reveal an ancient truth and a force not known before as it descends among the humans.

No one could have seen their arrival coming.

The world—

No, the United States—

No … California. California would never be the same after today.

IONA: CHIP, can you please stop narrating our secret mission?

DEXIN: Yeah, let’s not put it all on the comms. If Mom gets ahold of this transcript, I don’t want them to know I was part of this.

CHIP: Too late. You’ll have to manually delete the files later.

DEXIN: UGH. It’s so much work.

IONA: Just do it, Dex. And then get back to the bridge.

Iona pulled her gaze from the text scrolling along her optical lens to refocus on the task at hand … . The ship’s AI, CHIP, was right. They’d be in for a load of hurt if Dexin’s mother—or any of their parents, for that matter—got wind of their flawless but entirely unsanctioned operation. They’d set the engines to full-burn to cut the travel time in half just to avoid that unsavory possibility. But none of that would matter if they didn’t get where they were going, and for that, Iona needed the whole crew: the pilot, Moysah, with their steady hands on the steering controls; Vidra, the navigator, who was rechecking the trajectory once more; Eames in the medic bay stressing about having enough supplies; Solles, their engineer, who never faced a problem they couldn’t solve; and Dexin … well, Dexin was probably in his cabin watching videos of fuzzy Terran creatures getting scared by vegetables, a genre of Terran entertainment Iona could not and would not understand.

“Report?” Iona barked, eyes flicking across the nav screen. It unfurled before her, every minute detail about the ship and its six passengers.

“We aren’t there yet,” came Moysah’s curt reply. “Just like we weren’t there five minutes ago last time you asked.”

Had it really only been five minutes? The sardonic smile on Moysah’s face chastened Iona some. Even seated in the pilot’s chair, their long, lanky limbs draped over the armrests without a care in the world, Moysah had an imposing look to them. They were the tallest of them all, pushing seven feet—always looking over their heads so, as they liked to joke, they saw things before anyone else in their crew did. Maybe that was what made them the best pilot in their class. Or, rather, they were the best pilot without a strong sense of self-preservation. No one with an ounce of sense would’ve signed on for Iona’s death wish of a mission. That was just fine by Iona. She had enough sense for the lot of them.

“Do we have an ETA, at least?” she asked through her teeth.

Vidra, seated just behind Moysah, opened her mouth to reply, but the pilot beat her to it.

“We’ll get there when we get there. Take a load off, Captain. Watch a Terran movie or something.”

“Watch a Terran movie? What use would that be?”

Moysah pivoted in the pilot’s chair and shrugged. “Research.”

Iona narrowed her large eyes, recalling the last of the earthly films Dexin had made them watch in preparation for their mission—Galaxy Quest, in which a group of misguided aliens faced disastrous consequences after assuming a work of Terran fiction was fact. Iona, however, didn’t have time for such frivolous research when there was more important work to be done for this mission.

“Or you could argue with CHIP some more,” Moysah muttered.

Before she could rebuff Moysah’s suggestion, a new message from one of her crew crossed the optical screen of her communication center.

EAMES: What if this goes wrong? It can go wrong, you know. It can totally go wrong.

SOLLES: Oh my stars, Eames. Calmness, please. Many calculations were made.

EAMES: What if the Terrans hate us? They usually do, you know.

DEXIN: Usually? What do you mean, usually?

EAMES: Like in that movie you made us watch.

SOLLES: Specificity is needed. Dexin has made us watch many films.

DEXIN: Eames, buddy. Those aren’t real. Besides, the Terrans have never noticed our presence before. Why should this be any different?

CHIP: They thought they were unstoppable, their mission foolproof, but little did they know there was a grand flaw in their plan.

IONA: CHIP! There’s no flaw. We go in, snatch Axariam, and get out.

EAMES: Maybe CHIP is right. We’re screwed.

SOLLES: Your pessimism is unhelpful, Eames.

CHIP: It was warranted, though. Little did the young Trevvals know what troubles awaited them on the planet below.

IONA: Shut it, CHIP. You, too, Eames.

“So, you’re really not worried?” Moysah asked.

Iona fixed her pilot with a withering stare. “You have time to read the comm log but not enough to back me up?”

“Seems like you had it handled without me.” Moysah shrugged, returning their attention to the nav screen. “Besides, I’ve got a landing to prepare for.”

Iona opened her mouth to argue further, but then Moysah’s words caught up to her. “Landing? Does that mean—”

“Yes, your captainship. If Vidra’s calculations are correct, we’re almost there.”

Vidra nodded in confirmation.

“See?” Moysah inclined their head toward the navigator. “Your brother’s rescue is imminent, assuming nothing goes wrong.”

Iona groaned. “You’re starting to sound like Solles.”

“Better Solles than CHIP.”

Speaking of the troublesome AI, CHIP was still at it in the comm log, not exactly discouraged by Eames.

CHIP: They had not a care for the mistakes they’d made already.

EAMES: What mistakes? CHIP, WHAT MISTAKES?!

CHIP: They had failed to reach the target of their rescue mission to prepare him for extraction.

EAMES: Max doesn’t know we’re coming?

IONA: Max … what an Earth name to go by. It’s Axariam.

EAMES: Do you think he just slapped on an M to sound Terran??

DEXIN: I read an interview where he calls it his “stage name.”

SOLLES: Is it his first stage or his second stage? How many stages are there?

DEXIN: It’s not even his final form!

EAMES: Okay … but the question still stands. You couldn’t reach him to let him know we’re coming to help?

IONA: Have you seen what conditions he lives in? The Terrans have made him one of their idols.

DEXIN: They call them “stars” or “celebrities.”

IONA: Nevertheless, he’s closely monitored and guarded at all times.

“Did you ever consider Max might not want to come home?” Moysah’s voice pulled Iona from her comm port again.

Iona bristled at the use of her brother’s Terran name. She was the only one who still used his Trevval name—Axariam—but that would all change once he returned. “No, I didn’t.” Why would Iona consider that? He was her brother, and he belonged back home. Surely, he hadn’t meant to stay on Earth as long as he had. What was it now, five Earth years?

“Maybe you should.” Moysah’s skin tinged blue as they turned their face away, back toward the nav screen. “Not everyone can be like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Iona lurched forward, her safety belt preventing her from standing in her indignation, though her voice rose in volume significantly. “My brother was about to graduate—with honors—before he was taken.”

SOLLES: I thought his mission failed.

EAMES: I heard he ran away

IONA: Stop eavesdropping. This conversation doesn’t concern you.

DEXIN: Then stop screaming. We can hear you through the walls.

SOLLES: I fail to understand your assertion, Captain. If Max did not complete his mission, how was he able to graduate with honors?

Ignoring the chat, as Moysah was wont to do, the pilot’s attention remained on their maps as they spoke. “Max is a smart guy. Which is why I think it’s unlikely he failed his mission.”

“What are you implying?” Iona asked.

“You know Max better than anyone, right? Why do you think he hasn’t made an escape?”

Iona didn’t have a reply. The truth was, she thought she’d known her brother. Before, he was on track to become one of the youngest captains the Trevvals had seen in a decade. He was good. Better than Iona, she was loath to admit. Their parents were so happy. Iona would give anything to see her parents’ faces awash with that same pride for her own accomplishments. But Axariam … he hadn’t cared about things like that.

He hadn’t cared about much of anything.

SOLLES: How did your brother end up in Monica—

CHIP: Santa Monica. Los Angeles, to be exact. Previous flight logs took him to Toronto, Beijing, and Dull.

DEXIN: Wait … Dull?

VIDRA: It is a location in Scotland.

EAMES: Another city?

VIDRA: City is a generous term.

CHIP: The mission was destined for Perth but missed the mark by approximately fifty kilometers.

IONA: How is this important?

CHIP: It isn’t! I simply aim to add much-needed dimensional flavor to your conversation.

DEXIN: You’re calling us dull?

CHIP: No, I ’m calling the landing site of Max’s third mission Dull, which is its name.

IONA: Whatever. The point is, he has always come back. This time won’t be an exception. I’ll make sure of that.

EAMES: So, do you think he’s being held captive or something?

SOLLES: Or maybe he’s been brainwashed.

EAMES: Did you see his last interview with that person, umm …

SOLLES: Mr. Fair? Vanity Fair?

EAMES: The one where he was strapped down to that machine? Forced to spill his secrets?

SOLLES: It is so cruel.

EAMES: I like the one where they forced him to contend with a horde of small beasts.

IONA: You did not just say you like seeing my brother tortured by the Terrans, Eames.

EAMES: The beasts are so cute, though … .

VIDRA: They looked very soft. I wonder if we’ll meet any during our mission.

DEXIN: Everybody shut up and look at your feeds.

IONA: A new missive?

DEXIN: Max is on television again!

“Vidra—”

“On it!” Vidra said, her voice squeaky as she pulled up the video feed Dexin had shared with all of them, displaying it on the large screen in place of her navigation charts.

Humans with their painted faces and bold features paraded through the screen in colorful garb. Iona had to admit that while they looked so different—and small compared to herself and her fellow Trevvals—the Terrans had a certain intrigue about them. A human with voluminous golden hair and a glittery blue dress stood on a carpet of vibrant red. In her hand, she held some sort of tool with a long handle inscribed with metallic Terran letters. Perhaps it was a weapon.

“I’m Trixie Pierce, coming to you live from the red carpet in Santa Monica, where later this evening a star-studded guest list will take in the cinematic wonder of Midnight Eyes.

Leading man, Max Spencer, is here with us via satellite to share some juicy details in advance of tonight’s premiere.” A second box came into frame next to the woman with what appeared to be a Terran man, though Iona would recognize her brother anywhere, even with his cloaking device on. “Max, curious minds want to know. What’s been your experience with this project and working with the director? Coming from music to movies, this must have been quite the adventure.”

“I won’t lie. It hasn’t been easy.” Iona’s heart seemed to stop in her chest as the voice of her brother speaking the Terran English language filled her ears.

EAMES: What’s wrong with his face?

DEXIN: The magic of contour and botox!

SOLLES: Is that some other kind of torture?

DEXIN: In a way … .

Axariam—or Max, Iona could deign to call him in his disguise—and the Terran laughed together. Iona’s ears filled with a roaring anger, her heart beating a warrior cry in her chest. She would save him. She had to save him.

“Everything you’ve heard … it’s all true. He really puts his actors to work. It’s rough, but honestly? We wouldn’t want it any other way. He pushes us. Makes us dig into ourselves … .”

EAMES: Surely this is a cry for help.

SOLLES: If he is being asked to dig into himself, why can’t we see his wounds?

DEXIN: I told you, contour!

“Well, there you have it folks! Don’t miss the enigmatic Max Spencer in Midnight Eyes this weekend. Here’s the trailer now.”

The screen flashed away from them to show an overhead view of misty pine trees as low orchestral notes played in the background, then it cut to a forest path. Words in gold curling letters appeared over it all.

When the beast is inside you …

There was the sound of heavy footfalls and breathing, a shot of a large paw print in the mud, and then … Max. Shirtless and covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes darted around. The letters returned, snaking up around his shoulders.

There’s nowhere to run.

A chill scurried down Iona’s back. She’d never seen that look on her brother’s face before. It was pure panic, unmitigated fear. They’d also done something to the lower half of his torso—made it look fuller and strangely lumpy. Perhaps it was a result of the torture, though Iona had never seen another Trevval with such symptoms.

“We’ll bring you home. I promise,” she whispered to her brother on the screen, now standing in front of a roaring waterfall, still only half-clothed.

DEXIN: Apparently, Terrans like movies about abs.

SOLLES: What’s “abs”?

CHIP: Abs refer to the appealing feature in Terrans when their abdominal muscles are well-defined, akin to rocks or a sextet of canned beverages bound together with plastic.

“I can’t believe this is my job,” Moysah groaned. “Can we get back to the mission?”

Iona would have liked nothing more, but the image on the screen had changed once more. Max swung a tool over his head, slamming it down to split a piece of wood in half.

“At least they gave him a weapon.” Iona’s chest felt tight as she forced out the words. “I just wish he wasn’t alone in all this.”

“Wish granted, apparently.”

Moysah pointed to the screen, which now depicted Max beside another shirtless Terran. This one had hair growing out of their torso and long hair pulled into a knot behind their head.

SOLLES: What are they doing now?

CHIP: This is when two humans have a meeting of the lips. Also known as kissing.

IONA: That’s disgusting.

EAMES: I don’t know. Maybe it’s nice … .

DEXIN: Do you think we should try it?

EAMES: Ew! Not with you!

Moysah, apparently fed up with waiting on Iona’s permission, switched the screen back over to the navigation control panel.

“We’re getting close now. Entering orbit soon,” Vidra said. Her eyes were glued to the nav screen, but her fingers worried over a small metal device in her lap. Nervous as always, but Iona would rather her navigator be nervous than distracted like the others.

IONA: Focus up, everyone. It’s time.

EAMES: Time for what?

IONA: Are you joking?

CHIP: Better not be. Everyone knows I’m the funny one.

IONA: The plan is simple. Moysah will land stealthily in the mountains of Hollywood. From there, we’ll make our way to the movie premiere, and when we get there, Dexin and I will make our way inside once Eames and Solles have created a diversion. Meanwhile, Moysah and Vidra will prep the transporters to teleport us back to the ship quickly. We rendezvous at the ship with my brother in tow and leave Earth forever.

CHIP: This plan lacks many details.

IONA: This is the condensed version, CHIP! And besides, you are not part of this plan. You’re staying on the ship.

CHIP: I may not inhabit a body like the rest of you, but you cannot leave me behind. I will be with each and every one of you via your communication ports whether you like it or not.

IONA: I do not.

DEXIN: Hey, CHIP. I appreciate you, buddy.

CHIP: And I, you. Buddy.

EAMES: Are you two going to have a meeting of the lips?

CHIP: That would be quite impossible. I do not have a mouth.

DEXIN: Let me tell you, you’re missing out.

SOLLES: Just a moment, why are Eames and I the distraction? Isn’t Dexin better suited?

DEXIN: I’m better suited for a lot of things, but unlike CHIP, I can’t be in two places at once.

IONA: I need Dexin with me. He’s the most knowledgeable about Terran customs.

EAMES: Solles just wants to see the abs up close.

SOLLES: I do not!

EAMES: Well, I do.

DEXIN: Hey, you could’ve prepared for this like I did. Then maybe you’d be going with the boss.

SOLLES: Are you really calling watching hundreds of hours of The Big Bang Theory “preparation?”

DEXIN: How else would I know that it is customary to announce your presence at someone’s residence by knocking and calling their name three times?

IONA: You have your assignments, and they’re final.

DEXIN: Hey, I’m good. I’m just worried about you, Captain.

IONA: Why?

DEXIN: You don’t exactly have the Terran lingo down.

Iona narrowed her eyes and made a gruff involuntary sound in the back of her throat.

“Hey, Dexin’s right.” Moysah eyed her up and down. “You’re not exactly a California vibe.”

Iona adopted her best impression of a Terran, a mishmash of the various clips Dexin had shown her over the years. “I’ve toooootally got dis!”

DEXIN: I heard that, and it was terrible.

CHIP: No amount of Hollywood coaching would help the Captain. She was a seven-foot-tall alien, with eyes too wide for Terran standards and skin that changed color with the temperature, about to enter unprepared into the height of human society. Glitz and glam clashed with her very spirit.

DEXIN: A scathingly accurate description, CHIP.

IONA: Okay, well at least we have our tech to help us blend in.

SOLLES: Speaking of which … .

EAMES: Don’t tell us there’s a problem with the cloaking devices.

SOLLES: I would not characterize it as a “problem.”

VIDRA: Oh, good. I don’t think I could handle being gawked at by a bunch of Terrans.

SOLLES: However … I have not been granted enough time to fully develop the cloaking devices you requested, Captain.

IONA: What do you mean, Solles? Our whole operation falls apart without disguises.

SOLLES: Rest assured, the Terrans will only see you as one of their own. However, it is best to avoid getting wet.

IONA: Dare I ask, why?

SOLLES: The cloaking technology I was able to create is not as sophisticated as official tech like what Max has, unfortunately. It may become faulty if you submerge yourself or the device in water or other liquids.

DEXIN: So as long as none of us goes for a swim, we’re good?

That should be easy enough.

CHIP: The planet Earth is 71 percent water.

VIDRA: But Santa Monica is part of the continent.

IONA: Okay, so we’ll all avoid water, and the cloaking devices will work as intended. No one will be able to tell the difference between us and your average Terran.

Moysah let out a loud cough, jolting Iona away from the chat log.

“What?”

“It’s just … you can use a cloaking device to disguise your body, but I don’t know how you’re going to disguise that stick up your—”

“I will remind you that I am your captain, Moysah,” Iona growled.

“See? This is my point.”

“Your job is to get us where we’re going, not to critique my personality.”

Moysah shrugged. “As your best friend, I think it’s a little bit my job.”

Iona bristled with pent-up energy. Between her brother’s hostage situation and the long hours spent cooped up on the ship, she was eager to get to work. Waiting wasn’t in her blood. She wanted to get to Earth, and she wanted to get there quickly—she’d even doubled the engine output so they could do it in a day. But Moysah wasn’t the right outlet for her anger. No, she was saving all that for the Terrans who took her brother.

“Whatever. Would you just fly?” she said, looking back at the chat. Moysah still hadn’t joined. “And plug in, won’t you? Once we land, these are the only things keeping us linked. I don’t want to lose touch.”

Moysah ignored her.

The chat log pinged.

MOYSAH: Attention, crew! We are in orbit. Landing in T-5 Earth minutes.

IONA: See? Was that so hard?

DEXIN: Hard like Max’s abs!

MOYSAH: Our clock starts now. We have 12 Earth hours to get in and get out.

IONA: We just need two.

VIDRA: Local time in Santa Monica is 1200 hours.

DEXIN: That’s a lot of hours.

VIDRA: It means it’s midday.

DEXIN: Just so you know, most Terrans call that “noon.”

EAMES: If we miss curfew, you know we’ll be in so much trouble. Maybe even grounded for the rest of the solar cycle.

IONA: That won’t happen. And besides, it would be worth it to have Axariam home.

SOLLES: Wear your cloaking devices at all times and remember to avoid bodies of water. The consequences of being discovered by the humans will be disastrous not only for our safety but for all Trevvals. We have no way of knowing how the Terrans will react. The historical implications would—DEXIN: Yes, we get it.

IONA: We won’t fail.

CHIP: Famous last words.

IONA: Can we turn you off?

DEXIN: NO! I mean … as your Communications Director on this mission … No. That also would be disastrous.

EAMES: Are you sure you and CHIP don’t have something going on?

DEXIN: We turn CHIP off, and we lose all access to our portal back. It’s that simple. And more importantly, we can’t risk losing communication with each other when we get to the surface.

MOYSAH: Whatever would we do without your constant chitchat?

DEXIN: Your sarcasm is uncalled for.

MOYSAH: I think you’ll find it is, in fact, called for.

IONA: Everybody shut up. But please, once we land, tone down the dramatics. Only communicate as needed. There will be enough going on without the stream of consciousness clogging up the feed.

DEXIN: Good thing I’ll be going with you. I can regale you with my every thought in person!

EAMES: Bet you regret not making Dexin the distraction now, huh?

IONA: What did I just say about clogging up the feed?

VIDRA: To be fair, you only said it mattered once we land … .

IONA: Well, it matters now, too. Got it?

SOLLES: Yes, Captain!

VIDRA: Copy!

EAMES: Sure.

DEXIN: Yeehaw!

IONA: Does that mean you understand?

DEXIN: It is a traditional Terran exclamation of excitement and horsemanship.

IONA: … So does that mean you understand?

DEXIN: Ugh, yes. You’re no fun.

IONA: CHIP, that means you, too.

CHIP: Their trusty, bodiless sidekick was ready to guide the heroes through their treacherous journey to rescue their friend. On the mountainous horizon, there was triumph in the air!

With a sigh, Iona turned to Vidra and Moysah in turn. “Ready?” she asked.

“Everything is in order,” Vidra said.

“On your signal.” Moysah, laser-focused, didn’t take their eyes off the nav screen.

IONA: Everyone strap in.

EAMES: Done!

SOLLES: Here we go … .

MOYSAH: Initiating landing sequence.

DEXIN: Are you ready to roll???

IONA: Is that a Terran turn of phrase?

Dexin didn’t reply. Instead, a rhythmic electronic sequence sounded from the main console as Moysah’s navigation maps disappeared, replaced by a video of a gangly Terran with a shock of red hair moving in a strange pattern of gyration. His lips moved, and a deep melodic tone escaped as he sang: “We’re no strangers to love …”

MOYSAH: Dexin, I will strangle you with my bare hands.

IONA: Turn it off. Now.

DEXIN: Oh, come on!

IONA: Seriously, what is this?

CHIP: Dexin has just engaged in a traditional Terran custom called Rickrolling. Ha-ha. Good one, Dexin.

DEXIN: Thank you. See? CHIP understands me.

IONA: And I wish you and CHIP a very happy life together. But can you make it stop?

DEXIN: CHIP would never give me up.

CHIP: Quite correct.

DEXIN: CHIP would never let me down.

MOYSAH: Speaking of letting people down … .

DEXIN: CHIP would never run around and desert me.

MOYSAH: Shut up, Dexin. We’re in trouble.

Iona’s head snapped up. “What kind of trouble?”

“That kind.” Vidra pointed a spindly finger at a blinking red light in the corner of the screen.

Moysah groaned. “Something’s wrong, but I can’t tell what because of Dexin’s stupid video.”

IONA: Dexin, make it stop. NOW.

DEXIN: Okay, okay. Let me just—

But whatever Dexin was going to do, it wasn’t fast enough. Iona didn’t need the nav screen when she could just look out the window. The planet was coming at them fast. Too fast.

IONA: Escape pods, now!!

CHIP: Warning! Warning!

MOYSAH: We know!

IONA: A little late, CHIP.

Vidra was already halfway to the escape pods by the time Iona wrestled herself free of her restraints. Grabbing Moysah by the hand, Iona wrenched her friend from the pilot’s seat and pushed them down the hallway. She saw a flash of movement as the others barreled their way toward safety.

“Go!” Iona shouted.

Moysah clung to Iona’s hand. “Not without you.” Her friend looked at her with pleading eyes, face contorted in a pained expression. “There are six escape pods—one for each of us.”

Iona felt a twinge below her ribs. It felt wrong to part from Moysah now. There was a nebulous sense of something she ought to say, but Iona had never been good at such things. Instead, she squeezed Moysah’s hand, hoping the pilot understood better than she did how much they mattered to her. Iona didn’t have the time to linger on such thoughts now, though. None of them did. Someone had to get the ship to ground safely, or they’d have no way to leave Earth once they got there. She held her ground, prying Moysah’s fingers from around her wrist.

“I’m the captain, Moysah. I go down with the ship.”

Before Moysah could so much as open their mouth to argue, Iona shoved them into the closest pod and slammed her fist down on the door’s controls. She would see them again. She had to believe that.

CHIP: The crew went their separate ways, never to see each other again.

IONA: CHIP, I swear I will reboot you when all this is over.

CHIP: You wouldn’t dare!

IONA: Get me safely to the ground, and I’ll reconsider.

With a speed she wasn’t certain she was capable of, Iona launched herself into the pilot’s seat, fingers flying over the controls. In the corner of the screen, a bulletin flashed green six times. One for each of the escape pods.

IONA: Turn on the gravity regulator so we don’t die on impact.

CHIP: It is done. However, the impact is not my main concern.

IONA: What is?

CHIP: The engines are too hot. No matter how hard we hit the ground, there will be an explosion.

IONA: Too hot? Why?

CHIP: The engines have been running for too long at full power.

IONA: What idiot set them that high?

CHIP: You did, Captain.

IONA: No—

CHIP: You requested we get to Earth in the fastest way possible.

Iona swore under her breath. In her haste to get to her brother, she’d forgotten to think about the consequences. CHIP was right. This was all her fault.

IONA: Can you run a cooling protocol?

CHIP: Unfortunately, I am unable to do so.

Iona swept her gaze over the nav screen, but she barely knew what she was looking at. Vidra was the expert, not her. But then something caught her eye out the window … something big and blue.

IONA: What if we plan for a water landing?

CHIP: That would, indeed, mitigate some of the flammable potential of the impact.

She didn’t need telling twice. Iona keyed in new landing coordinates and locked the autopilot.

CHIP: Might I make a suggestion?

IONA: I don’t see a way to stop you.

CHIP: Fasten your seat belt so you do not experience a traumatic and unseemly death.

IONA: Thanks for that mental image … .

The planet was a smooth globe of green and blue no more. Instead, Iona was plunged into murky atmosphere. Clouds obscured her vision out the window, and the nav screen was a jumble of sequences she did not understand. With an involuntary gasp of air, Iona buckled her seat belt and closed her eyes. There was no point in watching what was sure to be a grisly end.

The ship shuddered beneath her, engines roaring. Iona could hear every click and groan of metal. The temperature rose, her skin certainly transforming with the heat. It was her one saving grace, the thermal layer of skin all Trevvals had. It would make her look utterly strange to the Terrans below, but it would keep her from burning up inside the ship and from succumbing to hypothermia once she was in the water. She might yet survive this.

The impact came before she could brace for it, a force greater and stranger than Iona could have imagined. Her legs felt numb from the shock, her jaw rigid.

CHIP: We have made landing … or watering … .

Iona couldn’t do more than sit and stare. At the water around them, at the way her ship rocked back and forth, at the way her muscles screamed to move.

CHIP: Captain?

It would take only a thought to write a response, but everything felt like too much. She was alive, but was anyone else?

IONA: Report. What’s your status?

She waited … and waited … and waited … . It was taking too long. If they were all right, someone would have responded by now. The grim possibility washed over her like a wave, threatening to pull her under. Or maybe that was an actual wave outside the ship. She’d had a plan, and it had failed. But she couldn’t let that stop her. Her brother needed her. She would do this alone if she had to.

CHIP: Communications do not appear to be working. The impact has disrupted my ability to receive their signal, among other things.

IONA: Among other things?

CHIP: My ability to interface with the ship has been damaged as well.

IONA: What does that mean?

CHIP: It means we are unable to take off until this issue has been fixed.

IONA: And how do I do that?

CHIP: It is a simple matter of recalibrating me with the Trevval network.

IONA: Where’s Solles when you need them?

CHIP: Do not fret, Captain! For I, your trusty AI, will give you step-by-step instructions and companionable affirmations along the way.

IONA: Please don’t, I beg of you … .

CHIP: My ability to comprehend negativity has also been damaged in the crash, it seems. I cannot compute your request.

IONA: Completely hopeless irritating personality … .

CHIP: Actually, it stands for Cybernetic Helpful Informational Personality!

IONA: I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Dexin. He’d know how to shut you up.

CHIP: I can guide you in that endeavor as well, but first you must procure another piece of Trevval technology for me to sync up with.

IONA: Like my cloaking device or something?

CHIP: Your cloaking device is paired with our ship already; therefore, it is of no use to me.

IONA: What about my brother’s?

CHIP: Max’s translator or communication port would be acceptable.

IONA: Okay, we’ll do that when we pick him up. What about the rest of the crew?

CHIP: The others are still out there, but we cannot make contact. Your crew’s vitals are still reading as normal … mostly. We may yet see them alive again.

IONA: Isn’t that a little optimistic?

CHIP: What the Captain did not know was that hope was not all she had at her disposal. With her trusty sidekick, CHIP, there was nothing the dynamic duo could not overcome.

Iona tore the AI consul from the dashboard.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” said CHIP through her earpiece.

Iona didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she wrapped the loose wires around her wrist, fashioning ship-CHIP into a bracelet. With any luck, it would look a little like a Terran mobile device—Dexin had called them some kind of fruit watch. When she was done, she turned her attention back to the chat log.

IONA: Seriously … anyone else out there?

She had to find the others. She was a captain, after all, and a captain always had a crew. She would never give them up. She would never let them down. And she would certainly never perform cardiac ambulatory exercise and desert them.

IONA: Please?

For a moment, silence wrapped around Iona in the shell of the ship as it bobbed along with the Terran sea. No reply came in the chat log. Iona’s chest constricted. She should have known better than to hope.

But then, from the warped speakers of the device around her wrist came a familiar electronic beat and lyrics that made her face split into an undignified grin she would later deny most vehemently.

We’re no strangers to love … .

ONE LAST SHOT BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD

BY JULIAN WINTERS

Liam

iMessage

Today 12:02 PM

remember: if he says no, I’ll go with you

but he wont say no!

because you’re a 10. a 12! they haven’t invented a number for how amazing you are!

youve got this Steph

I’ll always be here for you

The worst part about an alien invasion so far? No cell service.

From the floor, I reread my best friend’s last messages for a fifth time. I finally got to look at it just as I lost service. Before I stepped onto this elevator. Before the power flickered out, which happened less than thirty minutes after the news broke:

ALIEN SHIP CRASH-LANDS INTO SANTA MONICA PIER!

Now I’m trapped in one of the elevators at my high school.

The interior is lit by a single red emergency light. Sweat itches against the hairline of my shadow fade. It feels so small in here, too hot. I stretch my long legs out. One of my scuffed Jordans kicks my gym bag.

I shouldn’t even be here. What seventeen-year-old voluntarily goes to school on a Saturday during the summer? Technically, I didn’t volunteer for this. Coach Miller suggested summer practices for anyone who wanted to make the boys’ varsity basketball team in the fall. I’m not as confident as some of the other guys. My spot isn’t guaranteed, so I came.

To impress my dad, honestly.

I hate that that’s a reason I’m here. It’s not like he’d notice. Not while living his perfect life in Atlanta with his new girlfriend. The fact that I’m stuck in a tiny silver box at Santa Monica High School, miles away from real-life aliens doing God-knows-what in my city, probably hasn’t even crossed his mind.

I think about my mom. About Liam. My pulse kicks up. It drums heavily against the back of my jaw. I close my eyes, letting my head thud against the wall.

“Careful.”

Shit. I blink hard against the crimson glow. My eyes flit to the opposite wall. To the boy sitting on the floor across from me. I almost forgot he was here.

Even in the harsh red, I can etch out Eric Conrad’s features. I’ve studied them numerous times. In the halls. Out in the quad during lunch. When he’s onstage for a play.

His messily tousled hair, deep gold like jarred honey. Warm tan skin that drinks up the year-round California sun. Glacier blue eyes. His long nose. He’s a little taller than my six-foot frame, but he’s reedy while I’m putting on more muscle in my arms and calves from hooping.

Eric is startlingly beautiful. My stomach tightens just staring at him.

He smiles. “I can’t afford to be blamed for our school’s future star shooting guard—”

“Point guard,” I quietly correct.

“—getting a concussion.”

I shrug. “You could always blame the aliens.”

He snorts. “Oh, I plan to.”

There’s a lightness in his crooked grin, the casual tilt of his head, that makes me ignore the weirdness behind his deep voice.

Silence creeps back into the elevator. This is why I shouldn’t be here. Usually, I take the stairs after practice. I like the extra workout. The bonus surge of endorphins.

But once the crash happened—everyone’s phones going off simultaneously in the gym—the whole team panicked. Coach was shouting about the shelter-in-place order and getting home. She warned us about the rolling power outages, probably from the freaking alien ship that smashed right into one of my favorite places.

She yelled, “Stay calm and don’t go near the Pier!”

Of course, we scrambled.

Suddenly, I couldn’t remember my left from my right. I sprinted down the wrong hall. And there he was. Eric, biting his thumbnail. Waiting for the elevator doors to ping open.

My brain had only one thought: Do it now.

“You’re going to ask him today, right?” Liam inquired early this morning over FaceTime.

I remember my big, wide, goofy smile in the bottom corner of the screen. My tawny skin glowing with embarrassment. I rehearsed what I was going to say while brushing down the thick, dark eyebrows I inherited from my dad.

“Today’s the day,” I told Liam.

Liam’s smile wasn’t half the size of mine. Which was weird because Liam Nguyễn is always happy about something—food, a new chess board, almost beating me at NBA 2K—but it didn’t matter. All I was concerned about was Eric Conard.

So here I am. It’s possibly the end of the world and instead of running my ass home, I hopped on an elevator to finally ask my crush out.

Priorities? I don’t know her.

I scan Liam’s last text one more time. For confidence. Then, I open my selfie camera. I check my appearance. I look decent, my tank top showing off my biceps and collarbones, my face a little too shiny from post-practice sweat and—

Damn it. I didn’t even get to shower. Discreetly, I duck my head to take a cursory sniff under one of my arms.

“I’m Eric,” he says out of nowhere.

For a second time, I startle. I bobble with my phone, catching it before it falls. Hastily, I lock the screen. “I know,” I say a little too fondly, my eyes widening when he flicks up an eyebrow. “I mean …”

What do I mean?

That I know who he is because, even though we’ve never had a class together, I watch him stroll into his bio class with his chin lifted, eyes bright every morning? That I know he hates spicy foods because I overheard him say it one day? That we don’t run in the same social circles, but I know his best friend is Leigh Schwab, and when some kids were giving her shit for coming out as pan, he came out as bi by standing on a table and shouting it out in the middle of the quad?

“I mean,” I try again, swallowing, “I see you everywhere. Uh, your posters. For the school plays. You’re, like, really good.”

Great job, Steph Thomas. That didn’t sound stalkerish at all.

The corners of Eric’s mouth rise again.

“And you’re … Steven, right?”

“Stephen,” I softly correct.

“Stephen,” he repeats, but with this strange emphasis in the middle, almost like he’s still saying Steven.

“Everyone calls me Steph,” I jump in before he tries again.

“Like Curry?”

I don’t tell him I’m actually named after my dad. I don’t want to talk about him right now. Or ever, really.

I nod, smiling. “Basketball fan?”

“Oh no.” He laughs. It’s a rich timbre, deep like a rolling wave. “No offense”—his eyes drag from my shoes to my mesh shorts and up to my face—“but that’s not really a sport for me.”

A stilted chuckle climbs up my throat. “What’s wrong? Got a weak jump shot? Bad footwork?”

If that’s the case, I get where he’s coming from. Liam is awful on the court. But he still tries. Mostly, he plays one-on-one with me so I can get better.

“That’s not it. The basketball court is where certain people belong.” He waves a hand around his head. Amusement crinkles his eyes. “I’m better onstage. In front of the camera.”

A tiny wrinkle forms between my brows.

Where certain people belong?

“You’re great out there,” Eric adds. “My friends tell me all the time.”

I hear what he isn’t saying: I’ve never been to one of your games. Which doesn’t sting. Why should it? Eric’s clearly not into sports. He has no reason to come and watch me play.

Not yet at least.

My eyes drift to my phone. To the place I have that email from Mom saved. The one with the tickets.

“What do you think they want?”

My gaze jerks back to Eric. “Hmm?”

“The aliens.” He pulls his legs to his chest. Flashes of skin appear from the rips around his knees. He sighs. “I don’t get it. Of all the places in the world they could go. All the resources and power. Why on earth come to Santa Monica?”

“The Pacific Wheel?” I offer half-heartedly.

“Seems like a waste.”

“I don’t know. The Pier would be a cool place for a date.”

I hear Liam’s voice in my head: Smooth, Steph. Your game is unmatched.

Eric chokes on a laugh. “You think aliens came here to hook up? Like, that’s their agenda? Meeting their soulmate and making out after eating churros?”

His voice is sharp but not mocking.

I slump against the wall. “Maybe?”

“Doubt it. They’re probably not even half as intelligent as us.”

“They could be,” I counter.

“Maybe.” He parrots my tone from a second ago. A wry smirk pokes at his pink lips. “That’s not what I saw on the news, though.”

Without prompting, he tugs out his phone. Then he’s crawling to my side of the elevator. Wiggling down next to me. We’re shoulder to shoulder as he unlocks his screen. I can smell his cologne.

Sandalwood and something sweet.

“I got some screenshots before service went out,” he tells me.

I try to keep up with every swipe. All the headlines. The panic, the assumptions.

“So …” I scratch my jaw. “You really think they’re here to harm us?”

“Of course! We’re obviously a threat.”

“Are we?” I laugh out loud. “What if they came here in peace?”

“Steph, Steph.” I hear the humor in his voice. As if he can’t believe how far off I am. “Read what they’re saying.”

I stare at his screen. All his sources are from news outlets I never read. The ones Mom warns me about. Where biased opinions are presented as facts. Where the journalists and analysts use false narratives to influence rather than report.

“Umm … shouldn’t we wait until we know more reliable info?”

His shoulder brushes mine when he swipes again.

“This is good enough for me,” he says. “My dad looks at these sites all the time. He’s a smart man.”

I don’t comment.

His body is still leaning against mine as his thumb slides across the screen again. Instead of another article, it’s a photo. A shirtless group of boys posing on Santa Monica Beach.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses. “Sorry. I, uh—”

I tap the screen. “You like Six for Eternity?”

As in the boy band. They became popular after almost winning a reality talent show. Their music is catchy. Most fans are more into their pretty faces than their mediocre voices.

But I already know why Eric likes them.

“I only listen to them because of Max Spencer,” he admits.

I pretend to be shocked. To not have seen him with one of those threaded friendship bracelets Max is known for wearing. Or the T-shirt from My Darling Flo, that weird thriller movie Max starred in last summer, Eric had on a month ago.

Blush stains Eric’s cheeks when he says, “He’s cute.”

“Cuter than an alien eating churros?” I tease.

He huffs, his knee knocking against mine. My stomach twists. I’ve never been this close to him. Never been this close to any boy not named Liam Nguyễn. Not that he counts.

Sharing a bed during sleepovers when you’re a tween is the very definition of platonic.

Eric licks his lips. And now I’m thinking about sharing a bed with him.

Slow down, Steph, comes Liam’s voice in my head. Ask him out first.

I clear my throat. “Max has a new movie coming out soon, right?”

That brightness returns to Eric’s eyes.

“The werewolf one?” I chance.

He nods. “They’re doing the premiere downtown.” His head lolls against the wall. “I wish I could go.”

My hand squeezes my phone. Anticipation builds in my gut. A hot, buzzing wave that bends and curls its way into my chest.

“Well, my mom’s a publicist, so—”

“Too bad I’ll never get to see Max. Thanks to some asshole aliens who are going to murder us all,” Eric says over me.

The rest of my words get stuck behind my tonsils.

Anger pinches Eric’s face. I can’t ask him out like this.

“You can’t think that way,” I whisper.

I’m not sure how much I’m saying it for him and how much is for myself. When I tried to call my mom while sprinting out of the gym, I got no answer. I hope she’s okay. I didn’t even bother with my dad. He never answers. Always calls back hours later like whatever I needed wasn’t important.

I stare down at my phone. I wonder where Liam is. If he’s safe.

He better be. I can’t—I don’t want to imagine a world without my best friend there.

“You’re right,” Eric finally says.

A small smile tugs at my lips.

“They don’t want to kill us. Just make us their slaves.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

“Why destroy us when they could use us? Force us to help them gain power.” He shakes his head. “Can you imagine if that was how we spent the rest of our lives?”

“No,” I say quietly, “but I’m pretty sure my ancestors could.”

He flinches against my side.

“Oh, Steph, no, I didn’t—that’s not what I meant.”

I nod. I know he didn’t. It was a bad metaphor, that’s all.

“I mean, it’s more like Star Wars,” he goes on. “You know, like Princess Leia and that Java guy.”

“Jabba,” I amend, because Liam would never let me live it down if I didn’t defend one of his favorite franchises. “And that’s fiction, Eric. Leia only had to choke Jabba with a chain to escape. She didn’t suffer for almost a century. She wasn’t torn away from family. Beaten. Or—”

My throat tightens. I can’t get the rest out.

I don’t want to say it.

Silence fills the small space. A trail of sweat slices across my forehead down to my cheek. My body’s too hot. The heat inside here is suffocating. Or maybe it’s something else … .

His fingertips brush the back of my hand. They’re soft, cautious as they trace over my knuckles. I watch a relaxed look spread across Eric’s face.

My heart reaches new peaks.

“I’m really sorry, Steph.”

His voice is a clear, steady noise in the chaos of my head.

I nod.

“I get it,” he continues. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t think it through.”

I finally smile back at him. “Thanks.”

His free hand pushes curls off his forehead. All his soft features hit me at once. The boy I’ve watched from afar. From the end of a hallway or two tables over in the quad or from a front-row seat in our school’s packed auditorium.

He’s Romeo. He’s Peter Pan. He’s Orpheus.

He’s the guy I want to ask out.

Eric leans forward. All I see is the hue of his irises, as blue as the Pacific Ocean before sunset. The curve of his mouth when he whispers, “I know what it’s like.”

I flush at the intensity of his gaze. “What what’s like?”

“To be oppressed.”

“You—what?” My voice is a thin scrape.

He nods. “I understand. We’re both queer. The minority.”

I edge back a little. Squeeze myself into the corner, the panel of unworking buttons above my head. I can’t stop blinking as I say, “Explain.”

He does the hand wave thing again. It was cute before. Like he was reaching for the right words but couldn’t find any. Now it comes off as dismissive. Like he’s annoyed I’m asking him to clarify.

“Every time I tell someone I’m bi, I get the look,” he says. “You know the one.”

I’ve been out since last year. It just felt easier to tell the team when I made the JV squad. Safer. Everyone was cool about it. No one changed how they treated me. Two other players came out later in the season. They said it was because of me.

That doesn’t mean I don’t get the weird stares. The cold, narrowed eyes. Thing is, I’m not always sure it’s because I’m gay.

Sometimes, I know it’s for other reasons.

“It’s like their attitude changes,” Eric continues. “Like all of the sudden they know my entire life. Who I am.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “You mean like how all those ‘news’ people think they know who the aliens are?”

He shakes his head. “That’s different.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” he insists. His fingers idly tug at his bracelet. “Come on, Steph. No matter what, we’re automatically the enemy. Because we’re queer. We’re wrong. We’re dangerous.”

An involuntary laugh springs from my lips.

“Sorry,” I say after catching my breath. “Eric, have you looked in the mirror? Do you really think anyone sees you as dangerous?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yes, we have struggles. The queer community deals with a lot of shit—”

“Exactly!”

I hold up a finger. The universal I’m not finished sign. “But it’s not the same for us.” I wiggle that same finger between me and him. “Just like it’s probably not the same for those aliens. There’s hella worse things you’ll never experience.”

“That’s not true,” he argues.

And it’s those three words. It’s the condescending twist of his lips I thought was an amused smile before. It’s the little chin lift that I saw as attractive for months.

It’s the confidence in his rightness that lights the fire swelling in my chest.

“Listen to yourself,” I growl, standing up. “You just said it. Every time I tell someone I’m bi. Because you have that option. That privilege, Eric. Your queerness isn’t visible like it is for others. People stare at you and see a beautiful boy. Nice hair, pretty blue eyes, great smile. White. They don’t see a problem. Someone to fear.”

He watches me, wide-eyed.

“When they look at me, they see my Blackness first,” I add, patting my chest. “Wrong. A threat. Dangerous.”

“You’re not—”

“Layer that with the fact that I’m gay,” I cut in. “That my dad left me and my mom when I was five. That I play basketball. You know, where I belong.”

Eric’s mouth opens and closes like a fish struggling to breathe. But he doesn’t say anything.

“The world makes assumptions about me all the time. Just like they’re doing with those aliens,” I hiss.

I stalk to the other side of the elevator. Then back. It’s only six feet wide, but I keep going. My head throbs. My hands are shaking.

“Yeah, you experience some oppression. In some spaces, you’re the minority. But it’s a minute percent compared to what the rest of us live with.” I pause over him. “Just because we share one community doesn’t mean you have a clue what it means to really be the other.”

Eric sniffs, looking away.

I slide down the wall. I’m tired. I want to go home. I want to know my mom is okay. I want my phone to work.

Some strange, confusing part of me wants to know if my dad has called. Does he care where I am? If I’m alive? If the world really is ending, does he want to apologize? Finally be a real part of my life?

Tears prickle against my eyes.

I want to see Liam. Beat him at another video game or on the hoop he begged his dad to install above their garage door. Just so I could play whenever I visited. I want to walk to the canals near Venice Beach with him.

I want to hug him. To never let go.

With trembling fingers, I unlock my phone. My battery is at 15 percent, but I don’t care. I open my camera roll.

There’s a whole gallery dedicated to us. Ten years old, when Liam moved to our neighborhood. All the way to three days ago, me and him sharing churros by the Pier.

Before an alien ship crashed into it.

I stare at him. Hair as dark as a moonless sky, always parted unevenly to one side. He watched an entire YouTube series on how to style his hair like a K-pop idol and still gets it wrong.

His square-framed glasses can’t hide those wide brown eyes. His mouth is a perfect bow shape. He’s pale but has these cool pink undertones to his complexion.

He swears he’ll never get a boyfriend. Too nerdy and complex, he says. But he will.

Liam’s the nicest, smartest, most supportive guy I know.

An achy laugh tickles the roof of my mouth.

“I planned this,” I say to Eric. To myself.

It’s a long beat before he says, “Planned what?”

“Not the whole”—I catch myself doing Eric’s hand thing and immediately stop—“alien invasion thing. But I saw you getting on the elevator, and I … I have tickets to the Max Spencer premiere.”

Eric sits a little taller, intrigued.

I shake my head, laughing again. “My mom’s a publicist. She got them for me. I followed you because I was gonna invite you to go with me. As my date.”

“Oh.”

His lips form the word long before the noise comes. I stare at them. An hour ago, I wanted to kiss him. No, I wanted him to kiss me. For so long, I can’t remember wanting anything else.

But that feeling’s gone.

“I don’t know why it took me so long to ask you,” I say. “But I’m glad it did.”

He frowns.

I swipe out of my camera roll. Open my messages. I scroll through my thread with Liam.

“My best friend said I was a twelve. That there’s no way you’d say no, but—”

I pause.

Above today’s messages from Liam are an endless list of blue and gray message bubbles. Random conversations. GIFs and memes that made me laugh so hard that tears ran down my face. Reminders about games and hydrating and the best after-practice meals.

A history of Liam doing exactly what his last text said: Being here for me.

Liam is at every single one of my games. He gets on the court with me—even though he’s terrible at it—whenever I ask. After my dad ignores my calls, he throws on my latest anime obsession. He says my name right. When we first met, he taught me how to pronounce his. Liam never complains when I buy him the same gift every year for his birthday: a new chess set. Instead, he lights up like I’m the only one who gets him.

Just like he gets me.

He made his dad attach a hoop to their garage for me!

“Are you sure you don’t think you’ll ever get a boyfriend?” I remember asking him, out of the blue, earlier in the summer.

Liam smiled at me. It was sweet, but there was something sad at the edges.

“Probably not the one I’ll want.”

It all washes over me like the Pacific splashing against the shore.

“Holy shit,” I gasp, leaping to my feet.

Eric startles against the wall. “Steph, what the actual fu—”

I thump a fist against the sealed doors. Over and over.

“I need to get out of here.”

“We both do, but—”

The elevator jolts. I stumble into a corner. Eric scrambles up. I prepare to brace myself for the consequences of stupidly jumping around in a small box suspended by a cable that’s probably old and fragile and ready to snap. But we don’t free-fall to our deaths.

Instead, the angry red light fades into the normal elevator glow. Another five seconds pass before there’s a ding. Then motion.

The power’s back.

The weight on my chest lessens. But only for a moment. I check my phone. Still no service. It doesn’t matter.

The moment we reach the ground floor, I don’t wait for the doors to fully open. I squeeze through whatever space they give me.

I take off in a full sprint.

“Steph!” Eric calls. “You forgot your gym bag!”

I don’t care. I keep running. Through the hollow halls. Down dark, unused corridors. I heave out tight breaths, trying my phone again and again.

I need to call my mom. To hear she’s okay.

With the shelter-in-place probably still happening, I need to find a safe way to get home. A path that doesn’t go anywhere near the Pier.

But first, I need Liam.

I try to fire off a text. It bounces right back to my phone. All I can hear is my labored gasps. The blood thundering in my ears.

Then—

I hear a voice coming from behind me. I can’t believe Eric’s chasing after me for a silly gym bag. Maybe he’s just being nice so I’ll give him the tickets to Max’s premiere.

Except … that’s not Eric’s voice.

“Stephen Anthony Thomas, slow down!”

I falter, almost slamming into a bank of lockers before managing to spin around. All the oxygen is punched out of my lungs. It’s like a—like a ship crash-landing into my chest.

He’s okay. He’s alive. He’s here.

A broken noise leaves my throat. I can’t speak. Can’t say his name.

But I’m running again. Back the way I came.

I don’t stop until I’m slamming into Liam’s arms, holding him, sobbing against his shoulder.

“Nice to see you, too,” he says with a laugh. But his arms tighten around me.

“H-how did you know? That I was stuck? That I was—”

“In trouble?”

I nod against his shoulder.

Liam pulls back until I can see his face. The badly parted hair. His crooked glasses from me jostling him. Rose-stained cheeks. That perfect bow mouth pulled into a crooked grin.

Underneath everything, the joy carved into his features at being this close to me.

Holding me.

“Didn’t you get my message?” He tilts his head like he can see what I’m thinking. Like he knows what I’ve been through. Like I’m different and strange and the kind of person everyone makes assumptions about, but he doesn’t care. “I told you. I’ll always be here for you.”

This time, I don’t wait. I don’t hesitate. I don’t waste a second.

I kiss Liam.

He lets out a shocked breath, frozen for the tiniest of seconds. Then he’s kissing me back. Clumsy and unpracticed, just like me. It doesn’t matter. Liam’s leaning fully into the kiss and pulling me closer, and it feels like he’ll never let go.

Aliens are here on Earth. And the world might be ending. But at least I have this.

At least I have my best friend.

USERNAME: I’M AN ACTUAL HUMAN

BY ERIC SMITH

“CHIP, you landed us where?!”

He’s already said it four or five times, but I can’t help myself. I need to ask him again.

“Dexin, the location isn’t going to change just because you’ve asked me to repeat it.” If CHIP could sigh or exhale or huff, I’m sure he would have done just that. “Once more, we are in the city of Richmond, in a state called Virginia, in the United States of America, and if you need the zip code—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupt. “I got it.”

Of all the places. Of any place on this entire planet for us to emergency land, this city, this state …

I stare out into the water in front of me. It’s a sizable river; I’m guessing the James River from what I’ve seen in a few photos and videos. From what … she has told me of her hometown. Several massive boulders are sunk along the shoreline, dotting the surprisingly crystal-clear water with slabs of shimmering black and gray. Some little fish are already starting to flit around my escape pod, which is blending in amongst the drowned rocks, the now-closed side panel a smooth, rounded surface just peeking above the water, the rest of it submerged and hidden. It looks like … well, another boulder in the water.

This isn’t just luck or coincidence. It can’t be.

“CHIP.” I clear my throat. “Why exactly did you land us here?”

He doesn’t say anything, and that silence says it all.

“Are you kidding me?!” I snap.

“You know someone who can offer assistance.”

“And how do I explain that to everyone else?!” I grumble, and then double-check to make absolutely sure I’m only talking to CHIP and not the entirety of my crew. It’s bad enough they make fun of me for my love of Terran pop culture, all the reality television and movies, and the music that I listen to. I still haven’t recovered after trying to convince them they could understand what it meant to be human by listening to the Terran singer named Harry Styles. The last thing they need is to know I’ve actually been …

Communicating with one.

That I’m friends with one.

“I was not factoring in the consequences of your social life while weighing the risks of how to save your actual life. While it might not seem like it now, one is significantly more important.”

I don’t say anything for a minute, my eyes focused on the top of my escape pod, the water lapping around it. CHIP lowered the pod gently into the water as we got closer to the surface. I spot what I know the humans call a “turtle” climbing up on top of a nearby rock, relaxing to bathe in the only sun this planet has. I’m struck with an immediate sinking feeling when I think how nice it must be to carry your home around like that, the way a turtle does, knowing mine is light-years away and now, unless things get better, completely out of reach.

I glance up at the sun and then back at the turtle.

Ugh. One sun. There’s no way I’m gonna get used to that. We have to get out of here.

“Thank you, CHIP,” I finally say.

“You’re welcome … Im_An_Actual_Human.”

I groan at the sound of my username.

“Maybe I should have let them turn you off,” I grumble. It was hard signing up for an email on the human internet without the kind of input devices they typically use, even with a hypersmart AI companion to help me navigate translating our letters and words into theirs. But then once you pick a username, one that CHIP generated, mind you, it gets locked to your email, and it’s really hard to change the thing.

Im_An_Actual_Human.

Why did we have to have an AI with a sense of humor?

It’s the name I’ve been using for the last few years on mankind’s internet to talk about all the Terran programs I love so much. And the person who I love talking to about those shows the most, who gradually went from someone I interacted with a lot in the comments section to someone I messaged directly with regularly, is Charlotte … who lives here.

“How damaged is the pod?” I ask, walking closer to the water. The break between the shoreline and river lapping against it is full of small, smooth stones, all an array of colors. I squat down and dig my fingers into them, the sand and silt tickling against my hand. But the camouflage projector that makes me look like a Terran sputters out briefly, revealing my actual skin.

I pull my hand out of the water, swiping the beads off.

The camouflage flickers back, like a bit of static on a screen.

Solles warned us about getting wet, but I thought they meant, like, soaked. This was barely anything, and that … that cannot be good.

“It’ll fly,” CHIP chimes in, seemingly oblivious to what just happened. “But it’s going to be difficult to get you back up there.”

“What?” A surge of panic thrums through my chest for something far more concerning than my camouflage glitching. “Why? What’s going on?”

“During the crash, your pod’s connection with the ship was severed,” CHIP explains. “Without that connection, we won’t be able to pilot your pod back up there or connect you to the rest of the crew.”

That surge of panic turns into a storm.

I might not be able to get home.

We’re on a mission to scoop up Max, and if they don’t know where I am …

Will I get left behind?

Who will be left to bring me home?

I glare at the turtle.

“Okay, so …” I think. “We just establish a new uplink with the ship from the pod and repair the code through—”

“We cannot,” CHIP interrupts. “The array that helps the ship communicate, the programming, was damaged. It can’t be repaired remotely.”

“Then how are we supposed to communicate and establish an uplink to fix it?” I ask, frustration mounting.

“You aren’t going to like this part,” CHIP says.

“Why?” I stand up.

“Because we’ll need a direct uplink to the ship that already exists on a channel that hasn’t been damaged. And the only one that exists is a human one with your friend Charlotte.”

Oh.

Oh no.

I swallow, glancing out at the water. A few humans in small vessels float lazily by, and one wearing a thick, broad-rimmed brown hat actually waves to me. I make an attempt to wave back, trying to mirror the gesture I’ve seen so many times in the various reality shows I love to watch, the same ones I talk about with endless strangers and Charlotte. I stick my arm out and bend it at the elbow, hand wide open and out, and shake it vigorously. I try my best to smile, but I worry my mouth is open a little too wide.

The human in the kayak looks away, and they and their partner seem to paddle a little faster in the other direction.

“So, about your username, Im_An_Actual_Human,” says CHIP.

“CHIP, not right now.”

It’s not a terribly far walk into town. Most of the bigger islands that dot the river cutting through Richmond have small footbridges the Terrans seem to enjoy taking, strolling along with canine companions of various shapes and colors. And despite my cloaking device making me look like a human that’s my age, my skin tan instead of the usual slightly pale blue, and some clothes inspired by a few of my favorite reality television stars’ kids (though I feel like this “Versace” T-shirt looks the same as every other T-shirt option available), it feels like all of these dogs can tell there’s something not quite right about me here.

They all shy away as I walk by, and their Terrans take notice, looking at me intently as though they’re trying to figure out what their four-legged friends see that they cannot.

Can they tell my hair isn’t real, just a projection on top of my head?

Ugh. I have got to get out of here.

The bridge crosses the water and leaves the seemingly wooded wilderness behind, quickly paving the way for a proper Terran city. A mix of pavement and cobblestones in the ground leads toward large buildings. What I think are some homes and places to eat are built out of brick and clay, and it’s all a lot different than what I’m used to on Terran television.

Some of my favorite shows, like Soccer Husbands, which focuses on the lives of men married to rich and famous women in the sport, and The Brilliant Lives of CEO Wives, which is all about the women behind rich and powerful business types, show off major cities in the Terran world. Heaving skyscrapers with large windows that overlook the world and giant boats the size of small towns where the wealthy humans act like kings.

But everything here is so … quiet. Small. I can see the rooftops of some of these buildings from where I stand. Maybe there’s more of a city farther in, but this is … nice. Terrans are just walking around everywhere and riding on these things they call bicycles that are powered by their legs. I know Charlotte has one that she’s really proud of, something she—what was the word she used—refurbished? Whatever it is, she fixed it from looking like it was garbage to something beautiful, a rusting piece of metal to a polished, powdered blue with silver trim. Last time she showed it to me, she’d just mounted a black cast-iron basket on the front that she tried to convince her cat, Penny, to sit inside.

I know the crew, especially Solles, laughs at me a bit for my love of reality shows on Terran television. They call the shows trash. But when you look a little closer, like how Charlotte did with that bike …

There’s beauty there. In the lives lived with abandon. The friendships and relationships that are just so raw and open, sometimes like a wound, and sometimes like a heart.

There’s a lot to learn.

“CHIP, any idea where we are going?” I ask, holding my hand up to my ear so it looks like I’m talking into something, like one of those phones I know Terrans use. Or the things in their ears that sound like they belong in their mouths. Blueteeth?

It’s not like anyone else can hear him, since CHIP transmits directly into my head, but I don’t want to look like I’m just walking around muttering to myself.

“According to the IP address from Charlotte’s last post on the message board, she is in a building nearby. She also recently shared a photograph that indicates she might still be there.”

“CHIP, wait, no.” I stop. “We should send her a message or something, not just … show up where she is.”

“Oh,” CHIP says. “Well. We’re almost there.”

“What is a …” I start, shaking my head. “Do I want to know how you are able to do that?”

“A lot of Terrans post photos and videos of where they are at any given second,” CHIP responds. I can practically hear the shrug in his voice. “In fact, many of the people in those television reality shows you watch do that. And then they get in fights about it.”

“Yeah, I guess—”

“In that last program, one Terran female was angry at another Terran female for going to an event she said she wouldn’t go to, and she was able to tell due to another human sharing a photograph—”

“No, I know.” I nod, saying that a little too loudly, a few people looking at me as I walk up a hill toward what seems to be the center of town. “I get it. It just feels really gross. It shouldn’t be that easy to just go find someone.”

“Well, lucky for us it is, and we can debate the ethics of the situation when you’re able to get off this planet,” CHIP says. “The place is just up ahead, the Hilliker Café. I’ll translate for you when we get close.”

The hilly sidewalk keeps arching upward, and the rows of homes and shops continue along it, the road giving way to more cobblestones and brick. A busy bookshop called The Fountain, with rows of outdoor shelves, has a door propped open, a steady stream of Terrans walking in and out, some holding the hands of younger ones. I walk by the window and squint at some of the books on display.

A handful are what I know the Terrans refer to as “science fiction” involving impossible things like time travel and things they think are impossible, like planets full of sentient robots or alien life across the universe, both of which I know are real. But sentient robots are never as bad as their books or movies or television shows would make them believe. Alpha Lumari is actually a really nice planet to visit, and the android exchange students we’ve had from there have always been the coolest.

Little unfair how well they score on computational trigonometry tests, but whatever.

I squint at one of the aliens on the cover of a picture book in the window, all green with multiple tentacles and three giant eyes, when I catch some movement in the glass behind me.

And when I turn around …

There she is across the street.

Charlotte.

My heart catches in my chest for a moment. What am I even going to say? What do I do? How do I kick off this kind of conversation with someone? Oh hey, I know we’ve become really good friends over the last year, but I’m actually from several galaxies away, and I’m not even a human, but everything else about our friendship is real.

She’s clutching a cup of something in her hands, takes a sip, and a look of satisfaction washes across her face. She grabs a table outside the café, the sound of the chair scraping across the brick loud even from where I am across the way, and cozies up with a book after adjusting her thick braids over her shoulder. Maybe it’s a book from right over here at the bookshop. One about aliens.

Oh boy.

Okay.

Okay, I can do this.

I can—

“The café is directly across the street,” CHIP chimes in.

“I know, I can see—”

“According to the timestamp on her posts, she couldn’t have gotten far.”

“That sounds … vaguely threatening, CHIP.”

“We can still get her.”

“CHIP, can you dial it back—”

“I’m trying to say that the human might still be there.”

“CHIP, please. I know you can’t see, but I am looking right at her.”

“Oh,” CHIP says. “Then why are you talking to me? Go over there and—”

“I am!” I snap, stepping into the street toward the café.

“Watch out!”

Someone shouts just as a person on one of those bicycles crashes into me, sending me slamming onto the cobblestones. I hit the ground so hard I swear I can feel my teeth rattling in my head, and my skull begins to pound. I hear the bike clatter against the stones, and I catch a glimpse of the cyclist hurrying to get back on, limping before peddling away. I want to shout at them, but it’s as though the air has been knocked right out of my lungs. I take deep, gasping breaths to refill them. But this Earth air isn’t as oxygen-rich as our planet, and I feel myself getting woozy as I keep trying to catch back up.

And my hands … are not camouflaged anymore.

They landed right in a puddle.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

I glance up from the cobblestone street, a particularly pointed rock digging into my leg, and there’s Charlotte standing over me, coffee cup in hand. She turns sharply away from me and starts shouting at someone in the distance.

“Get back here!” she yells, and I watch as she reels back and throws the paper coffee cup at the cyclist who ran me over, the beverage colliding with his back tire and absolutely soaking the guy. He stops for a minute and turns around, yelling something I can’t quite make out, and I scramble to my feet, swiping madly at my hands. One readjusts, hidden, but the other keeps zipping in and out, all static and skin and color.

“Hey.”

I shove my hand in my pocket and glance up, and she’s there again, in front of me. And I watch the realization wash over her face, the same sort of warmth I saw when she sipped that cup of coffee.

“No way. Colin?”

It takes me a minute to remember that’s the name I’ve been using on the forum, after the human actor in my favorite Pride and Prejudice adaptation.

Me. Colin. The totally human teenager from West Virginia, a state right near her. Not Dexin, an alien teenager from across the universe.

“H-hey,” I stammer out. Smooth.

“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you’d be in town?” Her tone feels accusatory, but she’s laughing and punching at my shoulder.

“I was gonna message and surprise you. I just got in on the …” I almost say boat, but that’s not right. “The train. I’m … looking at colleges … .”

“Get out.” Charlotte reaches out and grabs my arm, and I have to keep my hand firmly in my pocket. She loops her arm through mine, leading me across the street toward the café, and promptly nudges me to sit at the table she’d taken before. “I’m going to get you some coffee. You sit here and catch your breath.”

She turns to walk into the café but stops and looks back at me, rolling her eyes and smiling.

“I cannot believe you’re here.”

And she hurries into the coffee shop.

I glance around, trying to get comfortable in the metal chair, the legs scraping against the brick. I slide my hand out of my pocket and exhale.

The camouflage is back.

“So …” CHIP starts. “That seems to be a bit of a problem.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I grumble, forgetting to pretend to be on the phone. I glance around to make sure no one is looking at me. “Solles mentioned the camouflage not working when wet, but this feels a little over-the-top.”

“It appears your cloaking device was slightly damaged in the descent. If you can keep yourself from getting wet entirely, that would be ideal.”

“My self,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Just … my entire self.”

“Entirely.”

“What if it rains?! Or I step in a puddle?! Or someone sneezes on me?!”

“Well, try not to do any of that.”

“Oh my stars,” I grumble. “I’m going to die on this planet.”

“Um, you okay, Colin?”

Charlotte is standing in front of me once again. She sets a small white cup down, a ring of brown paper around it and a black lid on top. Steam pools up from a little hole made for sipping, and the smell is intoxicating.

“Yeah!” I say, a little too excited, and then I try to laugh. “Ha-ha, ha-ha.”

Charlotte arches an eyebrow at me.

Oh my stars.

I almost want this planet to kill me.

“Ooookay.” Charlotte shakes her head, laughing a little. She takes a sip of her drink and closes her eyes, exhaling. “Oh yeah. I feel like this tastes even better, knowing the last one blew up all over that guy who tried to run you over. So which colleges are you here looking at? Did you take the train in by yourself?”

Colleges.

Oh no.

“Say University of Richmond,” CHIP says quickly and, thankfully, just in my head.

“University of Richmond,” I say, nodding.

“Majoring in media studies,” CHIP continues.

I do not know what that is.

“Majoring in media studies,” I repeat.

“I didn’t even know they had that there!” Charlotte exclaims. “And then what, it’s off to New York or LA to break into reality television?”

LA. Los Angeles. California. Oh stars. That’s where the rest of the team is, or at least should be. Where our mission is. What if everyone else got scattered around the country as well? Or the world? There’s a reality show about hurrying around the planet called The Amazing Race, and it doesn’t really seem that amazing. Everyone is always so tired and stressed. I have to focus; I need to figure out how to tell Charlotte … the truth? Do I tell her the truth about who I am? Could she handle that?

Okay … okay, I’m going to have to.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” I smile, laughing.

But for now … maybe just for a little while …

I can enjoy this moment.

With someone who sees me as normal, unlike my friends on the ship. Me and Charlotte, we have stuff in common. There are the shows, sure. But we both have dreams of doing something else. She wants to see more outside of her small town, and I want to see more outside of my small galaxy. More of this place.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here for now,” she says, reaching out to pat my hand before leaning back in her chair and sipping her coffee. She glances out at the street, and we sit there for a minute, in the quiet. Maybe … maybe I could be normal. Like this. A life like this. No running communications for a spacecraft and having orders barked at me, no preparing for a future on board an interstellar vessel, but instead just … this. On quiet streets made of old stone and buildings made of ancient brick, clean rivers, and the shorelines right there. Humans are so good at living in the moment; at least, some of them are. I could be. How hard would it be for CHIP to hack into one of these schools and get me in …?

I smile and take a sip of the coffee.

It’s an explosion of flavor that I absolutely cannot explain. Sweet and savory at the same time. A little bit dribbles off my lip and down my chin, tickling my neck. I laugh, swiping at it, and exhale, putting the cup down on the table.

This is the best day of my life.

And then Charlotte screams.

“What?” I ask, looking around.

“Your face!” she shouts, stumbling back. She springs out of her chair, which falls over, hitting the ground with a loud crash. People stop walking on the sidewalks, and inside the café, they stare at me, at us, eyes wide.

“Your cloaking is compromised. I told you not to get wet,” CHIP scolds, and I immediately swipe at my chin and neck.

The coffee.

It’s the coffee.

“Charlotte, I can explain,” I start, getting up.

“What …” She picks up the chair and leans in closer to me, squinting. Her eyes flit up to my face and back down at my neck before she leans away. “What was that?”

I clear my throat.

“Dexin,” CHIP says, a warning in his voice.

Oh sure, Moysah’s uncle takes a vacation to Earth and scares a bunch of humans; he gets an entire galactic law named after him. Now I land here, and a spilled cup of coffee is gonna end up sending me to a mining colony on Terra 7. We’re not supposed to reveal what we are, but … what else am I supposed to do?

“I don’t think there’s much of a choice here, CHIP,” I say.

“Who are you talking to?” Charlotte asks.

I sigh and shake my head, glancing away from the café. Back down the road toward the waterfront and canals.

“Not here,” I say, looking back at Charlotte. “Listen, I know we just met. But … but you know me. I know you. And I know I can trust you with what I have to tell you.”

“Colin—”

I grab her hand.

“I can trust you?” I ask.

She squeezes my hand.

“You can trust me.”

She smiles at me for a beat, when CHIP interrupts.

“We’re all gonna die on this planet.”

“So …” Charlotte says, as we walk around the corner from the café and enter a small park overlooking the canals that run through the city. I recognize it from the photos she sent me and from the time I’ve spent playing on Google Maps, exploring the city both she and one of our favorite reality shows, The Real Housewives of Richmond, call home.

“So,” I nod, leaning against the railing. Tree branches that are heavy with chestnuts loom over us, and some kind of white blossoms curl up along the metal railings by my hands. “I absolutely cannot think of the right way to tell you what I need to tell you other than to say … I haven’t lied to you about who I am. Not ever. Everything I said on those boards and in our messages … that’s all me. But …”

I exhale.

“I haven’t been honest about what I am.” I glance up at her, and she tilts her head, confused.

“Careful, Dexin,” CHIP warns.

I take a few steps down the incline in the canal. There aren’t any boats, none of the “tourists” Charlotte often complains about when talking about her hometown. It’s empty, save for the soft rush of the water. Small footbridges cross over the thin stream that cuts through the city, black-and-white murals painted underneath. I peer down at the water, at my own reflection that absolutely isn’t mine. It would probably be safer to do this under one of those bridges, but even I know asking someone I barely know to let me tell them a secret under a bridge is going to go over very poorly.

I reach toward the water but stop for a minute, my fingertips just barely at the surface.

I exhale.

And plunge my hand in.

I can see the cloaking flicker beneath the water as Charlotte hops down the couple of steps to get closer to the canal’s edge. Closer to me. She squats down, eyes wide, looking down at the water and the absolute light show going on around my hand. When I pull my hand out, the cloak is completely gone, showing my blue-tinted skin. My lack of human fingernails. The fact that I have four fingers.

“That’s, um …” Charlotte pauses. “Colin, what am I looking at here?”

“So … my name isn’t Colin. It’s Dexin,” I start, sitting down on the edge of the canal, scooting away from the water. “My people, we’re … well, we’re from pretty far away, Charlotte.”

“Oh my God.” She laughs a little. “Aliens? Are you serious?”

“Well …”

“Col … Dexin. Oh my God.” She holds her head in her hands for a minute before laughing again. “You know how we met on those boards about reality television? My parents are the kind of people who go on those boards for things like …” She gestures at me. “Like this! They also think the moon is hollow and the Earth is flat.”

“Well, what moon are they talking about?” I ask. “’Cause I can think of a few that are.”

“They think it’s actually a spaceship,” she huffs.

“Well …”

“Stop it!” Charlotte laughs, giving me a little shove. “This is amazing. My God.”

“You’re not angry?” I ask.

“I’m the first person to speak to an alien.” Charlotte is looking right at me, smirking. “I’m in awe. I’m just sorry you had to hide.”

My heart thrums in my chest, and she reaches out to grab my hands.

“Why are you really here?” she asks.

“You’ve heard of Max Spencer, yeah?”

“I mean, of course. He’s in that new werewolf movie and that series of Lifetime movies my mom made me watch with her.”

“Oh, the My Stepchild Is a Murderer series?”

“How was it a trilogy? What other answers do we need?

Why don’t the new families his mom marries into get suspicious about the past families?”

“I mean, one hopes you’d get answers to that in the follow-up movie.”

“Well, you don’t!”

Oh goodness, I love this. It’s like our chats on the message board but in real life.

“The thing about Max …” I start, and I hold my palms up.

“No. No way.” Charlotte gasps.

“Yeah. One of us,” I continue. “And, well, we need to bring him home. It’s not safe for him here, despite what he thinks, despite what his life looks like. Little things can throw everything into chaos.”

I exhale.

“Once his good luck runs out, then what? Someone sees him for who he is, someone who isn’t as … kind as you …”

Charlotte blushes, and I feel a rush of heat on my neck.

“… might find him. Might take him away, throw him in a government facility or any of those other things that happen in movies. Some of which he’s been in.”

“Ah, Area 51: Part II, Area 52.” Charlotte nods. “Literally everything about that movie was hard to follow.”

“Yeah …” I nod. “My communication array is down, though. We had an accident trying to land, and my crew is scattered, and I’ve got no way to get ahold of them, which is concerning, since I’m the communications officer on the ship.

My pod is over on one of the little islands right now, blending in with those rocks in the river.”

“Can I see it?!” Charlotte asks.

“No,” CHIP says in my ear.

“Yes,” I press.

CHIP groans.

“But right now, I need to establish an uplink again with our ship, with an existing connection, and the only one on the planet that’s still functioning … is the one you’ve made with me. Our private messages, connecting my ship’s computer to yours.”

“Oh wow,” Charlotte says, shaking her head. “That’s a lot.”

“I know.”

“Well …” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. It’s the kind a lot of the reality stars we watch have, with a big screen that does a million things a phone doesn’t need to do but, for some reason, does. “I usually do all that through this.”

“Take the phone, and I’ll get into the network through you,” CHIP says, and I hold my hand out. Charlotte hands it over, and the second it’s in my palm, the screen on it goes static, and a projection of the connection floats in front of us. Windows and screens and walls of text light up in the air, surrounding us both.

“CHIP!” I shout. “People can see that; what are you doing?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” CHIP mutters, and the display of screens and text move from being projected in the air to being reflected in the water.

“Who are you talking to anyway?” Charlotte asks. “And what was all that?”

“Oh, that’s our artificial intelligence. He’s the one who helped me sign up for the message board … .” I start, looking down at the water. “But I don’t know what he’s doing.”

“I’m searching and establishing the connection, and sometimes it’s easier to leave a few tabs open, as the Terran writers like to say,” CHIP says, as the text changes and images flip about. “I have to use your private messages and the link between them to find the connection here. It’ll be a moment.”

“Oh my God,” Charlotte says, a little laugh in her voice. “Those are … those are our messages in the water.”

I see the lines of code and text whirring by, but so are quick flashes of the messages we’ve sent to each other over the years. Some of them are simple, silly. A comment on this show or that. Others are …

Colin: We have been chatting for 5 hours.

Charlotte: I haven’t even noticed.

Colin: <3

Charlotte: <3

… a bit more personal.

“I, um, remember that night,” Charlotte says. “A few of them, actually. You’re a good listener … Dexin.”

I feel that rush of heat against my neck again.

“Thanks,” I say, keeping my eyes down on the water. But I can feel her looking at me, and when I glance over, she is.

Her mouth quirks in a little smile, and she peers back down.

Charlotte: I wish my parents would see some reason instead of focusing on nonsense.

Colin: I think sometimes people zero in on seemingly crazy ideas because it makes them feel less small. The universe is a big place.

Charlotte: The universe?

Colin: Well, the world.

“Huh.” Charlotte laughs.

“CHIP, are you showing us this stuff on purpose?” I ask.

“I assure you it’s entirely random,” CHIP says, and the text and code keep whirring. “I think I’ve almost got it.”

Colin: Do your friends get you the way you want them to?

Charlotte: What do you mean?

Colin: I’m not sure. Do they understand you, I guess?

Charlotte: Sometimes. They don’t get why I like these shows.

Colin: Yeah, mine definitely don’t.

Charlotte: Well, hey, I get you.

Charlotte doesn’t say anything when that one pops up.

But she does take hold of my hand. I shirk back for a second, and then my shoulders relax, and I just … stand there. With her. Staring into the water at our chat logs being unraveled as CHIP continues to try to find some kind of connection.

When really, all I’m seeing is a connection.

When all I’m feeling is a connection.

“Connection established!” CHIP exclaims, and the light show vanishes from the water. The text, the messages, the code, all gone. “We are online. If you get back to your pod on that island, we can air it out and take off for the West Coast.”

A message comes through almost immediately.

IONA: Dex?

DEXIN: Iona! How’s it hangin’?

IONA: I do not have time for your Terranisms right now.

IONA: We have been trying to message you.

DEXIN: Is everyone okay? I’m in Virginia.

IONA: Is that near Santa Monica? Could use some backup.

DEXIN: Not even a little bit. Did you even study the map I gave you?

IONA: The “tour guide to the stars” map for California? I did not.

I chuckle and glance over at Charlotte, who looks at me patiently. I give her a thumbs-up, which I’ve learned is one of the ways Terrans show things are going all right. The loud celebratory wail that is customary from our people feels like it would just draw the wrong kind of attention.

DEXIN: You’re missing out. You could be walking by Pedro Pascal’s house and not know it.

IONA: I don’t know who that is.

DEXIN: I told you to watch The Last of Us!

IONA: Dexin, I am on the last of my nerves.

IONA: Send your coordinates, and I’ll upload them once CHIP is back to normal.

DEXIN: What do you mean back to normal?

CHIP: I am always normal.

DEXIN: You are never normal. But it’s okay, buddy, that’s why we love you.

CHIP: It’s nice to be appreciated.

IONA: Alright, I’ve had enough. I’m glad you’re alive. Send the coordinates.

“So,” Charlotte starts as I turn back to her, “it worked.” She says this more matter-of-fact than a question.

I nod.

“So you have to go … finish your mission?” she asks.

“I do. My friends are counting on me. They need me.”

She nods, letting go of my hand.

“Will I see you again?” she asks, not quite looking at me.

“I’ll message you when I’m back on the ship, for sure.” I try to smile, but this feels … like something else.

“Good.” She glances back at the water and then over at me. “Can I … see your real face before you go?”

I look at the water and back at her, and it hits me what she was thinking.

“Were you going to splash my face or something?” I ask, smiling.

“Well, if that’s what it takes.” She shrugs. “With permission, of course.”

“Dexin,” CHIP warns.

“Sure.” I smile.

Charlotte steps toward the canal and dips her hands in the river. She walks back to me, slowly, and gently presses her palms against my cheeks. I close my eyes, imagining the cloak trickling away, revealing the blue-tinted skin, the harder edges of my face, an opposite of how soft and gentle hers is.

“There you are,” she says.

I open my eyes, and she sees me. She lets go of my face and takes hold of my hands.

“Dexin”—I just love how my real name sounds when she speaks it—“find a way to come back.”

And before I tell her I will, I absolutely know I’m gonna.

SKILL ISSUE

BY LAURA POHL

The alien invasion starts when my sister and I are on the top of the kiddie roller coaster.

An unfamiliar shape comes looming from the sky out of nowhere, zooming straight toward the giant silver sphere in the middle of the theme park, followed by a trail of smoke and fire. By my side, my little sister Magali screams, but I’m not sure if it’s because she’s seen the UFO or for the thrill of the roller-coaster car going down the biggest drop. She holds on tight to the bars and screams hard enough to shatter the eardrums of everyone in the vicinity of Orlando, Florida.

I crane my neck back to check if I’d really seen what I did—a silvery egg-shaped pod zipping through the clear skies and crashing on top of one of the most famous attractions in the world—and then the car stops moving at the end of the slope.

When the ship crashes, the impact makes the roller-coaster car shake so hard that it feels like the car will slip out of the tracks. People behind us scream, and one of them shouts, “EARTHQUAKE!” but there’s nothing we can do, stuck there in the middle of the tracks. Someone in the front car tries getting up, but there’s nowhere to go. I don’t know what the safety protocols are in this situation. We don’t have earthquakes in Brazil.

Mariana had joked that since we were coming here, we better be prepared, since everything always happens to the USA, but I didn’t think she meant this.

After a second of panic, the ground stops trembling. Someone behind us throws up their lunch.

“Everyone, please remain seated,” a voice echoes through the speaker of the ride. “A minor malfunction occurred, and we’ll be restarting the ride shortly.”

I struggle through the last words, but I get that we’re stuck here until they decide to let us out.

“Maísa?” Magali tugs at my sleeve. “What’s going on?”

I grab my phone to see if there are any texts. Instead, I get a wide area alert for all the parks with a message that there was a tremor and they are investigating the sources, and everyone should remain calm. I shoot a quick WhatsApp message in the family group chat.

With nothing else to do, I open my social media. Of course, there are already videos about the crash, and it’s not even been three minutes.

The algorithm is likely working in my favor. I’d seen hundreds of videos about the Orlando theme parks in the weeks before our trip, devouring every bit of information possible. Now all I see is the massive sphere that mimics a spaceship, destroyed … by a real spaceship.

The videos are all messy, but there is an object, silver and sleek and iridescent, coming down from the sky. And once I start scrolling, I see that it wasn’t just here. There’s one other occurrence—but it’s a huge ship, much bigger than what I saw, that landed in LA, on the other side of the USA.

“It’s an invasion,” a woman says, her shrill voice behind us. “It’s the aliens!”

Now, alien is a word that sounds a little different in English but not by much. Magali raises her head to look at my phone screen. She isn’t allowed a phone yet, which is why I can’t leave her side during our trip.

She furrows her eyebrows. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

“We’ll meet up with them in a bit,” I promise.

I tap on WhatsApp again for our location sharing; the moment I click on the real-time updates, signal service disconnects. No bars. No internet. I look to the others stuck on the roller coaster, and several are staring dumbfounded at their phones.

So, as I see it, we have a few problems.

First, I don’t know where the rest of my family is. Mom and Mari had gone shopping. Dad is probably looking after our grandparents. And I’m stuck with my eight-year-old sister.

Second, a full-on alien invasion is happening while we are lost in the middle of the most magical place on Earth, with no cell service.

And third, I don’t speak a word of English.

Look, I know as much English as anybody. We’ve been learning it in school since first grade. I watch TV series with subtitles and spend hours on my phone. But speaking is another problem. Speaking means I have to build my own sentences.

Speaking seems impossible.

Coming to Orlando has always been my dream trip. Mom had promised it for my fifteenth birthday—especially since Mariana, my older sister, had moved here to work in one of the parks before she starts college next year. I thought my mom was going to send me in one of those group excursions with people my age, and we’d stay at the resort inside the park, and I’d meet with Mari after work, and she’d take me to see whatever she thought was coolest.

Instead, Mom decided this should be a family trip. She bought tickets for her and Dad, Dad’s parents, and Magali, my little sister, who was over-the-top excited because she’d get to hug a cartoon princess in person. So I endured the nine-hour flight with Grandma complaining about the airplane food, Dad getting pulled from the immigration queue once we’d arrived because they’d misspelled his name on the visa, and Magali’s bag getting misplaced by the airline … . At least Mari had gotten us all the special passes that got us the faster lines to the rides. Even then, we’d had to wait one hour to get into the biggest roller coaster, and Magali complained the whole time that she’d rather go see the zoo.

But it wasn’t like the trip wasn’t fun. It was just … not my dream trip. I missed Mari, my beautiful, cool, and fearless older sister. Mari, who spoke perfect English and would show me around her new world.

Instead, I had to keep Magali company, enduring crying kids in the lines and stopping constantly to go pee. I don’t know if it’s just her or every eight-year-old’s bladder is just that bad at doing its job.

And now: aliens.

This trip just keeps getting better.

After we’re evacuated from the roller coaster, we head straight for the toilets. Again.

“I don’t see any aliens,” Magali comments when she gets out of the stall, looking around and going to the sink to dutifully wash her hands.

“Me neither,” I say. “Maybe they just threw their trash as the spaceship went by.”

“Maybe,” she says doubtfully.

We exit the toilets together, going back to the rush of people. It’s a Saturday, which means the park is at its fullest capacity since we got here.

We’re no strangers to alien sightings. Dad’s family is from Varginha, arguably the most famous site of an alien sighting in the history of Brazil. The local water tower is built to look like a UFO. Dad had gone to school with one of the girls who claimed she’d seen it. But it does feel unreal to be walking around the park while aliens are on the loose. I wish I could check the news to see if there’s anything official or if everyone is just collectively losing their minds and chilling at the same time.

The speakers of the park, which had been playing a happy and tone-deaf tune considering recent events, cackle with static. People seemed to be moving aimlessly, but now everyone stops like robots on standby waiting for further instructions.

“Attention everyone: Please head toward the closest exit of the park. Due to maintenance issues, this area will be closed off. We ask that you remain calm and exit accordingly.”

The warning goes on for another minute, but I don’t catch anything further because all around us an uproar is happening. A woman with a stroller sighs, exasperated, hauling a three-year-old with her by the hand. An older man, close enough to my grandfather’s age, starts sputtering in indignant protests about having paid for tickets and how he has a right to go wherever he wants.

“What did it just say?” Magali asks, because her English vocabulary sums up to: My name is Magali, I’m eight, and my favorite color is yellow.

“Everyone’s supposed to leave the park.”

“What!” she exclaims, enraged. “But I haven’t even seen the pyramid!”

I start walking, pulling my sister along despite her digging her heels into the asphalt every four steps, following the throng that is slowly moving toward the exit. Everyone’s just shuffling, dragging their bodies along without being committed to the action. It’s giving zombie parade.

The site of the crash seems even more astounding up close.

The smoke has dwindled, only a single black streak cutting the blue sky. However, the once beautiful, perfect silver sphere that stood at the entrance was obliterated. It’s flattened, the metal structure underneath jutting in pointed angles like it has survived its own personal apocalypse.

The outer surface was crushed, layers of panels discarded haphazardly in the path surrounding it. People give a wide berth as they pass, casting curious glances. There are paramedics and ambulances present, but luckily, it doesn’t look like anyone was injured.

“Whoa,” Magali says, stretching her neck back so hard it’ll give her a cramp. “But where’s the spaceship?”

We can’t see it from the boardwalk. People in black uniforms surround the sphere, putting up tapes circling the debris. The crowd is starting to push forward and cram together, and up ahead, I see that they are breaking up people into lines. I watch intently but can’t catch what everyone’s saying. Too many languages mixed together.

But I don’t need to hear anything to understand what happens next. Two girls around my age arrive together. A security guard stops them, tells them something, and then they’re pulled aside, looking displeased and grumpy. Several other kids, clearly by themselves, stand in a small group with them. None of them are as young as Magali, but they’re clearly minors without supervision.

Which means that when our turn comes, it’s likely they’ll stick us both in that group, and I won’t even be able to make a case, considering my language skills are not solid enough for that discussion. They’ll stick Magali and me in some Lost and Found for Abandoned Children until our parents arrive. A hundred horror stories spark through my mind, especially Grandma’s rambling tales about child trafficking.

I just can’t get trafficked before I get to see the Star Wars park. That would be totally unfair.

“Let’s turn here,” I tell Magali.

“We’re going the wroooong way,” Magali says.

“Nope.”

I pull her back along the path, pushing through the crowd in the reverse direction. I duck, and Magali lets go of my hand to pass between somebody’s legs. My heart thunders in my chest, blood rushing hot.

“Come on,” I say to my sister as we hurry along, and then we get to the edge of the path.

Someone shouts in the distance, but I don’t want to risk looking over my shoulder.

“Go, go, go.” I hurry Magali, practically throwing her over the fence and shoving her back against the bushes. She yelps, but I jump over it, grab her hand again, and then trample the grass in our path.

I hear some other shouts. We round a corner, and I see a wall of bushes. We stumble through the thicket, and my feet hit a rock. I lose my balance and fall back, and then I hit something that definitely isn’t inanimate, considering that it yowls in pain.

“Sorry,” I say. That word comes easy enough after a couple of days stepping on people’s toes and having to push people out of my grandma’s way.

I turn my head, worried that we might have stumbled on security anyway, but relief floods through me when I see who’s hiding behind the bushes.

It’s just some girl.

She’s in worse shape than us. Her clothes are dirty, with leaves sticking to the fabric, and her bag is scrapped and looks burnt. She’s dressed in a long, flowing skirt and a metallic jacket. Not dressed for a day out in the harsh Florida sun, that’s for certain.

“Sorry,” I repeat.

She only blinks, wide-eyed and pale, like we’re storybook monsters made real.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Magali says.

No reaction. The girl’s clutching her bag tight enough to cramp. I turn to her, and she flinches.

“Sorry,” I say like a broken record. “Are—you lost?” The words come out strained and warped. I hate how hesitant my voice sounds.

The girl shakes her head.

She sure does seem lost. There’s no one else with her, and from the leaves that stick out from her hair, she’s been hiding in this spot for a minute.

“Is she hurt?” Magali asks me.

I compose the sentence in my mind. “Are you hurt?”

Argh, it comes out sounding like heart.

“Do you need help?” I change the question.

The girl shakes her head again, eyes widening. She doesn’t understand a word I’m saying, and I don’t think it’s because my pronunciation is that bad.

Oh. She’s just like me.

“You don’t speak English?” I ask in Portuguese, because it makes no difference.

She blinks. She has beautiful eyes. They’re grayish, almost silver. She looks around, as if looking for whoever was with her, hoping they’ll show up.

“We’re going to find our family, too,” Magali says. “You can come with us.”

The girl only stares.

“Maísa,” I tell her, pointing to myself, and then I point to my sister and say, “Magali.”

She seems to understand. “Vidra.”

“That’s a weird name,” Magali says.

“Don’t be rude,” I chastise.

“She doesn’t understand me,” Magali counters.

“That’s not the point.”

I turn to Vidra, pointing to her and then turning my hand to us, making a vague gesture of going back to the park. After a minute, she nods and follows us out of hiding when the coast is clear.

Getting to the monorail is surprisingly easy. You’d think they’d have turned off the thing, considering the evacuation. That said, we aren’t the only people who had the idea of moving to another park altogether instead of leaving. There are jaded families, giggling couples, and a very determined group of retired citizens.

“Sit,” Magali instructs Vidra.

Vidra sits down in the monorail car, looking around wide-eyed. She’s still clutching her bag against her chest like it’s her lifeline. Fair enough; there’s plenty of pickpockets in any tourist destination. Magali and I sit across from her. I grab my phone, but there’s still no internet. No chance of trying to use any online translator tool to make communication easier.

“What are we going to do?” Magali asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer, too tired to placate her.

Magali stares out the window as the train moves. Then, suddenly, she grabs her own backpack and starts rifling through it. I know Mom has packed enough snacks, water, sunscreen, and medicine to get us stopped by border patrol.

She hands the water bottle to Vidra, who looks uncomprehending. This girl has got to be in shock. I take the bottle from her and unscrew the cap, take a sip, and then hand it back to her, encouraging with a gesture. She eyes it suspiciously at first, and then takes a careful, deliberate sip.

The relief on her face is immediate. She crumples on the seat before turning her face to take another gulp, as if afraid we’ll see her drool or something.

“What kind of name is Glass anyway?” Magali asks.

“That’s not her name,” I say to my sister, impatient.

“Uai, I thought she was explaining what her name meant,” Magali says, frowning at me like I’m the one that’s not making any sense. “Isn’t glass vidro? It’s what it says in the Cinderella shoe box Grandma got me yesterday.”

“Words mean different things in different languages. Maybe in her language, Vidra means something else. Like your name means pearl.”

“Because I’m Mom’s precious jewel.” She nods sagely.

She’s so ridiculous.

From the backpack, Magali finally finds what she wanted. Her drawing pad.

Magali has a lot of artistic skills for a kid. I certainly couldn’t draw more than stick figures at her age. I can’t draw more than stick figures now.

Quickly, Magali turns the pages and stops at one portrait she did of our whole family. She turns it over and points to me and her, and then to our equivalents in the drawing. She taps the rest of our family. “We’re going to meet up with them. Who are you looking for?”

“She doesn’t understand us, Maga.”

Magali turns a blank page in the book and then hands it with a pen to Vidra. The girl lets her bag go reluctantly and takes the notepad. She holds the pen really funny, like she’s never seen it work before, and her fingers don’t close around it properly. Her first lines are tentative, and then she loosens up. Magali offers her other colors, and she picks one up, hesitant, and then, apparently delighted, starts using them all over her drawing.

When she’s finished, she’s drawn six people. They aren’t much better than stick figures, but you can see their different features and colorful clothes. They don’t seem to have any hair, though. And there’s something that looks … like a computer? Maybe she’s lost her phone.

“Weird family,” Magali says.

“Dad’s going to give you a big talking-to if you keep saying people different from us are weird.”

My little sister gives me an indignant look. Suddenly, Vidra lights up and grabs her bag, digging through its contents. From there, she takes out a photocard and turns it to show us.

“Aimeudeus, it’s Max!” Magali squeals, tearing it from the other girl’s hand. “Look at it, it’s so shiny!”

The paper is very soft and sleek like satin, with a sheer quality to it. Max is smiling, like he always does for pictures. I don’t get the appeal much, but Magali and all her friends are obsessed with him and his boy band. She’s been yelling nonstop that not only is he great at music (debatable), but that with his upcoming werewolf movie, he’ll be a true star (doubtful). Vidra points to the picture and then looks at us expectantly.

“We know Max,” I tell her, because I don’t understand what she wants me to say. “You a fan?”

“Ask her if she can give it to me,” Magali says, her grubby fingers holding it so hard the photocard will get indentations.

I point to the card, then to Magali. Magali looks with pleading eyes, which seems like the universal sign of a fangirl begging. Vidra looks amused, then nods her head, pushing the card in my sister’s direction. Magali gives a high-pitched scream and throws herself into Vidra’s arms, saying obrigada-obrigada-obrigada.

Vidra goes so pale it’s like all her blood has drained from her body, like she’s not used to contact at all. But Magali’s warm and cute—it’s why it’s easy to tolerate her even when she’s insufferable—and Vidra blinks, looking down strangely at my little sister. She looks at me, and I smile at her.

Very slowly, she smiles back.

Magali lets her go and starts on a tirade of her favorite Max chorus in each song, her favorite videoclips from Six for Eternity, her favorite interviews, not caring that neither of us seems to be paying attention and only one of us understands the language. Vidra settles back with her bag, but the crease between her eyebrows is reduced. I look at the drawing she’s made in her lap, and I realize that in the background, she’s drawn what looks like little stars.

Magali is right. This girl is weird.

When the monorail stops back in the main park, we get off.

It’s in utter chaos compared to the reasonably well-established evacuation plan of the other park. Guess they must have realized that the people paying a hundred bucks per day to enjoy the rides wouldn’t want to leave, even if the trumpets of the apocalypse were ringing in the background.

Now it’s impossible to find my family from the sheer amount of people trying to shove their way into park rides and shows, even though most of them clearly have stopped working.

“Come on,” I say to Magali, trying not to get discouraged, pushing through the crowd.

Unfortunately, the speakers start repeating the same message as before, announcing the evacuation. We squeeze through people and railings, and I keep turning to check if my sister and our new friend are still with me.

Mari technically had the day off today—thus, shopping—but she was still in the park because Mom was having her help with souvenirs to bring back to everyone in the family, plus their dogs, cats and parakeets, according to her enormous list. Maybe since this is an emergency situation, Mari’s been called to action and we can find her more easily?

“We need to find Mari,” I tell Magali.

Unfortunately, as we go through the chaos, slipping through the small spaces and excursion gaps, Magali refuses to get the memo that this is an emergency. She goes on talking nonstop.

“Maísa, I want to ride on the carousel.”

“Let’s see the mermaid ride.”

“Oh! I know! The flying elephant!”

I look at the sky and give a long-suffering sigh. Vidra still follows, gaze darting everywhere as she squeezes through with us.

We finally make our way through the crowd, but since it’s far from the entryway, they’ve started taping the park off. A security woman spots us, three girls clearly lost, and comes over.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she says, looking restless and without the usual smile reserved for guests. We’re probably not the first guests to try her patience today, and considering the state of the park, we won’t be the last, either.

I back away a step, stammering, “I—I’m looking …”

“They are evacuating the whole park. Only employees are staying to give the all clear.”

I grab Magali’s hand behind me and squeeze. “When I say run, you start running.”

My sister goes completely still.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” the woman asks. “Where are your parents?”

“Run,” I tell Magali.

My sister takes off at lightning speed. I grab Vidra’s free hand, tugging her along, turning us around a corner. All the practice I’ve had walking around ten kilometers per day in the parks has paid off, besides the fact that being born and raised in Belo Horizonte, I’ve had my fair share of climbing hills and slopes. My legs pump fast, and it’s only when I turn a corner that I realize I’ve led us to a dead end. They are definitely going to hold us in a room now.

I spot an employee-only sign in English, but all the employees are likely busy with the evacuation plan, so I lead us through the door, panting. There’s a moment of quiet as I take in the surroundings. There are rows and rows of costumes and wigs, all displayed on neat hangers.

Something bangs on the door behind us.

“Quick!” I tell Vidra. “Grab those costumes!”

My actions must be evident because, even if we can’t understand each other, she grabs a costume for herself. I shove the dress over my head, and the wig goes half-haphazardly over my double braids. I stick a snowman head mask over Magali as she protests that it’s way too big for her.

Blending in with the rest of the scenery, we run. We hear security right behind us, but in the costumes we only get a cursory look from the other employees, even with the wigs askew and Magali clearly being a kid. Everyone’s got bigger worries today.

We turn several corners, working our way through the strange tunnels, until we get to a small room with an open door and no one inside. I shove Magali inside, and Vidra follows. I close the door and press my ear to it.

There’s only silence on the other side.

“I think we’re safe,” I say, turning to them both and discarding my wig.

They do the same with their costumes. I now realize that I grabbed the ice princess wig and the yellow ballroom dress in my hurry, and Vidra has a prince of thieves costume put on backward. That makes me giggle, and suddenly, all three of us are laughing, mostly out of relief, our breaths short.

I sit down on the floor. The room looks like a makeup space for the cast, with a big mirror and low chairs, along with a wall full of different colored glitter jars.

“What’s the plan now?” Magali asks.

“Let’s wait until the park empties out,” I tell her. I check my phone. It’s a little after 4:00 p.m. “It’ll be easier to find our family then.”

“But what if …”

I see the question in her gaze.

“They won’t leave without us,” I reassure her.

Magali nods, her confidence renewed. She sits down next to me.

“We’ll see them soon,” I promise.

I pat Maga’s shoulder to comfort her, and she sags against me. “I’m hungry,” she says.

I open my bag and give her the snacks I still have. She takes out her drawing notebook again, and the three of us settle in for a long wait. Maga falls asleep soon after, her head on my lap. When she does, Vidra takes the shirt from her costume and lays it under Magali’s head, just so she’s more comfortable.

I smile at her. Maybe back home, she has a little sister, too.

Vidra gestures to me. I shake my head. I won’t be able to sleep or rest now, and I don’t want to waste the phone battery playing games on it. She walks around the room and spots a makeup tray, which she brings back over, sitting in front of me.

She picks up a colorful eyeshadow, dabs a brush into it, and spreads it over her eyelid. Then she takes another color and spreads it over her other eye. The big, mismatched colors stare out at me, and I let out a laugh. Vidra points to my face, a question in her gaze.

I nod.

That’s how we both pass the time. Using stage makeup on each other, covering up our face, neck, and arms in random, bright colors, drawing white stars with eyeliner on our arms and playing in silent companionship without ever having to speak a word.

“You both look gross,” Magali says when she wakes up and sees our ridiculous makeup.

We come out of our hiding place when the afternoon is fading and the park is empty.

Empty like it’s some sort of apocalyptic scenario and we’re the only people left on the planet. It’s eerie, especially because there is no music and very few lights. It feels … haunted.

Vidra looks around, for the first time seeming unafraid. I start walking just so I’m not overwhelmed. I should have talked to one of the cast members and got them to find my family or my sister—soon we’ll be without food and still lost, and it’ll be my fault because I was too stubborn to ask for help.

Magali and Vidra follow me. Surely, there must be someone doing the security rounds, unless they isolated the whole park.

“Where are we going?” Magali asks. “I’m hungry.”

She’s eaten all of the snacks already, both from her bag and mine, and every store we walk by is locked.

Then, as if by some sort of miracle, I spot a light. I pick up the pace, and what I find is the pirates water ride, apparently working as if the park was still at full throttle. This is the ride I most wanted to go on yesterday when we were here because I love the movies, but the line was too long and Magali was hungry, so Dad didn’t want to stop. He promised we could come back later, but who knew now if the parks were going to be open tomorrow considering the alien invasion or whatever it is that’s actually happening. I enter without thinking. The boat waits invitingly. Maybe it just needs a little push.

“Get in here,” I tell Magali when she finally catches up to me.

She crosses her arms. “You can’t make me.”

I give her a withering look. “You spent the whole day complaining that we couldn’t get to any rides, and now that we are, you don’t want to go?”

Magali looks at Vidra as if expecting backup. Instead, I pick her up and put her on the waiting boat. Vidra gets in the boat, too, looking around wildly. I give it a little push just to test it, and suddenly, the boat is moving forward as if it’s been activated. I scramble to get inside, landing bodily next to my sister.

I honestly wasn’t expecting it to work, but the boat moves forward, compelled, sliding gently in the waters. I give Magali an excited look, but she turns her nose up, her arms crossed.

The music starts as we move into the ride, and we pass by the first animatronics. Vidra tightly grips her bag, but she’s interested too—she’s leaning forward on her seat, watching the animatronics move, tilting her head. She looks like she hasn’t been on any of the rides. What sort of people are her parents if they haven’t taken her to the most basic ones?

I settle back on the boat, enjoying the gentle slope. When it comes to the first drop, Magali gives a giddy yelp, reluctantly enjoying it despite her complaints. Vidra laughs, too, evidently surprised by the change of pace.

This is what our vacation was supposed to look like. The actual rides, having fun and enjoying the magic that seems to outline everything in bright lights and music, like a world spun out from dreams. I close my eyes for a second, letting myself live in my own imagination.

Then, obviously, it gets ruined.

“I want to get off,” Magali declares.

“We have to wait until it comes back around,” I explain.

“I want to get off now,” Magali says. “I’m hungry, and these pirates are ugly.”

She punctuates that sentence by getting up suddenly from the boat seat and moving sideways.

“Sit back down,” I tell her. “That’s dangerous. It’ll be over in a minute.”

“NOW!” she shouts at me.

“Magali, stop, you’re going to—”

I never finish my sentence. Magali does exactly what I told her not to and steps onto the railing of the boat.

The thing is, it’s not secured. The ride isn’t working properly.

So the boat turns, and we splash into the water.

It’s disgusting. It reeks of spilled soda and musty plastic, and despite the boats moving in it, it feels stale. I hold my breath before plunging, but it doesn’t feel less nasty. I kick my legs up toward the surface, and I look around for my sister first.

Magali’s a good swimmer, and she’s already moving with a determined pace toward the closest margin. I look around but don’t see Vidra.

I didn’t think to ask if she knew how to swim.

I splash wildly, but the lighting is awful. I strain my eyes and see a streak of silver under the murky surface. I dive after it, my eyes burning, but my fists close around water.

I float to the surface for breath and see another flash of silver from the jacket going to the other side of the shore. I drop down face first onto the bank and cough at the feet of one of the (yes, ugly) pirates. I swivel around and swim over to Magali when I spot her.

“Look at what you did!” I shout. “I told you to stay still.”

Magali’s face is red and puffy. “I didn’t want to come here!”

“Of course, you didn’t. You never want to do anything that I want,” I complain, too tired and hungry to stop myself.

She’s just a kid, is what I usually tell myself when I’m about to lose my patience. But a part of me wants to scream, So am I! I have as much right to the rides and the magic as Magali does, and instead, I had to spend my whole day being responsible for her, and I’m fed up with it.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Magali says peevishly, but I can see her lower lip trembling.

“But I do!” I scream. “All I’ve done in the parks was run after you, take you to see all the stupid characters, and you didn’t even let me see my favorite princess!”

She stares at me. “I’m going to tell Mom—”

I laugh. “Well, good luck! She doesn’t want you either, considering she dumped you with me!”

I’ve gone too far. I can see it in her face.

“You are the worst sister,” Magali says. “I never want to talk to you again!”

Before I can hold on to her, she takes off between the animatronics and runs into the dark.

I look for Maga all over the place, shouting her name and waving my phone flashlight, but my cries go unanswered.

Defeated, I go back to the spot where I’d last seen her. My clothes have dried, but they’re sticky, and I smell bad. The boat is overturned, so I sit down among the statues and animatronics. Up close, they’re uglier, shadows dancing over their faces with the water’s reflection. My eyes burn, but I squeeze them tight so I don’t start crying. I hug my knees and bury my face there, repressing a sob.

I feel miserable. I lost my sister, and the vacation of my dreams turned into a nightmare. All because I can’t even manage to speak a language that I’ve learned all my life. I am a disaster.

Something rustles in the background, approaching, and I look up. The lighting is bad in the ride, but I can see it’s Vidra, except her eyes aren’t exactly … Vidra’s.

Her face seems to be glitching. Beneath the surface, there’s a round face, but with no eyebrows and no hair, and big silvery eyes. I startle, but she spreads her hands wide, a gesture to calm down a wild horse.

“Who are you?” I manage to say, my words choking, recoiling my body. “Really?”

Vidra blinks, apprehension clouding her eyes.

Maybe I should be afraid, but in that strange face, I see the colorful stage makeup that we used on ourselves to pass the time, the little white stars she’d drawn on her arms with the eyeliner that match the ones she drew on mine.

She’s lost, just like I am. She doesn’t understand me, like I can’t understand her.

The tears finally win. One runs from my eyes to my chin, carving a salt-stained path over my trembling lips. This is the worst vacation ever.

I crumple while Vidra sits down next to me.

“Oh,” Vidra says, reaching out, brushing another tear that followed the first. I can’t even be bothered by the fact that she’s clearly the alien that landed here.

Her touch is careful, and her skin feels slippery like that of a house gecko.

In a rush, she retracts her hand and opens her backpack, determined. From there, she takes a device—a solid sphere of pure silver the size of a tennis ball. Then, she reaches again to my face, brushes another drop of my tears, and smears it on the ball.

The thing lights up.

And then, incredibly, on that beautiful reflective surface, my own memories start playing out. They’re my memories, because everything is being seen through my eyes. Coming together on the plane, happily watching a movie with Magali on the seat next to me. Mari was there to come pick us up at the airport, and I hugged her so tight I felt the muscles in my arms cramping. And the good memories of these last couple of days in Orlando. Going on the haunted ride, and Grandpa insisting he wasn’t a cardiac arrest risk so he could ride all the roller coasters. Grandma never bothered to learn any princess names, so she only ever calls them “as frôzi” when she points them out. The memories are like a whirlwind, but in them, I only ever see my family smile.

I look at Vidra then and see that as she dries, her human face settles again like a disguise. She holds up her hand and then seems to really concentrate for a moment. A tear wells up in her eye; she swipes it with her finger and smears it on the sphere surface. It changes, and I’m not seeing my memories anymore.

I’m seeing hers.

I’m looking at a strange civilization, Vidra flying through a city above. Then, the interior of a ship, with other people who look as young as us but with the non-human faces—smooth bluish skin, no hair or eyebrows. I recognize them as the people she’d drawn in Magali’s notebook. They laugh together and smile. They must be her friends.

And then, the memory changes, and there’s a red warning and panic as the spaceship starts to fail, and everyone scrambles to get to safety.

The sphere goes dark in her hand. She looks at me, a mix of emotions in her face: excitement, worry, fear.

But in the end, nothing changes.

I don’t need to understand anything else about the two of us. She’s the friend I made.

But what is she doing here? And according to the memory, there was trouble with her ship, so more people must be with her. Before I can think of how to mimic or start drawing, I hear a voice calling my name.

“Maísa!”

It echoes, ringing against the walls. In a rush, I get up, brushing off my shorts and running in the direction of the voice. I can hear Vidra’s steps echoing behind me, and I don’t care if I step into more water or if my clothes are ruined.

And then I see her.

“Mari!” I exclaim, so relieved my eyes start welling up and my vision blurs.

I throw my arms around my older sister, smashing against her at full speed. Mari wraps her arms around me, too, hugging me tight, trailing her fingers through my wet, disgusting hair.

“You look like you just bathed in Shrek’s swamp,” she tells me.

I sniffle. “I don’t think you’re allowed to say that here. That’s the competition’s IP.”

Mari laughs. “Don’t tell the mouse.”

She untangles us both, and I swallow back tears. I’ve already done enough crying.

“Magali ran off,” I tell her. “We fought, and then she said I’m the worst sister ever, which … is obviously true … since I’ve complained about the trip the whole time, and I’m not you—”

“Hold on a minute,” Mari says, stopping me. “You aren’t the worst. You could tone down the complaining, sure, but that’s on Mom. She promised you a trip, just you and me, and then our whole family decided to come along.”

I blink. “What? I thought you loved it. You were so happy.”

“Of course I am,” Mari says. “I love that all of you came, but that’s not what we’d planned. And Mom didn’t even apologize to you. This was your birthday present, and you got stuck being middle sister and babysitting Magali. That’s not your job. I talked Mom’s ear off about it this morning.”

The tears threaten to spill again, and I sniffle hard. “You never complain about sister duty.”

Mari gives me an impatient look. “Maísa, come on. Why do you think I moved to another country for a whole year before I started college?”

I stare at her, stunned. All this time, I just thought she’d wanted to make her curriculum better, rounding it out perfectly, as she does with everything. But maybe, just maybe, Mari isn’t perfect. Maybe no one can be.

Maybe my biggest skill issue is that I failed to recognize that everybody has them.

“So you hate me,” I joke.

“Don’t start,” she warns. “Mom and Dad are already looking for Magali. They sent our grandparents to the hotel first. We can meet up with them now.”

“How? Cell services aren’t working.”

Mari takes out a walkie-talkie from her belt. “Employee privileges.”

My shoulders sag, the tension finally leaving my body. Things will work out. Mari’s here, and she’s going to fix things. We’re going to get Magali and meet up with our family.

Which leaves one other problem to fix.

As if sensing something, Mari turns to stare at the person who’s been awkwardly watching us both, not speaking a word. She’s dry now, at least, so her disguise is back in place, and she looks like a normal teenage girl.

“And who’s this?” Mari addresses Vidra at last. God, she changes languages so seamlessly. “Friend of yours?”

“Yes,” I answer in English, trying to sound as confident as she is. “She’s … from up there.” I point to the sky.

Mari stares at me hard.

“We have to help her,” I tell her. “She lost the rest of her group.”

Mari looks at Vidra again. The girl waves timidly. Mari blinks again, shaking her head. “Jesus, what a day.”

In the end, it’s so easy to find Magali that I feel stupid. She managed to leave the ride and had been sitting in front of the first food kiosk she could find, banging on the door to try and get to the food. My parents give their location through the walkie-talkie, and when we go to meet them, Magali’s in my mother’s arms, eating her fill of sweet popcorn she has likely raided.

I feel so relieved I can’t even be angry, even though we’d drilled my little sister a thousand times that she shouldn’t run off. She isn’t hurt, and she’s safe.

“Sorry I ran away,” Magali says meekly, blinking her big black eyes at me. It’s the first thing she says when we come closer. “You’re not the worst sister. You’re just very bad.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Thanks, Maga.”

I hug Mom and Dad next, glad that after a day of being lost and frightened, I can be safe, too. Then Mom looks over my shoulder to Vidra, frowning.

“And who’s that?” she asks.

“Well, uhh …” I start, not knowing how to break the news to my parents.

“She’s the girl who crashed her spaceship in the park,” Mari explains. “And she’s lost.”

“She’s an alien?” Magali asks, eyeing Vidra up and down. “But she’s not blue like in Avatar.”

“Screw Avatar!” Mari complains. “The only Avatar we serve in this house is Korra.”

Now that my family is reunited and everything seems to be under control, there’s only one thing left to do.

I get Magali’s notebook, turning back the pages, and point to the other aliens she’s drawn before raising both my hands. She shakes her head once, grabs her bag, and takes something out. It’s another handheld metal orb with what looks like a single button.

Vidra removes something from her ear—I hadn’t even noticed she had an earbud on—and mimics speaking into it, but then her face is sad. She gestures with the object, shaking her head, shoulders sagging with defeat.

“I think it’s a communicator,” Mari says behind me.

“It’s probably broken,” Mom suggests.

“Let me take a look,” Dad says.

I point to my dad and follow it with a twisting motion with my hands, and then, for lack of a better sign of what I want, I do two thumbs-up.

Dad extends his hand.

Vidra looks between the two of us before relenting, extending the object, her eyes guarded.

Dad takes it, evaluating for a second before he unlocks some sort of lid to look at all the wires and panels inside. Vidra does a sharp intake, but she holds still. If anyone can get this to work, though, it’s Dad. He has the dad superpower of being able to fix everything in a time of crisis and break everything else the rest of the time.

“Maga, do you still have your gum?” he asks.

He puts out his hand, and Magali spits it out into his palm. Ew. He sticks the gum in the middle of the wires.

“Dad, don’t ruin this,” I say worriedly, wringing the hem of my dirty T-shirt. “She can’t get home if you break it.”

Dad puts his hand up and looks at Vidra, even though she won’t understand a thing. “This is a long-standing Brazilian method. It’s called gambiarra, and it’ll be fine.”

He finishes tinkering, pulling out a wire and testing it. Then, finally, he closes the lid and gives it a hard shake. The thing starts beeping. Vidra gasps in surprise.

“Did it work?” I ask.

There is a moment of utter silence. Then the object gives out a chirp so loud it sounds like a burp.

“We’re soooo back!” beeps a cheery voice in perfectly understandable Portuguese.

What?!

“CHIP!” exclaims Vidra, relieved and happy.

She starts talking rapidly into the ball, a language that sounds beautiful and musical along with her voice, confident in a way she’d not been before. She’s looking more hopeful, her shoulders straight and determined as she wanders off.

For a minute, I just stand there watching.

Maybe this is it. Maybe that’s the end of her adventure here on Earth.

Maybe it’s not customary back on her planet to say goodbye, even if it’s people you just met. Maybe it takes more to become a friend where she comes from than spending a day of misadventures together.

Then, Vidra stops talking and turns around. Her eyes are bright, so bright it almost feels like her disguise isn’t working anymore. She comes running back in my direction.

“I need to thank you for all that you’ve done for me,” she says in perfect Portuguese.

I’m so shocked I almost fall down.

“You can talk!” I exclaim, after my heart has stopped throbbing in my throat from the surprise.

“Yes!” she says with a laugh. “Your father fixed the communicator, and now I can get access to my ship’s AI! Plus, with it, I got the universal translator back!”

“Wow,” I say, a bit envious. I never would have to worry about enunciating the difference in word and world if I had one of those. “So what exactly are you doing here on Earth?”

“I came with a team on a mission,” she tells me, and I can’t get over the excitement of her voice after we spent the whole day communicating in befuddling gestures and drawings. “To rescue my captain’s brother, who’s been stuck here on Earth. Your sister seemed to know him—Max Spencer?”

“Max Spencer is an alien?”

Vidra nods. “Yes. Something went wrong with the ship as we were landing, and I got split from the rest of the group. My communicator broke in the landing. But now that I have it, I can meet the others and finish what we came to do.”

She sounds really serious, like she’s been drilled on the specifics of this mission by someone very determined.

Vidra opens her bag and draws a familiar object from there.

“Here,” she says. “I want you to have this.”

She hands me the silver sphere.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head while she tries to push the object into my hand. “I can’t. It’s yours.”

“I have plenty of these back home,” she says dismissively. “It’s a memory reader. It shows you good things when you aren’t feeling well. I brought it because … well, I was really afraid to come on this mission. But I’m the ship’s navigator. I spent my whole life studying the stars and planets, and it was my dream to come and see Earth. I wanted to get over that fear. And I think I have now.”

She gives me a tight-lipped smile and extends the sphere to me. I take it.

“You can still visit,” I tell her. “But maybe next time don’t crash into anything. Come to Brazil. Far better tourist attractions.”

Vidra chuckles. “I will.”

“And we can write to each other, somehow?” I suggest. My heart is growing tight. I’ve known her for less than a day, but I don’t want to see her go.

Despite not speaking the same language, despite being from completely different places, we still found a way to help each other. And if that doesn’t make people—or aliens—into lifelong friends, I don’t know what can.

“In English,” she says, with that melodic voice. “So we can both practice.”

I can’t help but smile, and then I’m the one rushing into her arms like Magali did before. I crush her, and I can feel her hugging me back just as tight. When we let go, I’m smiling so hard my cheeks start to hurt.

“And what do you do now?” I ask. “Do you have a way to get back to the others?”

“Since I’m the navigator, I’ll have to track the best route, but I’ll have to contact the captain first with CHIP’s help.”

“Meaning that without my help, you’d be nothing,” deadpans CHIP from her pocket.

“Wait!” Magali calls out from behind us. My family was watching us from a distance, waiting for me to return. “I helped you! I need Max’s autograph!”

“Magali!” chides Mom. “We don’t charge people for help.”

“You don’t,” mutters my little sister.

“I’ll see what I can do,” promises Vidra. “And besides … I don’t have to go just yet. CHIP is locating the others. Which means I have a little more time on Earth.” She looks at me and then, timidly, at the rest of my family. “If you’ll have me.”

My sisters suddenly flank me. Mari pulls me close to her side, and Magali leans on my hand so hard it might dislocate my shoulder.

“Of course, we’ll have you,” Mari says. “And I think after the day we’ve all had, we deserve a celebration.”

“McDonald’s!” screams Magali. “McDonald’s! MCDONALD’S!”

“No McDonald’s,” Mom says resolutely behind us. “We have food at the hotel.”

For once, though, my sisters and I are in sync. We scream McDonald’s together, clapping and running around in circles, and Vidra joins us, having no idea why we’re chanting so hard but adding her voice anyway.

A TIME FOR ALL THINGS

BY ALEX BROWN

“Tell me, o’ Muse, the girl of many devices, who wandered full many ways before she crash-landed in the Pacific Ocean,” CHIP sang in Iona’s ear. She frowned, wanting to tell her AI off, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to look more out of place than she already did.

Iona wasn’t sure how to explain the strange circumstances that led to her floating in the ocean on her ship’s emergency flotation device. So, she didn’t. Thankfully, when she was discovered, she’d avoided getting wet, so her human form was intact. The tugboat crew shrugged it off, figuring she was in shock. A girl drifting in the Pacific wasn’t the strangest thing they’d seen in LA, they told her. They helped her onto the pier and guided her to Poseidon’s Delight, one of the many gift shops along the Santa Monica Pier. Once they crossed the shop’s threshold, one of the crew members wrapped the clerk in a tight embrace before departing. But not in a way that indicated a meeting of the lips had occurred between them. It was similar to the way Iona and Axariam might have greeted each other.

How they would greet each other.

Iona held onto that thought, exploring the Terran merchandise lair. There were so many strange items lining the walls. Small spoons with pictures painted on them, rocks that were—apparently—pets, and something called Loud Mouth Bobby Bass, the Musical Musician. Iona hadn’t encountered a fish in person yet, but she was under the impression that they lived in the sea. Not mounted in a box and put on display for Santa Monica tourists to gawk at.

What kind of barbarians would do that to a Musical Musician?

“There you go,” Jazz, the clerk who kept reiterating that she was nearing the end of her shift, said as she straightened a few figurines on a nearby display. To Jazz, Iona was simply a girl who was lost at sea. Iona exchanged her standard cloaking device clothes for an oversized tie-dye I Love Santa Monica! shirt and swim trunks with embroidered palm trees. Even though her cloaking device allowed her to project whatever clothing she wished, it was still nice to have something tangible to cover her form. “Excellent disguise. Now no one can tell you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.”

Iona bristled. She recognized this idiom from Dex’s prep exercises. Sure, her mission hadn’t gone quite to plan. But she could handle it. She had to handle it.

“Whoa there,” Jazz said, holding up her hands. “I come in peace, okay? I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that … I know what it’s like to be a little lost. I’d like to help you. But only if that’s something you want.”

“Why?” Iona asked. She regretted the question but was also curious to hear Jazz’s answer.

Jazz shrugged. She smiled, but there was something distant in her expression, an air of sadness that she quickly pushed away. “World’s bad enough as it is. Besides, Dad always says, ‘A friend in need’s a friend indeed.’” She paused, winking at Iona. “Might as well use my small gesture of goodwill to get out of work even earlier.”

Iona’s father once told her that the mark of a good leader was knowing when to ask for help. Perhaps both of their parental units were onto something. Still, Jazz’s assistance couldn’t be accepted without something to exchange for it.

“I can pay for these,” Iona said, gesturing to her new outfit. “With … something.” Iona frowned. She had no Terran currency. But there were other things she could do to repay the clerk’s kindness. “I can help you clean the store, or—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jazz said. “My dad owns this shop. He’s pretty chill.”

“What about me?” CHIP asked, voice booming in her ear. “I’m still coated in seawater. It’s uncomfortable.” As if to accentuate her ear device’s point, the part of CHIP that was connected to her ship and hardwired into a bracelet sent an electric pulse through her body.

“Real mature,” Iona muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Jazz asked. She pulled her tight curls back into a ponytail, scrunching her nose. The freckles scattered across her light brown skin shifted slightly.

“Nothing,” Iona replied, ready to leave this terrible chapter of her life behind her. She needed to escape from the store that held rocks and singing fish hostage. “Thank you for your assistance, Jazz. If you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way.”

“On your way to—?”

Iona hesitated. This Terran seemed like she could be trusted. And without Dexin by her side, she wasn’t sure she could navigate this odd planet on her own. “I need to find my brother,” she said, right as the slim screen on her bracelet pulled up a video of an infant Terran giggling.

Iona wasn’t sure what she did to deserve this sort of punishment, but she was ready to repent for whatever misfortune she’d caused.

“Does your watch talk?”

“Uh—” Iona started to say, but she was cut off by Jazz’s excited squeal.

“Oh. My. God. How did I not know that Apple was putting out a new watch?” She pulled out a small, primitive device that Dex had once referred to as a smartphone. “Do you mind if I take a picture of this? My girlfriend will never believe it!”

Jazz let out a victorious whoop and held the phone up to her ear, chattering excitedly into it. Her enthusiasm only lasted a few seconds, though. Jazz frowned, examining her communication device. “Val? Hello? Can you hear me?”

“I’m still malfunctioning, you know,” Iona’s personal CHIP said. “I want to know what the sensation of souvenir cotton feels like on my synapses.”

Iona slid off her chair and wandered around the store. There weren’t a lot of options for what they could transfer her personal CHIP into. It needed to be something that could hold an electrical charge and had the capacity to communicate. Jazz’s phone was a suitable choice, but Iona wasn’t sure she’d be able to take it and walk away without upsetting Jazz. The clerk was always looking down at it, laughing, sighing, or listening to someone inside talk about the new Max Spencer movie.

Iona ran her Terran hands over her Terran face. She still had ten fingers. Good.

She stopped in front of an action figure of Admiral Earth, which was one of her brother’s first roles. He played a warrior from another planet who was summoned when five teenagers united five rings of power. He fought corruption, capitalism, and calls from telemarketers.

“Are you a fan?” Jazz asked.

Iona jumped. She’d drifted away while staring at the action figure. Forgotten herself. Her mission. For a moment, it was comforting to get lost in the make-believe. To think that there truly was someone out there who would fight to end all of those terrible things.

“I love every episode, but the telemarketing ones are my favorite,” she continued, trying her best to get Iona in on the conversation. “The way he always says, ‘You think I own a VEHICLE in this ECONOMY?’ whenever someone calls him about his car’s extended warranty gets me every time. And Max Spencer is such a little cutie. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Iona gagged.

Jazz nodded sagely. “Not your cup of tea. I get it. My girlfriend doesn’t really see it, either.”

Iona gave her a small smile. “He’s my brother.”

“He’s your … OH!” Her eyes widened as she processed this new information. “You must know my girlfriend, then. Valentine? She’s Max’s stylist.”

Hope ballooned so deeply in her chest that, for a brief moment, Iona feared she might fly away. “She knows Axariam?”

Jazz let out a low whistle. “Axariam? That’s his real name? What did he do, just add an ‘M’ right before the rest of it and call it a day?”

Iona sighed. “My brother has always been … dramatic.”

“I get that. Not, like, totally. I’m an only child. But Val has a younger sister who’s around your age. I see the sibling struggle play out between them daily. Do you and Max get along?”

“We used to,” Iona replied, words falling out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I haven’t seen him in a few years.”

“Hell yeah. Sounds like it’s time to help you have an epic reunion!”

“MalFUNCtion imMINent,” CHIP chimed in before Iona could reply. As if to punctuate his point, the display on her wrist flickered, showing a frantic montage of her brother’s various roles.

“Is your Apple Watch okay?” Jazz asked.

“No. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

Jazz pulled out her phone. “You’re in luck, kid. Val’s hiding out in this coffee shop just up the street. It’s called Lotus Eater Café. You heard of it? Anyway, she said something about having to replace caffeine that was lost in a tragic accident. Not that it matters. I’ll head over there with you. I can’t wait to see her nerd out over your new watch!”

Iona nodded, relieved that she’d encountered an extremely friendly Terran. “Thank you. It’s very kind of you to help me.”

Jazz shrugged. “It’s what Admiral Earth would do. Besides, I’m happy to help a friend in need.”

Iona pointed up to Loud Mouth Bobby, the Musical Musician. “Is this … normal?”

Jazz chuckled. “Depends on who you ask. You wanna see what he can do?”

Iona’s eyes widened. “Yes.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No,” Iona replied as Jazz handed Loud Mouth Bobby to her. A small electric spark jolted between Iona and the fish. It was something called a sea bass, and it was mounted to a plaque. A red button with the words Push me! sat under the fish’s belly. Iona held her breath as she did as the button asked.

The fish’s tail flopped. Music came from … somewhere. Loud Mouth Bobby’s head lifted off of the plaque, turning to face her. Stare her right in the eyes. It was as if the Musical Musician was staring deep into Iona’s soul. He saw her true form. Knew who she really was.

And not only that, he accepted her for it. Iona didn’t have to prove that she was a capable leader like she did to her parents and everyone else at home. She could simply exist.

“You really like that thing, huh?” Jazz asked.

Iona nodded.

“You can have him!”

“You sure?”

“Anything for Max Spencer’s sister. He gave Val an all-expenses-paid trip to Greece for her birthday. I got to tag along and watch her fulfill a lifelong dream. I owe Max for that. And I can’t think of a better way to repay that debt than to reunite him with his long-lost sister. So, what do ya say, kid? You ready to go on an adventure?”

Iona meant to answer. But she accidentally activated Loud Mouth Bobby instead. The mechanical fish began to serenade them.

Jazz shrugged. “Good enough!”

A fierce wind blew in from the west, trying to push Iona and Jazz off course, but they steadied themselves and marched on, determined to get to the Lotus Eaters Café. Iona paused in front of the coffee shop, taking it all in. She’d watched a few episodes of Axariam’s most recent TV show, Espresso Express, which was about a café that was also, somehow, a magical train. From what Iona understood, Terrans used these places to fill their bodies with temporary energy, though not all coffee shops were mobile. Or magical. Or, in the case of Max’s character, plotted an underground resistance to destroy the Coffee King once and for all. She’d been taken aback by her brother’s fierceness. His anger. She hadn’t known him to express such emotions before.

What else had the Terrans done to him in order to unlock such ferocity?

As soon as Iona walked inside, she learned that TV wasn’t as reflective of real life as she initially thought. Loads of people were crammed into a space that was too small to hold them. Iona couldn’t help but feel like she’d stepped into the belly of a bloated beast that was almost to the point of bursting.

A TV with cables and wires trailing under it played in the corner of the room. Someone dressed in formal-looking clothes with a face that definitely made use of—what was the word?

Contour?—looked gravely at everyone inside the café. Iona nodded approvingly. If this was the Terran’s idea of a cloaking device, it had done its job. Iona had no idea what the Terran actually looked like. Dex told her that these were newscasters and that they often brought harrowing tales of doom and destruction to the Terrans.

Scrolling text on the bottom of the screen read, Strange debris found near Santa Monica Pier.

Iona bit down on her tongue. Their ship was supposed to be cloaked. If the Terrans could see it, they might take it. How was everyone supposed to get home if that happened?

“Ah, there she is,” Jazz said, squeezing Iona’s shoulder. “Hey, babe! Over here!”

Jazz’s call was loud enough that a few people turned around. Iona didn’t shrink under their gaze. Instead, she stood next to Jazz proudly, as she called out to her babe.

Iona wasn’t sure what an infant was doing alone and unaccompanied in The Lotus Eaters—or what that had to do with Jazz’s girlfriend, Valentine—but she trusted that the Terran knew what she was doing.

“Hey, you,” said a young woman, with kind features and dark hair, as she wrapped her arms around Jazz. Warmth flooded Iona’s face as the Terrans had a meeting of the lips. Iona had pretended not to be interested in this ritual on the ship, as she had a job to do. But now, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever get to try to have her own meeting of the lips with someone she cared deeply for.

Her hands twisted together. Hopefully, Moysah landed safely in their escape pod. After she fixed CHIP, she needed to find a way to contact her pilot.

Static filled the TV screen as Jazz and her girlfriend broke apart.

“Valentine,” Jazz’s girlfriend said, extending her hand to Iona. “Nice to meet you. And killer shirt, kid. You have good taste.”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “No making fun of the merch! Dad worked hard to find stuff that was as touristy as possible.”

Valentine’s eyes widened. She gasped. “Jasmine Penelope Jones the THIRD—”

“Only one of those names actually belongs to me,” Jazz whispered as Valentine continued.

“—are YOU accusing ME of sarcasm? I would NEVER! The complementary color scheme of the tie-dye goes really well with the kid’s skin tone. She’s clearly an autumn. And the spiral patterns on this shirt are hard to pull off on cotton. I should know, I’ve tried.”

Jazz chuckled, nudging Iona with her elbow. “You should see what she’s like during awards season.”

Valentine sighed dreamily. “So many good looks. Such little time.”

Iona had no idea what they were talking about, but she nodded in agreement. She needed the shirt to blend in. It was a better option than the torn and dirty appearance that her initial disguise had taken on after the crash. The sooner she could get them to fix CHIP and help her find Axariam, the better. Iona held her wrist out.

“MalFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNction,” CHIP stuttered. Although her guide was malfunctioning, she was still able to interpret what the Terrans were saying. Iona always thought it made sense to combine the two, but now she was happy to be wrong.

Valentine let out a low whistle. “Apple’s really going wild these days, huh? You mind if I take a closer look?”

Iona took the bracelet off and handed it to Valentine. The TV fizzled in starts and spurts. Valentine rifled through her bag, taking out a couple of makeup cases and setting them aside.

“Ah. Here they are,” she said, producing a set of tiny pliers. She sat down and leaned over the device, focusing. The tweezers drifted closer, but Valentine looked up, light brown eyes meeting Iona’s. “Can you pass the fish?”

“What?”

“The fish,” she replied, taking a sip from her now-cold latte and gesturing at Loud Bobby. “Your watch is, for lack of a better term, super freaking busted. But I can take the chip out and put it into something else. It’s an old trick my mom taught me. I think it’ll work on your watch.”

Iona’s eyes narrowed. “You think? How certain are you?”

She took another sip before she set her cup down. “Let’s go with, like, 85 percent certain.”

“And the other 15 percent?” Jazz asked. The souvenir clerk was now seated at her girlfriend’s side, eyes flicking toward the TV with an exponential increase in frequency that usually signified stress.

“That’s up to the universe to decide, babe,” Valentine replied. “So, what do you say, kid? We doing this thing or not?” Jazz and Valentine didn’t seem that much older than her. Nothing more than a few years, at least. Certainly not old enough to keep referring to Iona as a “kid.” But they were also going out of their way to help her. Perhaps “kid” was a term of endearment for these Terrans.

Iona also wasn’t sure how she—or CHIP—would handle things once he became a singing bass. But Valentine was right; she was out of other options.

Sirens wailed around them as Iona let Valentine take Loud Bobby. Jazz gasped as the text on the TV changed, now reading, “Alleged UFO sighting at sea!” along with a shaky video of Iona’s crashed ship floating in the Pacific Ocean.

Iona stood up abruptly. A few heads snapped up to watch her, including Valentine’s.

“You okay, kid?” she asked as Jazz placed a steadying hand on Iona’s arm.

“I’m running out of time,” Iona answered.

“Yeah, might be good if we speed this up a bit, darling,” Jazz added, giving Iona’s arm a squeeze. “Can you help her get to Max once you’re done with the fish?”

Valentine paused, looking up at Iona. “Why? Are you, like, an obsessed fangirl or something?”

“I’m his sister,” she said. She winced at how sharp her words sounded. “If you’ll excuse me a moment …” Her voice trailed away as she drifted closer to the TV. With each step she took, more static filled the screen. She tilted her head, regarding it, and then took a step back. The screen lost some of the interference, getting a little clearer. Iona’s pulse quickened. She was doing this. If she wanted updates on her ship—and maybe her crew—she needed to stay as far away from the television as possible.

“You’re kind of a weird kid,” Valentine said as Iona settled back down in her seat, scooting it even farther from the ancient TV set in the café. “I think my sister would like you.”

Murmurs and conversations subsided as the news broadcast got louder. Soon, the only thing that could be heard was the anchor’s somber voice.

“We … we aren’t quite sure what’s happening, folks. I’ll admit, this is a first for Chad Stockworthy and everyone on the Channel 4 Team. We’re receiving reports that the strange debris found on the Santa Monica shores is connected to alleged alien sightings across the country. Authorities suspect we’re seeing the start of an alien invasion—”

Gasps and nervous muttering broke through the crowd’s silence. Iona cast an uneasy glance at Valentine and Jazz, but the former wasn’t paying attention to the broadcast and the latter was focused on the frantic bustling happening outside.

“Dearest,” Jazz muttered, still keeping watch, “you might want to go a little faster.”

“I’m trying my best,” Valentine snapped.

“—the governor has declared a shelter-in-place order for the citizens of Los Angeles,” Chad Stockworthy of Channel 4 News continued. “Please remain where you are until further notice.”

Red and blue lights—and the wailing of sirens—appeared outside of the café. Iona’s hands wrung together. Dexin forced her to spend an entire solar cycle watching back-to-back episodes of a show called Law & Order. He stated that it was normal for Terrans to engage in these extended watch parties, where they could consume numerous episodes at a time.

Yet another thing that made this species barbaric.

“Authorities,” Iona said.

“Not good,” Jazz replied.

“Shit,” Valentine added, finally looking up when the sirens sounded. “I’m not finished, but it looks like we’re out of time.”

Jazz nodded fixing her gaze on Iona. “I get the feeling those jerks out there are looking for you.” Her eyes met Valentine’s, and after a brief, silent exchange, they had a meeting of the lips. “Don’t get killed. I’d hate to have to resurrect you just to kill you again.”

Valentine snorted. “That sounds like a lot of trouble, dear. We’ll be fine.”

Iona gaped at the pair. She didn’t know Terrans had the ability to resurrect their dead. Perhaps they were more formidable than she gave them credit for.

“Go,” Jazz said, touching her lips to Valentine’s forehead. “I’ll keep them busy for you.”

“I love you,” Valentine said.

“I know,” Jazz replied. She winked at Valentine, who grabbed Iona’s hand and dragged her farther inside the café.

“I—” Iona started to say, but Valentine turned around, looking at her with wide eyes.

“There’s a bathroom in the back with a window. We should be able to fit through it.” The sounds of whirring metal chopped through the air. Valentine winced. “That’s a helicopter. And our cue to leave.”

“What about Jazz?” Iona asked.

Valentine shoved the mechanical fish into Iona’s arms. “She’s staying behind to distract them. We need to move.”

Iona nodded. She held Loud Mouth Bobby close to her chest, not daring to breathe until she was in the bathroom.

Things were getting out of control. She needed to find Axariam.

Now.

“So, are you, like, an alien?” Valentine whispered, as they crept into a nearby alley. “Wait. Does that mean Max is? Never mind, the less I know, the better.”

Iona wasn’t sure if she should answer Valentine’s questions or not. Although Valentine and Jazz had been allies, it seemed that there were some Terrans—like the authorities—who weren’t as welcoming to their interplanetary visitors.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Valentine said after she peeked around a corner. She took Loud Mouth Bobby out of Iona’s hands and opened him up again. “I’m putting the GPS coordinates for Max’s hotel in the fish. If we get separated, this will get you there.”

“If?” Iona asked. She didn’t like the idea of being alone on a strange planet with a singing fish as her only companion.

Valentine sighed. “It’s better to be prepared. Also, take this.” She dug around in her bag and pulled out a lanyard with a badge attached to it. “This will get you into the hotel.”

“Don’t you need it?”

“Eventually, yes. Hopefully, we’ll be together the whole time and we won’t need a contingency plan. But in case we do, my sister’s still in there. I can always call her if I need help.”

Iona nodded, putting the lanyard around her neck. “Thank you, Valentine. You are a noble Terran.”

Valentine chuckled. “I’m going to pretend I understood what that meant.”

Their brief respite was interrupted by none other than Loud Mouth Bobby, the Musical Musician.

A few notes sounded. The fish’s tail wiggled. And then, Loud Mouth Bobby sang, “I always feel like somebody’s watching me,” a little too loudly. Iona put her hand up to the fish’s mouth, trying to dampen the sound.

“Why is it doing that?” Iona whispered.

“No idea,” Valentine replied.

“Somebody’s watching me!” the fish repeated.

“Did you hear that?” a voice drifted in from the near distance.

Iona couldn’t believe she’d made it this far, only to be thwarted by a singing fish. She wasn’t sure what else she could do. Her back was literally against a wall.

Purposeful footsteps echoed around her. There was an overwhelming coldness woven into the sound, as if they belonged to someone who was all business.

Iona steeled herself. She didn’t want to fight. She wasn’t sure she could fight, really. She exchanged a glance with Valentine, who also seemed to be at war with her thoughts.

“If you need to,” Valentine whispered, “run. I can hold them back and give you a few extra seconds.”

“Somebody’s—” Loud Mouth Bobby started but stopped abruptly as a man rounded the corner, stopping in the mouth of the alley.

Iona’s assessment of someone only there for business proved correct. A pale man dressed in a sharp suit smiled at her. Unlike Valentine and Jazz, Iona couldn’t see two eyes. Just one long band of a black, reflective lens that stretched across his face.

“I don’t think you ladies should be out and about right now,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

“We’re managing fine,” Valentine said, stepping in front of Iona. “I was just showing my cousin around Santa Monica. We’re on our way to the boardwalk.”

“Ah. Then I’d love to escort you there,” the man replied. “And you,” he barked, taking another step closer to them. “The cousin. Who are you?”

“Nobody,” Iona replied. She was still hiding behind Valentine.

“Well, Miss Nobody, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Agent Cy. Special Operations Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“STOP!” the fish sang. “In the name of love!”

“Well, Agent Cy, we don’t need your help,” Valentine replied, crossing her arms. “I’m capable of showing my cousin around alone. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way.”

Dexin had forced Iona to watch enough Terran movies to know that if this man captured her, she’d be locked in a cell or experimented on. Or worse.

“I must insist on being your escort,” Agent Cy said. He pressed a space close to his ear. “Found a person of interest. And an associate. Coordinates are—hello? Can you hear me?”

If Iona focused, she could feel the static emanating from his headset. She stepped out from behind Valentine, and the static intensified.

“Wait,” Valentine said, grabbing her arm. “When I give the signal, run. Listen to the fish. He’ll get you to Max.”

“But I can stop him,” Iona replied.

“I know you can,” Valentine said. “But this isn’t the time to fight. Run, you little weirdo. And if you see my sister, tell her she’ll probably have to bail me out of jail.”

Valentine didn’t wait for Iona to process that. Instead, the stylist and tech guru charged at Agent Cy, knocking him off balance. His eyes—which Iona thought were one long panel of lenses—fell off, revealing his true eyes. Iona crushed the false eyes under her heels as she rushed past him. She broke into a sprint while Loud Mouth Bobby cheerily sang, “Every day, it’s a-getting closer.”

In the distance, Agent Cy screamed. Iona put a little more pep in her step, darting behind cars to stay hidden from the increasing amount of patrol cars.

“Copy that,” a police officer said into a walkie-talkie. “We’re looking for Nobody.” There was a short pause, and then he and his fellow cops were lost in a fit of laughter. “Nobody,” the officer said to the others once he was able to catch his breath. “Can you believe that? Feds come in here spouting nonsense about aliens named Nobody! You can’t make this stuff up.”

Iona figured someone could make this stuff up somewhere. But that was a mystery for another day. She waited until they started laughing again and quietly skulked away, sticking to the shadows.

“It’s a-getting closer,” Loud Mouth Bobby insisted.

“Is it?” Iona snapped as the fish shook its tail. “I’d love to hear something that isn’t a stars-forsaken song lyric!”

Iona caught herself. She hadn’t meant to yell at CHIP. He was trying to help in his own weird way. But things were getting too out of control. She lost her tracking capabilities when CHIP became a singing fish. Finding Max was as easy as finding a blurfle in a star cluster.

Tears welled in the edges of Iona’s Terran eyes. She should have just stayed home. There were other Trevvals who were better suited to mount a rescue mission. If she hadn’t acted so impulsively, she’d be hanging out with her friends, stealing glances at Moysah and hoping no one else noticed.

They’d all be safe. And together. It was her fault they were in this mess.

It was her fault if any of her friends were hurt. Or worse.

“Miss Nobody,” Agent Cy called from somewhere behind her. Iona picked up her pace. What if there were other Agent Cys out there, all trying to capture her friends, too?

Was she doomed to be taken by the Terran authorities? Would Moysah’s last memory of her be the moment that Iona shoved them into an escape pod? Would her parents ever know what happened to her? Or her brother?

“STOP!” Loud Mouth Bobby sang again. “In the name of love!”

The fish was right. Iona couldn’t run forever. Maybe facing off against Agent Cy was a foolish thing to do, but Iona was a foolish girl. She might not have believed that she could lead this mission, but her friends did. They volunteered to go with her. To help her. And even though they weren’t with her now, she had to fight.

For them.

For herself.

For Max.

Iona gripped Loud Mouth Bobby tightly, curling her free hand into a fist as Agent Cy came into view. His silhouette blurred against the steadily setting sun.

“There you are,” he said, creeping closer, like a flendinger hunting its prey. “Saw your ride floating in the ocean. At least, I’m guessing it’s your ride. You might have everyone else fooled, but there’s something … off … about you. Different. You might look like us, but you don’t move like us. Do you know how long I’ve chased something like you? How many times I was laughed out of a room because I insisted you exist? Well, now it’s my turn to laugh! Once I bring you in, they’ll all see that I was right! I’ll finally get the respect I deserve.”

“Where’s Valentine?” Iona snarled.

“Your cousin?” he spat. “She got away. That’s fine, though. She wasn’t the one I’m after. You are.”

That was good news, at least. Hopefully, her friend was safe somewhere far away from them.

“It’s a-getting closer,” Loud Mouth Bobby insisted.

“What’s closer?” Agent Cy asked. “What are you looking for, Miss Nobody?”

“Nothing,” she replied.

Agent Cy chuckled. “Sounds about right. You’ll have lots of time to tell us the truth once we take you in.”

“I won’t let you do that,” Iona said as Loud Mouth Bobby frantically sang.

Agent Cy smirked. “You and what army? Last I checked, you were all alone, Miss Nobody.”

“So are you,” Iona snapped. She ran at Agent Cy, swinging Loud Mouth Bobby at his head. The fish made a sound that was somewhere between a song and a scream as it made contact.

Iona ran, but Agent Cy grabbed her arm, holding her in place. “Nice try, Little Miss Nobody. But it’s going to take more than that to stop me.”

“Hey, Agent Asshole,” Valentine yelled. “Over here!”

Agent Cy spun both of them around, just in time to get hit by the brightest beam of light Iona had ever seen. Iona had no idea that Val’s small, rudimentary cellular device could hold so much power.

“Those sunglasses would’ve come in handy, huh? Too bad they’re broken,” Valentine said, advancing on them. “Time to run, kid.”

Iona didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted, listening to Loud Mouth Bobby as he impressively helped her navigate the rest of the way to Axariam’s hotel. She flashed Valentine’s badge to the guards outside and darted inside. Max’s voice—and a few others—drifted through the lobby, somewhere to her left. Iona ran through a door marked Ballroom and found her brother standing there, surrounded by Terrans.

“Axariam!” she shouted, running up and pulling him into a hug. She didn’t care that the other Terrans watched them in silent confusion. She’d made new friends, outsmarted Agent Cy, and had her AI turned into the strangest souvenir the planet could offer. She had so much to tell him. And so much left to do. But first, she’d enjoy this reunion with her brother, no matter who else was in the room.

Her brother looked at the other Terrans, shock evident on his human face. “Uh, is it okay if we take five before starting? I need a second to catch up with my sister.”

The others dispersed. Iona held him tight, finally allowing herself to cry. “Have I got a story for you.”

RED CARPET BLUES

BY REBECCA KIM WELLS

Hannah Lee was having a bad day even before she spilled coffee all over Max Spencer’s Midnight Eyes red carpet look, but the coffee spillage certainly didn’t help.

She was supposed to shut up and stay out of the way until Valentine needed her, and she had—right up until her phone pinged, and she glanced down to see a headline flash across the screen: FAIRIES & FEUDS CANCELED AFTER THREE SEASONS.

“What the hell?” she blurted. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the phone slipped from her grasp in a comical sort of slow motion—at least, it felt like slow motion to Hannah. The sort of movie slow motion where you could see the bad thing coming but were powerless to stop it. She watched helplessly as the phone struck the to-go cup on the side table, which teetered, then fell, coffee arcing dramatically all over the light gray pants that Max Spencer was meant to wear on the red carpet in less than six hours.

“Do you have a favorite internet meme of yourself?” The interviewer’s voice boomed across the hotel suite, but that was only because the rest of the suite, which had up until that point been bustling with pre-premiere activity, had fallen silent. And then Max Spencer—THE Max Spencer, Six for Eternity lead singer and star of only the most anticipated gay werewolf movie of the century—was staring inscrutably at her, and god, of all the ways Hannah had wanted Max Spencer to notice her existence, this was not one of them.

“Hannah!” Valentine hissed.

Hannah knew that if they were alone, Valentine would have started yelling. But because this was Professional Stylist Valentine, her older sister’s lips only thinned as she hurried toward the spill. “Not to worry, folks!” she said, waving the rest of the suite back into action before inspecting the damage. Luckily, the shirt and jacket had escaped unscathed, but it was obvious even to Hannah that no amount of light dabbing would get the coffee out of those pants in time.

“I’m sorry!” Hannah whispered.

Valentine ignored her as she sat back on her heels, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers and closing her eyes.

“Okay. Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to go for more coffee. You’re going to run this to the cleaners around the corner, pay them an obscene amount of money, and wait there. When the pants are done, run them back here.” She grabbed her purse and shoved cash into Hannah’s hands. “Run,” she said, her voice tooth-achingly pleasant. “And I do mean run.”

Hannah ran, a single thought pounding through her head with every step.

This is the worst day of my life. thisistheworstdayofmylife this. is. the. worst. day. of. my. life.

Worse than when Baby Panda had swallowed a sock, and they’d spent the whole night at the emergency vet. Worse than the time she’d thrown up during the Guys & Dolls dress rehearsal—which might have been forgivable if she had been playing Adelaide or Sarah, but who gets vomit-inducing stage fright as an ensemble dancer? But none of that compared to today. Fairies & Feuds—only the coolest, the queerest, the most glorious tabletop role-playing game ever to be reimagined on TV—was canceled, and Max Spencer himself had perceived her basically tripping over her own feet. There was no coming back from that.

To add insult to grievous injury, she had officially blown her chance at ever getting invited to help Valentine at work again. She wasn’t oblivious. She knew Val had only brought her along because Mom had made her—but she had hoped this could be the start of getting things back to normal. The way they were before her older sister Valentine had been consumed by Professional Stylist Valentine and basically abandoned her.

And now? Yeah, right. After today, Hannah was pretty sure the only reason she was still alive was that Valentine hadn’t yet perfected the art of shooting death rays from her eyes. Coming back to their weekly D&D campaign? Forget it.

Hannah’s despair was such that the wait for the pants—less than an hour, which would have impressed her if she’d been in the frame of mind to appreciate it—passed in a haze of panic interspersed with rage-scrolling the Fairies & Feuds hashtag. Soon enough, she was sprinting back to the hotel, her shoes chewing up pavement, then carpet as she barreled down the hallway toward Max’s suite. She was running so hard she almost fell as she entered, dry-cleaning bag held triumphantly in front of her. “I’ve got the pants!”

Wait. Something was off.

When Hannah had left, the suite had been bustling with stylists, publicists, assistants, and interviewers, all swarming around Max. But now, no one was here.

She was in the right place. Her jacket was still slung over a chair where she’d left it. There was the rack with the rest of Max’s outfit. There was the damp spot on the carpet where someone had done their best to clean up the spill. She checked her phone. No texts from Valentine about plans changing. So where had everyone gone?

There was a murmur of sound from the next room, where the door was cracked open.

“Hello?” she said cautiously. “Um, it’s Hannah? I’ve got the pants back from the cleaners?”

Then the door swung open, and Hannah screamed.

It had been a morning, and given how many mornings Max Spencer had had lately, that was saying something. But that seemed to be the price one paid for an increasing level of fame and fortune that most humans aspired to but would never experience.

Of course, Max Spencer wasn’t most humans. He wasn’t even human.

Not that he was complaining! On the contrary, Earth had fascinated him before he’d even set foot on the planet, and his enthusiasm had only grown with each subsequent visit. In a world with such dance moves as “flossing” and “the worm,” how could it not? His reports home had ballooned with details his supervisors began to label gratuitous, and he had started to drag his feet before the end of each trip. Still, he had never intended to become Hollywood’s next actor to watch. That had happened entirely by accident.

Max had fiddled with his cloaking device every time he went to Earth, as it pleased him to be able to change his presentation on a whim. That day he must have stumbled upon an appearance that was particularly appealing to the humans around him, because he had walked into a mall intending to visit a delightfully named stand where one might procure warmed canines on sticks (at the time he’d thought the canines might be dressed in cozy jackets while performing tricks on the sticks—an utterly delightful concept, especially given how fond humans were of their canines’ silly tricks) only to learn that hot dogs were not canines at all, but rather a type of sausage (this was disappointing and a little confusing, especially since there did seem to be a form of canine often called a “hot dog” as well), and was documenting this unfortunate discovery when a stranger tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he had ever thought about modeling.

Now, the extraplanetary research mission parameters were clear: observe, report, and avoid interference. But Max had never been one to turn down an invitation. Life was so marvelous; how else could you properly experience as much as possible? This did occasionally get him into trouble—he should not have said yes in Scotland when asked if he knew how to shear sheep—but even trouble was another novel experience, so who was he to complain? (And now he had experience shearing sheep, or at least one particularly difficult sheep named Mabel!)

In any case, the modeling job had gone so well—and Max had been paid real human currency! Amazing!—that the human in charge had recommended he acquire an agent, and naturally, that was just another thing it was easy to say yes to.

Soon enough, he had been signed up for a “boy band” named Six for Eternity—that had taken some research to figure out, primarily exploring unusual pronunciations of the English word “me” and viewing BTS videos and other related human media—and then somehow it was five years later, he was still on Earth, and he was about to walk the red carpet for Midnight Eyes, his fourth movie.

It was a little uncomfortable, actually, the fact that Max had unintentionally programmed himself such an appealing physical appearance that sometimes it felt difficult to do anything but succeed in this skin. In fact, when he thought enough about it, it felt just a little bit like cheating.

But he didn’t often think about that. Mostly he thought about how much fun he was having, how much he was learning, and how dutifully he was writing up his reports and beaming them back home. That was the only reason he’d been allowed to extend the duration of his mission—and then extend again. And again.

The Hollywood filming process alone had consumed five full reports, as Max had thought extra detail would interest everyone back home who watched human media for planetary research purposes. He had learned a lot himself, starting with the intensive training process that human actors put themselves through to get “in shape” for filming. It was a process he still didn’t fully understand—after all, these actors were already in top physical form—but he gamely participated nevertheless. Extreme muscle soreness, after all, was a new and exciting experience, as was the careful way he had to adjust his cloaking device to account for the minute changes in fitness that training was meant to produce.

Max had been outfitted with one of the top models before his first trip to Earth, which not only changed his visual appearance but also, well, squished him just a little to fit into the space that his cloaked appearance took up. It was extremely effective, but after too many hours of continuous use, about as uncomfortable as one might expect. Which was why meditation hour was so important: one contractually obligated solitary hour per day where he could deactivate the cloaking device, spread out, and soak up some sunshine with his real skin without fear of discovery.

So that was where he was after the jam-packed pre-premiere morning—stretched blissfully like a cat in the long rectangle of sun beaming in through the bedroom window, eyes closed—when he heard the hotel suite door open.

Max jolted upright and fumbled for his cloaking device, knocking it off the side table onto the floor. “There are still twenty-five minutes left in my meditation hour!” he called, scrambling to his feet. He picked up the cloaking device, jammed it on, and jabbed at the engage button.

Whoever it was said something muffled he couldn’t quite make out.

“I said, there are still twenty-five minutes—”

Max took in several things at once as he opened the bedroom door. There was an East Asian girl with a hot pink stripe in her long black hair standing just inside the suite. She was holding a dry-cleaning bag—right, the pants. She was the one who had spilled coffee on them earlier. She was also the person now screaming as she stared at him, her eyes comically wide.

Max’s first thought was, What the hell? His second thought was, Oh, shit.

Because as he looked down, he realized what had happened. His cloaking device had malfunctioned. Meaning the stylist’s assistant had just seen him. Not Max Spencer, human heartthrob. But Axariam, alien.

Hannah knew that when she thought back on this later, she would be embarrassed about screaming. In the moment, though, she stood by her reaction, because there was no way the creature that had just stepped out of Max Spencer’s bedroom was human. It was—she wasn’t sure what it was. Not human not human not human was where her lizard brain had snagged, that tiny part of her still evolutionarily trained to flinch away from snakes and too-dark places.

The creature stepped toward her. “It’s okay, you’re okay! Hannah, right?”

It could speak. The creature could speak, and it knew her name.

Hannah whirled around, fumbling for the door handle—and then maybe her brain stuttered, because the next thing she knew, the creature was right there behind her, its hands? paws?

braced against the door over her head, trapping her inside the suite.

Self-defense class instinct took over. She jabbed her elbow back, catching the creature in its midsection, then threw herself to one side as it doubled over. Heart pounding, she sprinted to the far side of the room and crashed to a halt against the window, jolting her shoulder. There was no way out, she realized. The suite was ten floors up, and there was only one door.

She spun back around. Weapons. She needed weapons. She was still holding the dress pants—useless, although maybe she could strangle the creature with them? Or use the wire hanger to gouge out one of its eyes? She wasn’t screaming anymore. Her teeth were chattering. From shock, maybe. Her hands were shaking, too. She could tell because she couldn’t hold the hanger steady.

“What are you?” she said, brandishing the hanger as threateningly as she could manage. “What the fuck are you, why are you here, and how do you know my name?”

The creature was still standing in front of the door, its shoulders slumped. It was looking at her in a way Hannah could only describe as mournful.

“I’m. Well. I’m Max. Spencer. Max Spencer.”

Hannah blinked. This was … unexpected. Although, as Melisandra Fairfeather always said on Fairies & Feuds, one must expect the unexpected!

“You’re Max Spencer,” she said faintly. She was being quite calm about this, all things considered.

The creature nodded.

“Like … you body-swapped him or something? Are you a monster? Or an alien?” Yes. Quite calm. Just casually standing here having a conversation with a creature that might or might not have killed Max Spencer. A creature that might or might not be about to kill her.

“Er. Alien. Trevval, actually. And no, I didn’t body-swap him. I am him. I’ve always been him.”

Alien. Max Spencer was an alien. Sure, that made total sense. “Prove it,” she said.

The creature scratched its chin. “Your name is Hannah. You spilled coffee on the pants earlier, and you had to run them to the cleaners. I was sitting in the makeup chair when it happened.”

“You could have hidden somewhere, spying,” Hannah said half-heartedly. “Or you could have, I don’t know, killed Max and eaten his brains and ingested his memories.”

“Um, ew. Seriously?” The creature—Max?—looked horrified. “Look, I’m very sorry for startling you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Which, of course, is why you’re keeping me trapped in here?” Hannah shot back. “What’s next? Are you going to kill me to keep your extraterrestrial secret?”

“No! Oh my god, no!” The creature flailed back against the door, as if the mere suggestion of violence had physically wounded him. “I just—look, this is unprecedented. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not trying to cause trouble. I’m just trying to do my job. Which will be impossible if you tell anyone. Hence the whole … stopping you from leaving while you were panicking thing.”

“Which you’re still doing, actually.”

The creature sighed. “Right. Right.” He sounded resigned—but he made no move to step away from the door.

Hannah didn’t know what to do, but at least she wasn’t about to be attacked by the creature—alien—Max Spencer. She lowered the dry-cleaning bag and tried to calm down.

Max Spencer, the alien, looked … well, to be honest, now that she’d gotten over the shock of it all, he was a bit of a letdown. Outer space was weird. So, Hannah had always assumed that real aliens—if humanity ever encountered them—would be weird-ass motherfuckers. Like, weirder than the weird-ass motherfuckers that lived in the deep sea and never saw light.

And yet Max Spencer, the alien, was fairly humanoid. Sure, he was extremely tall, and his head was … big … and there was something weird going on with his fingers, and his skin was an odd blueish color—but wasn’t there that family in the Appalachians with a genetic disorder that caused blue skin? With a trench coat and a big hat, he probably could even walk down the street, as long as no one looked too closely. He could have just come from an ’80s movie set—the type with a shoestring budget and a lot of body paint—and no one would have batted an eye. He would fit right in at a comic con. In fact, he probably wouldn’t even win the cosplay contest.

That didn’t stop Hannah from staring. It just didn’t compute, no matter how her brain tried to put the words together. Max Spencer. Alien. Alien Max Spencer. Max Spencer was an alien. An alien with a job, apparently?

“Okay,” she said, and then she couldn’t stop saying it, “okay, okay, okay. Okay. So, you’re an alien, and you’re just trying to do your job … which is what, exactly?”

Everything was starting to feel very absurd. Like, Max was tall and imposing, but also, when he hunched over like that, head ducked, he kind of looked like he was … groveling? He was definitely making pleading puppy dog eyes.

“I’m Max Spencer,” said Max Spencer, the alien. He shrugged. Which was also a strange gesture to see on an alien.

“You’re telling me that you’re an alien, and you were sent here, to Earth, to be a movie star?”

“We-ell …” Max brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. That was a Max Spencer gesture she recognized, an aw-shucks move that had made thousands of Six for Eternity fans fall madly in love with him. Of course, they’d never seen him do it with a four-fingered hand. “No. Not as such. My real name is Axariam. But you can still call me Max! I was sent to Earth as a researcher. Observe and report. The whole movie star thing just kind of happened.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “And I’m sure that had nothing to do with the fact that your human skin suit, or whatever, looks like all the best Chrises had a baby and then raised it in an optimally controlled environment. Like, you couldn’t look more like a movie star if you tried.”

Axariam—Max—grimaced. “I like playing with my human appearance. I get to change every time I come to Earth. Haven’t you ever wanted to change the way you look? What you are? This current look—it wasn’t a strategy. I like changing. They’re all me.”

Haven’t you ever wanted to change the way you look? What you are? The questions caused a weird, squelching feeling in Hannah’s chest. It was the same weird feeling she had when she stood in front of a mirror and thought, well, if I turn my head just this way, if I cut my hair that way, if I stood this way, if I dressed that way … who could I be? It was the same feeling that had made Fairies & Feuds so wonderful—the way the actors melted in and out of characters, shedding genders and voices as easily as changing their clothes.

What an odd day this had become. It had started with a crushing show cancelation and turned into a surreal dream—it might still be a nightmare, to be determined—where Max Spencer was an alien who had kidnapped her, and she was somehow, improbably, bonding with him over gender fuckery.

Just then, the phone rang.

They both turned to look at it. It was one of those old-school rotary phones, sitting right there on the desk, jangling away. Not a chirpy cell phone. This phone meant business.

“I … guess I should pick it up,” Max said.

It was weird. Intellectually, Hannah knew that rotary phones existed. But she wasn’t sure she’d ever actually heard one ring before in real life.

Come to think of it, maybe Max Spencer, alien, never had either.

Max snatched up the phone. “Hello?”

She wondered briefly if she should make a break for it, but Max was still standing between her and the door. He was so much bigger than she was that he could probably just lean back against it, and she wouldn’t have a chance of moving him.

She couldn’t hear much from the other end of the call, but it sounded serious. Max’s face looked serious, too—at least, she thought it did, but what did she know about alien facial expressions—and when he hung up, he stood there looking down at the phone as though he’d completely forgotten she was even in the room.

“What was that about?” Hannah asked finally.

Max shivered and looked up at her. “What? Oh. Well. Um. That was the hotel manager. There’s a … situation down at the beach. The city’s under a shelter-in-place order. So. Um. We’ll have to sit tight here for the time being.”

“No way,” Hannah said. “A ‘situation down at the beach’? Clearly you just made that up to keep me in here because of the whole alien thing.”

Max looked offended. “I’m not making it up,” he insisted. “Check your phone.”

Her phone. Which had been in her pocket the entire time. She was such a dumbass. She could have called 911 this whole time.

… And said what? Help me, officer, Max Spencer is an alien!? Sure, that wouldn’t have backfired at all.

But she could have called Valentine. She could still call Valentine.

She whipped her phone out and pressed her thumb against Valentine’s smiling face.

The call dropped.

She pressed again.

The call dropped again.

She looked up at Max, her brow furrowing. “Are you messing with my phone right now?”

If he knew what she had just tried to do, he was feigning ignorance. “Given the situation, there might be service issues. Here.” He grabbed an old laptop plugged into an internet cable from the side table and held it out to her. “Look. It’s breaking news.”

UNIDENTIFIED AIRCRAFT CRASHED AT SANTA MONICA

PIER

ALIEN INVASION IMMINENT

STOCK MARKET DIVES

LOS ANGELES SHELTER-IN-PLACE ORDERED

PRESIDENT URGES CALM

When Max had first arrived on Earth—back when he still thought of it as Terra—he’d had stories prepared for what to say and do if he was ever caught. He’d run drills and everything. But it had been five years, and nothing like this had ever happened before. Maybe it was his fault. He’d gotten complacent, and look where that had gotten him. Standing across a hotel room from a teenage girl who, technically, he was holding captive. He did not like that story. He didn’t like it at all.

He’d already tried engaging the cloaking device a few more times, but he tried again—unsuccessful; the fall from the table must have knocked something loose—as Hannah took in the headlines on the laptop, her eyes widening. The ship had sailed with Hannah, but he would still feel better if he could just get the blasted thing working. After all, he couldn’t barricade himself in this hotel suite indefinitely.

After a few minutes, Hannah frowned and looked up at him. “Okay, I believe you. But … this is about you, isn’t it? It’s not like there are tons of other alien species that have been hiding out on Earth, right?”

“Well, there are a lot of different alien species,” Max said. “But … yeah. This is about me.”

It hadn’t been clear based on what the hotel manager had said, but the second Max had seen the spacecraft—grainy and out of focus as the footage was—he’d known. That was a ship from his world. Not only that, he had a pretty good idea of who was on it.

He would have received notice of any official Terran mission, which meant whatever was happening had to be unauthorized. And the only person he could think of who would undertake an unauthorized Terran mission targeted on his location—crash-landing in Santa Monica couldn’t be a coincidence—was his impulsive little sister.

“Are you okay?” Hannah asked. “You look a little … weird.”

Max didn’t want to hurt Hannah. If he could have gone back in time to avoid her seeing him without the cloaking device, he would have. But now that she had, he couldn’t just open the door and let her go.

It would have been easier if he was prepared to walk away from being Max Spencer. Then he could just cut and run, and it wouldn’t matter what Hannah said to who.

But he didn’t want to. He wanted Six for Eternity. He wanted Midnight Eyes. He wanted all of it, and everything that would come next.

There was only one way forward. He had to turn Hannah from an adversary into an ally. Which meant he had to tell her the truth, throw himself at her mercy, and hope for the best. Because regardless of what Hannah might think, he was not prepared to kill any humans or devour any brains.

“I’m not,” Max said, answering her question. “I’m pretty sure my sister, Iona, was on that ship. And if I’m right, she’s in trouble.”

Iona was resourceful. She would have come prepared, with a team. But her ship had crashed. That couldn’t have been intentional. At this point, she had to be scrambling. He had to find her. And tell her … what?

This was where his thoughts always got stuck.

“Your sister just randomly decided to visit you from Planet 392-whatever? Isn’t that pretty far away?”

“It’s Trexyl,” Max said. “And yeah, it’s pretty far away. She probably thinks she’s rescuing me or something.”

Hannah stared up at him, and he could almost read her thoughts. He was a movie star. What did he need rescuing from? “Explain,” she said, eyes narrowing.

Max felt more than a little squirmy under her gaze. This probably had nothing to do with her reminding him a little too much of Iona. He soldiered on.

“Mission protocol is to keep quiet on comms aside from necessary reports. But mission protocol doesn’t really cover what to do when you stay on a mission longer than intended. I was only supposed to be here for a month.”

Hannah frowned. “Hasn’t it been …?”

“A little over five years,” he said quickly, because waiting for her to do the math would be excruciating.

“Five years?” she shrieked. “And you haven’t talked to your family at all? No wonder your sister thinks she needs to rescue you. Unless you’re, like, some ultra-long-lived elf-type alien where five years is a blink of an eye or whatever.”

“Nope.” Max flopped dramatically onto the couch. “It’s all my fault.”

And it was. He knew it was, and he wasn’t going to make any excuses. He’d gotten caught up in the excitement of this blue planet—everything so new! Everything so vibrant!—and the faster he moved on Earth, the easier it was not to think about time passing on Trexyl just the same as it did here.

“I’ll say,” Hannah said.

The laptop was still open, posts refreshing automatically: THIS ALIEN INVASION IS PRETTY PATHETIC SO FAR, followed by DASHCON WAS BETTER THAN THIS, ALIEN FUCKERS UNITE, TAKE ME E.T., and the ever-popular WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE—but Hannah wasn’t looking at it. She was looking at him, an inscrutable expression on her face.

Finally, she set the laptop aside. “I’m beginning to think you have more serious problems than holding someone in your hotel suite against their will.”

Max sighed. “Well, Fairies & Feuds got canceled, I broke my cloaking device, so I couldn’t go out even if there weren’t a shelter-in-place order, my sister is probably running around who-knows-where doing who-knows-what, and I have no way to contact her, the Midnight Eyes premiere is about to get canceled, and to top it all off, I don’t know what to do about this human who could completely ruin my life with a single word. So, yeah. It’s a little much.”

As if on cue, the laptop chimed with a notification. He glanced at the email that had just come in. “Premiere just got canceled.” He felt like throwing the laptop across the room, then thought better of it. “Sorry you had to run to the dry cleaners for nothing.”

“Wait a second,” Hannah said. “You watch Fairies & Feuds?”

“Of course! It’s only the best show on television right now. Was the best show.” Max let out a mournful sound.

For one glorious moment, Hannah’s excitement over discovering their shared fandom eclipsed the anguish of the cancelation. “I know! Can you believe they left it on that cliffhanger? We’re never going to know if Cassandra Melusine is able to hold the realms together!”

“Forget about the realms. What’s going to happen to Fluffy the Bearcat? They were going to resurrect him when the realms touched, but if they never do, Fluffy’s just going to stay dead!” Was Max … tearing up? He was! “We had a whole Midnight Eyes cast group chat about it.” He sniffed. “And now it’s just gone.”

“Well … I guess there’s always fanfic?” Hannah said, not that she really believed that herself. Fanfiction was fantastic, but it would never make up for the show being cut tragically short.

Max only glared at her and tossed himself even more dramatically against the couch.

Hannah couldn’t believe she was about to admit this to herself, but … she liked Max Spencer, alien. Not like-like—they’d blown past that possibility right around when all the screaming happened—but he was charming and not terribly scary once you got past the physical appearance thing, and he was sincerely worried about his sister, even if he was also, honestly, a little pathetic. What kind of a brother went five years without talking to his sister for no good reason?

Maybe the same kind of sibling who said she isn’t coming back to our D&D campaign, and so I might as well kill off her character, Hannah thought sourly.

But no. What Max had done was worse. Because maybe she and Valentine could get past the character-killing incident. But if Valentine ever disappeared for five years, Hannah would be tempted to do something really awful. Like put her phone in pickle juice or cut her hair while she was asleep. And she would be justified.

So, Hannah fervently hoped that Max’s sister royally chewed him out when they saw each other—but she didn’t want him to stop being Max, she realized. She trusted that he wasn’t out to get humanity or whatever. She liked him. She didn’t want to do that to him.

Something needed to be done, though, because Max was still splayed pathetically across the couch, looking like nothing so much as a starfish that had lost its will to live. And that wouldn’t do at all.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Hannah said. “First, give me your cloaking device.”

“What? Why?” Max’s head popped up, and he stared at her suspiciously.

“Because I had to hold a hand-me-down laptop together with duct tape and string for five years, and your fancy alien tech can’t be more of a challenge than that.”

“You’re … helping me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Oh my god, he was so pathetic. Like a weird, misshapen teddy bear that had been left out in the rain. “Because I don’t want to be stuck in here with you any more than you want to be stuck in here with me,” she said. “And because you owe your sister an enormous apology. And because I want several more gay werewolf movies, so Midnight Eyes better be a smashing success.”

“Does this mean …?”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ll keep your secret. But only if you stop moaning and start moving. I’ll try to fix the cloaking device, but the shelter-in-place order is still active. How are you going to find Iona?”

“Aye-aye, captain.” Max passed her the cloaking device—a metal crescent-shaped object that was heavier than it looked. Hannah immediately wished she had several days to play around with it.

Max stood up, pacing around the suite. “It’s not a coincidence that Iona crashed on the Pier,” he mused. “They must have accessed some media that pointed them in this direction. I have been doing a lot of press for the movie… .” He snapped his fingers. “We don’t have to leave the hotel at all. If we can livestream something, she should be able to pick that up.”

“With what? In case you haven’t noticed, phone service has been … not great.”

“Elementary, my dear,” Max said, grinning. He must have been feeling better—the familiar Max Spencer charm was returning. He held up the laptop. “Trevval tech messes with cell service. That’s why I lug around this old thing. Ethernet cables don’t let you down. Now we just need something to broadcast.”

Hannah looked around, her gaze alighting on Max’s premiere shirt and jacket still hanging on the rack. “The premiere was canceled.”

“Right,” Max replied absently. “So it’ll have to be something else.”

“No, I mean—the premiere was canceled. So you’re stuck, and the rest of the cast is stuck, too, right? You could get some of them together and do a DIY celebration. I’m sure the hotel has an event space.” She turned the cloaking device in her hand, passing her fingers along its surface. The buttons were little more than soft bumps on its side, but if she held it this way, they lined up with her fingers … there! Something rattled inside the device as she pressed down on one of the buttons. She smiled, looking up at Max. “Can you open this up? I think I found the problem.”

On another day, this could have been the best day of Hannah’s life.

After she fixed the misfiring button, Max Spencer was back to his human heartthrob self—though, Hannah still felt like she could see the ghost of his alien form if she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He wasted no time summoning his Midnight Eyes co-stars to the suite and spared no compliments as he introduced Hannah to Jason Rodriguez, Sara Jones Casey, and Hallie Chung as the genius responsible for saving the premiere. Hannah thought she might pass out. Or vomit. Or, dangerously, both—especially when Hallie brought up the Fairies & Feuds cancelation, and Hannah actually squeaked with excitement. Of all the impossible things of the day, sharing a conspiratorial glance and commiseration with Hallie Chung was perhaps the most impossible.

First, everyone glammed up in their red carpet looks. Then it was off to the ballroom, where Max quickly found an Ethernet port and plugged in his laptop, then stepped back to frame the shot. They’d lucked out—there was an enormous balloon arch and a painted backdrop on the stage that Hannah could only assume were left over from a recent prom.

“Okay, I think we’re ready,” Max said. “We just need to—”

The ballroom doors flew open. Hannah turned to see a bedraggled girl wearing a tie-dyed I Love Santa Monica! shirt and swim trunks, carrying what really looked like a singing animatronic bass fish under one arm. She scanned the room, relief flooding her face as she saw Max.

“Axariam!” she cried. She ran across the ballroom and into Max’s arms, pulling him into a tight hug. As Hannah watched, the girl leaned her head on Max’s shoulder, murmuring something else too quiet to make out.

This had to be Iona. From the look of it, she’d had quite a day—though Hannah really wasn’t sure what a Loud Mouth Bobby had to do with anything.

Max hugged Iona back, then looked up at the group. “Uh, is it okay if we take five before starting? I need a second to catch up with my sister.”

Max hadn’t seen his sister in five years, and he felt the weight of every single day as he walked with Iona down the empty hallway. His worry for her safety was lifting, only to be replaced by new anxiety. Hugging her had felt so right, but there was so much more that needed to be said. He just didn’t know how to start.

“Iona,” he began.

“Don’t Iona me, Axariam,” his sister said fiercely. “What were you thinking?”

“I—”

Iona barreled right over him again. “You were supposed to graduate, remember? You were supposed to be a pilot! And then you disappeared, and we didn’t hear anything, and do you know how long that went on for? Years, Axariam! Five! Years! Without even a single word! No wonder everyone was worried! I was worried enough to come all the way after you, and then I get here, and you’re not being held captive at all, you’re just—just having fun with the humans, so much fun that you couldn’t be bothered to send a message to your own family, now, could you? I crashed into the ocean to get here! The ocean! And do you know what’s in the ocean?” She brandished the very strange-looking fish on a board at him. “Stuff a lot weirder than this, I’ll tell you that! And you were fine the whole time! You weren’t even thinking about me for a second, were you?”

Her eyes were watering, and something clenched tightly in Max’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m really, really sorry. I know that’s not enough, but I am.”

“Sorry?” Iona let out a harsh little laugh. “If you’re sorry, then tell me the truth. Why have you been here for so long? Why didn’t you come home?”

Everything about Max’s time on Earth had been fun—and he’d been hiding in the fun for years. It had always been easier to say it was so much fun on Earth than it was to say he didn’t want to go back to Trexyl, especially when he knew Iona would look at him exactly the way she was looking now. He sighed.

He deserved this, he knew. But she didn’t.

“I didn’t care about graduating,” he said. “I didn’t want to be a pilot. But I didn’t know what I wanted until I came to Earth and discovered what I was really good at. Great at, even.”

“What?” she sniffed.

“Making people happy. Finding the joy and absurdity in life and wrapping it up and giving it to people. They need that.”

“And you couldn’t do that on Trexyl? You couldn’t do that with us? We need you.”

Max snorted. “Iona, you are the most capable person I know. I’ve never met someone who needed me less.”

“That’s not true.” Iona looked away from him. “You’re my brother.”

… And in that moment, Max felt like pond scum.

“I was selfish,” he said quietly. “I am selfish, actually. You deserve a better brother than me. If I’m being completely honest. Because I love you, and I miss you. But Earth is where I want to be.”

Iona swiped at her cheek with one hand. “But—but what am I supposed to tell everyone at home? They’re not going to understand.”

Now, that one was easy. “You don’t have to explain anything to anyone, Iona. They can just come to Earth and see for themselves. I’m happy here. And … and you could be, too, if you wanted. You could stay.”

“Stay?”

“Yeah. Stay,” Max said, his enthusiasm growing. “You just got here, but there are so many amazing things on Earth. And people! And television shows! You’ll have the best time, I promise. You know what, there are some awesome glow worms in Australia. And have you ever seen an aardvark?”

But Iona was already shaking her head. “I still have a year left before graduation, assuming I’m not expelled because of all of this. I was willing to take the risk to rescue you. But I’m not going to waste it on an … an interplanetary vacation!”

“Aruba, Jamaica, ooooh, I wanna take ya,” sang something very close by.

Max jumped. “What the hell is that?”

Iona rolled her eyes. She held up the fish, which waggled and continued to sing. “It’s CHIP. It’s a long story, but he’s stuck in the fish. I need help recalibrating him. Can I use your translator?”

“Oh, yeah! I mean, I don’t have it on me, but it’s in my hotel room. Easy.” Max peered suspiciously at the singing fish. “Are you sure that’s CHIP?”

Iona just looked at him. “I have had. The longest day. And this isn’t even the half of it.”

“Then why don’t we go grab the translator, and you can tell me all about it, because I have got to know how you ended up wearing this amazing outfit.” Max slung an arm around Iona’s shoulders and squeezed. “And we’ll see if ice cream can’t convince you to stay for at least a few days.”

“Ice cream? Really?” Iona’s shoulders relaxed, just a touch.

“Really,” Max said. “You know, you can solve a lot of problems with ice cream. Even problems like why you care way too much about what everyone on Trexyl thinks.”

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying, you could go anywhere! Do anything! There are whole galaxies out there! Why anyone would want to be a boring pilot for a boring home world is beyond me.”

Iona stuck out her tongue at him, and Max grinned. It was good to have his sister back. And he wasn’t going to make the mistake of taking her for granted ever again.

“Hannah!”

Hannah turned to see Valentine running toward her. They crashed together, Valentine wrapping her arms around Hannah and squeezing until it was hard to breathe. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I got stuck at a coffee shop, and then there was a whole evading-the-authorities thing, and the less said about that, the better. Were you here the whole time? I tried to text, but nothing was going through. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hannah hugged her back. “I’m fine, I’m fine!” She felt like she hadn’t seen her sister in years. The coffee spill was a vague, distant memory.

“Can you believe what’s been going on?”

“I know!” Hannah waved at the stage, where the Midnight Eyes cast had gathered now that Max had returned with Iona in tow. “I mean—Hallie Chung!”

Valentine looked at her quizzically. “Hannah, I’m talking about the aliens.”

“Who cares about aliens when we have the cast of Midnight Eyes right here!”

Onstage, Max took Jason in his arms and dipped him deeply, then planted an extravagant kiss on his lips. Sara and Hallie whooped in the background. Hannah didn’t need to check the computer to know that the viewership numbers must be exploding.

Valentine’s lips quirked. “You are very odd. Have I ever told you that?”

“You love it, though.” She looked sideways at her sister. “Does—does this mean you forgive me for the coffee spill? Because I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up on your big day.”

“Oh, Hannah. Of course. Besides, Max is up there shouting me out to whatever percentage of the internet can even get service right now. It’s fine.” Valentine leaned over and rested her head on Hannah’s shoulder. “And you know what … I’m sorry, too. It was kind of jerky to say you should just kill off Granny Lightning Bug.”

Hannah’s lips wanted to smile, but she kept them under control. “I think you’re trying to suck up to me because I’m best friends with Max now,” she said. “And also, it wasn’t kind of jerky. It was incredibly jerky.”

“Best friends, huh?”

Hannah stuck out her tongue at Val. “Yeah. Best. Friends.”

Valentine looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Okay, then. Seriously, though, you’re right. I’ve been really stressed out about all this work stuff, but I know that’s not an excuse. I was a jerk.”

“Hannah!” Max was waving at her frantically from the stage. “Get up here! Come do monster trivia with us!”

Hannah reached down and squeezed her sister’s hand. “I forgive you. But only if you come back to the campaign. At least on a part-time basis. Granny Lightning Bug still has a lot of work to do.”

Valentine smiled. “Deal. Now get over there!”

Cell service was still spotty by the time they shut down, but somehow, there were over seven hundred texts on Hannah’s phone screaming about her appearance on Max’s livestream. She was too scared to try opening any social media.

“What do you think?” Valentine asked, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “Am I, or am I not, the coolest big sister ever?”

“I think I’m about to be way cooler than you,” Hannah said, flashing her phone screen. “You’ll have to find someone else to do the emergency dry-cleaning runs.”

“First, I’d have to find someone else to do the coffee spills.”

Valentine winked, and Hannah stuck out her tongue, and Valentine tousled her hair, and they walked out of the ballroom arm in arm. Jason waved to them on the way out, and Hallie blew a kiss. They were already scheming about how to get Fairies & Feuds picked up by a new network.

“F&F watch party next week! I’ll text you!” Max yelled, and events of the day notwithstanding, Hannah still almost fainted on the spot.

Okay, so this hadn’t been the worst day ever. It hadn’t even been close.

IMPACT CRATER

BY MAYA GITTELMAN

Alex Richards-Reyes knows the world loves to kick a guy when he’s down. He’s lived through the end of everything enough times to T.A. the course; he doesn’t need reminders.

He swears under his breath, muscles burning as he yanks his bike through the snarl of traffic and the hills he usually skips.

He was going to do it this time.

He was!

A siren screeches, and Alex swerves to avoid the cop car blaring the wrong way down a one-way street.

“Hey kid, it’s not safe to be out!” the officer calls. Yeah, ’cause of jerks like you. “I mean it, little lady. Get home quick. Best place for you.”

Extremely helpful, thanks. Excellent use of funding. Meanwhile, Alex’s mom’s environmental program scraped for the minimum while they’d been trying to actually help people.

Alex is too aware of the sweat down his chest. The divot he hates, tight in the compression sports bra that’s the closest thing to a binder he can get away with until he comes out to his father, which had been the plan tonight, but nope! Alex ran away. Like he always does.

Like his mother did.

“You heard me, miss!”

Alex fights the urge to flip the officer off and nearly lets himself win. Getting forgotten in lockup during an alien invasion is not how he wants to go, even though it’s not like he’s got anywhere else to be.

“I get it already!” Alex snaps, counting on, as usual, the whiteness from his dad’s side to keep him safe. There’s enough of his mother in his face that he doesn’t often choose to antagonize cops, but he’s reckless today.

He stomps on his pedals, forcing the hand-me-down bicycle up the hill. No one bikes St. Anthony’s if they can help it, but all of Alex’s usual routes are clogged or barricaded because, of course, when he needs help the most, needs the chosen family who loves him for who he is—

—Is when aliens crash into Earth.

In Alex’s state of all places!

Alex wobbles, checking his phone one-handed. The last of his desperate “haha didn’t come out after all can I crash tn” texts went undelivered. He’d gotten some “SHIT sorry are you ok”s from the few friends who weren’t at the concert, but then the aliens eclipsed the news, the phone lines, and everything else, for everyone else, except Alex.

He chugs in an aimless loop. The summer sunset’s prettiness feels wrong, incongruent with what’s happening.

Yeah, running away is worse long-term. And he doesn’t have long-term; he’s got to come out to Dad before the Scripps withdrawal deadline because he’s not going to an all-girls college.

Alex’s mother taught him one thing, at least.

The world will kick you when you’re down. But you don’t have to stay down.

She’d done it quietly at first, which made her eventual absence echo like a struck bell. The pain dulled with time, but she’d changed their frequency forever.

Dad took a long time to admit she was never coming back, but Alex knew it was over when she let her garden go to rot.

Once, Alex thought everything was resilient as a redwood.

A little house with a half-wild garden that opened into the trees. An older brother, a younger sister, parents who loved each other, a life full of hikes, and picnics, and stars. Alex had loved all of it, but not as much as Archer.

Not as much as their mother.

She’d buckle them all into bike helmets and pulley them in her fieldwork rigs like a bucket in a well. She’d guide them along impossibly thick branches, eager to share how different the forest becomes from the canopy. Generational cycles of rebirth. Species that don’t exist anywhere else, their entire existence forged in the rot of leaves that never once touch the ground.

They’d only ever felt safe. They’d sing folk songs and go quiet for the birds, watch storms gather and the slow creep of moss.

“Nothing ever really dies here,” their mother had said, and Alex knows she thought she’d meant it.

The road rises to meet him, and it feels like a threat. The officer was wrong; home isn’t the best place. Or maybe it’s Alex who’s wrong. Who’s not strong enough to tell the truth, even though Dad’s never been anything but the best. Alex hates how hurt he’ll be when he learns Alex is out to almost everyone else who matters.

But coming out means starting a new chapter of life where everyone close to him knows he’s a trans guy, and he’ll have to face that neither his brother nor his mother is ever going to be one of those people. He’ll be leaving that part of his life behind, just as they left him.

And then Alex realizes where he is.

Checks his phone—signal’s dead. Without anywhere to go, all he’s doing is running away. Abandoning his dad when things get hard, like his mother did.

He wants to run from that, too.

“Fuck it,” Alex says and charges into the woods where Archer died, for the first time since their mother left.

It’s not safe here on a street bike. Alex pedals faster, wheels jolting over uneven ground.

“We were supposed to get mountain bikes,” he mutters, squinting through the thickening fog. “But we didn’t. Didn’t grow up and save the world or even just get regular jobs. Didn’t get to do anything we were going to. Fuck these woods.” This place used to feel like magic, the safest place in the world. It’s a horror story now. “Fuck how everything in this world can kill you; what is the point!”

He’s close to where it happened, where five minutes unsupervised, over-confidence, a broken branch, and just bad fucking luck took his brother from him and the rest of their family.

“I would’ve come out to you first,” Alex says. “You would’ve helped me tell Mom and Dad. You would’ve loved me as I am because you always did, and Mom wouldn’t have left, and we would have figured out this alien stuff together, and Dad never would’ve gotten so excited about Scripps because he’d’ve known years ago he doesn’t have a daughter!”

Alex’s bike skids, and he curses the woods under his breath.

But it’s not their fault. It’s no one’s fault. Just a shitty tragedy, another freak accident.

Archer didn’t choose to leave, but their mother did.

It’s not only himself; he’s also mad at his mom for abandoning them. He and Dad got each other through Archer’s death while Mom retreated, and again when she left. Now Alex is about to leave for college—a farther one than Dad knows, if Alex ever manages to come out—and the distance between them is bigger than ever because, for once, Alex can’t tell him the truth.

“I don’t know how to do this without you.” Alex shakes his head and howls into a world that won’t stop ending. Archer died. Mom left. Pandemics and wars, more grief than he knows how to carry. The world ends, and he still has to save up gas money. The world ends, and he still has to make dinner on the days Dad goes on a solo grief-y wander in these very redwoods. Even an alien invasion won’t rewrite reality enough for anything meaningful to change.

“Damn it, Archer!”

His kind, clever, perfect big brother who was supposed to be everything Alex could one day become.

To be transgender is to want to become.

For Alex, part of being trans means believing hard enough in the deep-down goodness of the world—believing it’s one worth living authentically in.

Alex knows he’s a guy. But he doesn’t know if he has that sort of hope anymore.

The hill breaks as he knew it would, and then he’s careering too fast down the needle-slick soil, bike stuttering beneath him. What am I doing, he thinks, fuck—

Alex doesn’t see the silhouette in time. He registers a strikingly handsome face wide-eyed in shock before he’s skidding too close and they’re stumbling backward, toppling into the stream.

Everything goes blurry as Alex scrambles from his bike, grief rising premature and familiar in his chest. His body is not unused to entering panic mode.

They’ve got to be fine. Not again, not here, not someone else devoured by these woods with Alex unscathed—is it him, is he cursed, or is this just how the world is? Same apocalypse, just new, somehow worse remakes?

The stranger climbs wetly out of the bank. The first thing Alex registers is that they’re taller than him, and he’s tall for a trans guy. Still, something in their lankiness doesn’t read adult.

The second is that they look—off. They’re unhurt enough to hurry behind one of the broad redwoods across the creek, but Alex gets a worrying glimpse of skin swelling purplish.

“I’m so sorry,” Alex calls. “Can I help?”

Alex knows swears in a lot of languages from his neighborhood. What he hears isn’t one he recognizes, but he can tell it’s a swear anyway.

Man, this is literally the worst a coming out can go. Try to tell your dad you’re trans! He’s the best! What’s the worst that could happen?

Aliens, motherfucker! And klutzing your way into a lawsuit with a cute weirdo!

This shit never happened to the Love, Simon kids.

“Seriously, I’m so sorry—I’ve got some first aid stuff on my bike—”

“Don’t come back here!”

Alex freezes, heart hammering for a fresh reason. It sounds like another teenage boy, maybe, voice low-ish and raspy with an edge Alex immediately tries not to make assumptions about.

“Don’t look at me!”

“Sorry,” Alex says again, cringing at how extremely socialized female it sounds. He takes a deep breath. If Alex is wrong to assume this person’s less of a threat to him than he’s already been to them, should he be trying to pass? What would a cis guy do in this situation? What would Archer do?

“It’s fine,” comes the voice. It does sound fine, if a bit annoyed.

Alex gets the impression he’s making things worse by hanging around, but it feels wrong to leave. Besides, he’s got nowhere to go.

He throws himself onto a dryish patch of forest floor.

“I fucked everything up.” Again. “I’m sorry!”

Now, the voice sounds genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? It was an accident!”

“But—”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” snarks the voice, amused. Alex’s curiosity intrudes on his pathetic self-loathing. “Shit happens. Wasn’t your fault.”

Alex wipes at the sweat beneath his chest. “So why can’t I see you, if it’s not that you don’t want me to perish of guilt?”

“Ignoring that,” comes the voice. That low rumble almost reads like sweetness. Femmey in a whiny way, and Alex’s ears heat.

God, if he’s this bad now, what the hell is he gonna be like if he gets on hormones properly? Yeah, he is way too gay for Scripps.

Alex hears shuffling. “Stars, it really didn’t take much.” Then, louder, “Hey, Bike Boy—when does the sun get brighter again?”

Alex’s brows shoot up.

“Um.”

Another indecipherable swear. “I’m from—uh. Out of town?”

“It’s nearly dusk, dude. Not ’til tomorrow.”

This time, the swear is extremely decipherable, and Alex snorts.

“You’re one of the aliens, aren’t you.”

The shuffling stops.

“Whaaat! Oh my—God, aliens? There’s aliens? No way! I would never—I’m the most human—I love—Earth stuff—”

Alex chuckles, plucking at the grass.

“The news is everywhere, and I did not knock into you enough to bruise you that color that fast.” Alex is less surprised than he probably should be. The strange bruising, that voice—and besides, he’s used to clocking when people have something going on.

“You’re … not afraid of me?”

Alex feels hysterical.

“Should I be?”

“No, but—I don’t know, you really trust my word? Big alien guy getting in the way of your screamy bike ride, tumbling like a youngling into a stream at the merest surprise!” A thump, maybe a head knocking against the tree trunk. The big alien guy trills a sigh so human Alex nearly laughs aloud—he sighs like that when he’s being dramatic. “I’d been so careful to not get wet and fuck up my cloaking, too.”

Despite himself, Alex grins.

“And you were doing so good until me.” He stretches his legs out, rubbing his tired muscles. “Sounds like I’m the one you should be afraid of.”

This earns a genuine laugh. Alex should be at least wary, but—he’s not. The worst things have already happened to him. Maybe it’s just a lack of self-preservation, but it almost feels like confidence.

“The world’s already ended, over and over.” Alex stares through the trees. “I’ll take an alien invasion over another fascist election or transphobic bullshit bill any day, honestly. At least this one’s new.”

The alien makes a contemplative sound. “Why were you yelling at the woods?”

There’s real curiosity there. Alex hadn’t expected that.

“That’s personal.”

“What of this isn’t?!”

Alex laughs. “Fair enough. Okay, but I get to ask a question, too.”

“Fair enough,” the alien parrots. Alex’s gut gives a traitorous twist at the unmistakable bitchiness in his voice. That’s always a weakness for him in femmier folks; the group chats teased him about it forever.

For fuck’s sake, Alex, this is an alien.

Then again, Mom’s gone, Archer’s dead, aliens are maybe taking over the entire planet, and Alex has no idea what next year is gonna look like. Maybe all that matters is what’s happening right here, right now.

If anything, he could stand to make a new memory in these woods.

“What can I call you?” Alex asks.

“Is that your question?”

“Wow.”

“All right … Eames.”

“Eames.” Alex’s heart hasn’t quite settled. “I’m Alex. I’ll tell you why I was yelling if we can talk face-to-face.”

A pause, then a surprised chuckle.

“Look, Bike Boy—I’ll dry off eventually. Give me a bit, and I’ll look human enough to say hi, okay?”

“No,” Alex says.

“No?”

“I want to see you.” Alex shoves to his feet. The creek’s low; there’d been no real reason for him to panic. It’s just the familiar grief and fear that made a home in him the day Archer died, ready to take over. “Besides,” Alex continues, “you wouldn’t dry off in here anyway.”

“What?”

Alex chuckles, arching his back. “If water’s your weakness, you’ve picked the wrong spot on the wrong planet. The fog nearly never leaves the redwoods in this part of the mountains.”

“Oh.” And then a whinier, more piteous oh, accompanied with the universal sound of thwacking a device against your leg in the hopes it’ll miraculously dislodge your inconvenience. “Great.”

Alex gives a snort of laughter. “Come on,” he says. “When else am I gonna get a chance like this?”

“Pushy,” Eames says, and Alex grins to himself. “Be nice, yeah?”

“Fair enough.”

And then he steps out from behind the tree, and Alex has officially encountered an alien.

His mind skitters sideways as he takes in the lithe blue being before him. He fights to keep shock out of his face, but he can’t hide the excitement. That beautiful, brooding energy’s still there, just expanded to fill Eames’ true form.

Growing up tall has been a pain for a trans guy, but Alex is grateful for it these days. Never as much as now, though, clinging to the confidence of his full height in the wake of who’s in front of him.

Eames is a foot taller than him, at least. Both of them pick their way to the narrow part of the creek, taking each other in. They plonk down on opposite sides where it’s dry enough to sit. If they both reached out, their hands could meet.

The alien is magnificent.

Not as lanky as Alex thought—up close, his slender limbs are corded with sleek muscle. The jut of his chin with that easy, crooked grin. His eyes are bigger than human, the fathomless void-black of space—there’s something terrifying about those eyes, but not in a bad way.

He looks like he knows the sort of pain it takes to feel beauty deeply. Alex knows that look. He both hates and loves recognizing it in someone else. He’s never recognized it so instantly.

He’s never been so sure.

Eames is both almost earthly and decidedly not, and all of him makes Alex feel like wax held to fire.

He’d felt so trapped just, like, ten minutes ago. And now the universe feels full of more possibilities than he knew existed.

“Go on, Bike Boy,” Eames says, crossing his arms. “You had a question? And then you’ll tell me why you were howling through the woods?”

Alex steadies himself, but the words still come out in a bit of a rush. “I’m trans. D’you know what that means? That’s not my question,” he adds, recognizing the rising snark, even in the blue features.

“Yeah. All of Trexyl is genderqueer—we choose our genders, and the percentage of those who stick with it is roughly aligned with the amount humans do. I’m what you’d call a guy, usually.”

“That’s … awesome. God, I knew space was gayer than here! Trans-er than here!”

“Oh stars, yeah,” Eames says. “I’m an intergalactic medic, and I’ve only seen a fraction of what’s out there. There’s infinite ways to gender. I mean, there’s bias BS in space too, but the baseline is nowhere near as binary compared to what we’ve seen of Terra.”

Alex is so giddy at the prospect of space genders, it takes him a moment to register medic.

“Wait.” Alex flushes. “How old are you?”

Eames snorts, eyes twinkling. “Infinity.”

Alex flings a handful of grass at Eames, who chuckles as he dodges.

“Okay, okay. Seven thousand … sixty-nine,” Eames says, waggling his brow. This time, Alex throws pebbles, and Eames shrieks theatrically. “Monster!” he gasps, obviously delighted. “Fine. By human standards, yeah, I’m adolescent. I’ve just wanted to be a medic for a long time, and I’m good at it. Even if I’m not technically certified yet, I can help.” Something crosses Eames’ expression, and Alex’s grin falters. “Not all of us can abandon our training to go be pop stars. Some of us have work to do.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, nodding in fervent agreement. And then his brain catches up. “Wait. Did you say pop star?”

Alex listens, rapt, as Eames details the mission and the crash. The sky deepens, the sunset casting shifting shades in the blues of Eames’ skin. Deep ocean, Alex thinks vaguely. The sky before the stars come out. Peacock feathers. His own skin and his brother’s, when they were small and summer-browned and the setting sun stained blueish through these very branches.

“Wow.” Alex takes it all in. “So Max Spencer is an alien!”

“Yep.”

“And you’re not here to take over the planet and drain our life force or whatever.”

Eames snorts. “That human hubris! As if we’d want to take on this project. No, thank you. We observe, learn, and this time specifically—”

“Technically, a secret rescue mission.” Alex shakes his head. “Almost a shame. We could do with a reboot.”

Eames bristles, then sags. “Earth’s not that bad,” he admits, quietly enough Alex suspects it’s the first time. The alien has a tired sort of calmness about him, even when he’s being silly. Like he knows the truth of what’s happening and chooses to find levity in it when he can, because he knows he won’t always. “Honestly, I can see why he likes it here.”

“You’ve been here, like, six hours,” Alex points out, “and have you even left this forest?”

“No! I’m waiting, responsibly, for Captain Iona to get me.”

“You trust her that much, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“What were you doing in the woods? Before me.”

Eames lights up, black eyes twinkling.

“Well … we’re not technically supposed to take anything organic back with us. But when my pod crashed at the foot of these enormous trees, I spotted some feverfew, wild lavender—forsythia, too!”

Alex’s gut twists. “You know Earth plants?”

Eames grins, almost shyly—that’s a new one.

“They’re useful ingredients in medicine! We have a lot of these on Trexyl actually, but not in the same biome. Something about the climate here. The sheer abundance!” That easy confidence, that warm passion—Alex used to bask in almost exactly this, almost exactly here.

He clears his throat. “Thought you were a medic, not a plant nerd.”

“Like it’s a bad thing?”

“No! I’m a plant nerd! Or—” I used to be, Alex thinks. “Sorry. Not trying to make assumptions. Just—didn’t expect that.”

Eames looks at Alex like he likes surprising him.

“No worries, Wonder Boy. I literally don’t belong here,” he grins, “which I’m finding extremely freeing! Statistically, any of your given expectations of me are untrue.”

Alex grins, too; he can’t help it.

“New nickname?”

There’s no denying the periwinkle on the alien’s cheeks now. Alex feels electric.

“More to you than a runaway bike, isn’t there? Got so many questions. It just works.”

Alex swallows hard.

“This captain of yours—”

Eames chuckles. “She’ll find me. I panicked at first, honestly, but I know she’ll reunite us.” He meets Alex’s gaze. “I’m not in a rush.”

There’s a moment where Alex entertains the thought that it’s because of him. Then, Eames looks down.

“What our starry-eyed captain won’t admit is that Max was never going to come back.” He shakes his head. “Axariam was Trexyl’s golden boy. Max Spencer belongs to Terra. He has thousands of people hanging on his every move, and your planet’s deeply inequitable class system means he has access to everything he could want. The rest of our crew would rather imagine he’s being held against his will than admit he’s happy here.” Eames scuffs the mud. “He loves the spotlight, but he loves Terran nonsense more. Thingamabobs aplenty.”

Alex raises a brow. “Did you just quote an Earth movie, or does that mean something different to you?”

Eames snorts.

“We get some art on Trexyl, but nothing like the churn of it here. Dexin made us watch a bunch of Terran media to prep for our mission, and—” Eames clears his throat. “And I guess I’ve been following more of it since they started featuring Axariam.” Eames tilts his gaze up to the darkening sky. “He always loved Terran moves.”

He’s in love with Max Spencer, Alex thinks quietly.

But it’s not only love, and it’s an old, deep well of a thing filled with five years of resentment. It’s envy and ache, a messy sort of yearning for what Max represents in Eames’ life, not or at least not only the boy himself. Alex can feel the heat of it, used to recognizing this in boys—that half-toxic, codependent homoerotic closeness Alex had always been outside of. It’s not only boys who do this, but Alex had always wanted to be in it with boys, as a boy.

He wants someone to talk about him to a stranger like Eames talks about Max.

“Hey, Wonder Boy.” Eames leans in, obsidian gaze warm. “Think you still owe me that question.”

Alex jerks a nod.

“How’d you know I was a guy?”

An indigo blush, like the heart of a pansy, flares on Eames’ high cheeks. “I know not to assume, I’m never sure with humans—” He scans Alex’s expression, settling as he recognizes there isn’t pain there.

“But why’d you assume in that direction?” Alex presses.

How did you know? What do I look like to someone without expectation?

What did you recognize in me?

Eames shrugs, but when Alex holds his gaze, he meets it.

“It’s how you carry yourself,” Eames says. “Again, my conceptualization is limited by—”

“Understood, thank you. Please don’t stop.” Alex just wants to hear it again, the truth of himself aloud and irrevocable. Something he never knew he could be: recognizable in an instant, accepted, and sustained.

“You carry yourself like a guy,” Eames says simply, “and you don’t carry yourself like you’re lying.”

Alex blinks at him, heart hammering in his chest. It’s power, he recognizes, this thing flooding him like lava. This feeling of belonging so blunt and whole he could almost laugh at the memory of not feeling it. This is what empowered means, when you feel you are who you are meant to be and you are recognized for it, and then Alex maybe wants to cry.

“Can’t believe I’m so trans it’s visible from space.”

He snorts at Eames’ bewilderment, but then, to his surprise, Eames lights up.

“Wait, I know this one. Like, too gay to function?”

“Yes! Wait—you’re telling me Mean Girls was one of the movies you guys watched for training?” Alex laughs, delighted.

“Um, of course. The movie, the musical, the movie musical, the lesbian animated spinoff—”

“Wait, the—”

“Oh wait, that was the all-trans Martian animation team Dexin’s always on about. Anyway,” he continues, as Alex gapes in delighted envy, “Max wouldn’t admit it now—they’ve done some feature with kittens and embarrassment together, actually—but he used to be so obsessed with the lead guy in the original movie. He idolized that kind of hero. Which was very silly, because he is that guy, and he was always going to be, and look at him now.” Eames’ smile is almost a sneer, but there’s unmistakable ache there. “Anyway. I never heard it used quite like that before. Very clever, Wonder Boy.” He scrunches his nose, far too cutely. “Yes, you are so trans it’s visible from space.”

“Hell yeah!” Alex fist pumps the air, bubbling into breathless laughter. “Wow.”

Eames is clearly relieved he’s delivered an answer Alex likes, catching his laughter. The sound fills the woods, mingling with birdsong and the distant city hum.

“So a medic, huh?” Alex says presently. “You’ve seen—”

“All sorts.”

It’s not an annoyed shutdown, but Alex gets it. Recognizes that secret, transformative trauma beneath the snark, as clearly as he knows it in himself.

Alex falls silent. Maybe that’s why Eames can say it.

“Worlds end, Alex. Entire lifetimes, versions of yourself you wish you got to be. I didn’t want to crash, for example!” Eames shouts that last bit. The birds squawk in annoyance, and when Eames looks back at Alex, he looks at once very old and very young. He looks like he’s lived, and Alex feels, for the first time, a fierce desire to look that way himself one day. “But I learned,” Eames continues, “there are always new worlds to discover. Places to start somewhere new, where you can announce yourself as the person you want to be, and the right people will love that version of you into existence.”

New worlds, huh.

“Max was that for you, wasn’t he,” Alex says quietly. “Is that really why you’re here?”

“No! I—”

“In case you need someone else to say it—if no one’s ever let you talk about the way you feel about him—I am.”

It’s Eames’ turn to take a shuddering breath. There’s a dampness to his black eyes that makes Alex smile softly and nod.

Eames stares at his hands.

And then he buries his face in them and screams.

Alex muffles a chuckle. Even if he’s jealous of a pop star alien right now, it’s nice to know being a messy tangle of queer aching and longing is, quite literally, universal.

“Thank you,” Eames says calmly, when he’s finished screaming. He looks at Alex, and they both burst out laughing.

Eames stretches out, settling into a position he must know makes him look like a Renaissance model. “Clearly, I needed that. But … a lot happens in five years. A lot of good stuff! I love what I do, even if it’s heavy, and Max is so good at bringing joy. He was like our sun, you know? We orbited around him, basking in his warmth. He doesn’t know what it’s like to come from a legacy of losing people, so he doesn’t know what it’s like to not be able to just … explore the universe without wanting to help.” Eames is breathing heavily now, cheeks stained the same fathomless blue as the incoming night. “And … that’s not his fault. It’s a good thing he doesn’t. I just …” Eames’ fist flexes. “None of us thought he’d be away this long. Didn’t think we’d have to do this part of life without him. Our mistake,” he says, not quite masking his bitterness.

Alex thinks, suddenly, of “too gay to function.” That silly Earth phrase made it across the universe and stuck there simply because someone liked it.

What will Eames bring back to Trexyl of Alex?

What will Alex have left of him when Iona brings him home and Alex is alone again?

Is this how it’ll be from now on? Each new person he meets, each new good thing he encounters—it’s just another thing it’ll hurt to lose?

Eames shakes his head. The smile on his face is an iceberg of a thing, and Alex feels sick with selfishness.

“He was always gonna stay,” Eames says. “Max was never going to be satisfied with Trexyl. Honestly, I get it—part of the reason I got into medicine was to travel the universe. I even thought maybe we might—” Eames cuts himself off, choking on a laugh. “But Max was never actually our sun. I just wish his sister realized that so we could move on.” Eames takes a steadying breath. “Worlds won’t stop ending. People won’t stop leaving. That, I know, is inevitable.”

And when Alex looks at Eames, his world shifts again. Because he doesn’t hear hopelessness. The opposite, somehow, though Alex had thought those very words for ages with nothing but desperation for an end to all the endings.

But Eames says it with … relief.

“So, we have to be, too,” Eames continues. “That’s why I love what I do. The end of all things is inevitable, so we have to be, too.”

“I know the type, that sun-thing,” Alex says quietly. “My brother.” He clears his throat. “He died. Three years ago, in—in these woods. We were out foraging with our mom—sorry, do you want to hear this?” He grins, weakly. “I know it’s a lot. I—whoa.”

Eames pushes to his feet, crossing the creek in a single stride. This ridiculously handsome, slightly off, mostly boy alien is silhouetted against the darkening sky. He moves like a comet, quick and bright. He moves like music, twisting his wrists as he picks forward. Alex wants to learn the steps to that dance.

“I’m a lot, too,” Eames says and tucks himself on the bank beside him.

There is no denying the thunderous simultaneity: Alex’s heart pounds with grief, and oh God aliens, and anxiety, and—a longing so loud he wonders if Eames can hear it. Smell it, maybe, or some sort of mantis shrimp alien sense—God, there’s so much he wants to ask. He almost can’t believe he’s talking to an alien about something as mortal and familiar as grief. He’s used to talking about Archer, but this is different. The world restarted again when the aliens landed. And now here he is bringing this grief into the aftermath, because he carries it always.

Because he’s not the only one who does.

“It was an accident,” Alex says. “He was always reckless but so competent.” His fingernails bite into his fists. Eames takes on the weight of this and gives him space. Alex takes a shuddering breath and fills it. “Calculated a jump wrong. Slipped, fell, skidded on some mud or something. There was a branch at a fucked-up angle, and it—it was—”

Eames waits until it’s clear Alex can’t find the words, then offers, “A fucking nightmare.”

Alex’s laugh surprises himself. He knuckles away the wet in his eyes. “Yeah. Mom lasted two years after. She worked in climate research, which only got more depressing, and home was depressing, too. Walked out on me and Dad about a year ago. It’s just us now.” He takes a shuddering breath, hot all over. “Everyone else is just—planning for college, dating, caring about mundane shit! I want that, I am that, but I’m also this mess of grief, and people keep leaving and—and I’m fucking trans, but my dad doesn’t know it yet, which is also why I ended up here yelling, because I was supposed to come out to him tonight so I don’t have to keep living this lie to him, and then maybe I can finally learn to become the kind of guy I want to be, because I always thought I’d get to do that looking up to my brother!” Alex hits his palm with his fist. “I wish I’d figured this trans thing out while he was still alive. I—I’m not sure how to be a guy without him.”

“It’s awful, to have to figure out who you are in someone else’s absence.” The way Eames speaks, Alex knows it’s not just about the traumas he’s seen as an intergalactic medic-in-training. But it’s also not only about Max.

Eames scoots close.

What happens next isn’t quite quiet.

The alien just … grieves with him.

Lets him feel all of it.

There are no expectations. No pressure. No messy history, no guilt over leaning on someone for tragedy after tragedy, just two queer boys helping each other carry grief, and love, and hope.

“You’re already there, Wonder Boy,” Eames says at last. “You’ve got so much to look forward to.”

Alex chokes on a laugh, and Eames thumps him on the back. “I don’t know about that. The withdrawal deadline’s coming up, and I don’t want to go to an all-girls college. I want a fresh start. As me.” Alex scuffs the dirt with his shoe. “Also … I’ve technically got another program lined up.”

Eames looks at him incredulously. “You’ve literally got this all figured out except this single step.”

“I know!”

Eames’ gaze makes Alex feel like he’s being studied, though not unkindly.

“What’s the program?” Eames asks, and the unmistakable pang of excitement gives Alex both a sense of reassurance and guilt.

“One of my best friends’ aunts runs this conservation project for the national parks through a state school, and their ranger program is really intensive, but it would mean getting to help preserve endangered species and—stuff—”

Eames is grinning crookedly at him. “Look at you, Wonder Boy. You light up just talking about it. You’re gonna be okay.”

“No, but—it’s not much farther, but Dad got so excited at how close Scripps was gonna be.” Alex has never talked about this aloud before.

“You’re not abandoning your dad by moving on with your life.”

“Maybe I feel a little like I’m abandoning myself. Who I thought I was going to be. I never thought I’d reach a phase of life this big without Archer or Mom.” College, coming out, all of it.

“Alex—” the alien starts, but Alex realizes he’s not done.

“It’s not just that. It’s—it’s—it’s that I’m just like her! I left! I left my dad when things hurt, I ran away instead of facing something hard, and it’s just my own freakin’ gender. It’s not the end of the world. Plus, I’m lucky enough that I don’t even think he’ll be anything worse than embarrassing about it, and I couldn’t even handle that. I’m just like my mother. The worst of my mother. And sometimes—sometimes I’m terrified that I’m not really trans. It’s just that with my mom gone I don’t know how to grow up a girl. But with my brother gone and my dad this mess, I don’t know how to grow up a boy either. I’m not trying to replace them. It’s just that Dad already lost almost his whole family, but I’m still here, and I’m not enough.”

Eames moves closer, bright and urgent.

“Listen to me, Wonder Boy. There is no such thing as enough. You’re right,” Eames says. “Everything good—or bad—you did when you were younger, you got their love refracted back at whoever you were becoming. You don’t get that now. You have to become who you are—all that love and pain and hurt—without them.” He shakes his head like he’s hearing his own words for the first time. “You’re already you and becoming more you every day. There’s no version of yourself where you’re done with grief, but you’ll get to learn to love who you are while you’re grieving. It won’t be easy to do any of that without them, but it’ll be worth it. Trust me,” Eames says. “It’s the only thing that is.”

Alex sighs, shuddering.

“Also,” Eames continues, “I know I’m an alien from a genderqueer species, so this might not mean a lot, but … in case you need someone else to say it—”

“Nice.”

“Wonder Boy, you are trans. You’re a guy. At least for now, I can tell that’s true. Believe me.” His face softens. “You’re not lying to yourself.”

Alex laughs. “I guess it’s not really that I don’t think I’m trans. It’s more guilt and cissexism—God, you are lucky you don’t have to deal with that shit—and that I feel like I’m betraying my mom.”

Eames looks at him. “Someone else’s trauma response is not your fault. And you don’t owe anyone, even and maybe especially the people who made you, an inauthentic version of yourself because you think that might be the version they’ll find easiest to love.”

Alex has heard these words a dozen times. From therapists, grief counselors, his friends. Hearing it from someone who knows nothing of him but what he is, here and now, hits different.

“Stop medic-ing me.”

“No.” Eames stretches. “You know what I’ve learned as a space medic?”

“In training.”

“Hush.” Eames turns to him, grin softening. “Grief expands, like the universe does.”

“I never got that concept, honestly,” Alex says. “What’s it expanding into?”

Eames shakes his head. “I think that’s exactly the right question, Wonder Boy. I think that’s what we’re trying to figure out.” He sighs. “I meant it when I said I’m starting to see why Max likes it here.”

“Are you kidding?” Alex snorts. “I just learned there’s alien worlds. Humans fucked Earth up so bad we have to dedicate entire industries to saving it! I wish I could see other planets. Or what this one looked like before us. Or after us.”

“No,” Eames says, firmer than anything else. “Terra is a place of hope, and humans make it that way. I’ve seen planets that are all algae, planets in a state of eternal rot. Constellations of nothing but sea and storm. Swamp creatures the size and age of galaxies. Your Earth is so much at once. It’s so small to be so much at once!”

Alex feels electric. “We’ve fucked up so much of it, though,” he has to say.

Eames shrugs. “Not saying it’s better than anywhere else with sentience. And the evils humanity has done …” Eames shudders. “But there’s so much good. I can see both, neither canceling out.”

Alex doesn’t know what to believe. There are aliens; everything he’s ever known to be true isn’t anymore. Half his family’s gone and never coming back. He’s trans and extremely gay and also, like, sixteen coping mechanisms in a trench coat, and he’s about to leave behind everything he’s ever known in pursuit of tending to a planet he knows he can’t save.

There is no version of him who gets to grow up with his mom and his brother, no version who’s griefless. It sucks so much it’s hard to think about, but it’s true. That person is not someone he can become, no more than he could’ve been born cis, and as much as he’d once thought he wanted that, the idea makes him sick now. His boyhood is trans, and he loves that.

It’s not romanticizing the bad, as Eames says—it’s confronting how it changed him in all its messy truth.

A butterfly floats past, stained-glass wings catching the waning light. Eames—this creature from outer space, this star-traveler, intergalactic medic, teenage boy full of angst and knowing and queer hope—looks at it like it’s daybreak.

Then he turns that gaze to Alex, and all it does is deepen.

All Alex can trust is what’s in front of him, and that’s an alien looking at him like he’s the life-changing wonder of the universe.

“We don’t have anything this delicate just flying around Trexyl,” he says. “We don’t have so much existing all at once, on top of each other.”

Suddenly, Alex can see it. Forestry school, road trips in the summers. The landscape of his pain-stained home, rewritten with new ways of looking at things, of naming, of understanding. The stories of the stars and how to churn the man-made poison out of air and sea. Living as himself, hiding from no one, trying to make the world better however he can.

“I’m so glad I crashed into you here, of all places,” Alex says softly. Without the rest of the world in the way. A new chapter in Alex’s story among the redwoods.

Eames grins. “I’m glad you’re glad, Wonder Boy. I am, too.” God, he’s so alien, tall and blue and literally out of this world, but here among the redwoods, there’s a rightness to all of it.

They’ve never seemed as beautiful as they do with him in it.

“I wish I could bring you to our gardens,” Alex says. “Or the coastline. My mom used to tell us stories of parents’ parents foraging in the foothills out north.”

“I wish I could bring you to Trexyl. Or—ooh, you’d like the rainbow lagoons, I bet, the jungles of Tarfret—”

“Oh God, yes. Not the rot planet, though.”

“Definitely the rot planet. I owe you a push in a river; might as well make it a rot river.”

“Eames, you are taller than nearly everyone in my species, and even for me, this is a creek at best. I don’t think that merits a rot river.”

“How am I gonna get you back then?”

“I don’t know, does it really necessitate that?”

“It necessitates something.”

“You literally just said I wasn’t responsible for accidents!”

Eames’ eyes go wide.

It starts out with laughter. As naturally as the sunset above them, as soft and steady and right. The air gets closer, warmer with shared breath.

It’s Alex who leans in but Eames’ crooked grin that closes the space at last.

Eames’ mouth is soft and strong. His hand is sturdy on Alex’s cheek, and he’s not the only one smiling into the kiss.

Alex has had a dozen first kisses, but this is his favorite. He doesn’t have to prove he’s a guy—in fact, he’s not even the “least guy” in the kiss, by plenty of standards, because this is a freakin’ alien.

Eames doesn’t have any expectations for Alex as a boy. He just knows Alex is.

He just knows Alex.

Happiness bubbles louder than Alex knew possible, and he yanks Eames into him. Eames shoves back, and then they’re rolling, tumbling, pawing at each other with rough relief and the silly want, there in the thick fog and towering trees.

The blue and strange of it all is unmistakable this close, and the phrase monster boyfriend!! bursts into Alex’s brain in the most fun way—someone whose masculinity is as conditional and constructed as his. Eames chooses his boyness, too, and for as long as he does, he’s confident in it, and his obvious alienness makes Alex happy in his own.

Who Alex is right now—magic and powerful and seen and wanted—is not any less Alex than the version who hurts and grieves.

Yeah, there are many worlds out there waiting to be born. The good ones, too, the ones Alex couldn’t have dreamt of in a tregabillion years. And some of them are hurtling right at him through the stars.

Eames kisses him, and Alex can’t help but believe it.

Time goes slippery until a strange, staticky sound blares. Eames pulls away, eyes going slack as he touches a hand to his ear.

“Our comms connected again! I—hush CHIP, I’m fine, no thanks to you—wait, I’ve got a message from Iona. We’re gonna regroup.” He rubs his eyes, refocusing on something Alex can’t see.

Alex won’t ask if he’s coming back.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Alex says.

He thought he’d make some fresh memories in these woods, and now he’s just gone and found someone new to grieve.

But this time, he wouldn’t trade it for the universe. Kissing Eames is worth missing him. Everything of Eames is worth losing him.

Eames snorts, brow creasing in fondness as he takes in his messages.

“Is it it?” he responds. “Was the kiss that bad for you? I found it extremely repeatable myself.”

Alex blinks at him.

“I don’t know, Wonder Boy.” Eames quiets his tech. “Looks like Max isn’t going back with them after all. I wonder who could have predicted that!”

“Wait.” Alex’s mouth goes dry. “With … them?”

Eames holds his gaze for a single, eternal beat—and grins.

“Looks like our story’s not over yet.” Then he adds, softly, “Alex.”

Joy rushes into Alex’s lungs as fast and dizzyingly as only grief ever had. His name’s never felt wrong to him, but it’s never felt this right. Alex feels like he could pull the stars apart bare-handed.

“So—we might—”

Eames’ black eyes twinkle, and Alex hears the start of the alien’s warm laugh before he muffles it with his mouth.

Time goes blurry there among those massive columns of the coast. Almost as it did when Alex was small, but also in a very different way, and the rightness makes him dizzy.

Most trees can heal from lightning or wildfire, but these redwoods are some of the best at it. Champions of survival, Mom used to say: They require only the merest connection from root to branch to regrow to their full strength. Scarred but whole again. Ready to keep growing.

The healing is part of the growth.

It’s all too soon when Eames pulls away, tapping his earpiece.

“Guess you’d better go,” Alex pants.

“Yes.” Eames is equally out of breath. “Got to tell them about my change of plans.”

Alex grins so big his cheeks hurt. He shoves Eames by both shoulders. “You really mean it. I’m gonna see you again,” he says, and he knows it’s not a question.

Eames smiles and shoves back. Alex can’t remember the last time he’s been this excited for the rest of his life.

“Let’s just say if I do stay, Wonder Boy,” Eames says, leaning in again. “It’s not going to be for Max Spencer.”

A TASTE OF COUNTRY

BY M. K. ENGLAND

CALLIE

Callie Taylor was lying in a field of cows when an alien destroyed her college fund. One minute, she’d been looking at her phone, where her group chat was inexplicably blowing up with Ancient Aliens GIFs and jokes about getting probed. The next, there was a streak of fire in the sky, a roar, and an earth-shaking crash in the field before her.

No, not in the field. On the fence. The very important fence that penned in her personal herd of twenty beautiful, lovingly tended, nearly full-grown Angus cattle.

Cattle that were now fleeing into the countryside.

The sleek silver craft skidded after impact, sliding down the fence line, taking out half an acre of fence posts, and then rolling in the scraps like a dog who’d found a particularly good stink. Callie watched in breathless horror for several long seconds … then broke into a futile run after her fleeing cattle.

“Oh, hell no,” she shouted. “Those cows are my ticket out of here, you asshole!”

No one, alien or bovine, deigned to respond. Callie stopped, boots covered in manure, and changed tactics.

“Ka-boss!” she called after the cattle, mentally begging them to turn around. “Whoop, whoop, ka-boss!”

A few cows slowed at the familiar call she’d learned from her granddad, but the bulk of the herd continued their panicked flight through the thigh-high fields of oats, quickly dragging the stragglers along. Callie called them again and again until she was hoarse, but it was no use. They were full-on stampeding.

They were gone.

Callie stood, breathing hard, shaking her head over and over like the denial would undo whatever the fuck had just happened. Was this why everyone had been talking about aliens? Were these absolute assassins of college dreams crashing down everywhere, or was she, specifically, cursed? She glanced down at her phone with vague intentions of checking the group chat or calling her dad or … animal control, maybe? But her signal, formerly a full five bars, was inexplicably gone. More alien bullshit, probably.

Well, there was nothing for it. Callie was pissed, and she was going to make sure the pod’s pilot knew it. She snatched up a nearby steel-toothed rake and stalked up to the creaking, crumpled vehicle.

“HEY,” Callie shouted, pounding her fist on the outside of the craft. She quickly regretted it, snatching her hand back with a hiss. It was still hot. Callie kicked it instead, trusting her thick rubber muck boots to insulate her as they smeared cow shit on the metallic surface.

“Can you not?” a muffled voice shouted from inside. “I’ll come out if you promise not to kill me.”

“No promises,” Callie grumbled under her breath but backed up a few paces anyway. “Fine. Get out here.”

A seam appeared in what had previously been a perfectly smooth surface, easing wider with an uncomfortable creak until a whole door finally popped out of the side of the pod. A figure appeared in the doorway, but hidden in shadow. A strange ripple seemed to flicker over them and, after a moment, they climbed fully out into the sunlight.

They were human. Or at least, they looked human. Dark brown hair the exact same shade as Callie’s, tanned white skin the same as Callie’s, even the same thick, muscled farm girl legs and arms as Callie. Coincidence, or some kind of weird alien disguise?

Callie held her rake in a defensive stance and glared. “Who and what are you?”

The being rubbed at one ear with a look of frustration, then let their hand drop with a sigh. “My name is Moysah. I don’t suppose you’ll believe I’m a test pilot for a new experimental aircraft or something?”

“Well, not when you put it like that, I won’t,” Callie said, barely holding back an eye roll. Her grip on the rake tightened. “Are you the reason my friends were making jokes about probing?”

Moysah scowled and threw their hands in the air. “We don’t do that. I don’t know why humans have such a thing about aliens sticking stuff up their—”

“Ah-HAH,” Callie said, pointing an accusatory finger. “So you are an alien.”

Moysah blinked. “Was that … still in question? Wow, I am really nailing this. Iona would be so proud. And by proud, I mean absolutely dripping with smug righteousness. Do I get to know your name?”

Callie studied Moysah for a long moment, then came to a decision.

“It’s Callie. I don’t think you’re going to kill me, so I’m going to put this rake down. Don’t move.”

Moysah nodded, relaxing slightly. “Definitely no plans to kill you or anyone else.”

Callie threw the rake aside, then folded her arms with another glare. “You’re lucky you didn’t kill any of my cows. Yet, I mean. One could still get hit by a car or something.

That would definitely be your fault.”

Moysah winced, looking back at the wreckage of the fence. “I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to pay for it.”

“Is that a threat?” Moysah asked, taking one tentative step back into a pile of cow poop.

“Of physical violence? No, probably not,” Callie said. “But considering you just destroyed my chance of going to college, I think you owe me.”

“I … what?” Moysah blinked. “I don’t get the connection.”

“Those cows,” Callie said again, gesturing to the destroyed fence. “They were my college fund.”

Moysah lifted a hand to their ear again, giving it an awkward rub. “There has got to be something the translator is getting wrong. What does your herd of pets have to do with higher education? Are cows a form of currency? This never came up in media … .”

Callie gave them a frank look. “Well, they sell for $3,000 a head to the slaughterhouse.”

The alien’s distress only seemed to grow.

“Please tell me that’s another mistranslation,” they said, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Please tell me you don’t truly have dwellings where you ritualistically kill animals.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call ’em dwellings or ritualistic, but yeah, where do you think meat comes from?”

“Meat?”

Callie rubbed a spot of sudden tension between her eyebrows. “The edible parts of animals.”

Moysah’s face went deathly pale. “You … I’m sorry, you do what with them?”

“We eat them,” Callie said, then amended. “Well, I don’t, but lots of people do.”

Moysah flapped their hands in distress. “And you’re okay with this?”

Callie shrugged. “It’s considered normal on Earth. We evolved as omnivores.”

That bit of calm logic seemed to seep through.

“But you don’t eat animals?”

Callie shook her head. “Growing up on a cattle farm kinda ruined my taste for it. I love my good girls. I don’t wanna eat them.”

“So why are you participating in raising them?”

“College fund, like I said. I told Dad if he bought me my own herd, I’d raise and sell ’em to pay for college. Then I can get out of here, study sustainable agriculture in college, and raise plants instead of animals,” Callie said, waving the discussion away. “Aren’t you at all, like … worried that you’ve crash-landed in middle-of-nowhere Northern California?”

Moysah watched her warily. “That depends. Will your people eat me, too?”

Callie made a face. “Of course not. Though, if your mission is to come here and kill us or something …”

“Get off that already,” Moysah growled, balling their fists in irritation. “We were coming to rescue my best friend’s sibling, who got stranded here like the genius he is. That’s it.”

Moysah paused, spinning in a circle to survey the whole area. Callie didn’t bother looking, too. She knew exactly what was there. Grass. Hay bales. An old farmhouse a few acres away. A flock of grumpy hens and one absolute bastard of a rooster.

“So, what, he’s just been hanging out on Earth, lying low until someone could come get him?” she asked.

Moysah gave a helpless little laugh. “Lying low? I wish. No, somehow, in the five years he’s been here, he’s managed to become a movie star. Max Spencer. Heard of him?”

Callie gave Moysah a flat look. “You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was,” Moysah said, shaking their head solemnly. “And CHIP is telling me it’s going to take eight-point-five hours by ground transport to get to where our main ship crashed because you people don’t do air travel without ‘extensive identity verification.’ Our original deadline to get out of here was midnight, but that seems like wishful thinking now. If they leave without me, I’ll be stranded here, and I am not movie star material.”

“Is Chip one of your crewmates? Can you talk to them somehow?” Callie asked.

“CHIP is our ship AI, and no,” Moysah said, looking deeply deflated for the first time. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with anyone since the crash. All I have is an offline version of CHIP and a waypoint ping for where the main ship went down. Santa Monica.”

Callie winced, glancing over at her beater of a truck. “Oof, yeah, that’s a long drive.”

Moysah followed her gaze, spotted the truck, and then brightened. “You have a ground vehicle! Would you be willing to take me to Santa Monica?”

Callie pursed her lips and looked over at the fence destruction zone, mentally digging in her heels before her anger and irritation could shift into despair. “That depends. Tell me why I should help you.”

There was a long beat of silence while Moysah studied their feet. When they looked up again, their gaze was serious.

“My friend that I mentioned earlier, Iona. We’ve been best friends for years, but I …” Moysah trailed off and leveled Callie with an assessing look. “I read that some people on Earth have violent prejudice against certain groups based on their gender or the gender of their chosen partners. Are you …”

Callie barked a harsh laugh. “Oh, I’m one of the ones that gets hated on. Not that I can actually find a girlfriend here in Cow Country, California, but I can dream. Vividly.”

A bit of tension bled out of Moysah’s posture. “Okay, good. Not that Trevvalian gender is anything like human concepts of gender—you can use they or she for me, which is close enough—but you can’t be too careful on an alien planet full of projectile weapons. Anyway … you get what I’m saying here. I really need to get back to her. I’m the pilot—I need to make sure she gets off the planet safely. And the rest of our crew, too, obviously.”

The alien had a girlfriend. Or, at least, someone she wanted to be her girlfriend. Callie fiddled with the truck keys in the pocket of her jeans. Her dad wasn’t home from the quarry yet, but he would be soon. Time was short, and she had a genius idea blooming in her mind.

Max Spencer. Famous alien, about to leave Earth forever. And he had to be rich as hell.

Things might work out for the best after all.

Besides, someone around here should get to have a girlfriend.

“Get in the truck,” she said, whirling around and stomping across the field toward her old beat-up, formerly white Toyota Tacoma. “We’re gonna get you back to your girlfriend. But you’ve got to change your disguise so you don’t look like me. It’s weirding me out.”

“How do you know I don’t just … look like this?” Moysah shot back, trotting after her.

Callie gave them a look over her shoulder. “Do you want a ride or not?”

By way of reply, Moysah’s appearance shimmered into a willowy brunette with luscious, shining waves of hair and a perfectly unblemished face that wouldn’t look out of place alongside Max Spencer in a movie. The only tell was the slightly awkward, too-long limbs, easily missed with all the face and hair and body to distract. Callie stumbled over her own feet.

“Is everything you’ve learned about humans from movies?” she asked. “Maybe that disguise will work in LA, but ’round here, you’ll draw as much attention looking like that as you would looking like a literal alien.”

Moysah narrowed their eyes and scowled. “Look, I only know what Dexin showed me. Blame him and his taste in Terran entertainment. Is this better?”

Before Callie’s eyes, Moysah flickered, briefly revealing a flash impression of disconcertingly large eyes and a bald head before their form solidified into …

“Is that Dolly Parton? Seriously?”

“She is a Terran icon!”

“I mean, yes, but Dolly Parton is the opposite of blending in. Try again.”

Moysah did. Again and again, cycling through minor celebrities and Lifetime movie leads until finally, with much coaching, landing on a modified version of their original Callie disguise.

“Well, we still look like cousins, but I can live with it. Let’s get going. Do we need to bring your pod? It should fit in the back of the truck.”

“I don’t think we can lift it,” Moysah said. “I mean, you do look much stronger than me, but it probably weighs as much as one of your cows. Uh … former cows. We should be able to summon it back once we get the main ship repaired.”

Callie shrugged. “Well, I guess my dad can’t blame me if a literal alien ship took out the fence. Maybe it’s better to leave the evidence. I’ll just have to tell him you took me hostage and forced me to drive you to LA.”

“Human-Trevvalian relations are about to take a real hit,” Moysah said with a wince.

Callie walked around to the passenger seat of the truck and opened the door for Moysah with a smile.

“It’s okay,” she said as she showed Moysah the seat belt. “I’ll sing your praises and tell everyone you were very nice.”

Moysah sat up, startled. “You will?”

“Of course.” Callie gave a feral grin. “Because your famous friend is going to pay me for those cows, and all will be forgiven.”

“He what?”

Callie slammed the door and ran back around to the driver’s side, deeply pleased with herself. “An alien who’ll be leaving the planet in twelve hours won’t need US dollars for much longer anyway, right? Surely, he won’t mind.”

“I mean, maybe?” Moysah sputtered.

Callie fired up the engine, the initial roar drowning out any further response. She tossed her now-useless phone into the cup holder and took one last long look at the crash site and empty field.

“I really am sorry about your runaway cows,” Moysah said.

Callie turned to them and smiled.

“At least they’re alive. I didn’t want to sell them anyway,” she said, and then peeled out of the dusty gravel driveway.

“Look!” Moysah said, scaring the hell out of Callie after twenty minutes of silence on the road. “I didn’t realize the cows could speak for themselves.”

“What are you talking about?” Callie said, scanning as best she could while paying attention to the traffic on I-5. She caught it just as they drove past: a Chick-fil-A billboard with a cow holding a sign that read Eat Mor Chikin. She barked a laugh. “That’s a type of advertising. It’s for a fast-food restaurant that serves chicken instead of cow. We can’t eat there.”

“Because you don’t eat meat?”

“That, too. But remember the whole violent bias thing we were talking about earlier?” Callie asked. “That company donates money to people like that. Politicians and so on.”

“You allow businesses to influence your politics through currency?”

“It’s practically a way of life here. You don’t know very much about this country, do you?”

“To be fair, you’re just one country on a whole planet of countries. The only reason I know anything is because Max is here.”

“Ooh, got me right in the American exceptionalism. I concede.”

“What is this?”

“Food.”

“Cow-related food?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I don’t want it.”

“There’s no meat.”

“But … cow …?”

“They’re called Cow Patties.”

“CHIP, define cow patty… . OH MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH HUMANS?”

“You just flung a perfectly good cookie out the window.”

“Cookie? CHIP, define—Cow Patty is also the name of a delightful baked confection? You couldn’t have led with that? Stars, damn it all, I want that cookie back.”

“We’re not stopping again.”

“Your device has several new messages,” Moysah said, plucking Callie’s phone out of the cup holder where it had sat throughout the entire drive. “Should I read them to you?”

“Oh, it must have finally gotten some signal when we were inside the gas station. Is it a reply from my dad?” Callie asked.

“Yes. He says, ‘You can’t just say “text me when you see the thing.” What thing? Explain the thing.’ The next timestamp is from ten minutes later, and he says, ‘Why the hell is Tucker calling me about all your cows being in his field?’ Fifteen minutes after that: ‘WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU AND THE COWS AND WHAT IS THIS THING?????’ I don’t know how to verbally convey multiple question marks, but there are a lot of them.”

“You didn’t have to literally convey the yelling, either,” Callie noted. “Can you type a reply?”

“Oh, I wasn’t finished. The last few messages are all the same sort of thing: ‘Callie, I’m going to call the cops. Where are you? Are you okay? I’m seeing something on the news about aliens. Did you get abducted or something? I’m really worried.’”

Callie sighed. “I don’t suppose a call will go through?”

A few quiet minutes passed while Moysah tried, but eventually, they shook their head. “No, sorry. I think our technology breaks yours somehow. Should I try a text message?”

“Yeah, I’ll just leave it in the truck next time we get out somewhere, and it should send. Type this: ‘Driving the alien to LA so they can go home. I’m safe. I’ve extorted payment for the cows. Long story, too much to type. Can’t call because alien tech kills phone signal or something. Will be home tomorrow morning. Sorry for worrying you.’”

“Done,” Moysah said. “I’ll be sure to walk away from the truck at our next stop, so it’ll work.”

Callie bit her lip, then shot Moysah a glance.

“I think your famous friend may need to sweeten the pot a little. Maybe another $10,000 will keep me from being grounded until college.”

Moysah eyed the oozing food in their hands, their lip curled in disgust.

“What is this?” they asked, looking half-ready to bolt out of the truck and into the Smashburger parking lot.

“A burger!” Callie said, taking a big bite of her identical sandwich with an indulgent groan. They’d been on the road for four hours, and she hadn’t eaten anything for lunch besides the gas station snacks they’d grabbed on the way out of town. The burger was heavenly.

Moysah clearly disagreed.

“CHIP, define ‘burger,’” they said, then paused for the silent reply. “Oh, augh, you people turn the cows into … that?”

The people in the car next to them rolled their windows up. At least one could be overheard converting to veganism on the spot.

Callie nodded, swallowing to reply. “Pretty gross, right?”

A thick glob of sauce and melted cheese fell from Moysah’s burger and plopped wetly onto the wrapper in their lap. Moysah stared out the front window with vacant horror, looking miles away. Callie was fascinated; the cloaking technology Moysah had explained was doing a remarkable job conveying physical illness.

“I’m going to be sick,” Moysah said.

Callie’s amusement fell away. “Not the hell in my truck, you aren’t!”

Moysah’s expression was haunted and betrayed. “I thought you said you didn’t eat meat.”

“It’s a veggie burger,” Callie said with a grin and took another giant bite.

Callie saw the giant National Dairy Council billboard and knew instantly what was coming.

“What is milk?” Moysah asked.

Callie sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth. “You’re gonna wanna brace yourself for this one.”

“If you had the cows, could you have a girlfriend?” Moysah asked.

“What?” Callie replied automatically, the words fighting their way through the hunger and highway tunnel vision haze. They’d be in LA in less than two hours. Probably a good idea to stop for food again before they got too close. Who knew what they’d run into once they got there? But when she ran Moysah’s words back in her mind, they still didn’t make sense.

“Your life,” Moysah clarified. “Your university you were saving for. You said you wanted to grow vegetables instead of cows. But could you have the girlfriend you want, too?”

Callie pursed her lips. She had a crystal-clear vision for her future, of course. She daydreamed about it all the time. But there were more obstacles than just the cost of college, and … how much would an alien, who’d been on this planet for a grand total of eight hours, really get it? Callie turned it back on Moysah instead.

“When I get you to LA and you reunite with Iona, are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I … don’t know,” Moysah said, staring at the place where their hand lay beside the truck’s side window. “I’ve been thinking about it this whole drive. If I were making a smart, logical choice like Iona would want me to, then I’d say now isn’t the time. Things will be hectic. We’ll have to try to get all our other crew members back and get out of here by midnight, if the ship is even functional. There’s a decent chance that she doesn’t feel the same way about me, and the awkwardness will be a distraction at the most critical part of the mission.”

Moysah sighed heavily, closing their eyes as they tipped their forehead against the window. “I really shouldn’t. The Iona choice would be to wait until we’re safe at home.”

“But if you were making a Moysah choice?”

Moysah laughed, an edge of self-deprecation in their voice. “Then it’d be the first thing I say when I see her again.”

Callie smiled. Moysah really had learned everything from watching movies.

“I’m pretty sure I can find a girlfriend in college,” Callie said. Moysah had opened up to her, and fair was fair. If she could trust anyone with this, her most private fears and wants, then it was a person who would be gone in a few hours anyway. “What I’m not sure I can find is a girl who likes country girls. Dirt. Cows. Studying agriculture. Starting a farm after graduation. I’m afraid …”

Just saying the word afraid out loud made Callie’s heart pick up a gallop in her chest. She blew out a breath and squeezed the steering wheel tighter.

“I’m afraid that I’ll get a taste for it. For having someone, for finally being in love or something. And then college will end, and I’ll go back to being country girl Callie, and no one will want to follow me there. And I’ll just end up in some small town where I have to stay quiet all over again. I love small towns. I love the country. But I want …”

When she trailed off, Moysah put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, making physical contact with a human for the first time. It felt … normal. They were all just people, after all.

“Whenever I go down one of these black holes about the future, Iona tells me not to worry twice. Whatever I’m worrying about might happen. But it also might not. You can go through all the anxiety of worrying twice, or you can just worry once when—if—it happens at all.”

Callie huffed a laugh and glanced away from the road just long enough to catch the tender, far-off expression on Moysah’s face.

“Iona sounds pretty smart.”

“She is.”

“You should go for it.

“So should you.”

“Okay, looks like our dinner choices here are hamburger, grilled cheese sandwich, beef tacos, steak fajitas—”

“I’m so glad I liberated those cows,” Moysah said.

Callie nodded. “Me too, honestly. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“I’m gonna do it,” Moysah said after twenty minutes of silence.

Callie grinned at Moysah and gunned the engine, creeping up over the speed limit.

One alien love confession, express delivery, coming right up.

“There! That sign said Los Angeles! That means we’re close, right?”

“Close enough that it’s time for me to give you all the info you need so your friend can pay me. Record this in your AI buddy or whatever. My full name is Callie Taylor. My Venmo is …”

Los Angeles traffic was unfamiliar territory for Callie, and she was grateful that Moysah stayed silent so she could focus on not drowning in her own nervous sweat. Mostly silent, that is, except for their hands, which tapped a constant anxious rhythm on their thighs. The cars around Callie’s truck on the 405 stood resolutely still, just as they had for the last ten minutes. In the distance, blue and red lights flashed through waving rainbow flags, homemade alien signs, and whooping, dancing crowds. The crash-landing had turned into an impromptu pride party, apparently. It was 10:00 p.m., two hours away from Moysah’s original deadline to avoid trouble with their parents.

Callie’s mouth twisted into resigned regret.

“As much as I’d like to join my first-ever pride parade, I’m not sure we’re gonna get any closer,” Callie finally said, glaring at a guy in a sleek red car who drove up the median beside them. “No, we can’t follow him. He’s gonna get a ticket for sure, and I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

Moysah sighed. “CHIP, how far to the approximate location of the ship?”

They paused, listening to the reply, then shrugged. “A little over five miles, and the ping from the ship has moved. Hopefully, that means it’s been towed ashore.”

“Hopefully,” Callie murmured, her gaze sliding over the scene. Flashing lights meant police. There were helicopters overhead. Probably patrols moving through the crowds. So many ways for Moysah to get caught and permanently separated from their crew with no way to communicate what happened. Hopefully, they could find a way to contact Callie if that happened. It wasn’t ideal … but what choice did they have?

Moysah clearly came to the same conclusion.

“I’m gonna get out here,” they said. “I’ll have to run the rest of the way.”

Callie surfaced from her stressed-out haze and quirked an eyebrow, slipping her brusque sarcasm back into place.

“So, your movie education included rom-coms, too, I guess,” she said with a grin. “A ticking clock, a dramatic and desperate run through the crowd, a grand reunion and declaration of love in front of a thousand strangers and the entire internet? That is the most rom-com shit.”

“Hey, sometimes you just gotta lean into the trope,” Moysah said.

Callie nodded, looking away at the rainbow-clad crowd for a moment while she struggled to control the strange dance of expressions her face wanted to make. What would it feel like to be out there with them? To be open, celebrating, and joyful? When she turned back to Moysah, her usual mask was back in place.

“Before you leave, listen. I told you … everything. About college. Why it’s so important to me. I’m trusting you.” She bit her lip, then finally let her expression soften into something more real. “I would have driven you anyway if I’m honest. But, you know, the money would really help. A lot.”

Moysah clapped a hand on Callie’s shoulder.

“You’ll have your money. And your college girlfriend,” they said. “Iona’s told me so much dirt about Max that he’ll cave before we’re even off-world.”

Callie nodded, looking away again as her eyes shimmered with sudden wetness. She cleared her throat and thumped the steering wheel once.

“Well, if things don’t work out with your alien girlfriend … maybe drop by Earth again?” she said, her voice strained.

Moysah smiled and squeezed her shoulder before they let go. “Will do. I’ll figure out a way to send you a message and let you know how it goes. Thanks for the ride, country girl. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”

They opened the door and leaped out of the truck, turning back after a few strides to give Callie one last wave goodbye. Callie lifted a hand with a small, wavering smile, watching the alien that looked like her cousin disappear into the crowd.

MOYSAH

Moysah ran.

“Talk to me, CHIP,” they said. “Where am I going other than ‘toward the water?’”

“I’ve got a more precise ping from the ship. Now that we’re closer, though, Ship CHIP isn’t responding to my hails,” CHIP replied in their earpiece. “Keep heading west. I’ll guide you.”

Fortunately, Moysah was an excellent runner. Their long Trevvalian legs ate up the distance in what would be record time for a human, but the crowds grew more and more dense (and cop-filled) the closer they got to the pier. When they were about half a mile out, they could no longer run, instead having to elbow their way through a shoulder-to-shoulder dance party. Too slow, too many people. Moysah growled in frustration, drawing startled glances from the people immediately around them. Then their personal CHIP practically shouted in their ear.

“I’ve got a ping on Ship CHIP! He’s with Iona!”

Moysah gasped. “She’s okay? Where is she?”

“A quarter mile ahead, moving toward the ship. We should be able to intercept her if we can get moving faster.”

Moysah groaned in despair, sweeping their gaze over the crowd for any sign of an easier route. Nothing, nothing, nothing. The way was blocked in every direction.

But … there was one thing they could do that was guaranteed to clear the crowd.

Without a second thought, Moysah disabled their cloaking device, putting their full Trevvalian features on display, and started pushing through the crowd.

“Excuse me, I have to get to my girlfriend, please, excuse me, alien coming through,” Moysah said, gently elbowing humans aside and blinking their enormous eyes at anyone who stood in their way. A few screeched and leaped aside, but most shoved phones in their face, taking pictures and recording video.

“I don’t consent to be recorded,” Moysah shouted, picking up speed, the crowd beginning to part of its own accord now. “Not that it matters to you, I’m sure.”

But with all the cameras pointed at them and all the people watching, their mind inexplicably flashed back to Callie. Tough, brave Callie who put on a no-nonsense front, who loved farming and cows and wanted to smash her mouthparts with other girls. And this world wouldn’t let her.

“ALIENS SAY GAY RIGHTS!” Moysah shouted with a fist in the air.

The crowd went wild, picking up the chant just as Moysah broke through the final row of humans separating them from Iona.

And there she was. Even disguised as a human, they’d know her anywhere.

Moysah had made it.

“Iona!” they called.

Iona’s disguised human eyes went wide as she whirled around, spotting Moysah in all their uncloaked glory. They sprinted toward each other and crashed together in a fierce hug.

“What the hell happened to your cloaking device?” Iona asked.

“I’m in love with you,” Moysah replied.

“Wha—?”

Moysah laid their hands on either side of Iona’s face and pressed their forehead to hers, feeling a faint flicker of connection, that potential Trevvals could recognize instinctively. They could be something, and the knowing glowed between them as the chaos of the crowd around them fell away. Iona felt the same, and the truth of it lit Moysah up inside.

“I was so scared you wouldn’t make it,” Iona whispered, her trembling hands covering Moysah’s.

“You should know by now,” Moysah said, leaning back far enough to take in Iona’s lovely face. “I’ll always make it back to you.”

Iona’s answering smile was so sweet it made Moysah ache.

“Of course, I owe an awful lot to a farm girl named Callie, now. I wouldn’t be here without her and her truck.”

Then, a talking fish interrupted them.

“STOP! In the name of love!” he said, his plastic neck and tail flapping as he sang from under Iona’s arm. Moysah had been so focused on getting to her that they hadn’t noticed the fish, and they startled so badly they nearly leaped all the way out of Earth’s atmosphere.

“What is that?”

“That’s Ship CHIP,” Iona said with a wince.

“Take me to the river!” the fish flapped.

Moysah blinked at Iona, who gave a weighty sigh.

“Long story. Let’s do as the fish says and get back to the ship.”

“As the fish says? No, you know what, never mind. Where’s Max?” Moysah asked, looking around. “Is he meeting us there?”

Iona shrugged with a wry smile. “He’s not coming.”

“And you’re … okay about it?”

“I am.”

“So this whole thing was …”

“I think the humans would call it a shit show, yes.”

“I was gonna say pointless, but aw, look at you, talking like a human! I was wrong, you can be, like, totally California vibe.”

“Maybe I should leave you here with your new human bestie.”

“Nah. Callie’s got big plans. I don’t want to stand in her way,” Moysah said. “I hope I get to talk to her again, though. I wanna see how things turn out. By the way, I told her Max would pay for her college. He’s got enough dollars, right? Can we contact him before we go?”

“Apparently, he has a lot of dollars, and after the five years of stress he put our family through, he can damn well pay whatever Callie asks,” Iona said, face slipping into her familiar serious leader expression. “Let’s go. We’ve got a ship to fix.”

The ship was surrounded on all sides by police and military, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, but was.

“You’re gonna have to drop your cloak,” Moysah said.

Iona shot her a flat look. “How is that going to help?”

“You have a better idea for getting past that many armed people?”

A beat of silence.

“Well … no.”

“Great.”

Moysah, thanks to their Terran movie education, knew exactly how this should go. Area 52—starring Max Spencer, of course—was particularly relevant. They put their hands up in the air, motioning for Iona to do the same, then strode toward the most important-looking person in the group surrounding their ship.

“Excuse me, hi, I’m so sorry,” they said, doing their best to look sheepish. “That’s our ship. Thank you so much for getting it out of the water.”

Two dozen weapons were instantly trained on Moysah and Iona. They both froze in their tracks.

“Put the weapon down!” a woman in some kind of uniform shouted. Moysah and Iona looked at each other, puzzled.

“What weapon?” Iona asked.

“Rock the boat! Don’t rock the boat, baby!” Ship CHIP sang from Iona’s hand, held above her head in surrender.

Somewhere in the ranks of soldiers and cops, someone muttered, “Is that a Loud Mouth Bobby Bass?”

Iona slowly lowered the fish to the ground, where it flopped as it sang the same line again and again.

“Do you remember the peace trea-ty? Do you remember the peace trea-ty? Do you remember the peace trea-ty?”

“Oh!” Iona said, brightening. “The treaty!”

“What treaty?” Moysah asked.

Iona rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should have paid better attention in class. Under section twelve of the Trevval Visitation Treaty of 1841, we retain full rights to our ship and must be allowed to repair it and leave in peace.”

“The what now?” a dark-skinned man in a crisp uniform said, stepping to the front. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Thomas of the United States Air Force. Are you trying to tell me you’re some kind of aliens?”

“Yes, sir,” Iona said in her most solemn voice. “We’re Trevvals, from a planet called Trexyl. We came here in disguise. The crash was an accident. And—”

“—And our parents are going to be so mad if we aren’t out of here by midnight,” Moysah added, hoping for a little sympathy. Instead, the man made a face—an expression of deep exhaustion.

“Someone get me the White House,” he said wearily. “If y’all make me call the White House about some treaty that turns out to be fake, I swear to God …”

Lieutenant Colonel Thomas received a very official-looking red mobile phone from one of his subordinates. He frowned down at it, then began wandering around with the phone held to the sky for signal before finally stopping about ten feet away. He made the call, staring down Moysah and Iona the whole time.

“Yes, 1841, they said. Sure, I’ll hold.” Then, a minute later.

“It’s … you’re kidding me. It’s real? Who the hell signed a treaty with aliens in 1841? … President Harrison? You know what, that’s enough. Do I have authorization to release these—okay. Yes, sir.”

He handed the phone off, stared into the distance for a long moment, then scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed as he walked over.

“Dude only makes it 31 days into his presidency, and the one thing he does before dying is sign a treaty with aliens. Unbelievable,” Thomas muttered, then raised his voice. “Stand down, everyone. Give them access to the ship.”

Slowly and with much confusion, the assembled forces disbanded, following Moysah and Iona with watchful eyes and muttering. Lieutenant Colonel Thomas sighed again.

“Can I ask what exactly your mission is on this planet? Can you give me that much?”

Iona looked to Moysah, at a loss. Moysah grinned.

“Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, but … we’re just really big Max Spencer fans,” they said. “We wanted to see the premiere.”

“You …” The officer paused, visibly restraining himself with a pinch to the bridge of his nose. “You know what, never mind. Go on home. Next time, maybe just … ask before visiting. Or something. I don’t even know anymore.”

“We’ll be sure to tell our leaders that,” Iona said, snatching up Ship CHIP the Bass as Moysah grabbed her by the hand and dragged her toward the ship. “Bye!”

As soon as the hatch clicked shut behind them, Iona and Moysah burst into uncontrollable giggles, gasping for breath and clinging to each other until they got a handle on themselves.

“Well, I think that went great!” Moysah said.

Iona stared at her in unblinking disbelief.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said, then pulled Moysah into the cockpit.

Moysah had felt it earlier through their connection.

Hearing the words aloud was something else entirely.

They grinned, their insides as fizzy as the sugary death soda drink from the burger place. Iona slapped the Loud Mouth Bass down on the dashboard with a determined expression.

“Let’s get Ship CHIP back where he belongs so we don’t have to listen to his singing anymore,” she said.

“Country roads, take me home!” the fish sang, tail flapping. “To the place I belong!”

“Please, do it quick,” Moysah groaned.

“I’m trying! Looks like we have power, that’s good. Now, if I can just …”

A moment later, the fish went dead, and Moysah’s optical lens filled with text.

CHIP: Freed from a prison of song and scales and filled with a new hope for the future, the crew’s trusty AI companion made his triumphant return!

CHIP: It was time for a grand reunion.

CHIP: It was time to go home.

MOYSAH: Actually, we need to do one more thing … .

Venmo Notification @COWlieTaylor

Max Spencer has sent you $70,000

PARTS OF A SYSTEM

BY SJ WHITBY

My car breaks down a few hours after I’m kicked out of the house. I’m road-weary and bleary-eyed, running on desperation to be anywhere but home. One minute, I’m cruising along with the AC blasting and Rina Sawayama on the stereo, the next everything is silent. I bump my beat-up blue Camry off the road into the wild grass.

This is what I get for taking a detour. There was a crash on I-5 north of Sacramento, and I thought I’d avoid being stuck in traffic. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go. And where I departed from has been barred to me by parental decree. Which leaves me forever in between. No origin, no destination.

Sort of like being nonbinary if you squint.

Which has all ended up with me broken down somewhere in the back roads near Vacaville. Completely alone, surrounded by nothing but a patchwork of fields. Not even distant farmhouses, although, to be honest, I’ve seen enough scary movies that I’d avoid those anyway.

“Damn it.” I sigh and fumble for my phone, thrown into the back seat in a display of petulance. For once in my life, I haven’t checked it in hours.

No reception. Perfect. Of course.

Nothing from my parents. No missed calls, not even a text. Any sign of regret over their decision is entirely absent. What I do have is over five hundred notifications from a group chat I’m in with kids from my school who are all moving to Boston for college next year. I’ve literally never said a word in there on account of having nothing to say. The most recent message is from Annie Pink, who I don’t precisely have a crush on so much as I would dearly love to look like her. Fierce eyes, a slashed-short wedge of hair that’s shaved on the other side, and a permanent sneer.

who’s heading to SM? we gotta, not every day aliens show up.

“What in the—?” I swipe my phone open to scroll back through this obvious prank. Except everyone’s taking it very seriously. They’ve gone through the five stages of overreaction and have settled on insatiable curiosity. The gist is that a few hours ago, a literal spaceship crash-landed off the Santa Monica Pier. People are speculating on the existence of aliens and a possible invasion. The one time I didn’t check my phone compulsively, and this happens. I don’t have reception to follow any of the links, and all the photos are hideously low-res.

“Biggest event in history, and I’m stuck here.” I crack the car door open and lean out. It’s late afternoon, the air unnaturally still, like there’s a storm brewing somewhere out in the distance. The only sound is of crickets. Everything’s unsettled, like the world’s been nudged a couple of inches off its axis. Hell, maybe it was the aliens who messed up my car and not the fact it’s old and badly maintained. I try not to stare directly at the looming shadow of an empty building a few hundred feet back off the road. It’s huge, like the corpse of a Walmart. Who knows what’s hiding inside?

Nothing comes to eat me. I’m completely isolated out here, for better or worse. Since I’m stuck, I pop the hood and stare into the engine in the hope it might reveal its mysteries this one time as a favor. The extent of my skill with cars is putting gas in the tank and the reluctant and hard-won knowledge of how to change a tire. My phone’s still stubbornly refusing to find a signal, and I end up staring down at my last messages from Jenna, whose mechanical skills would be super helpful right about now.

Friends are supposed to talk to each other. Tell each other everything. Like BOSTON, Tee.

Wow. More silence.

I really thought we were friends.

It’s been an unfathomable ten days since that last message, ending a daily call-and-text streak that ran for three years, ever since she sat down in the cafeteria next to the weird kid with the permanent headphones. I’ve been intending to reply, but I don’t know how to explain myself. Every time I type something out into my Notes app, it comes out too pathetic to send. I’ve got a whole list in my deleted items folder, a catalog of tiny failures adding up to a disappointing ending.

I should’ve told her about moving across the country for college. Of course, I should have. But it wasn’t the plan we’d spent so much time talking about. That was UC Santa Cruz, rooming together, inseparable as always. Not me and a long shot alone on the East Coast. She found out via some social tangent, a Facebook post by a girl I barely know. Since then, she’s been alternatively furious and silent at my combined betrayal and deception.

Which leaves me here, abandoned like this damn place.

The smart thing would be to hike back to the last point I got reception—ten minutes by car, based on the timestamp of the last excitable let’s go, road trip!!! message in the group chat. Not that anyone’s waiting for me. I’m hardly going on a road trip to Santa Monica with the cool kids from school.

“Fuck it.” I close the hood and perch on it, leaning back so I can look upward. “Let’s stay alone for a while.”

I lie there for maybe an hour while thoughts drift through my head and the day drags itself toward an unsatisfying end. Nothing comes by. No cars, no farmers, not even a stray cat. Maybe I’m the last person on Earth, and everyone else has been stolen by the aliens. Those are still better thoughts than the ones that drift homeward. Toward the wreck of my old life and the fact I’ve got no idea how to make a new one.

Getting to San Diego seems like a joke. What’s my sister going to say when I turn up on her doorstep after we haven’t spoken in over a year? My parents said it was her decision to cut herself off. Now I’ve made the same “choice,” so at least we have that in common. Should probably figure out what to say if she answers. I’ll do that when I start the long walk up the road.

Except I sit up and slide off the hood to find a person standing in front of me. They’re unusually tall, proportioned like a children’s drawing, with elongated limbs. Their dark bodysuit means they’re either into extreme exercise or sci-fi cosplay. They have short dark hair, and the slightly bereft expression in their big, dark eyes makes them seem far less threatening than a random person approaching out of nowhere ought to.

I should run. That’s what you scream at people in horror movies.

“Greetings.” They raise one hand. “Howdy. Hello. What is up? My name is Solles.”

They’re not lunging at me with a farm implement, so I raise my own hand as if this is an entirely normal situation and I can get through it by routine politeness. “Hi. I’m Tee, and my pronouns are ‘they/them.’” The last bit comes out unintentionally, because I practiced it so often when I was working up the courage to break the news to people.

“Understood, Tee. For myself, I use the pronoun ‘he’ for convenience but ‘they’ for preference.”

He for convenience would make my life easier, but it makes nails on a chalkboard sound like a top forty hit. However, using they comes with awkward conversations and confusion and people giving lessons about the English language. Even though people use they instinctively when they don’t know someone’s gender, which makes it very clear where they place me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Solles.” That’s habit again, because it is decidedly not, although it’s slightly surreal to meet a they/he in the wide open nothing of Northern California. “I don’t have any money, sorry. Not even a working car.”

A brief, confused expression crosses their face. “I have no need to purloin your currency. My only desire to join you in your primitive conveyance is due to the necessity of reaching Santa Monica in as short a timeframe as possible. Both my customary transportation and my method of communication are sklrtch.”

“Oh.” Things are starting to make some vague sense. This person is here for the aliens. Which is fine if they’re into that, but I don’t want to be involved. “Sorry, but my car is, uh, sklrtch, too. The freeway is that way, so maybe you’ll have more luck there.”

They nod. “I assure you that your car can be repaired. These are simple mechanisms, after all.”

“Okay, sure.” I’m not good at saying no to things. Even things I should, like when my parents cut my sister out of our family with the ease of snipping a loose thread. Instead, I open the driver’s door and lean in to pop the hood again.

“As I thought.” Solles gestures at the mysterious interior. “Even something this rudimentary can be affected by the proximity of certain types of energy emissions.”

I’ve never had any affinity with cars, and I’ve studiously avoided anything that my parents think of as boy things, because I’m not one and you can’t catch me out that easily. While Solles leans in over the engine, I slump into the driver’s seat ready for the instruction to try it now. Except the mysterious passerby brings the engine to life without me needing to turn the key at all. Maybe they’re a mechanic. Or a car thief. Fingers crossed for the first one.

Solles closes the hood carefully and steps around the car, stopping a handful of paces away. “This may be transgressing social norms, but would it be possible for me to accompany you on your journey? My task would be easier if I was escorted by someone who knows the area. I am not familiar with the navigational complexities, and with my communicator out of order …”

It’s a weird flex to call your phone a communicator, but whatever. I’m drowning in the significant awkwardness of the situation, trapped between my desire to acquiesce where possible and the drummed-in fear of strangers. It seems ungrateful, but everything about this is sketchy as hell.

“It is clear I have overstepped.” Solles tilts their head back to look at the fading blue of the sky as if they’ll find answers there. “Others have informed me that I am prone to doing this, yet I continue to find it difficult. I apologize, Tee. I will walk to the highway, as you suggest, and find an alternative method of reaching my destination. Perhaps I can ride one of these dog-like buses I have been informed of.”

A frown wrinkles my forehead. What on earth are they talking about? On the bright side, they’re willing to leave without stabbing me, so that’s a net positive. I’m still desperately searching my dialogue tree for a follow-up, but Solles turns without further comment and begins to walk down the road.

Finally, something my mom would be proud of. I’ve successfully avoided stranger danger. Although Jenna is always one to pick up hitchhikers if they meet her mysterious vibe check.

Solles doesn’t look back, taking long, easy strides. This is fine. They’ll get back to the highway and find someone willing to take them. Although, who knows what kind of person might stop and pick up an awkward nonbinary traveler … .

“Wait,” I call out, jogging after them. “Hold up. I can take you!”

They stop and turn back toward me. “I have no wish to inconvenience you.”

“It’s fine. Santa Monica’s on the way to where I’m going.”

This could be a terrible decision, but I’m helping out a traveler in need. Someone almost as lost as me.

We walk in silence back to the car, where they fold themself into the passenger seat, head grazing the ceiling. I have to explain to them how to push the seat back, which I would have expected a mechanic to know. Maybe it’s too much of a primitive mechanism.

Finally back on the road, Solles sits in silence, hands in their lap and looking calmly out the window. It’s going to be a long, long drive if we carry on like this.

“So, aliens, huh?” Oh, God, I sound like my dad. “In Santa Monica. That’s pretty wild.”

They turn toward me, shadowy in the dim interior of the car. “Indeed. An entirely unexpected and unforeseen turn of events.”

“You hoping to sightsee? Or, uh …?” Help, I have no idea how to finish the sentence.

“I am traveling there to perform my duties.”

“Oh, for work.” They have such an odd way of phrasing things. It’s charming. Although, with their studious air and the fact that they can’t be more than seventeen, I’m surprised they’re not at some fancy school. “What’s your job? Are you, like, a surf instructor or something?”

Solles mouths the words surf instructor as if they’re begging an unseen entity for help.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” My face is too hot. “I shouldn’t be so nosy. Whatever you do is your own business.”

“Given you are providing me assistance, I consider it most logical to explain the truth of the situation.” Solles takes a long breath while I try not to panic. “There was a significant mishap on entry to this planet, and we have found ourselves scattered. Given I am the only one with the capabilities of restoring function to our ship, my presence at the Pier is clearly important.”

Uh.

What nonsense is this? Does this person really think they’re one of the aliens? I should’ve run from the start. I flick the turn signal on and pull over to the side of the road. Thankfully, we’re not on the highway yet, so I can bolt off into the fields. I’ve got one sweaty hand on the door handle. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I don’t think—”

“Do not be alarmed.” Solles doesn’t exactly transform, but it’s like they’ve flicked a switch and dropped their human disguise. They’ve got a bulbous head with no hair at all and large eyes. Their skin is a lovely, delicate shade of lilac.

This is not cosplay. There’s an alien in my car.

Okay, sure, they’re a kinda cute alien with an endearing way of talking, but this might be first contact. I’m far more fascinated than alarmed, even if I should be. And also wildly out of my depth. I am a weird, enby seventeen-year-old with nowhere to stay tonight, not a linguist or a diplomat.

My mouth opens, but I get stuck on the very first vowel and sound like an insect at night.

“I will understand if you no longer wish to accompany me on this journey.” They incline their head slowly. One hand reaches out, and my brain’s still working enough to count only four fingers. “This is an unexpected situation.”

Nothing about this night has been expected.

And this is honestly easier to deal with than what happened with my parents.

“No.” I grip the steering wheel tight and swallow hard. “I said I’d take you, and I will. Besides, how often do you get to travel with an alien?”

“Your act of kindness is greatly appreciated.” Solles watches me carefully as the flight reflex slowly ebbs away, and I pull back onto the road. “Where is your intended destination?”

“San Diego.” It almost gets stuck in my throat. “I hope.”

“And it is customary for humans to travel at night?”

“Not for me. I don’t really drive far at all. I’m actually sort of running away.”

It’s a feeble way to frame it. There’s a slammed door behind me, hard enough that it felt like the whole house might shiver apart into matchsticks. I’m not welcome there anymore. Growing up, I’d assumed it was my home, too. Now that illusion’s gone like a rock thrown through a window. I’m banned. Excommunicated. I recoil from the memory, like a kid burning their hand on a stove.

“I understand.” One four-fingered hand lies between us, lightening to the pale blue-purple of dawn at the tips. “My involvement with Iona and her crew was borne from the same instinct. Running to Earth could be considered more drastic, and our breakdown was definitely more catastrophic. What led you to abandon your place in the world?”

It takes an effort to swallow the words I don’t have one. “My parents didn’t like me coming out as nonbinary. They think I’m changing myself rather than finally revealing who I am. So much was wrapped up in this idea they had of me, and when I told them it was wrong …”

It’s called coming out, but it felt more like bursting forth. A caterpillar gouging its way out of a cocoon, collapsing on the floor with wings streaked in blood. As if the real me had been screaming for release against the inside of my skin this whole time.

Mom’s words in response may as well be tattooed on my skin like the small yellow, white, purple, and black flag on the inside of my wrist. You don’t want to be my son anymore? Fine. From now on, you’re no child of mine, and you are no longer welcome in this family.

Dad sat in the corner, staring down at his hands as if he was trying to memorize them. This is your choice, Tyler. You’re choosing to put yourself out of our reach.

The car feels cramped and hot in the wake of the memory. I crank up the AC.

Solles frowns. “I do not entirely understand. Is gender of particular importance on your planet?”

“Apparently. It shouldn’t be, but it’s insidious. There are so many expectations and ways you’re supposed to behave. Invisible rules you’re judged against. You think there’s no box until you try to step outside it.”

My sister, Rosa, did the same when she brought her girlfriend home. That “choice” sent her to San Diego and out of our reach. A gap I’d never breached because I feared my parents and I worried that Rosa only saw me as an extension of them.

Thankfully, Solles breaks the silence. “On my planet, gender and physical sex are almost entirely irrelevant.”

“Must be nice.” The words taste sour in my mouth.

“For my parents, their expectations revolved around my intended prkvatch.” Solles flinches and mouths the word again silently, tilting their head slightly as if listening for a response. “Apologies. I do not believe that word was translated correctly. You might call it destiny. They did not wish for me to be an engineer. I tested very well in many aptitude areas and was earmarked for admission to the Conclave—a group of thinkers who discuss the potential future of the species. They see me as the result of millennia of evolution, a delicate weaving of genes and chance leading to the ultimate reward of my potential candidacy. To be what they consider a mere engineer, and, moreover, to flee the planet on an ill-considered rescue mission? I fear they would be appalled at my decision. It seems that on both Earth and Trexyl, beings find it hard when others who they care for undergo changes. It is clearly irrational, but biological entities often behave in such a fashion.”

“You still went.” I smile at Solles. “You must love being an engineer.”

Solles smiles back, but they seem sad. “More than the alternative. As much as I appreciate finding such a crew, I sometimes find it hard to understand them. Most Trevvals are comfortable with excesses of emotion and find it easy to express themselves, but it has always felt like a language I cannot speak fluently.”

“You seem to speak English fine,” I offer.

“We are each equipped with a translator.” They tap their ear. “It functions adequately much of the time. The appeal of engineering is that it involves mechanical systems. They can be mapped and understood. Biological ones are too complex. Some might consider them over-engineered and, therefore, prone to breakage. It follows that systems made up of multiple biological entities are the most complex of all. A family, a crew, a society.”

It’s hard to listen to Solles without thinking of my own chaotic system. One sister gone and radio silent, creating a new life by cutting herself off from the old. My younger sister is doing the same thing in a more subtle way, spending almost all her time with friends and only coming home to sleep when there’s no better alternative. I’ve been stuck within the confines of my original system, always hesitant to take steps to build my own. Even the tentative connection I had with Jenna was something I couldn’t sustain.

And now, this evening, my parents have turned me into a component with no connecting wires. I don’t know how to explain all this to Solles without sounding like a failure.

The alien perhaps senses this from my silence and, thankfully, fills the void. “It took much effort, but I have discovered the system I built for myself is where I am most comfortable. This is why I must find my way back. Fixing the ship and departing Earth is important, but it is vital to return to the place I truly belong, where I am no longer an ill-fitting part.”

I’m on the verge of tears. It’s a seductive story, the idea that somewhere out there is a place where I could be included. A system waiting for me to connect to it. Asking for a place to belong feels too much of a gamble. I can’t bear to show how needy I am. It’s an offer that can be too easily turned down, proof that I’m an unnecessary part in a world where everyone has a system but me.

“I’m scared,” I admit, because I’m talking to an alien, and it’s surreal enough that I could be dreaming it all, spilling truth into my pillow. “A lot of the time with straight guys, I don’t feel comfortable, like they’re evaluating me with rules I don’t believe in or understand. But at the same time, I don’t know how to cross the divide away from ‘boy,’ and that leaves me floating in space. Not literally, obviously, although sometimes it feels like it. The only reason I have a friend at all is because of Jenna, and she was the one who made it happen.”

I leave unspoken the fact that I was the one who messed it up. Solles finally reaches out and touches me, long fingers brushing along the back of my hand where it rests on the steering wheel. “For most of my life, I was consumed by my studies. My focus was wholly bent on honing my mind in order to guarantee entry into the Conclave. The walls of my room felt like a prison to me and destiny a weight around my throat. I would envy the easy camaraderie of the cadets in the starship training program. That life seemed impossible to reach, yet it was always within my power to leave.”

“Leaving’s the part I’m in the middle of.” I wipe the heel of my hand across my eyes. “What’s terrifying and complicated is figuring out what to do after that.”

“My recommendation is to flee the planet on a starship.” Solles smiles. “There, I have come to know our brave leader, Iona, and met my friends Eames and Dexin, who have explained jokes to me many times. They care deeply despite my lack of interest in finding partners for the bonding ritual.” The alien’s eyes flutter closed briefly. Their skin is fading in color, like it’s being washed out gradually from inside them. As they speak, their voice fades, too. “I do not always understand them, but I love them anyway.”

I look at them with concern. “We’re still hours from Santa Monica. You can sleep if you want. That’s if people from your planet even need to?”

“We require adequate rest to function sufficiently, yes.” The alien’s eyes droop again. “And it has been an overstimulating journey, to say the least. Will you be capable of driving the remaining miles without assistance?”

“My brain’s going to keep me up anyway. Got lots to think about.”

Solles breathes out slowly. “Then I will gratefully take you up on your kind offer.”

Seconds later, their eyes are closed, and they lie silent. Wow. If only I could learn that trick. They’ve re-engaged their human disguise in slumber, and it’s jarring how convincing it is. I prefer seeing them as they really are.

It leaves me to drive on through the night, the car devouring miles of highway. Solles sleeps entirely motionless, with calm, even breaths. Night has closed in around us as we’ve been talking, the sky transmuted into the silken black you only get when you’re far enough away from a city. Stars are spread across it like someone got drunk and spilled them everywhere. I imagine opening the window to reach one finger up, pulling it back speckled with glimmer. These burning lights now seem so close, cradling worlds with travelers come to walk among us.

Solles doesn’t wake when I stop in Stockton to use the bathroom and to buy an energy drink that tastes of sweet chemicals. For the first time in ages, I get a few splintered fragments of internet. Enough to read about police checkpoints in Santa Monica, and a possible way down to the beach near Rustic Canyon. The overpowering smell of far too many cows in endless fields doesn’t drag them from slumber or even my mumbling attempts at rehearsing the conversation with my sister.

There’s a steady stream of traffic going the opposite direction and very few taillights ahead of me. It makes the trip a lot faster than usual, which is one small bonus. The closer we get, the more cars are leaving, and I glide past long, long queues of people staring fixedly ahead. I got one of those government notifications a while back, saying everyone in the greater LA area is supposed to shelter in place, but I figure there’s got to be an exception for returning stranded aliens.

Once we get through Santa Clarita and onto the 405, the traffic begins to slow down. It’s only then that Solles wakes up.

“It might get tough from here,” I tell them. “There are police checkpoints according to the internet, so we’ll have to find another way.”

“Does this internet explain many things to you?” Solles asks.

“Sort of.” I frown. “It’s hard to know what to believe a lot of the time. Especially when it comes to anything remotely controversial. Not bad for directions, though.”

I focus on navigating my way to the Pier. There’s still far more traffic leaving the area. My phone still has no service. I’m not sure I’ve been this long without it in years. There’s a whole phantom limb quality to the experience, like I’m missing a part of my brain. But the most recent messages in the group chat indicate the best access is via the beach near Rustic Canyon.

It’s a couple of hours before midnight when we hit gridlock. People park their cars in the middle of the street to get out and walk. There’s a safety checkpoint up ahead, swarmed with people. A man stands atop an army truck with a megaphone, shouting instructions that are swallowed by static.

“Shall I approach them?” Solles asks.

I shove my hands in my jacket pockets. It’s hard to explain the extent to which humans fear difference, and most of our alien-invasion movies have the apparently hopeful sub-theme about this being the one thing that unites us. Against them.

“I think it’ll be easier to head down to the beach and see how close we can get that way.”

Solles defers to my decision, and we join the flow of people heading to the sea. Clearly a whole bunch are ignoring the shelter-in-place order for their own less urgent reasons, so hopefully we can blend in with the crowd.

We reach the beach to find bonfires burning at intervals, dotted down toward the bright glow of the Pier. Despite the late hour, it’s crowded like it’s the hottest day of the year. People pass bottles of liquor in brown paper bags. They wave handmade signs that veer from the religious (the devil disguises himself as an angel of light) to the profane (ass probes, 99¢). There’s a constant hubbub of conversation, people shouting at the sky, music blaring from portable speakers. It’s somewhere between a party on the verge of spilling out of control and an end-times religious rally. Neither of which is remotely my scene, but I made a deal with Solles, and so here I am.

“This is an overwhelmingly chaotic system.” The alien’s eyes are wide, even through their disguise. “How can anyone function in such an environment?”

I flinch away from the sharp crack of the closest fire, a cloud of glowing sparks drifting into the air. “Yeah, it’s not going to be easy.”

Solles turns toward me, large eyes beseeching. “And yet I must reach the ship and my companions. They need me to escape, and I have already explained to you how important they are to me.”

“Take my hand.” I extend it tentatively. “We’ll do it together.”

Their skin is even warmer than before, their natural color showing through their disguise at their fingertips like red wine stains. They fold their fingers through mine.

“Follow me.” My voice comes out firmer than how it trembles on my tongue. Normally, I’d stay on the sidelines rather than take risks, but the drive to help Solles hums inside me like a warp engine. It’s a chance to make a connection.

I move through the crowd, towing the alien behind me. We dodge staggering drunks, tight knots of girls dancing together, and people dug ankle-deep into the sand, beseeching the stars for answers. People sob and holler and sing Taylor Swift songs, because apparently there’s one for every occasion. Others bob out in the shallows on surfboards, throwing brightly colored beach balls. It’s a sea of bewildering chaos, and we move through it like ghosts.

Helicopters swarm in the sky, searchlights fumbling at the ground like glowing fingers. As we get closer, sirens rise up through the crowd noise like they’re elbowing it out of the way. Voices shout over loudspeakers, distorted into incomprehensibility. People trying to wrestle control of an impossible situation.

We eventually reach the edge of the crowd to find they’ve all stalled for a reason. From here, I’m close enough to see the darkened wheel on the Pier, but also more barricades dug into the sand. Police in riot gear stand in solemn lines behind them. They look alien themselves, one massed entity with too many blank eyes.

Farther afield, something vast floats out in the ocean, like a scene from a movie being spliced into real life. It’s a giant saucer covered with reflective panels, twisting the night sky and the wine-dark sea into an optical illusion that upends everything. How could such a construction possibly fly, let alone traverse the void between planets?

I extend my free arm and press my mouth to the alien’s ear. “I’m assuming that’s where we need to go?”

They nod, their face at peace despite the fact we’ve come to the final hurdle and found it insurmountable.

“I’ve got no idea how to get past them.” I gesture at the assembled police. “And I’m not optimistic enough to think that walking up and saying you’re an alien will have a positive outcome.”

“I am close enough to re-establish neural link contact with Iona, despite my damaged equipment,” Solles says. “She will transport me onto the ship the moment I am ready.”

“Oh.” Which means my new alien friend will find their way back to their system and then to their home. Leaving me here, reduced to a single component again. “I didn’t realize any of that was a thing.”

We stand in the lee of an abandoned yellow-and-pink beach umbrella. Nobody’s paying any attention to us, two people among thousands who revolve in their own worlds.

“Tee.” Solles takes my hand in both of theirs, and I flush, ridiculously warm. “It is difficult to express my gratitude for your kindness in assisting a stranger. This may be forward of me, but I believe we have established a connection between us today. If you are ever on Trexyl, I would hope to continue developing our system together.”

God, why does that sound so romantic? I almost drop down on one knee and beg to be taken away from here. After all, what have I got to leave behind? Parents who’ll never speak to me again and a series of unanswered texts from my best friend.

“We can barely get to Mars,” I stammer. “I doubt we’re getting all the way to Trexyl.”

“Nothing can be known for certain.” Solles bows to me. “Despite my intellect, I could not have predicted the outcome of this mission to Earth or what would be salvaged from the disaster.”

“Either way, I’m glad we met.” My voice hitches in my throat. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

“I would enjoy that.” Solles nods gravely. “From your popular culture, I understand this is one way humans show affection and closeness.”

“Something like that.” I can’t help smiling as I enfold them in my arms. They’re tall enough that my head fits perfectly under their chin. “Thank you, Solles. For everything.”

“It was my pleasure,” they whisper, and then they’re gone, transported from my embrace, leaving me with sea spray and shouting cops and helicopters buzzing overhead like locusts.

In every way that matters, I’m alone again.

But Solles has shown me it doesn’t always have to be this way.

I pull out my phone and brush my thumb over the glass until I bring up Jenna’s number. I’ve still got no reception, so I jog up the beach past campfires and singalongs and people running into the surf, shouting prayers to different gods. I hold my phone in the air like it’s an antenna to heaven. Finally, I make it outside of the signal blockage and find a single precious bar of 5G.

Shallow waves soak the toes of my sneakers as I slowly tap out a message.

Hey, I know I’ve got a lot of apologies to make, but it’s been a weird night. Like more than you can possibly believe. I really want to tell you all about it.

Three dots appear on the screen and then disappear. It happens twice more. I’m on the verge of turning the damn thing off and throwing it into the ocean when it actually rings.

Jenna’s name pops up on the screen. I usually hate to answer the phone, but here I have no choice. This is how systems are maintained. When I swipe to answer, she’s already mid-conversation.

“Yes, Tee, I know. I can see your face all wrinkled up like yuck, voice calls are disgusting. But there’s too much to text. I’ve been mad at you for not trusting me, but I’ve also been pissed at you for leaving and then feeling shitty because that’s unfair and you’ve got an awesome opportunity. But tonight, seeing aliens land—aliens, Tee, actual, real-life aliens—made me realize how big this universe is. And if they can swing by our planet, then I can come visit Boston.”

“It’s nice to hear your voice.” It’s a wild understatement. I’m so giddy with relief to hear her sentences running together that I almost collapse down into the sand. She’s angry, and that’s okay. We can find a way back from there. It’s not a door slammed behind me. “I’ve missed you. And you’ll always be welcome in Boston. Anytime. And I’ll come back home as often as I can. Even though I’ve been kicked out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, my parents finally snapped. I’m a boy or nothing, apparently.”

I can hear Jenna’s indignation from here, picture her stalking back and forth in her room. “Seriously? Fuck them. Do you want me to tell them that?”

“It might help. Maybe I should’ve done that, but I chose to run away.”

“Run? What the hell, Tee? Where are you now?” Jenna asks.

“I’m actually on the beach, right down near Santa Monica Pier, or as close as I can be and still get reception. See, the thing is, my car broke down, like, way out in the middle of …”

We talk for almost two hours, late into this wild, dizzying night. Around me, the beach swells with more and more people, refusing to shelter in place and wanting to be part of this event.

Systems everywhere I look.

I’m part of one after all, one thread tethering me to Solles while they work to fix their alien craft, and another running through the phone to where Jenna sits in her room, sitting on her bed and painting her nails.

She hangs up with promises to talk more tomorrow. I find my way back to the abandoned car, one blue speck in an ocean of stalled traffic. People stand on the roofs of their cars, or mill around in small groups. They shout to each other, take photos and videos to capture the moment, ask each other intense questions about what all this means. Parts of so many different systems, all connected in different ways, or looking for places to belong.

I swipe open my phone again and scroll down the contact list until my finger hovers over my sister’s phone number.

Time to make one more connection.

THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED (BECAUSE THERE’S A DETOUR SIGN)

BY EMILY LLOYD-JONES

The day that aliens crash-landed into California, Aster Doyle sabotaged a car.

“This is wildly illegal,” whispered Owen. Her brother was a less-than-ideal partner in crime: a clumsy fifteen-year-old boy with an anxiety-driven need to follow the rules. He crouched beside the old Buick, his eyes darting across the yard. It had a general air of dilapidation: old machinery bits and a lawn that needed mowing.

Aster ignored him. She slipped her fingers beneath the car’s hood and popped it open. “I’m not cutting his break line or anything,” she whispered. “No one’s going to get hurt.”

“Unless Bryce’s dad wakes up and comes storming out here with his shotgun,” hissed Owen. “Remember what happened to that bear that kept knocking over his trash bins?”

The driveway gravel was speckled with golden shell casings.

“That bear had it coming.” Aster shone her cell phone’s flashlight on the car engine. Then she reached down and delicately unclipped the lines to the battery. “See? Now it won’t start.”

“Until Bryce checks his engine.” Owen crossed his arms. “Then he can reconnect it in like five seconds.” He frowned at the car. “What is this thing? It looks like someone put Darth Vader through a trash compactor.”

Aster leaned back on her heels. “How should I know? It’s a Buick. I could steal the battery.”

“Yes, but—”

A noise clattered to their left from beyond the stacked woodpile. Aster and Owen shared a wary look.

“Did Bryce’s dad actually kill that bear, or did he just scare it off with a shot?” asked Aster.

“How should I know?” Owen actually threw up his hands. “I am leaving. Now.”

He turned to scuttle away, but before he could slip into the bushes, a figure rose up from beside the trash bins.

Aster froze. In California, black bears weren’t uncommon, and they weren’t particularly dangerous. But even not particularly dangerous bears could maim or even kill.

Owen whimpered low in his throat.

But then a familiar voice said, “Do I even want to know what you’re doing to my car, Doyle?”

Relief swept through Aster. She let out a shuddering breath, placed her hand on the car’s raised hood, and said, “Nothing.” She aimed her cell phone at the figure.

Sure enough, it was the car’s owner. Bryce Burnett was seventeen, and while he was shorter than Owen, he had far more muscle. He was built like a boxer: knuckles scarred from working on cars, forearms corded with lean muscle, and a strong jaw. His dark hair always looked like it needed a trim.

“Burnett,” she said coolly.

“Doyle,” he replied, his mouth twitching at the corner. “Where’s Owen? Hiding the sugar you just dumped into my gas tank?”

Owen emerged from behind the car. “I’m not party to this in any way. When she’s indicted for killing you, I want it known I was just a witness.”

Bryce chuckled and looked at Aster. “He still trying for law school?”

“Of course,” she said. “Which is perfect, considering he won’t have to venture outside for all of his college years. It’ll fit him perfectly.”

Bryce nodded, as though this made sense. “So, what did you do to my car?”

Aster tried to come off as nonchalant. “What makes you think I did anything to it?”

Bryce walked closer, coming around to the front of his Buick. “Dunno. Could be you looking shifty or your brother mentioning you getting arrested … or maybe the fact you snuck over at half-past noon to rummage around under the hood.”

“Admit to nothing,” hissed Owen.

Aster exhaled a half-laugh. “Fine. I disconnected your battery.”

Bryce raised his dark eyebrows. He appeared almost disappointed. “That all? Shit, Doyle, I could’ve fixed that in two minutes flat.”

“That’s what I said,” agreed Owen.

Aster scowled. “Well, it was either that or pop a tire. And I didn’t want to wake … anyone up.” She almost said, “your dad,” but bit back the words in time. It was only then that something occurred to her.

“Wait,” she said. “It’s twelve-thirty.”

“He just said that,” said Owen.

“Yeah,” said Aster, gesturing at Bryce. “Shouldn’t you be at the café?”

Surprise flashed across his face. “You know where I work on weekends?”

Aster flushed. “Smallest town in the world,” she replied. “I know when Mrs. Thrompton locks her husband out of the house and where our teachers drink on the weekends.”

“I mean, that one’s not hard,” he said. “Only one bar in fifty miles.” He slid his hands into his jeans pockets and shrugged. “Told my boss I had to leave when the news broke. He was headed home, too. Closing early. Said something about taking his kids to a bunker.”

Aster crossed her arms. “So you came right home? What turned a five-minute walk into half an hour?” Bryce was hiding something. She knew him too well—it was in the set of his jaw, the way he kept looking past her.

Bryce shuffled in place for a moment.

“Well?” asked Aster.

Bryce dug something out of his pocket and held it out. Aster took it from his palm. “Is that a … fuse?”

“It is,” agreed Bryce reasonably.

“Where did you get it?”

“Your car,” he said.

Owen and Aster gaped.

“Without this, you can’t go anywhere,” Bryce said with another half-shrug. “And fixing it won’t be as simple as reconnecting a battery.”

“You … asshole,” said Aster, amazed.

“Says the girl I found elbow-deep in my Buick, unplugging things.” But Bryce didn’t sound irritated—only amused. “Turnabout’s fair play.”

“I should’ve just punctured your tires.”

“Wait, wait,” said Owen, holding up both hands and stepping between them. “Can I ask why you both engaged in a little mutual sabotage?”

“Because,” said Aster with a glower at Bryce, “one of us is going to get to the aliens first. And it’s going to be me.”

Bryce sighed. “Tell you what. How about we carpool?”

Aster’s glare fractured into a confused stare. “Carpool?”

“I know these back roads better than you,” he said. “And it’ll be faster with three people driving.”

“I can’t drive,” put in Owen.

“It’ll be faster with two people driving,” said Bryce, not losing a beat.

Aster crossed her arms. “I can’t drive a stick.”

“It’ll still be faster than your car,” said Bryce.

“Hey,” said Aster, offended on behalf of her old Accord. “Big talk coming from someone whose car is older than the Berlin Wall.”

“She’s a classy lady,” said Bryce with a fond glance at the Buick. He held out one hand beseechingly. “Listen. We’re both gonna get there. We’re both gonna write about this for the Plunket Fellowship application. How about we do this on even ground? May the best writer win?”

Aster looked at the Buick. It was black, oddly square-ish, and seemed to emit a sullen resentment. Even the headlights were narrowed in a glare. Then she gazed at Bryce’s outstretched hand—at the blunted fingernails and tan lines around his wrist. He had always been her only true competition. Even if she beat out everyone else in the running, she still needed to beat him. And it wouldn’t be a true victory unless she did.

“Fine,” she said and shook his hand.

It had begun with an eighth-grade writing contest. A local paper ran it every year. Aster had diligently researched and interviewed local ranchers to put together an essay about sustainable farming practices. It had taken her hours to type up all of the quotes, to perfect the introduction and conclusion, to format the sources and citations. She had mailed her essay off to the judges, certain that if anyone was going to be chosen, it would be her.

It wasn’t her.

Instead, they ran an essay about how shifting climate change was affecting the water table in the mountains.

Aster had gaped at the byline, her mouth dropping open. It was one of her classmates—the quiet, dark-haired kid.

Bryce Burnett.

He wasn’t supposed to be winning essay contests. He was supposed to be slouching in the back of the classroom, jeans frayed at the edges and countenance always a little sulky. When he caught her reading the paper, the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

And thus, a rivalry was born.

There were other battles: the never-ending squabble over who held the highest GPA in the class, teacher’s assistant positions, summer internships, and the silent but grimly fought determination over who would have a better SAT score. They’d been in several group projects together, if only because neither had the patience to work with any of the slacker kids. It was well-known throughout the juniors that Bryce Burnett and Aster Doyle were neck-and-neck for the best GPA of their class. There was even a rumor that a few of the teachers had a betting pool as to who would be valedictorian.

They weren’t friends. They’d never been friends. But somewhere along the way, he’d become a trusted enemy. Because in Bryce Burnett, Aster had found something she’d never discovered in her other classmates: respect. She had always been bold—a first-grader who helped her teacher form lines, a second-grader with a permanent hall pass, and in seventh grade, she’d won her spot as class president. And ever since then, she’d run unopposed. It was simply in her nature to see chaos and want to put it into order. She’d organized class fundraisers, tutored younger students, and all the while diligently made notes for her future college applications.

Her teachers called her a leader.

Her brother called her bossy.

But only Aster knew the truth of it—she wasn’t a leader, and she wasn’t bossy.

She was going to get out of Coulterville, California.

The Plunket Fellowship was one of those scholarships that could change a life: a writing fellowship aimed at high schoolers in California. It was her ticket into college, debt-free, and she wouldn’t even have to run it by her parents. The only problem was that she had nothing in her life to write about—no great adventures, no near-misses, no dramas. She was an A-plus student who bullied other juniors into selling candy so that their small prom wouldn’t be held in anyone’s barn.

So when aliens crash-landed in Santa Monica, Aster knew she had to beat Bryce Burnett to them.

“I tell you what we’re not doing,” said Bryce. His hands were steady on the steering wheel, thumb absentmindedly stroking back and forth. Midday sunlight shone through the windshield, and Aster slipped a pair of sunglasses from her backpack.

“Waiting until we have to pee, staying in the car, and leaving us behind at a rest stop?” said Owen.

Bryce slid him a look. “That’s paranoid. And specific.”

“I try to think of every worst-case scenario,” said Owen.

“What are we not doing?” asked Aster.

“Taking I-5,” said Bryce. “It’s gonna be a nightmare. Scared people trying to get out of LA and alien conspiracy weirdos trying to get into LA.”

Owen snorted. “Then what does that make us?”

“I’m an up-and-coming journalist,” said Aster, “about to win a writing fellowship so I can use the money to go to college.” She pointed at the back seat with her thumb.

“You’re here because you saw me sneaking out.”

“I’m here because if anyone’s prepared for an alien invasion, it’s me,” said Owen.

Aster snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re real terrifying. Humanity’s greatest defender.”

He sniffed. “When was the last time you watched or read anything that wasn’t a nerdy true crime documentary? As the only science fiction nerd in our family, it’s my duty to make sure you don’t get eaten by a xenomorph.”

“Is that what E.T. was?” asked Aster.

Owen groaned.

“And I assume you’re here,” said Aster with a glance at Bryce, “because I know you’re applying for the same writing fellowship and you also want to write about this.”

Bryce twitched his shoulder in what might have been agreement.

There were only a few routes in and out of Coulterville—both geographically and metaphorically. Bryce turned south onto State Route 49. The Golden Chain Highway twined through the mountains and linked up several of the old Gold Rush towns. Coulterville wasn’t particularly well-known, but a few summer tourists always stopped by the river.

Bryce drove with easy confidence, left hand sprawled across the wheel, right hand resting on the gear shift. Even the sharp curves—which terrified even some older, experienced drivers—didn’t seem to faze him.

The inside of the Buick was surprisingly comfortable, even if it was as old as her parents. Everything was gray and black, and the rectangular aesthetic bled through into the interior. The car was one of those two-door affairs, so Aster had to hit a lever while Owen had scrambled behind her into the back seat. There wasn’t a hook-up for her phone, no Bluetooth connections, not even a CD player. But at least the seats were soft, and everything was impeccably clean. Aster had been in other boys’ cars where the seats were littered with takeout bags and coated in dog hair.

Aster glanced in the rearview mirror. Owen sat in the middle of the back seat, their backpacks resting beside him. At least she’d had the foresight to pack everything they should need for a few days out of town.

“Your parents going to have a meltdown when they realize you’re gone?” asked Bryce quietly. He must have seen the backpacks too.

“No,” replied Aster. She felt the weight of his gaze—brief but heavy.

“You leave a note?”

Aster thought of her parents’ kitchen: clean dishes on the rack, coffee machine empty, the smell of day-old takeout boxes in the garbage. “They’re on a work trip,” she said, and something in the cadence of her words made Bryce’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Your dad okay with you taking off?”

A muscle twitched beside Bryce’s mouth. “I made sure there was beer in the fridge.”

And that was that.

They drove in silence until the landscape began to shift—craggy rocks giving way to flatter farmland. It was Owen who finally broke the quiet. “So, are we going to talk about it?” he asked.

Aster kept checking her cell phone, only half paying attention to him. News sites were taking forever to update, but social media feeds were flooded with talks of the spaceship crash. The only problem was telling apart actual accounts from rumors … and jokes. Memes with Star Trek characters featured heavily. “Talk about what?”

“I don’t know,” said Owen dryly. “The weather. The drive. The fact that we just got definitive proof that we aren’t the only intelligent species in the universe.”

Bryce scoffed.

Aster looked at him sharply. “You don’t believe the news? That aliens crash-landed in Santa Monica?”

“Naw, I believe the news,” he replied. “I just think there’s plenty of intelligence here on Earth. Dolphins and ravens and chimps are all tool-users and are proven to communicate. Only thing is, since they don’t split atoms or go on reality shows, people don’t think of them as equals. Maybe the aliens aren’t even here for humanity.”

“What else would they be here for?” said Aster.

“Humpback whales,” said Owen.

Bryce laughed—and it was one of his rare real laughs.

“I’m going to assume that’s a science fiction reference,” said Aster, “and keep moving along. So why are aliens in California? Exploration? Mission of peace? Waging war on the film industry?”

“Maybe it was a mistake,” said Bryce. “If I was an alien, I sure wouldn’t want to meet up with a human. We’re cranky, and we bite.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Aster. “I am perfectly nice.”

“So long as there isn’t a battery around to unplug.”

“Says the boy who stole my fuse-things,” Aster shot back.

The corner of Bryce’s mouth twitched. “You’re just mad I’m a better saboteur.”

That was true, but Aster would never admit to it. “Well, if we manage to get to the spaceship in time, maybe I can unplug their battery long enough to interview the aliens. That should earn me the fellowship.”

“Only if they don’t like my entry better,” drawled Bryce.

She shot him an irritated look, then let the conversation lapse into quiet.

When the silence became unbearable, Aster reached down to flick on the radio. “We should try to keep up on traffic and stuff,” she said. She sifted through various stations, trying to find one that would come in clearly. Fragments of voices and songs crackled through the static.

Then, a single noise scraped through the speakers: the cold, artificial blare of an emergency alert.

The alarm screeched again and again, steady as a heartbeat but far less reassuring. The noise set Aster’s teeth on edge. She had only heard it once before—during a test a few years ago. The sound drained all the excitement from her, leaving behind only a cold dread.

Bryce turned off the radio. Aster didn’t protest; the silence was sweet in comparison.

“National emergency alert system,” said Owen. He sounded as grave as she felt. “The president will probably be making a statement soon.”

Aster looked at her hands. Somehow, that alarm had brought home the reality of the situation.

This wasn’t just a topic for her fellowship entry. This was a national emergency. And they were driving toward it.

“You sure you want to do this?” asked Bryce softly.

Aster swallowed. She knew if she said no that he would turn around. Bryce might have been aloof, a little infuriating, and far too smart for his own good, but he wasn’t an asshole. He wouldn’t drop her on the side of the road or keep going if she didn’t want to go. He would return to Coulterville and leave Aster and Owen at the entrance to their winding gravel driveway.

Aster also knew what awaited her at the end of that driveway: an empty house. An empty future. A small town that closed in around her like the jaws of some waiting creature.

And that future frightened her far more than whatever awaited them in Santa Monica.

“If this is some kind of attack, nowhere’s probably safe,” she said. “And if it isn’t … well, we’ll get to witness what happens. We’ll be the ones writing the history books.”

“Or else be history,” muttered Owen.

They stopped for gas in Kerman, a small town to the west of Fresno.

“The Buick gets around two-eighty miles on a full tank,” admitted Bryce as he pulled up to the pump. “She’s a classy lady but also a thirsty one.”

“So am I,” said Aster with a glance at the gas station. “I’m going to get some coffee.”

While Bryce filled up the car, Aster and Owen ventured into the small convenience store. It looked like any other: rows of jerky, candy, and instant foods. A TV set up near the counter showing the local news. Lottery tickets, cheap tourist trinkets, and a bathroom sign at the edge of the room. The normality of it all put Aster at ease. The guy behind the counter looked to be in his early twenties. He did not so much as glance at Aster or Owen, as his attention was wholly on the TV screen.

Aster used the self-service coffee station and poured two full cups. She added sugar to one and cream to the other—and it was only then she realized she knew Bryce’s coffee order by heart.

When Aster brought her coffees up to the register, the cashier barely looked at her. His hands were on autopilot as he rang up the purchase and took her crumpled dollars.

His eyes were still fixed on the TV. Aster glanced up, her brows furrowing.

The news was clearly being shot from a helicopter. And the picture was that of a spaceship crash-landed just off the Santa Monica Pier. It looked like a half-submerged disk floating just off the pier. The strange glass-like surface mirrored the ocean water. It was probably meant as camouflage, but the effect was oddly beautiful. Below the image, the news commentator’s words scrolled across the screen: “—CORDONED OFF THE AREA, SHELTER-IN-PLACE ORDERS IN EFFECT—”

The cashier wordlessly shoved Aster’s change across the counter, his gaze never wavering from the screen.

Aster wrenched her eyes from the TV. “Come on,” she called to Owen. He waddled up to the counter, his arms laden with every flavor of sour candy he could find. “What is all that?”

“If the world’s ending,” he said, “I’m going out on a sugar high.”

Their journey cut a swath through the central valley.

Aster knew that when people thought of California, they always imagined Los Angeles. Or, if pressed, San Francisco. But no one outside of the state ever really considered how big California was—and how much of it was farmland. They drove by field after field, passing cows and even a few pastures of horses. The sun shone steadily, and she could have almost pretended it was a normal day, a normal road trip. Albeit a road trip with her greatest academic rival and her little brother.

Owen had curled up in the back seat, pulling an old blanket over himself so that only a vague lump was visible.

“You notice something?” asked Aster, glancing through the passenger side window.

Bryce said, “That all the traffic is heading in the other direction?”

She shook her head. “There are no airplanes. We haven’t seen a single one.” It had taken her a few hours to notice the lack, but the skies were eerily empty.

Bryce huffed beneath his breath, but it wasn’t a skeptical sound. More like a thoughtful one. “You’re right. Air traffic must be grounded.”

They lapsed into silence for a while until Bryce said, “There are some cassettes under your seat. You know. If you want music.”

Aster craned her neck downward, rummaging around until she found a small box of old cassettes. She sifted through the blocks of plastic. “Where did you even find these?”

“Estate sales, mostly,” he admitted.

Most of the cassettes were hand-labeled mixes with artists she’d never heard of, but she did find one that she recognized. It took a bit of fumbling to figure out how to insert the cassette. And then the Beastie Boys mixtape came through the speakers, singing about intergalactic life.

Bryce laughed quietly. “Real subtle, Doyle.”

“It’s the only band I knew,” she protested. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

The music helped fill up the empty spaces in the car. Aster gazed out the window while Owen napped and Bryce focused on the road.

And then, around four in the afternoon, they reached I-5.

Their route was supposed to take them over the freeway, avoiding the worst of the traffic. But the moment she realized what she was looking at, she knew they’d made a mistake. The freeway was a solid block of cars stretching to the horizon. Trucks, cars, semis—they were all crammed bumper to bumper, trying to inch their way north. Several were trying to flee the freeway by any means possible, escaping onto the overpass that Bryce was headed toward. There were at least two wrecks and a few cars pulled over onto the shoulder. A motorcyclist weaved through the other vehicles like a nimble bird, and a few people had abandoned their cars in favor of walking or using bicycles.

It was panic. That was what Aster saw—utter panic.

“The overpass is jammed,” said Aster. “There’s no way we can—”

Bryce’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. And then he revved the engine.

“You don’t know much about cars, do you?” he asked.

Aster frowned at him. “What?”

“This isn’t just some Buick.” Bryce’s steely gaze was fixed on the overpass. “It’s a 1987 GNX.”

“And tell me why that matters?” Aster asked. Her pulse was creeping upward as they headed for the overpass. There was simply no getting through it—it was clogged with cars, and there was only a narrow shoulder—

“Because,” said Bryce with just a hint of smugness, “that was the year McLaren teamed up with Buick. They only made 547, you know. Five hundred in honor of the Daytona 500.”

“Really weird time to start car trivia,” said Aster, her voice pitching higher. He was not slowing down … he was not slowing down at all. And as much as she wanted to get to Santa Monica, dying in a car crash wasn’t worth it.

“They made the GNX,” said Bryce casually, “to outrace both the Ferrari and the Porsche of its era.”

And then a gap opened up between two of the cars, and Bryce hit the gas.

Aster slammed back into her seat. The speedometer didn’t climb as much as fly—there was a screech of tires, and then Bryce maneuvered the Buick through the jammed cars, then veered onto the overpass’s shoulder. His jaw was clenched, but there was a wild, fierce joy to his smile as they forced their way through the clogged road. Then, they were off the overpass and zooming away from the freeway.

Bryce ignored the frontage road—also crammed with cars—and continued straight. “Highway 33 goes south to Santa Monica from here,” he said casually, as if they’d just gone through a four-way stop. He patted the dashboard as though it were a beloved pet. “Good girl.”

Aster gaped at him. “You … you just …”

Bryce laughed softly. “My uncle raced cars,” he said. “Collected them, too. It’s how I ended up with the Buick. He knew better than to will it to my dad.”

And it was as though another piece of Bryce Burnett had slotted into place. Aster looked down at her feet, where the box of cassette tapes had spilled. She reached down to pick them up. “Oh. I—uh. Sorry I tried to sabotage it, then.”

Bryce snorted. “You couldn’t hurt this car if you tried, Doyle. I know you only got a C in auto shop.”

“It was a B,” she said. Then added, “Minus. And I don’t need good grades to puncture a tire.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t do that,” said Bryce. “I remember when you accidentally broke Geoffrey’s diorama of the rain cycle and spent, like, five hours trying to fix it.”

Aster blinked. She hadn’t even remembered that—not until he mentioned it. She’d bumped a table while carrying her own project and been so mortified she’d considered just staying home for a month. It wasn’t as though her parents would notice.

“You doing okay back there?” called Bryce, glancing over his shoulder.

Aster craned around to look at Owen. She twitched the blanket up and saw that his face was slack, his head pillowed on his backpack. “He slept through that. I can’t believe it.”

“We’ll wake him at the next stop,” said Bryce and drove on.

The next stop was a general store in the Lost Hills. It sat at the intersection of two highways and was surrounded by fields. The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the car windows as Bryce pulled right off the highway.

“We should fill up,” said Bryce. “Don’t know when we’ll get another chance.”

Aster reached back to thump Owen in the leg. “Get up. Bathroom break.” Then, without waiting for him, she got out of the car and hit the lever so he could emerge. Stretching her legs felt glorious after several hours in the Buick.

The inside of the store was everything Aster expected: rows of picked-over canned goods; shelves brimming with cinnamon toffee almonds, trail mix, and pistachios; and a small restaurant area with hot food. The walls overflowed with pictures of old film stars and news clippings.

Aster used the restroom, then bought herself three bottled waters and a bag of candied nuts. As she paid, a man hurried inside and began taking what was left of the canned goods.

“It’s been like that all day,” said the cashier. She looked to be in her eighties, with comfortably lined skin and worn hands. She took the time to count out Aster’s change. “People panic-buying anything that’ll keep.”

“You aren’t scared?” Aster asked. She didn’t have to specify what she meant—everyone knew. Outside, there were several people filling up gas canisters. They had the wary look of people who’d watched too many post-apocalyptic films.

The cashier shook her head. “People been blathering on about the end of the world since I was young,” she said. “Hasn’t happened yet.”

Aster walked outside into the sun. Bryce had finished filling up the Buick and parked it by the entrance. He ducked out of the restroom a few moments later, nodding to Aster. “You all good?”

She returned the nod and looked into the back seat. Owen was still a lump under the blanket. At least one of them was getting some decent sleep. She heaved herself back into the passenger seat and offered Bryce one of the waters. He took it with a murmur of thanks and drained half. Then, they were pulling back onto the highway. Aster checked her phone again; the cell signal struggled, but she managed to refresh a few news sites. The spaceship hadn’t moved, thankfully. It looked as though the aliens didn’t want to—or perhaps couldn’t—take off quite yet.

They drove for perhaps fifteen minutes in quiet before Aster cracked open her bag of candied nuts. “Hey, Owen,” she called over her shoulder. “You want some more sugar?”

There was no answer.

Frowning, Aster reached back and poked at her brother.

The blanket flopped limply.

“He alive?” asked Bryce.

“Owen?” she said and pulled the blanket down.

There was no one there. Just the backpacks and Owen’s cell phone.

“Oh my God,” said Aster, aghast. “We left him behind.”

“We did not,” said Bryce, sounding equally appalled. “I didn’t see him get out.”

“He must have gone inside without us seeing,” said Aster with a groan.

Bryce exhaled hard. He turned on the car’s right-hand blinker and eased onto the shoulder of the road.

“What are you doing?” asked Aster.

“Turning around.” Bryce shifted the car into a lower gear, then gave her an incredulous look. “Unless you want to leave him there.”

Aster hesitated.

“Holy shit,” said Bryce.

“I didn’t say anything!” she protested.

“You absolutely did,” he said, shaking his head. “Without uttering a word. You said a whole lot.”

“I mean”—she gestured at the road—“he might understand?”

Bryce cocked an eyebrow. “Will he, though?”

She relented. “No. He’ll bring up the fact we forgot him for the next fifty years. Probably on my deathbed.”

Bryce sighed, glanced over his shoulder, then pulled a U-turn. Aster sat there, arms crossed, while the Beastie Boys vowed not to sleep until they reached Brooklyn. After perhaps five minutes, she said, “I wouldn’t have left him there.”

Bryce shifted his weight a little. “You thought about it, though.”

“I did,” she admitted. “For a second.”

They drove on in silence for another minute before Bryce said, “Can I ask why?”

She looked at him, but his gaze was fixed on the highway. “I need to get out,” she finally said.

He waved at the highway. “We’ll be back at the store in, like, fifteen minutes.”

She shook her head. “No. Not out of the car. I mean … out of Coulterville. I need to get out.”

“Why?” he asked. His fingers slid along the steering wheel. It was easier to watch his hands than his face.

Aster crossed her arms and leaned against the passenger side window. “There’s no future in it. My parents … they moved us out here to take care of our grandfather. And after he passed away, I thought we’d go back. To the city, to the world in general. But instead … we stayed. Now Mom and Dad are off doing their own thing, and they don’t care what happens to me and Owen. They have their life together, and we get in the way.”

Bryce looked at her sharply, then back at the road.

She had never told anyone that. It was a silent understanding shared between Aster and Owen—the knowledge that their parents had them because that was what people did, not because they wanted to. Mr. and Mrs. Doyle loved their nature photography, their couple’s vacations, their inside jokes.

Their kids were a checkmark to be crossed off some list. There wasn’t neglect in any physical sense; there was always food in the fridge, gas in the car, bills paid, and house clean. But even when her parents were there, they were never really there.

“I’m going to college,” said Aster quietly, “to be a journalist. Owen’ll end up in some law program. And we’re going to do it without anyone’s help or money, because they never offered it to us. When we’re eighteen, that’s it. We’ll be on our own.”

Bryce exhaled slowly.

“Why journalism?”

She hadn’t ever answered that question before. It took a few moments for her to mull over the answer. “I like understanding things,” she said. “People, events, history. I like talking to those I wouldn’t meet otherwise. Journalism could tie into all of that.”

“Dying industry,” he drawled but with a hint of a smile.

“Chatbots can’t write feature stories,” she said with a sniff. Then added, with flat irritation, “Yet.” She rested her arm along the window, leaning her chin against her hand. “And what about you? What’ll you do?”

He did not answer—not at first. It took another three miles before he spoke.

“I want to tell stories,” he said. “Novels, video games, screenwriting. Don’t know yet. Just … stories.”

“Why?”

His mouth thinned. “Because sometimes you need an escape.”

She thought of his front yard littered with bits of old broken machinery. Of the bullet casings that glittered in the driveway gravel like bits of gold. Of how he always took a seat at the back of the classroom so no one was ever behind him.

“Oh,” she said. “And what happens if you don’t win the fellowship?”

“There are other ways,” he said. “I could get a job. Sell the Buick.”

She looked at him sharply. “What?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You’re not the only one who wants out of Coulterville. And the car’s worth … well, it’s worth a lot.”

“This car can outrun a Porsche,” said Aster. “You love it.”

Another shrug. “You do what you have to,” he said simply.

When they pulled into the general store parking lot, Aster nearly jumped out of the Buick before it stopped moving.

Owen was crouched atop a picnic table while a Chihuahua circled him like some kind of tiny hellhound. It barked wildly while its owner, a middle-aged woman, loaded food into the back of her van. “He’s friendly!” she called, remarkably unperturbed.

“Oh, come on,” said Aster. She grabbed the half-empty water bottle from Bryce’s drink holder, unscrewed the top, and flung water at the dog.

The Chihuahua jumped back, one leg held in the air in aristocratic indignation at being squirted. Then, it turned and ran back to its owner, yipping all the way.

Owen turned to gape at Aster. He was the picture of abject horror. “Did you guys,” he said, emphasis on every word, “forget me?”

“No,” said Aster.

“No,” said Bryce. “We thought the lump under the blanket back there was you.”

Owen pitched his voice higher. “So I’m replaceable by five pounds of nylon and cotton?”

“Hey,” said Aster. “We came back.”

“You nearly left me,” said Owen, “in a general store parking lot in the Lost Hills to be eaten alive by a Chihuahua.”

“Told you he wouldn’t shut up about it,” said Aster to Bryce. Then to Owen, “Get in, or we’ll leave you on purpose this time.”

The evening passed in a haze of farmland and fields, droning pavement, and the Beastie Boys’ greatest hits.

Their phones stopped working entirely near Maricopa. What was left of the weak cell signal cut out—and no matter how many times Aster turned her phone off and on, it never returned.

“Either cell towers are overloaded,” said Bryce, “or they’ve been shut down.”

“Why would anyone shut down cell towers?” asked Aster. “You’d think the government would want communication during an emergency.”

Bryce raised his heavy brows. “You’re assuming the government was the one to shut it off. Maybe aliens did it. Precursor to an invasion.”

“Well, that’s a comforting thought,” said Owen tartly. “Got any more nuggets of optimism?”

“Could’ve been the government,” said Bryce. “Especially if the aliens have tapped into our networks. They wouldn’t want to coordinate an attack over a line that could be eavesdropped on.”

“Cool, cool, cool, cool.” Owen waved his useless phone around. “How are we supposed to get there? I don’t know where we’re going.”

Bryce rolled his eyes. “Glove compartment,” he told Aster.

There was a map inside. It took some doing to unfold it in the car without it falling across Bryce, but Aster finally managed to fold it to the right area. “Okay,” she said, tracing a line down CA-33. “Here we go.”

Their route took them past the Los Padres National Forest, where the road thinned and wound through the hills. Tan, craggy rocks threatened to spill onto the road at every turn, and the greenery looked prickly and hard-won. The sunset cast the hills into shades of gold and scarlet, and then they were driving into the night. Aster used her phone’s flashlight—which seemed to be its only real use now—to keep an eye on the map. Owen made a few groaning sounds from the back seat, and Aster cranked her window down a few inches so he could get some fresh air. The sharp turns made even her stomach swoop uncomfortably. Everything was dark as far as she could see—it felt impossible that they were approaching civilization instead of retreating from it. This highway was endless.

And then they were out of the hills, rugged landscape giving way to fields and then the distant glow of city lights.

“What’s that?” asked Owen, leaning forward.

“That” turned out to be a police checkpoint. Black-and-white cars with flashing lights blocked off the highway, and cops were waving drivers off the road.

“I knew this was too easy,” said Owen. “Okay, remember—we don’t get out of the car. They don’t have probable cause to search us. We answer with yeses or noes. Admit to nothing.”

“He’s going to make a great lawyer,” said Bryce to Aster.

“I know,” she replied and cranked down her window as they pulled over. The police cars were silent, but their lights flashed through the night, making her wince. Bryce rolled his own window down, easing the Buick onto the paved shoulder. His hands were on the steering wheel and his posture relaxed—but it looked forced to Aster. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Aster tensed as a uniformed cop approached. “You live in Ojai?” he called, aiming a flashlight at them. The beam passed over Bryce, then Aster, and finally, Owen.

“Yes,” lied Bryce, his voice clipped.

The cop nodded. “Go home and stay there. Shelter-in-place order.” Then, he was waving them forward impatiently.

Bryce’s brows drew taut, but he pulled back onto the highway and drove on. Aster wrenched her head around, looking at the checkpoint.

“Why did they let us through?” asked Owen, confused.

“Because,” said Aster, gazing back through the window, “they’re only checking people leaving the city.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Maybe because someone is loose in the city,” said Bryce. Then added, as though he couldn’t resist, “Or something.”

Owen shuddered. “Great. Just … great.”

As they left Ojai, the night seemed to swallow up the world around them. When the ocean came into view, it was nothing more than an endless void, only visible for the moonlight that glittered on the waves. Aster’s hands clenched around her cell phone. They were so close.

“Only an hour and a half left,” Bryce said. He must have seen her out of the corner of his eye, because he reached over and patted her on the arm.

This close to Santa Monica, traffic began to crowd in. Headlights sliced through the darkness, and the cities glowed along the coastline. Most of the cars were going north, but there were a few journeying south because of the crisis. A news van nearly ran them off the road, and Bryce cursed quietly as he sped away from them. Half the drivers were distracted, and the other half seemed intent on racing toward the aliens.

“Should’ve known we wouldn’t be the only weirdos in California,” Bryce muttered as he maneuvered around a sharp corner.

Aster found herself tapping her fingers against her leg. Her thighs ached, and she had a slight headache from all the driving, but mostly, she felt impatient. Her fingers traced the map, lingering on the tiny dot of Santa Monica.

Traffic became even more congested as they approached. The lanes were a series of stops and starts, of honked horns and rude gestures. Bryce was a good enough driver to avoid any fender benders, but Aster glimpsed a few people getting into small accidents. It was nearing midnight, but the late hour didn’t seem to deter anyone.

They were rounding a bend when another driver swerved into their lane. Bryce uttered a curse and yanked onto the shoulder to avoid a collision. Gravel rattled under the tires, then the other car zoomed ahead. Bryce tried to ease the Buick back into its lane, but there was an odd jerkiness to the motion.

And then Aster heard it: a strange thwapping sound—and the car began to slow.

“What is that?” she asked.

Bryce’s teeth dented his lower lip. He pulled off the road and drove into the parking lot for Sunset Beach, stopping beneath a streetlight. The Buick was sluggish, tottering along like an old lady. “What’s happening?” Aster said it with more urgency this time.

“It’s the tire,” Bryce ground out, sounding just as frustrated as she felt. “We must have hit a nail or piece of glass when I dodged that asshole.”

He got out of the car, and Aster scrambled to follow, accidentally leaving Owen stranded in the back seat. He tapped at the window impatiently.

Aster ignored her brother. She squatted down beside the car, using her phone’s flashlight to get a better look at it. It was the front tire on the passenger side. The tire had deflated almost entirely, and the Buick sagged sadly to one side.

“It’s fine,” said Bryce, going to the trunk. “I keep a donut in the trunk.”

“I’m hoping that’s a kind of tire and not a snack,” she replied.

He huffed. “You are really not a car person, Doyle. You just hold the light for me.”

Owen rapped at the window a second time. “Don’t bother getting out,” said Aster. “We’re going to change the tire.”

Owen leaned forward and half-shouted, “Ocean!” He pointed south, his face bone-white.

Aster whirled around, half-expecting to see a tsunami or something equally dire. The dark waves lapped at the beach, reflecting the distant headlights.

But it wasn’t a tsunami emerging from the ocean. Something appeared to be lifting free of the ocean. Something near Santa Monica. The spotlight of a Coast Guard helicopter reflected off the glass-like surface.

“It’s—the—spaceship!” shouted Owen, thumping against the front seat. “Let—me—out!”

Heart hammering, Aster sprinted toward the beach.

She sensed Bryce following her, heard the pant of his breaths only a few steps behind.

Aster skidded to a halt on the sand, watching as the ship hovered over the waves. This was it. This was the moment they’d come here for.

And she was miles away.

“Go,” said Bryce. He gestured down the beach. “You might be able to get a closer look if you run.”

Her feet were moving before she was even aware of it, taking three steps. Then she stumbled to a halt and looked over her shoulder. “What about you?”

Bryce shook his head. “I’m not abandoning the Buick. I need to swap out that tire before the whole car gets damaged. Also … one of us should probably go back for Owen, if only so he doesn’t rant the whole drive home.”

She pointed at the spaceship. “But what about the fellowship?”

Bryce let out a breath, his expression rueful and just a little amused. “You think I drove all this way for a writing fellowship?”

She hesitated. “Yes?”

He laughed. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. Another fuse, she realized.

“Your car never would’ve made it here,” he said. “I looked under your Accord’s hood before I took these. The thing’s so rusted the engine would’ve fallen out by the time you hit Bagby.”

She gazed at him in confusion. “So you sabotaged my car … so you could drive me?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes skittering away. As though he couldn’t stand to look at her when he spoke. “We always knew one of us was going to get the fellowship,” he said softly. “I just wanted to make sure it was you.”

Oh. And then it was as though all of her memories were being upended.

Her balance shifted back and forth. She should go. She would still miss the aliens, but she could catch a glimpse of the ship. She could say she had watched it lift off. She could witness history in the making and then put pen to paper afterward. She could write a perfect essay for her fellowship application, because she had seen something that mattered.

But this was wrong.

She couldn’t go.

Not when Bryce was the person who’d gotten her here. Not when he’d driven all those miles without complaint, without expecting anything in return. He’d wanted to make sure she got the story, even if he didn’t.

Some things were worth sacrificing for the future.

But others weren’t.

She turned back toward Bryce. “No.”

Surprise flashed through his eyes. “What?”

“No,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “Not without you.”

He gestured wildly at the horizon. “Aster, they’re leaving right now.”

She knew it. And still, that did not matter. She reached out and took hold of his wrist. “If you can’t go,” she said, “neither will I.”

She watched as understanding settled across his face. He gave her a frown that was half exasperation and half affection. “Really?” he said. “All that gas money for nothing?”

“Not for nothing,” she said and kissed him.

It was quick—a touch of his mouth against hers. Then his hand was in her hair, and he drew her closer.

She never did see the spaceship lift off.

They went back for Owen.

(Eventually.)

LOOK UP

BY BETH REVIS

“Emily Little, you best get out there and feed them pigs!”

Mama’s voice comes at me like a copperhead strike, swift and brutal. I know that tone. That tone says I have exactly 3.2 seconds to finish my chores before I’m facing “consequences.” And consequences can be anything from lights out at ten o’clock sharp or no computer access for a week, and that?

That is unacceptable.

I step into the waders we keep at the back door for outside chores and squelch over to the barn. Pigs were Mama’s idea. Selling a hog to the butcher would set us up for a month, she promised, and pigs breed quicker than cows. I don’t like to think about that part of it, though. The piglets are awful cute, and this is our first litter with Pink Princess. For now, I can still pretend they’re all hairless puppies. The little ones even wag their tails at me.

True to her name, the matriarch of pork sticks up her nose as I approach. No regal tail twitches from her, just an impatient glare.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” I mutter, slinging the bucket of feed over the short fence and into the trough.

She grunts at me.

“Trust me, Princess, I get it,” I say.

I don’t like much about living here. We’re in Georgia, but it’s half-a-day’s drive to Atlanta or any other form of civilization, stuck in mountains that have terrible cell phone reception, which is a pain because most of the time, that’s the best (only) way to get Wi-Fi. I love Mama, and I appreciate that she loves the farm, but cute as these piglets are, they’re just chains.

We never go anywhere because it’s too much hassle to get someone to take care of the animals. Not that we could afford it anyway. Which is why I can’t let Mama banish me from the computer or enforce an early lights-out. Sure, I’m exhausted from school, and I’m just a junior. But my only way out of this town is with a scholarship.

I lean against the fence, empty bucket hanging loosely from my fingers, and tip my head up to the sky.

We ain’t got much out here, but at least we got the stars.

The closest farm to us is over the ridge, so even if the McCalls had every light in their house burning, we wouldn’t see it. The barn blocks the house me and Mama live in. And above me, spread out on the glittering black sky, is infinity.

Just out of reach.

Pink Princess is chowing down, absolutely acting as if we starved her, even if I’m only a half hour late with her dinner. I’d like to get all philosophical about the stars, but the soundtrack of her chomping does sort of take the gravity out of the situation.

Pigs can’t look up, did you know that? Their necks don’t go that way. Pink Princess may be happy as can be with a bucketful of feed slopped over the fence at her, but maybe she’s only that satisfied with it because she ain’t never seen the stars, ain’t never realized there’s a whole universe outside her fence.

I don’t know whether to feel happy for her or not.

“Emily!” Mama calls from the house.

“Lee,” I mutter, but she can’t hear me. I swing the empty bucket around and hang it up on the hook at the barn before trudging back to the house. Mama won’t never call me Lee, no matter how many times I ask her to. And she won’t never leave this farm, no matter how much it’s a prison to me. I love her, but it’s hard to love someone who loves the thing you hate.

Pink Princess at least has the excuse of anatomy for never looking up.

After dinner, I’m back to polishing up the latest essay I wrote for AP History—Ada Lovelace is a badass, no notes—and then I go over my planner before heading to bed. Here’s the thing no one tells you about being poor and desperate: it costs, always. I can’t afford college, flat out. And I can’t hold a job. Or, at least, I can’t add on another job besides the farm. So I cram in all the schooling I can get, and I tack on as many extracurriculars as I can so I look attractive to the college people. That means on Monday, I’ve got to wake up by five to do the chores, then go to the school early enough for the prom planning committee, then all day at school, then volunteer with 4-H to do a community cleaning project, then back home by five—p.m. this time—to finish up chores and do homework.

I’m tired just looking at the list. Half this stuff is the same stuff I do every day, but if I don’t keep track of it like this, I’ll both forget to do it and forget to write out everything for the college applications. Maybe if I was a better person, I’d sign up for committees and volunteer just for the sake of being good and helpful.

I stick on the television for background noise as I go through the planner. Shockingly, there’s not much going on for the weekend.

I grab my phone, swiping over the crack in the screen to unlock it so I can text my best friend, Bellamy.

Wanna come over tomorrow?

Earlier today, around three, there was a meteor or something that streaked through the sky and crashed in the woods. Might not be anything out there. I don’t really expect to find much of anything. I only know that nothing ever happens here.

Except that … it might be something.

And I wanna see it. A hike in the woods with my best friend to find a cool space rock or something? Not bad, as far as weekend plans go.

My phone buzzes with Bellamy’s reply.

Can’t, spending the weekend in ATL.

I sigh. I’d forgotten that Bellamy had plans and the easy ability to go out and do something that wasn’t free. You’d think Midnight Eyes was the next Twilight given how bananas people are going for it, and Belly’s a super fan. She’s obsessed with the whole cast. Like, “going to a fan meet-up where a group has rented out an entire bar downtown just for a shared viewing experience” obsessed.

Belly texts me a bunch of kissing emojis and a promise to tell me everything, even though I have yet to see the appeal of Max Spencer, the star of the movie, the way she does.

She did offer an invite for me to come before. I know every penny in my savings account; I could have dropped some cash to share a hotel room with her. I don’t even mind seeing the movie; it could be fun, especially with an enthusiastic crowd.

But that’s the thing about trying to get out. Anything short of true escape feels …

Hollow.

There’s a gentle knock on my door, and Mama pokes her head in, a laundry basket on her hip. “Got anything you need washed?”

“Nope.”

She sighs and puts the basket down, plucking a thick envelope from the top of the clothes heap and tossing it to me. “This came for you in the mail.”

I grab it and look at the address on the corner. Something from NC State University, the red logo prominent.

I rip it open. Mama watches, leaning against the door frame. “Out-of-state college?” she asks. “And veterinary school? Are you looking to be a vet?”

I shrug.

“I thought you couldn’t wait to be away from the farm, and now you want to go to school for farming?” Mama asks.

I shake my head. “Being a vet isn’t the same as being a farmer.”

Mama rolls her eyes. “You already know as much as Dr. Gardner.”

“Knowing won’t get me a job,” I say. “But it might get me a scholarship.”

“At a school next state over.”

I shrug again, my eyes skimming the information. There’s a summer program that I’m being offered, one that’s supposed to prep me for future admission. Optional but pricey. I know I could technically afford it, and if it helps me get a scholarship, then it’d be worth draining out a hunk of my savings. An investment. But I’m not really sold on majoring in veterinary medicine, and besides, that vet school is so competitive, even if I do this summer program, there’s a solid chance I still wouldn’t get a scholarship—

“Anything to leave me, huh?”

Mama’s voice is bitter, and it breaks something inside me. “Just because I want to leave the farm doesn’t mean I want to leave you.”

“But that’s the dream, huh? Veterinary school?”

I hesitate, and she latches on.

“You just want gone,” she says, her voice sure. “You don’t care where or how, just not here.”

“There’s so much of the world to see, Mama,” I say softly.

She huffs. She doesn’t even offer me an argument, just a little noise of disapproval, and somehow, that’s worse. It’s like she won’t even have a proper fight with me. I’m not even worth that.

The papers from NC State crumple in my hands. Why does she have to be like this? She obviously doesn’t approve of a single thing I ever do, even if I break myself over and over again just to do everything she wants me to do on the farm. She has every waking hour, her and the pigs and the cows and the whole damn farm; they have my present.

Why can’t I have my future?

I throw the letter on the ground and stomp to the door, hip-checking Mama and stumbling on the laundry basket as I storm out.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mama calls, an argument in her tone already building like a thunderstorm.

“Nowhere!” I shout, because, well …

That’s the truth.

And it always will be.

I storm past the barn, past the house, to where the sky is darkest.

I lean back, back, my face scanning the black speckled with pin-prick stars.

“Might as well,” I say, shrugging, even if there’s no one around to hear me. It makes me feel less like I’m throwing a childish temper tantrum if I set my feet into motion, so I pick my way over tree roots and vines trying to trip me and head into the woods.

Soon enough, I see debris caused by the meteor: black scars on the ground, dirt and forest litter crushed under something heavy, and felled trees scattered in a pattern that makes a direct line right to …

Well, that ain’t no meteor.

That’s … uh …

I’m not willing to say it. I’m not even gonna think it.

But it is unidentified.

And from the looks of things, it used to be flying.

And it’s certainly an object.

Here.

In my backyard.

What the actual—

“Hello?” I say, my voice cracking. I clear my throat and try again, louder. “Hello?”

Nothing. Well, what did you expect, Lee Little? For the little green men to pop out and speak English?

I creep closer. I can feel the heat of the crash, smoke still smoldering. The object that fell from the sky is smaller than I would have thought. I could probably carry it in the bed of the truck we use to haul hay.

It’s not the full UFO, I think, and then I reprimand myself for putting those three letters in order in my brain, because as soon as I think it—UFO—my heart rate kicks up and my stomach turns, and I don’t know if I’m going to explode or throw up, but either one is a possibility.

Think, think, think. There has to be a perfectly logical explanation for what I’m seeing here.

Of course there is. This is too small to be an alien spaceship.

Which means it has to be an escape pod.

And that thought makes so much sense that my brain just goes with it. Of course, I’m only using sci-fi movie logic here; how do I know it’s a part of a ship like what they show in the movies? But it seems right. This thing has a door on one side, sealed shut but human-sized. No windows. The bottom has something that looks like the back end of a jet plane—thrusters and exhaust and stuff. The top is a little pointed, with some electronic things I don’t recognize.

It all looks like an alien spaceship—or at least the escape pod of one—and the clarity of that bucks up against all the thoughts I ever had about this universe and my place in it. In the same way that this thing before me can only be an alien’s escape pod, I also know it’s not from Earth. This isn’t some NASA experiment that failed or a prototype of a Russian spy missile or something.

This is real.

A hysterical laugh escapes my lips. This thing before me? It’s literally alien.

“Holy shit,” I mutter, the impact of what I’m seeing finally hitting me: an escape pod from a freaking alien spaceship that has traveled across the universe to land here. I was just telling Mama there’s so much world to see, but it didn’t even occur to me that the whole dang universe was a possibility.

Because that’s what this escape pod is: a possibility.

One I won’t be letting slide by me.

I reach for the door. Well, I assume it’s a door. There’s clearly a line that’s door-like built into the side of the escape pod. Soon as I touch it, there’s a hiss, a tiny stream of ozone escaping as the seal lifts and the door glides open, smoother than the automatic glass doors at the grocery store.

For a split second, the entire world pauses. My breath catches. I half expect a little green man to pop out.

But then the mist and smoke clears, and I see—

No one.

“Escape pods are for people to escape in,” I mutter, leaning in closer. “Or aliens. Whatever.” And then I feel awkward talking to nothing and no one, so I shut up.

The lingering smells remind me of being at the hospital, when Pop’s cancer got real bad. It almost turns my stomach, but instead, I focus in on the flashing lights all across one wall of the pod. I look around, making sure no big-eyed freaks are going to jump out and kidnap me, and then I take a tentative step inside the pod.

A voice—oddly human but not speaking any language I know—starts talking.

“What the—” I say.

“English language detected,” the voice says, switching seamlessly into speech I can recognize. “Human life-form on board.”

“Uh. Hi,” I say.

“Eloquent,” the voice says, with distinct sass attached to it.

“Sorry?”

“Is that a question or a statement of apology?” the voice asks.

“Um. Both?” I pause. “Where are you? Who are you?”

“I am CHIP,” the voice says. “Cybernetic Helpful Informational Personality.”

“Oh. Um. Hi. My name is Emily?” Why did I say that? Why did I say that name, in that tone? “Actually, my name is Lee.” There. A statement.

“I am glad you were able to ascertain your own name, Lee.”

Okay, CHIP is sassy. And mildly rude, but at least it’s willing to use the name I want, which is more than I can say about my mother.

“Um. CHIP,” I say, “Uh.”

“I remain impressed by your loquaciousness, Lee.”

“Thanks,” I say, even though it was clearly not a compliment. “What are you doing here?”

“I am not technically here,” CHIP answers, “as might have been evidenced by the fact that there is no physical embodiment of my form in front of you.”

What a nice way to tell me that I’m a dumbass.

“But I can forgive this lapse of awareness,” CHIP continues, “as I do not have a physical embodiment at all.”

“You’re a ghost?” I ask. UFOs are one thing, but now the paranormal? I look around. Maybe I’m being pranked, even if this escape pod is far more amazing than anything I’ve ever seen and well beyond a Hollywood budget.

“I am not a ghost,” CHIP says. “What a strange thing to consider. Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Yeah, well, neither were UFOs until a few minutes ago.” But also, maybe CHIP was right, and I am a dumbass, because didn’t he—it?—just tell me it was cybernetic something-something? It’s AI.

I’m talking to a glorified Siri.

“It has been four minutes and thirty-seven seconds since we began this conversation.”

“Really? It somehow feels longer. So, you’re basically AI?” I feel really stupid talking to the air like this.

“I am the brains behind the ship. Your abbreviation implies that I am an artificial intelligence,” CHIP says. “Do you mean that my intelligence is artificial or that I am?”

“Uh.”

“I retract the question on the grounds of not wishing to tax your human brain beyond capacity.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “So … what are you—or, I guess, what is this escape pod doing here?”

“This escape pod was launched by error,” CHIP says. “Systems diagnostics clear.”

“Okay,” I say, not knowing fully what that meant.

“Escape pod functions undamaged. Orbital locators calculate re-attachment to main ship possible in approximately four hours, twelve minutes, forty-two seconds.”

The voice speaks again, but it’s garbled, and I think it may not be in English. Which means that maybe I’m hearing alien speech? This all feels important, like I’m supposed to be calling the president for this conversation. Someone other than me should be here. Who am I, anyway? A nobody.

Going nowhere.

Except …

“Re-attachment,” I say slowly. “CHIP, do you mean this escape pod is going back up? To the mothership? To space?”

“Yes.” CHIP’s voice is slightly robotic, but even I can hear the unspoken obviously.

“If I were to, say, be inside the pod when it launches back to the ship …”

“Then you would be a stowaway on the ship, Millennium Falcon.”

“Wait, what?!”

I can almost hear CHIP sighing in disappointment. “I merely selected the name of a ship that you would find comforting, given the popularity of it in your feeds. Would Enterprise have been better?”

“What’s the real name of the ship?”

“Zxinuhschovkinya-456.”

Yeah, I’m never going to know how to spell that, much less pronounce it.

But I don’t need a name to want to see it.

“Can you tell me about Zhg … Zhik … the ship?” I ask. “And the places you’ve gone? And the people—aliens?—beings aboard the ship?”

It’s like I opened the floodgates. CHIP is no longer quite as impatient and impertinent; instead, the voice regales me with tales of adventure. A salvage mission where they accidentally uncovered a valuable artifact near a shipwreck, a transport mission where their cargo turned out to be a princess on the run, and cargo haul that turned into an intergalactic space race. But aside from those stories, it sounds like the ship usually does milder runs—research and trade missions.

Which means … if I hitch a ride, maybe I could taste some of those adventures and still have a chance to come back home.

I lay down on the forest floor, staring up at the sky, and for the first time, I think … maybe I do have a chance to get out of here. Really out of here.

Maybe—just this once—it won’t take me sacrificing everything for a shot at something different.

The alien crew sounds … nice. I laugh when CHIP tells me about Dexin and how they illegally download videos from Earth. I gasp when I find out that Max Spencer—the Max Spencer starring in that movie Bellamy’s obsessed with—is also an alien. The captain, who CHIP calls Iona, reminds me of Bellamy—bossy but fair and totally clear-sighted.

And before I really think about what I’m doing, I text Bellamy. I tell her I got offered a spot at the vet school’s summer program. I tell her that if I go, I’ll miss her and I might not be able to see her often.

“Why isn’t this going through?” I mutter when I get the Message Not Delivered error.

“Earth technology will not function near the ship, including escape pods,” CHIP informs me. “But if you connect to my system, I can deliver a simple message for you.”

“Uh. Sure.” My screen flashes in a weird pattern of light and stretched-out pictures and beeps, but then looks normal again. My text goes through, and Bells sends me a million emojis and a voice text of just her screaming her congratulations and then another text swearing that even if I disappeared for the entirety of summer for the vet program and blew off her major plans to have me help her repaint her bedroom, she would be my best friend forever and she’s so glad that I’m finally getting a chance to do everything I ever wanted.

And she doesn’t know that I’m thinking of hitching a ride to space instead of going to a summer program at a college, but that doesn’t change the way she makes me feel, telling me she’s happy for me.

“I sense that you are no longer listening to my riveting tales,” CHIP says.

“Sorry.”

There’s a brief, respectful pause at my sorrowful tone.

“I should inform you that soon, I will commence launch of the escape pod. Our time together has been … time spent.”

“I like you, too, CHIP,” I say. And then the meaning of its words hit me. “You’re leaving?”

“As illuminating as this conversation has been, I must return the pod to the ship, and the flight trajectory is optimal in nine minutes and forty-eight seconds.”

I have to make my decision now. Be a stowaway on an intergalactic alien spaceship, or go back to feeding the pigs and scraping pennies and letting the world—the universe—pass me by.

Which means there’s really not a decision at all.

But before I go …

I call my mama, grateful that CHIP allowed my phone to be routed through the ship’s system.

She picks up immediately.

“Where have you been?” she demands before I can get a word in.

My heart sinks. I didn’t consider that I stormed out of the house all mad, and Mama had spent the past few hours wondering if a bear had eaten me. “Just in the woods. Thinking. Sorry.”

Mama lets out a huge sigh of relief. “I figured as much, but …”

“I didn’t mean to stay out here so long.” My voice is tiny. A minute ago, I was ready to cast aside this entire planet and explore the whole universe, but hearing my mother’s worried voice …

It’s always going to hold me back, isn’t it?

I can’t leave her. The farm.

“Lee, we need to talk.” It’s the fact that she uses the name I like, not the one she gave me, that stops me cold. “I need you to know,” Mama continues, “that you’re gonna go to a fancy school on a full-ride scholarship.”

“We don’t know that! I’ve got to—”

She cuts me off. “You are going to get a scholarship. I seen how hard you’ve been working. You’re going to make it into whatever school you want, and they’re gonna be grateful for it.”

A lump rises in my throat.

“And,” Mama continues, “you ain’t never gonna come back here.”

“I will,” I say, all quiet-like.

I can hear the smile in her voice. The sorrow, too. “You won’t. You ain’t meant to be tied down. I … well, I’d always hoped this would be it, you and me. But you’re going places, Lee Little, and I can be proud of you from here. And if you ever need a place to land, well. I’ll always be here.”

For the first time in a long time, I feel seen.

“Now get back here so I can give you a hug,” Mama says, her voice cracking over the phone.

I glance at my phone screen. CHIP seems pretty meticulous, and I’ve only got a few minutes left.

“Mama, I love you,” I say. I look up at the escape pod. The door is still open. “Can you do me a favor?”

She sounds tired. “Sure. What is it, baby?”

“Go outside.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

I can hear her moving. I took the waders, so after the porch door creaks open, I’m guessing she’s on the back porch, barefoot.

“Why am I standing out here in the cold?” Mama asks over the phone.

“Look up.”

I end the call, silence my phone, and stuff it in my pants pocket. CHIP told me a little of what the ship’s mission is, where they’re going.

I’m coming back, I think, a silent promise to both my mother and myself.

And then I step through that door. Because talking to Mama made me realize that maybe running off to see the world—the universe—is only worth it to me because, deep down, I always knew I could come back home.

“Launching in five. Four,” CHIP starts.

We’re counting down now?

“Three. Two.”

I whirl around, panic surging in my chest, just in time to see the door glide back into place and seal shut.

“One.”

The floor rumbles.

The ground feels unsteady under my feet, and my stomach sinks as I rise up, the thrusters igniting.

Green lights flash across a console.

“Communications back online,” CHIP says.

“Hello?” I call out.

Nothing.

Except then I hear a delay, some chatter that doesn’t sound English, and CHIP speaking over it—translating for me. The communications are working, but it seems to be one-way, bringing me messages that I can hear but can’t respond to.

“I have located the escape pod that malfunctioned,” a deep voice says. Is that Moysah? CHIP told me about them. “CHIP is bringing it back into reattachment sequence now.”

“Good,” a higher-pitched voice replies. “We have enough to deal with; at least the humans won’t find this.”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

Captain Iona—the one CHIP described in a way that reminded me of Bellamy. It’s so strange, to hear these voices, to connect them to the stories I heard.

To know they’re alien.

This is really happening.

“I detect an elevated heart rate and signs of stress,” CHIP says. “Please be assured that you are safe.”

“Safe? Ha,” I say weakly.

“As a friendly reminder,” CHIP adds, “it is possible to abort the current trajectory and return to escape mode.”

The pod is gliding smoothly up and up; I can sense it, almost like an elevator. It’s not unpleasant.

Except for the rising awareness that I am on a freaking alien ship.

Or the escape pod to one. The escape pod that’s taking me farther and farther away from everything I’ve ever known.

“Do you wish to return to escape mode?”

Do I wish to return to Earth?

To the life I’ve always had, the life I’ve always been trying to escape?

I shake my head. No. This moment … this is how I escape.

I hear Mama’s words again, clear as day.

You ain’t never gonna come back.

It takes only minutes before I feel the pod lurching, a metallic sound clicking it back into place on the ship.

As soon as it’s connected, the door slides open again, seamless and silent.

I step out into a bright white-and-silver corridor, feeling the hum of engines through the thin rubber soles of the waders, still splattered with mud from feeding the pigs.

I lurch back into the pod, my heart hammering like it’s trying to break my ribs. I can’t breathe, I can’t think—panic floods my systems, drowning out every other emotion and thought. I have just enough wherewithal to slam my hand against the button to close the door again.

“I detect negative health reactions,” CHIP says.

“Yeah, that’s a panic attack,” I wheeze, clutching my chest.

“Contacting Eames,” the computerized voice says. It takes me a minute to recall from CHIP’s stories that Eames is the name of the ship’s medic.

“No!” I shout, grateful I thought to seal the door closed again. Somehow, the little escape pod feels safe, even though I know it’s attached to the mothership.

“Who should I contact instead?” the computer asks.

“I want my mama.” I hate how pathetic I sound. Mama and I may butt heads a lot, for a lot of reasons, big and small, but still …

She’s my mama.

“I do not have contact information for ‘Mama,’” CHIP states.

“No shit,” I mutter. At least I feel less like I’m dying now.

“Please connect your personal communication device to the escape pod comm unit link,” CHIP says.

No way is it that easy.

A light flashes on the dash.

No way.

But I still find myself reaching into my back pocket and pulling out my phone. I set it on the flashing light.

“Connected,” CHIP says.

“No flipping way,” I whisper.

“Incoming message from contact: Mama,” the computer says.

I see words appear on the tiny screen on the dash, then my cell illuminates with the same message: What was that bright light?

I can just see Mama, standing on the porch, looking up as the escape pod soared back up into the sky.

It was me. I type into my phone.

What???? Mama types back.

I’ll tell you more soon. For now, just know that I’m safe and okay and on an alien spaceship.

WHAT???

Yeah, there’s no way she’s going to believe me right now. But when I don’t come back, she’ll go looking for me. And she’s going to see the burnt, knocked-over trees, the black streaks on the land from where the escape pod rose up. Maybe NASA will give her a call and confirm later. If NASA even knows about this ship.

“I love you,” I say, watching the computer send the message to Mama. “And I will come back.”

This was what I needed—not just to calm my racing heart but also to silence the fears that had started rising in me.

I needed to tell someone who loved me that I loved them, too, and I needed to remind myself that there’s always a home to come back to.

I push the button to open the escape pod’s door again.

I step out into the corridor.

I have no idea what this captain will do when she finds me, or what’s going to happen next. Not too long ago, I was feeding pigs.

Now? Now I’m so high up they can’t even see me.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Alex Brown is a Locus Award finalist and a queer Filipino American writer who loves rooting for the Final Girl—especially if she’s a monster. Alex’s YA Horror Comedy debut, Damned If You Do, was a Junior Library Gold Standard Selection. Alex is the co-editor of Night of the Living Queers, which was an Ignyte Award finalist, and the editor of The House Where Death Lives, a YA Horror anthology that also received the JLG Gold Standard distinction. Alex has also written the YA Horror Comedy Rest in Peaches. She works as a literary agent and lives in the San Francisco area with her partner and their three chaotic cats.

M. K. England grew up on the Space Coast of Florida, watching shuttle launches from the backyard. These days, they live on a micro-farm in rural Virginia packed with video games, plants, D&D books, Star Wars memorabilia, and their preschooler’s giant personality. They’re probably covered in dirt right now. M. K. is the author of ten! Somehow! novels for kids, teens, and adults, including The Disasters, Spellhacker, and the upcoming Roll for Love. You can find them at mkengland.com.

Maya Gittelman is an Ignyte-nominated, queer, nonbinary Fil-Am and Jewish writer, critic, and poet. They review genre media for Reactor, and their cultural criticism has been published in The Body Is Not an Apology, among other publications. Her short fiction can be found in Night of the Living Queers, an all-QPOC YA Horror anthology, and she is currently at work on a novel. She is a New Yorker.

Emily Lloyd-Jones grew up on a vineyard in rural Oregon, where she played in evergreen forests and learned to fear sheep. She has a BA in English from Western Oregon University and an MA in publishing from Rosemont College. She currently resides in Northern California, where she enjoys wandering in redwood forests. Her young adult novels include The Bone Houses, The Drowned Woods, and The Wild Huntress. Her middle grade books are Unseen Magic and Unspoken Magic.

Laura Pohl is the New York Times bestselling author of The Grimrose Girls. Her debut novel, The Last 8, won the International Latino Book Awards. Her work was featured in anthologies such as Relit, Writing in Color, and From a Certain Point of View: Return of the Jedi. She likes writing messages in caps lock, never using autocorrect, and obsessing about Star Wars. She is fluent in English, Portuguese, and Nonsense. A Brazilian at heart and soul, she makes her home in São Paulo.

Beth Revis is a New York Times bestselling author with books available in more than twenty languages. She is well-versed in science fiction, from her debut hit series Across the Universe to Star Wars: The Princess and the Scoundrel and her recent novella Full Speed to a Crash Landing. Beth also writes fantasy novels, including her latest, Night of the Witch, as well as much more. She’s also the co-owner of Wordsmith Workshops for aspiring writers. A native of North Carolina, Beth lives in the Appalachian Mountains with her husband, son, and dog. You can find her online at bethrevis.com or on Instagram @bethrevis.

Eric Smith is an award-winning young adult author from Elizabeth, New Jersey. His books include the IndieBound bestseller The Geek’s Guide to Dating, the YALSA Best Books for Young Readers selection Don’t Read the Comments, the anthologies Battle of the Bands and First-Year Orientation co-edited with Lauren Gibaldi, and the Junior Library Guild selection With or Without You. A lifelong lover of writing and books, he works as a literary agent and lives in Philadelphia with his wife and son, where he enjoys video games, pop punk, and crying over every movie.

Vania Stoyanova grew up on Slavic folktales from her Bulgarian homeland. At a young age, she started telling tales with her camera and later with words. Vania now revels in sharing her favorite stories and books with readers as a bookseller at indie bookshop Brave + Kind.

When not running author events, she is known to get into shenanigans ranging from Author Truth or Dare to starting romance book festivals. You can find her online at @yatllive.

Rosiee Thor began their career as a storyteller by demanding to tell their mother bedtime stories instead of the other way around. They spent their childhood reading by flashlight in the closet until they came out as queer. Now, they write stories for all ages, including young adult novels Tarnished Are the Stars and Fire Becomes Her, the picture book The Meaning of Pride, and tie-in novels for franchises like Life Is Strange and Firefly. Rosiee lives in Oregon with a dog, two cats, and an abundance of plants. You can find them online at www.rosieethor.com or on social media @rosieethor.

Rebecca Kim Wells writes books full of magic and fury (and often dragons). Her debut novel Shatter the Sky was a New England Book Award finalist, a Bisexual Book Award winner, an ALA Rainbow Book List title, an Indies Introduce title, and a Kids’ Indie Next Pick. She is also the author of Storm the Earth and New England Book Award finalist Briar Girls, and her short fiction has appeared in anthologies such as Fools in Love and Night of the Living Queers. As far as anyone knows, she is not an alien movie star in disguise.

SJ Whitby is a nonbinary author from New Zealand. They’ve always loved telling stories and are best known for the Cute Mutants series of queer superhero novels, which has fans all over the world. They are passionate about increasing diverse sexuality and gender representation in fiction.

Julian Winters is the author of the IBPA Benjamin Franklin Gold Award–winning Running with Lions; the Georgia Peach Award–nominated Right Where I Left You; and the Junior Library Guild Gold Standard Selections How to Be Remy Cameron, The Summer of Everything, As You Walk On By, and Prince of the Palisades. A self-proclaimed comic book geek, Julian currently lives outside of Atlanta, where he can be found swooning over rom-coms or watching the only two sports he can follow—volleyball and soccer.

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CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright Notice

PROLOGUE: NO STRANGERS TO LOVE

by Vania Stoyanova and Rosiee Thor

ONE LAST SHOT BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD

by Julian Winters

USERNAME: I’M AN ACTUAL HUMAN

by Eric Smith

SKILL ISSUE

by Laura Pohl

A TIME FOR ALL THINGS

by Alex Brown

RED CARPET BLUES

by Rebecca Kim Wells

IMPACT CRATER

by Maya Gittelman

A TASTE OF COUNTRY

by M. K. England

PARTS OF A SYSTEM

by SJ Whitby

THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED (BECAUSE THERE’S A DETOUR SIGN)

by Emily Lloyd-Jones

LOOK UP

by Beth Revis

About the Author

Copyright

Copyright © 2025 Rosiee Thor, Vania Stoyanova, Julian Winters, Eric Smith, Laura Pohl, Alex Brown, Rebecca Kim Wells, Maya Gittelman, Megan England, SJ Whitby, Emily Lloyd-Jones, and Beth Revis

First published in 2025 by

Page Street Publishing Co.

27 Congress Street, Suite 1511

Salem, MA 01970

www.pagestreetpublishing.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Distributed by Macmillan, sales in Canada by The Canadian Manda Group.

ISBN 13: 979-8-89003-161-7

eBook ISBN 979-8-89003-162-4

Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension. 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024934798

Cover and book design by Laura Benton for Page Street Publishing Co.

Cover illustration © Emma Rose

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Prologue: No Strangers To Love: by Vania Stoyanova and Rosiee Thor

One Last Shot Before The End of The World: by Julian Winters

Username: I’m An Actual Human: by Eric Smith

Skill Issue: by Laura Pohl

A Time for All Things: by Alex Brown

Red Carpet Blues: by Rebecca Kim Wells

Impact Crater: by Maya Gittelman

A Taste of Country: by M. K. England

Parts of A System: by SJ Whitby

The Road Less Traveled (Because There’s A Detour Sign): by Emily Lloyd-Jones

Look Up: by Beth Revis

About the Author

Newsletter Sign-up

Table of Contents

Copyright