Desert Ice, by chrysophyta
DISCLAIMER: I have only borrowed the Roswell characters for this story. I have returned them safely and tucked them into their beds. Roswell is, of course, the property of Jason Katims and the WB. No infringement was intended. Only extraneous characters are mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by ailis who, one night after Roswell, proposed a what if question that demanded a story.
Isabel was determined to have a good day. A good, normal day where all she had to worry about was her calculus quiz sixth period. She wore her favorite outfit with her favorite knee-high, black leather boots. She felt great. She looked great. She always looked great.
But her determination deflated quickly as she dragged her feet down the hall. She didn't feel right. She couldn't be sick, but she felt an indefinable sense of uneasiness. She felt queasy. Icky. There was no other word for it.
If only she could catch a cold. She would like to feel miserable. Her head all stopped up; she'd sneeze and cough. Her mother would tuck the blankets around her, fix her a bowl of hot chicken soup. They'd sit on the couch and watch The Young and the Restless.
Isabel could fake a fever like the best of them. But having to lie dampened her enjoyment.
On her way to World History, she bumped into Michael. He was less than enthusiastic about staying in school.
"Buy me a donut," he said.
Isabel considered it. How important could calculus be in the grand scheme of things? Max would probably say that calculus was the basis for science, for discovering unknowns. What could be more applicable to their life? But compared to a glazed donut, the choice was clear.
The Flying Donut was bright and warm and smelled sweet. Isabel felt oddly comforted by it. Ovens opened and closed, blenders whirred, and from somewhere in the back she could hear the slap of dough on a counter. She and Michael were the only customers. Michael was wolfing down a raspberry-filled donut. The raspberry filling spilled onto his fingers. Like blood.
Isabel swallowed thickly. It looked an awful lot like blood. She picked at her donut. But with one bite, she gagged. She spit it back out into the napkin.
"What's with you?" Michael said.
Where to begin, she thought. My destiny is to save the world. Two worlds. Not to mention that she didn't understand the first thing about calculating derivatives. Instead, she said, "It was too sweet."
He looked at her. He scooped a dollop of filling with his index finger and licked it off.
"I feel...not right," she said.
"Not right how?"
She didn't know. "I don't hurt," she said, which was all she knew for certain.
"Then what?" His voice was stern, almost annoyed. Which Isabel knew meant that Michael was worried. He just wanted to keep everyone safe.
"Ever since--" and then Isabel knew what was wrong. Knew it instinctively.
"Tess," she said.
"What about her?" Michael said.
Michael's face moved in and out of focus. Darkness clouded her vision. And before she slid to the floor into darkness, she said softly, "Tess is a liar."
Maria used to have a life. Used to, as in the past, the distant past. She just went to school and went to work. She used to go to movies with Alex and Liz. Alex would get a big tub of popcorn with lots of butter; she'd get Twizzlers, and Liz would get Snowcaps. They'd share each other's snacks make fun of the movie and then afterwards go get something to eat. They spoke a special language of friends who'd grown up with each other. It had always been the three of them. Since forever. Always.
Except, now, she was living some bizarro version of a Beach Boys song: an alien for everyone.
Her life was ridiculous. She knew this even as she lurked outside The Flying Donut. But here she was, behind a tree, watching Michael and Isabel.
She had seen them slip out before fourth period. She had felt a moment of intense jealousy. Isabel, Isabel, Isabel: she formed the syllables in her mouth, punctuating them with venom. But it soon passed. She liked Isabel. Sometimes, anyway. Besides, there wasn't anything going on between them. They were more like brother and sister.
But Maria had been compelled to follow them anyway. And by doing so she promoted herself to the prestigious title of stalker.
She shouldn't be here. She should be in Spanish class daydreaming about Toby Thompson. He was tall and played baseball in tight white pants. She should be writing notes to Liz about how cute he was sleeping at his desk, with his mouth open, lips in a relaxed pucker, cheeks smushed against his arm.
Instead, she was watching Michael and Isabel through the window like a television program. A special episode in which the misunderstood, brooding outcast from the wrong side of the tracks bonds with the beautiful and popular girl. The brooding boy leans forward with a look of concern on his face. The beautiful girl shrugs. Deep down she's an outcast, too. And they realize as the music swells with the new hit single, that they are really in love.
Typical, Maria thought. For once, why can't the zany sidekick get the boy?
The scene suddenly changed. The beautiful girl in a slow, graceful--always graceful--movement drifted to the floor. One moment the girl was sitting up, and in the next she was on the floor. Maria squeaked in surprise at this sudden turn before realizing that she wasn't watching television.
She dashed across the street into the donut shop. The warm air enveloped her. Isabel was on the floor. Her body was twisted awkwardly, legs and torso in opposite directions. Her skirt had bunched dangerously high on her legs.
Michael was kneeling beside Isabel. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, as though he couldn't decide whether to hold her hand or her head or if it would be better not to touch her at all. He kept repeating her name, stressing different syllables as though if he got the right one, she'd wake up: "Isabel, Isabel, Isabel." And finally just "Is."
He looked up at Maria; he almost looked relieved.
"She just--I don't know. Do something."
The old donut baker hovered over Michael. "Should I call the ambulance? Is she all right? I should call the ambulance." "No hospitals," Michael barked.
Maria knelt down and quickly said, "No, no, she's fine. She's uh, diabetic. How about a glass of juice?" Maria straightened the hem of Isabel's skirt.
The old donut baker seemed relieved to have a something to do and disappeared into the kitchen.
"I guess she fainted," Michael said. He looked at Isabel's empty chair as though he couldn't quite connect the moments between then and now.
"Don't freak out on me Michael. You should be used to girls swooning over you." Maria reached into her backpack and pulled out a vial of cedar oil. "Not quite smelling salts, but," Maria shrugged. She waved the vial under Isabel's nose.
"I think you'll have to do better than your smelly oils. It's a little more complicated--"
Isabel opened her eyes.
They both stared at Isabel as she tried to sit up in stages, testing each new level until she was finally upright. So far so good. Maria was the only one to move. She kept her hands on Isabel's back, worried Isabel might fall back down.
Isabel tried to shrug Maria off. She was fine. She didn't need anyone hovering over her. But instead of letting go, Maria brushed the dirt off of Isabel's shirt.
The donut baker handed Isabel a glass of juice. "You're okay, now?"
Isabel stared at the glass.
Maria nodded, "She's fine, thank you."
Maria looked expectantly at Isabel so she took a few sips.
A big mistake. She felt something. Something she had never felt before. Something not good.
"Isabel, you just went white," Maria said.
Isabel kept swallowing. "I feel--I feel..."
Maria's eyes went wide. "Uh-oh" was all she said as she pulled Isabel unsteadily towards the bathroom.
Maria pushed her hand on Michael's chest to block him. "Stay out here, Michael," she said. She pointed to the sign that indicated that it was a woman's bathroom. He looked at it, then followed Isabel inside.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Maria said.
Maria pushed Isabel to the toilet. "You're about to throw up, just stick your head in."
Isabel was about to say, that's not possible, when her body seemed to turn itself inside out in an acidic explosion.
When it was over, she was still alive--much to her surprise. She noticed two things: the ceiling fan rattled and Maria was rubbing Isabel's back in slow, warm circles.
"Done?" Maria asked.
"I feel better," she said.
"Then let's get you up."
"What do you mean, you feel better?" Michael said. He had backed himself into the corner. His hand was pressed against the wall. The paint was melting and the plaster crumbling. Soon they'd be able to see right into the men's bathroom.
Isabel felt hot and cold at the same time. Her legs wobbled underneath her.
"Rinse your mouth out," Maria said, turning on the faucet.
Isabel did as she was told. She was hardly in a position to argue anything, and Maria kept rubbing Isabel's back.
"What was that?" Michael sputtered. When no one answered him, he said, "We should get Max."
"No," Isabel said with more force than she had intended. "You know how he gets."
Michael rolled his eyes. "Right. No, Max. What then?"
"I can't go home," Isabel said. Her mom would be there. Her mom would tell Max. Max would overreact.
"Well, we can't stay in the bathroom forever," Maria said. She opened the door. Isabel and Michael emerged slowly , as though that had been a viable option.
Maria grumbled, "Great decision makers. The future of the world rests with these two. It's just sad. Very sad. Come to my house. My mom's in Hondo. Michael, take the jeep."
Michael leaned down as though he intended to pick Isabel up.
"What are you doing?" Isabel said.
"You shouldn't be walking."
Isabel shook her head. "I think I'll be okay."
Michael shrugged. Maria smiled. When he wasn't trying so hard to be a complete jerk, Michael could be charming. Or at least civil. Which was the Michael equivalent to charm.
Upstairs in her room, Maria coaxed Isabel into bed "In you go," Maria said. She spoke to Isabel with a combination of concern and condescension.
"Nice boots," Maria commented. She made a pile of Isabel's clothes on her desk chair. Isabel was wearing Maria's T-shirt with the Las Vegas skyline across the chest. It smelled of lemons.
Maria pulled the blankets up to Isabel's neck. She placed her hand on Isabel's forehead, felt her neck. Maria didn't know what she was looking for, but her mother had always done that when Maria was sick. It always made Maria feel better, cared for.
"Go to sleep and later I'll fix some elderberry tea." Maria smiled her best reassuring smile.
Isabel watched Maria leave and waited for the door to close before she closed her eyes. A wave of weightlessness creep up from her toes. If she could sleep for a few hours, maybe things would be different when she awoke. Maybe is she slept for a few days. Or years. She didn't know how, but no matter what Tess had said, Isabel was pregnant and nothing would ever be the same again.
When Maria came down the stairs, Michael was opening and closing each cupboard in the kitchen. He yanked out a can of chicken and stars and plunked it on the counter.
"A little harder, Michael, you didn't break it. Yet."
Michael didn't turn around. "We don't get sick. It just doesn't happen. So I want to know what the hell is wrong?"
"You got sick," Maria said. She opened the refrigerator and sifted through containers of humus, bean sprouts, and tofu. Nothing good. "Do you want some lunch or something?" Maria pulled out the bread and strawberry jam.
"That was different." He was leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest. His I'm-about-to-be-a-stupid-jerk-stance.
"You know, maybe she didn't eat any breakfast, low blood sugar or something. Sometimes I get a little nauseous if I don't eat anything, especially if I'm having my--" she looked at him, then down again, "well, you know." She set out four slices of bread. Maria didn't know how Isabel's body worked. It's not like they had some talk over lunch about pamprin and tampons. Maria just assumed Isabel's body worked like hers.
"You don't get it," Michael said.
"Are you trying to make me mad?" He was completely ruining the playing hooky vibe she was working on.
"You know, sometimes things aren't as complicated as you make them. People get sick. They throw up. It's not a crisis."
Michael sighed heavily, and said reluctantly, "We're not people."
Maria stopped. There were distances between them that could never be closed. The refrigerator kicked on and amplified the silence. They both shifted their feet. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
"Do you have any raspberry?" Michael finally said.
"In the back," she said. "The hot sauce is in the door." She plopped down at the table. At least this was better than Spanish. Donde esta Maria? Maria es en la cocina, she thought and bit into her sandwich.
"She said Tess was a liar," Michael said. He stood across the table, as though he couldn't quite decide if he wanted to sit down or not.
"This is new?" Maria said with her mouth full. The bread stuck to the roof of her mouth.
"This is serious," Michael snapped.
"It could be nothing. Isabel is really the only one who knows what's going on here. So I suggest you settle down and eat your sandwich." Maria heard him sigh, but Michael was settling into the prospect of waiting.
Interesting developments were happening today, Maria thought. She wasn't in school. Michael was in her kitchen. She smiled.
But then Michael asked, "So, what were doing at the Flying Donut, anyway?"
Isabel waited in the stairwell. She didn't want to answer any questions. Michael wouldn't be placated with a lie. And she couldn't tell him. How could she? How could she even begin to explain? To him. To Max. To her mother.
She could hear Michael and Maria in the living room. Their voices rising in argument and then falling, hushed.
"I merely suggested," Maria was saying, "that you take up a hobby. I mean, what do you do all day, since you are never at school."
"Hockey highlights," Michael mumbled in response. Isabel heard an announcer describing a winning shot.
"You can only search for your destiny for so many hours in a day. You could take up the guitar. Or get a dog."
Isabel tried to step quickly to the door, but the floor creaked at her first step. Before Isabel could even make it to the door, Michael was in the kitchen.
"Isabel?"
Isabel's hand paused over the doorknob.
"You're leaving?" Maria said from behind Michael.
"I should go home," Isabel said.
"But," Michael said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "We have chicken and stars."
Isabel paused. She knew he just wanted to know that she was okay.
"I'll drive you," he said, taking long strides across the kitchen.
"Michael--" Isabel started. She couldn't be close to him, not in the Jeep, not in this room.
"Let her go," Maria said. Michael stopped.
Isabel pulled at Maria's T-shirt. "I still have--"
Maria waved her hand. "My mom goes every spring. It's this big Alien Paraphernalia Trade Show, Little Green
Men Expo. She used to take me with her. We'd hang out in the booth for like, twelve hours, but it was great because we'd eat junk food all day." She kept talking. She couldn't seem to stop herself. "We'd eat pretzels and nachos and popcorn. And then at night we'd go to one of those all you can eat buffets. You know, lobster and steak for two-fifty."
They were both staring at her. "So you can keep the T-shirt."
Michael stared through the kitchen window, deliberately not looking at Isabel. Isabel wanted to cross the kitchen and hug him. He would deny it, but he looked like he needed someone to hold on to him tightly. It just couldn't be her.
"So I'll see you later, then," Isabel said quietly and then slipped out the door.
Isabel sat in the jeep. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. The sun was hot and low, and the air was stifling. She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, feeling the vibration of the engine.
Tess was the key. Isabel would get the truth out of her if she had to throw that pixie across the room.
Maria was changing into her uniform, and she could hear Michael pacing outside her bedroom door.
"I don't like this," Michael said. She watched the shadows of his shoes under the door, back and forth.
"She's probably just embarrassed," Maria said. But that sounded hollow even to her. Maria could smell old, stale grease on her uniform. She rubbed a few drops of lavender on the collar and slipped it on. She didn't want to go to work. She'd lose all that she had gained this afternoon.
Get a grip on yourself, DeLuca, she thought. He just ate a sandwich and watched some ESPN. This wasn't some giant leap towards intimacy. This was how she got into trouble. Michael was worried about Isabel. Period. Maria just happened to be there. There's no hidden meaning. She pushed back her antennae. They bobbed as she put on her shoes.
Pacing stopped in the center of her door. "When's your mom coming home?"
"She's out at Hondo for the night." To other guys, like Toby Thompson, this would've been an invitation to seduction. Michael was no doubt relieved that he would only have to deal with one DeLuca.
"You staying with Liz?" he asked.
She swung open the door. Michael stood in the middle of the doorway. She looked up at him. She could see the finger trails in his hair, the ends curled up.
She said quietly, "I'll be here."
He reached out towards her then stopped. He touched the edge of her collar. The pads of his fingers, rough, burned from the grill, rubbed against the polyester. "You missed a button," he said.
"Oh," was all she could say.
"Isabel," Michael said.
Maria blinked and pulled back. "No, I'm Maria. Ma-Ri-A."
"She's hiding something," Michael said.
Maria pulled back and re-buttoned her uniform.
Michael said, "I just meant--"
"No," Maria said, walking down the steps. "I think you're right. But she'll tell you when she's ready." She stopped, turned. He still stood in front of her bedroom door.
"Come on, I'll drive you home."
Isabel knocked on the front door of Tess's house. It was in a sub division on the outside of town, what constituted Roswell suburbs. The grass was dying. It was a stark contrast to the green lawns of the neighbors. It was the only difference between this house and the rest.
Isabel pounded on the door. All the anger and fear and frustration flowed from her fist. Over and over. Pound, pound, pound. The door disintegrated into a pile of dust. The door's hinges hung for a moment before falling with a clink.
Isabel uncurled her hand and blinked at her palm, as though she could discern the source of that power. She flexed her fingers. She stepped across the threshold but instantly knew that the house was empty. A reverberating stillness surrounded her. Boxes were still stacked in the hall and the living room as though Tess had been perpetually moving in. Or, Isabel thought, it had only been her cover. Isabel shivered.
She perfunctorily walked through the house. She trailed her fingers across the dusty furniture and boxes. She looked around hoping to find out something about Tess. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. She ran her fingers over the clothes hanging in the closet. Spandex tops that looked like shriveled arms.
Isabel had never paid much attention to Tess. She had just been attached to Max, always peering over his shoulder, as though she were trying to wedge her way into the frame of a photograph. When was the last time she had seen Tess? Had it been that afternoon in the cave? Everything had changed that afternoon. Isabel was tired of monumental revelations.
Finally, after drifting in and out of each room, Isabel sat on the couch. She would wait.
The Crashdown was finally closed. Maria only had to mop and then she could go home. Max sat in his regular booth working on his fifth or sixth glass of cherry coke. The boy must have the bladder of a superhero, Maria thought. Liz was trying her best to ignore him as she filled the salt and pepper shakers.
"Later, she will dazzle your eyes by pouring ketchup. Oooh, aaah," Maria said, wringing out the mop. "You can stay until I'm done mopping, but then you have to go home, or go bother someone else."
Max bobbed his head in response.
Maria slapped the mop on the floor. "You know, there's a fine line between romance and creepiness. You're dangerously close to the creepy."
She made small half moons with the mop, and thought about going home, peeling off her uniform, taking a hot shower, and crawling under her covers.
Her revery was broken by Michael pounding on the front door. "We're closed," she shouted.
He motioned to Max. Maria rolled her eyes. She unlocked the door. "This better be quick. And if you leave any footprints on my clean floor, then you're history, buddy."
He brushed past her and slid in across from Max.
"Have you seen Isabel recently?" Michael asked. When Max didn't respond, Michael snapped his fingers a few times in front of Max's face.
Maria heard the kitchen door swinging, back and forth, signaling Liz's departure. Smart girl, Maria thought. No doubt Maria would regret not doing the same thing.
"Not since this morning," Max said. "But I haven't been home, why?"
"She's not home. And it looked like she hasn't been home all day."
"She's probably out with Alex."
"Alex is at home," Maria interrupted. She had conveniently drifted towards their booth. "He usually makes it well-known if Isabel is going to grace him with her presence. He has a special dance."
She should've just kept on mopping, but she blurted out, "Tess's house." She didn't want to tell Max about this afternoon. "Well, Tess isn't here chasing after you, Max. She must be at home."
"Tess doesn't chase after me," Max mumbled.
"Yeah, whatever," Maria said, rolling her eyes.
Michael stood up. "Come on," he said to Maria, "let's go."
"Don't give me orders," Maria said. "I'm not one of you." Maria huffed past him although her exit lost a bit of the drama with the mop and bucket in tow.
Liz was standing in the middle of the back room, mid hand wringing. "You're going with them," Liz said, more of a statement than a question.
Maria could tell that despite everything Liz wanted to get involved. "Who can resist a wacky caper?" Maria
said, flinging her antennae into her locker. "If only there were some oils for that. Like an appetite suppressant. I seem to check my backbone at the door when Michael is in the room."
"You call my cellphone if anything, you know, happens. I'll be your back-up."
"I'm sure it's nothing," Maria shrugged.
"With Michael and Isabel--" Liz started to say, no doubt trying to warn Maria not to get herself hurt again. But Maria couldn't help herself so she pushed through the double doors.
The door, or lack of one, wasn't a good sign. Michael and Max jumped through the open doorway, calling for Isabel. Michael bounded up the stairs. Max darted to the back of the house.
Maria gingerly stepped over the pile of dust that used to be the door.
"Michael?"
Maria heard it, although it was a quiet, small voice. In the darkened living room, she watched Isabel sit up and look blearily around the room, like a fairy tale character who had finally found the right bed. Isabel looked so vulnerable, and Isabel never looked vulnerable. She seemed uncertain, scared.
"Boys," Maria called. "She's in here."
Maria stayed in the foyer and stared at Isabel. Maria's life was no picnic, but at least she knew that her mother was her mother. Maria knew she could tell her mom anything. And her destiny was her choice, not engineered.
Max brushed past Maria and sat next to Isabel on the couch. He didn't say anything. Isabel scooted away from him, closer to the arm of the couch.
Michael thundered into the room. "What are you doing here?"
"She's okay, Michael," Maria said. Maybe if she kept repeating it, he would believe her.
"She was supposed to be home. Why aren't you home?"
"We were worried, Is," Max said calmly.
Maria could almost see the transformation in Isabel. From vulnerable and scared girl to cut-you-down-where-you-stand-Isabel. And people didn't take on that Isabel.
"I don't have to check in with you every time I decide to go somewhere."
"After this afternoon you do," Michael said.
"What happened this afternoon?" Max said.
"Do I need to be here for this because this seems like an alien thing?" Maria said, although no one seemed to be paying much attention to her.
Maria sat down on a box by the wall. She picked at the crusts of dried food on the hem of her uniform. She really should be home by now. She would've been. What had she hoped to accomplish by tagging along? That Michael would say, Maria, you're so understanding and wonderful. I take you for granted. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you, but I promise that you'll never be alone again.
"That's right buck-o, you don't deserve me," Maria said out loud.
Michael, Max, and Isabel looked at her.
"Sorry, um, I'm having an imaginary argument. Please, by all means, proceed with your real one."
Isabel scooted off of the couch. "I needed to talk to Tess," she said. "She wasn't here so I decided to wait. I fell asleep on the couch. The end. Certainly no reason to mobilize the troops, fearless leader."
"What happened this afternoon?" Max repeated calmly.
Isabel answered him.
Oh, boy, Maria thought. Here we go.
It was like witnessing some strange farce. They just kept repeating the same questions: What do you mean, you were sick? I was sick. What do you mean? As though they didn't speak the same language.
The three knew so little about their history, Maria realized, that any clue or new development garnered all their attention and energy. And now all that energy was focused on Isabel.
Maria thought she should just slip out. No one would even notice. But then she saw Isabel's face. They were advancing on her as she retreated into the corner of the room. Isabel's face was reddening, crumbling. Her eyes were swimming in tears.
"I need to talk to Tess," Isabel kept repeating.
"Why?"
Isabel just shook her head.
"Okay, time-out." Maria wormed her way between the three of them, forming a barrier between Michael and Max and Isabel. "Back-off," she said more forcefully, shoving Michael back with her shoulder. She grabbed Isabel's hand. "You stay," she told them.
Maria led Isabel into the backyard. They stood at the edge of the grass, staring. It was cooler, now, and Maria rubbed her arms. She could see the lights from the other houses surrounding them, the blue flicker of televisions. She imagined the families sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, with moms who weren't in Hondo. These families didn't know anything about aliens in Roswell besides the oval-eyed stuffed green dolls that her mother sold.
"Thank you," Isabel said quietly, as though it cost her a lot to say it. "That's the second time you've come to my rescue today."
"Third, actually," Maria said. "But who's counting."
Isabel didn't say anything, but Maria knew that Michael had been right to be worried. Maria realized that Isabel knew what was wrong, and Maria didn't want to know.
"I'm pregnant," Isabel said.
Maria sucked in her breath. She thought about Michael. About how he would never have room in his life for Maria now. It was all over for them.
Then Maria hugged Isabel. She was stiff, but in a moment, she softened, and her fingers clutched Maria's shirt. And Maria squeezed her tightly and kept repeating that it was okay. Over and over again. There was nothing else to tell her. What a lie that was.
Maria looked up. Michael was watching from the kitchen window. His mouth twitched into a smile. And his face, for only a split second, lost its shape. The lines around his eyes and mouth blurred. And then he was Michael again.
"Michael?" she said. Maria stepped back and stared at the window.
"He doesn't know yet," Isabel said. "No one knows."
Maria shook her head. She backed away. This was a dream she'd had before. She'd be eating at the Crashdown with Liz and then suddenly Liz changed into a green insect with feelers and antennae. Maria reassured herself that she would soon wake up. She'd light some lavender and sandalwood.
"What's wrong?" Isabel turned to where Maria was watching, but she didn't see anything.
The shadows in the yard seemed to be moving. Like arms unfurling, reaching towards Maria. Michael bounded through the back door, long purposeful strides. He yanked Isabel back by the arm, hard.
"Hey!" Maria screamed. It was the only thing she could think of. Michael turned towards her. He flicked his wrist, and she flew across the yard. Maria slid across the grass until she hit the wooden fence with a loud clunk. She dimly recognized the clunk as her head hitting wood. The sharp blades of grass prickled against the palms of her hands.
There was a soft rustle of feet on grass. Maria watched as two hands reached for her. She could only blink as she was lifted into the air and pulled away from the house. The lights blurred into nothing.
One summer, before the fourth grade, Maria went with Liz and her family to Carlsbad Caverns. Liz kept chirping about the stalagmites and stalactites although Maria could never keep them straight. Some rhyme: tight against the ceiling or the might of the ground. Even now she couldn't remember. Liz went on and on about the chemical reaction between the water and the rock; the cave slowly melting over thousands of years. Maria remembered feeling the cave press her to the ground. The slick, wet, jagged spires close in on her like an iron maiden. It was as if she were mummified.
Maria felt like that now, and she struggled to awake. When she opened her eyes, she blinked at a concrete wall. She was relieved to discover that she was not buried in a cave, but she didn't know exactly where she was or how she got there. She knew three things: she lay in a cot; she was still wearing her uniform; and her body felt as though she had lost some big fight.
And then she remembered. She had.
"I hate my life," Maria groaned. She tried to sit up in order to determine where she wasn't bruised only to discover that she wasn't alone.
Tess was leaning against the wall, staring at Maria. And something was wrong with her legs. They were twisted. Unnaturally.
Maria was thirsty, and her throat was dry. "What are you doing here?" "I've been here for awhile," Tess said. "They took me."
Maria looked around the room. It looked like a fall-out shelter: concrete walls and a steel door with no knob. One bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling and cast long shadows into the corner of the room.
Why was it that bad guys always seemed to have a secret room to stash prisoners, Maria wondered. Was it part of the introductory package when you signed up? The bad guy starter kit.
"Who's they?"
Maria's legs seemed to be working so she set them on the floor. Her knees were grass stained green and her shins had dried blood and dirt embedded into the scrapes. "Let me guess, you don't know. I didn't sign up for this. I was fine, just tra-la-la-ing through my little life. Max didn't save me. I'm just the friend."
Maria licked her finger and rubbed the dried blood off of her shins. "Let's take stock of the situation. Michael, who wasn't Michael, I guess, although maybe he's been not Michael all along." She didn't want to think about that part. She continued, "That doesn't matter. He took me and Isabel. But Max was there so he has probably already found Liz and mobilized the troops." Although, she thought, when was the last time Max mobilized anything. He was probably practicing his patented wait and see approach. "So I guess that means we should try to figure a way out of this."
That had been her best attempt at a go-team-inspirational speech, and Tess just stared at her blankly. Maria lay back down. Going back to sleep was the best remedy. If she closed her eyes, maybe she'd wake up back in her bed, and then she'd cut down on the night shifts at the Crashdown. If Maria lay still, if she didn't move, Michael and Max and Liz would come.
"Do you at least know what they want? Because I'll give it to them, no problem."
After Max had been taken, Maria knew that this was an inevitability. It had only been a matter of time before men in suits would come again. Part of her had always been expecting it.
Maria had tried to imagine what she would do in this situation. Liz had never told Maria what they'd done to Max. She didn't want to know. She wondered how long could she last? What would be her breaking point? Maria suspected that she would crumble easily, and she'd eventually betray them.
Maria listened to the insistent buzzing of the light bulb. She could hear Liz's voice explaining, "Well, actually, the filament is made up a tungsten wire wound in a tight coil. It becomes white hot which is what generates the light." A soothing, rational explanation. She needed one of those right now.
Maria could hear her heart beating. Fast, scared, echoing. It reminded her of "The Tell Tale Heart." She had read it in the ninth grade. The heart kept beating under the floor boards and drove the guy crazy. Of course, he was already crazy, obsessing over his boss's eyes. The man had screamed, "It's the beating of his black, sick, heart!" The story gave Maria the creeps. And so did her own heart. It reminded her how scared she was. And Tess kept staring at her with those goony eyes. A lot of good her superpowers were here. Max would fix Tess's legs up in no time, and then they'd both get out of here.
Maria started to talk: "Did you ever notice Michael's rings? Probably not, since he's not Max. I think about them a lot. They show just a little bit of his vanity. He acts all, 'I don't comb my hair,' 'I wear the same shirt,' but those rings give him away. He really thinks he's cool."
Maria imagined his hands. The ring on his index finger, one on his ring finger. The glint of silver in the sun. The way he shoved them into his pockets and shuffled down the hallway. She remembered the way his had brushed her away, propelled her through the air, as if she'd been a fly, so insignificant that she didn't even warrant a flourish. What if the Michael of the other night—-or the night before, how long had she even been here?--had been Michael all along?
She swallowed thickly. She was hungry. Her stomach sucked against her spine. The last thing she'd had to eat had been the Buck Rogers 25th Century Chicken Fingers at the Crashdown. She wondered what the nutritional value would be ofthe ketchup and hamburger stains on her uniform. She sucked on the edge of her collar. She grimaced: salty fabric.
"I like to think about him buying a ring, walking into Out of This World with all those trendy, hipster hemp clothes and looking through the glass case. He'd try some rings on, hold his hand up." She held her hands up in front of her. "Fingers out, watching the light reflect off of the band.
"And sometimes I like to think of him pounding out the silver." Maria turned towards Tess, as though they were sharing secrets at a slumber party. "You know, one of those ping hammers hitting the metal over and over again. It's hot and there's one of those circulating fans with silver streamers in the center. Although I can't quite picture Michael signing up at Galaxy Arts for a metalurgy class. Although maybe that's where he goes instead of school."
"He can change molecular structures," Tess snapped. "So it could've been a plastic ring out of a cereal box. You should really keep up with this stuff."
"All I see is Michael break stuff," Maria grumbled. And throw people across rooms. And lawns. She got up; she had to move. She concentrated on moving her legs and not about that smile in the window.
"We should be friends," Maria said. "We have a lot in common. Single parent home. You're in love with Max who looks at his cherry coke with more affection, and I'm in love with Michael who—" she couldn't finish. "We just should be friends," she added quietly. She looked around the room. There wasn't even an air vent through which she could crawl to make her daring escape.
"What do you know about your dad?" Tess asked. She seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, sweat shimmering on her forehead.
"My dad?" Maria sat down on the edge of the cot and rocked back into the dip of the canvas. She could remember very little about her dad. Except that he was gone. Her memory of him was that of shadows and shifting light, the vibration of footsteps on the stairs.
Her mother liked to tell the story about the night Maria was born. She'd tell it to anyone. Friends, customers, complete strangers. And though Maria's cheeks reddened in embarrassment, she liked to hear it.
"We lived in a tiny, third floor apartment, on the west side of town," she'd begin. "It was the middle of summer, with no air conditioning." Maria knew her father was there, but he was always missing from the story.
"The doctor says, in a calm voice," her mother said, imitating the doctor's Chinese accent, "'Mrs. DeLuca, your child may expire.'
'Well, do something!'
'You may expire also.'
'Do it quickly, then.'"
That always made Maria laugh even though her mom must've been scared. Her mother would then touch Maria's cheek and say, "You may have surprised me, but you were always wanted. Remember that," as though her mother remembered that the night may have ended very differently.
Maria dragged her finger across the concrete floor. It was cold and hard and dirty. "When do you think they'll come for us?"
Maria was already thinking of the abduction story she'd tell Liz. She'd leave out the part about sucking on her uniform.
"They're coming now," Tess said.
The door opened. Men in white suits walked through. Maria was about to say, "I meant Michael and Max," but only got out, "I meant" before a hypodermic needle plunged into her arm. She actually felt relieved that the matter had been taken out of her hands.
Maria and Alex had gone to the "They're Among Us" alien film festival last fall; so as Maria blinked slowly at her surroundings, she marveled at how accurate the movies had been. A bright, austere room. She half expected men to be wearing silver foil suits. The grey walls seemed illuminated from within. Except it looked surprisingly similar to her dentist, Dr. Shembab's, office. In fact, she seemed to be laying in a baby blue dentist's chair. She hated the dentist.
A buzzing sound, like a Jacob's Ladder, surrounded her. This was where Liz would say that a Jacob's Ladder was simply the movement of electrons up two conductors.
Surgical masked men hovered by the wall. And there was an open door. She could escape, except she couldn't move. She was bound across her forehead and chest and her hands and feet were strapped down. Tubes wound round her arm then out of her line of vision. Tubes full of blood. Hers, she assumed. Although this didn't alarm her. It seemed very logical that she'd be strapped to her dentist's chair.
Her father was standing in the doorway. Which was strange because she rarely dreamed about him. He was standing next to a lipless man. Her father was wearing a postal uniform, complete with peaked hat. Except he had on brown loafers with tassles. She stared at the tassles. She had to bite back a laugh.
The lipless man was shouting something at her father. He said nothing, but he was getting angrier with each moment. She'd seen that look before.
She must've been six, and she'd been digging in the yard with Mr. Jeepers, her stuffed dalmation her mom had given her when the real dog had grown too big to carry around. She'd been digging with a spoon, making separate, neat piles around her. Her father had barreled out of the house with that same look on his face. He had yanked her up by the arm and Mr. Jeepers had tumbled face down into the hole.
She had cried then. She cried now.
She wasn't dreaming. She pulled at the restraints. The hard leather cut her skin. He turned sharply towards her. He looked at her as though she were to blame for everything.
Maybe she was to blame. If she had stayed behind with Liz. If she had only gone on to Spanish class and learned irregular verbs. Isabel wouldn't have told her. She wouldn't have seen Michael. The contingencies seemed to roll back. If she hadn't been. If she weren't.
Maria blubbered and the more she tried to stop, the more she hiccuped and sniveled. Which caught the attention of the lipless man.
He wheeled a stool closer to her. He spoke slowly and clearly, just like Dr. Shembab, right before he told her she had a filling or needed some drilling done. It was the voice that broke painful news. Her uniform was plastered to her skin, as though a slick coat of fear covered her body.
"You don't have to worry," he said. "Oh, I can see you are. He is here, now. Our plans for you have changed." His face was pock marked, as though someone had taken a pin and pricked him over and over again.
"You're quite lovely," he told her.
Her father stood stock still in the doorway. She stared at the tassles. "What about Isabel?"
"She's lovely, too," he said. He held up a plastic bag, filled with blood. Opaque red. Her blood.
She would be brave, she decided. Just because no one knew where she was and her father was wearing tassled loafers, and this man had no lips, was no reason to panic.
The lipless man unbuckled the restraints on her forehead and wrists. He wagged his finger at her. "You be good."
She turned to look fully at her father. He was turned away. The lipless man's cold fingers pressed against her arm and pulled out the needles out, suddenly relieving a great pressure. He pressed a cotton ball into her elbow and folded her arms up. She kept them there and rotated her wrists.
"What will you do with her?" Maria asked.
"I don't understand," he said, wheeling away with the bag of blood. One wheel squeaked and wobbled. He turned away from Maria, and she heard the suction and hiss of a refrigerator door being opened and close.
"Your whole alien thing," Maria said. "Tests, blood, cutting, torture."
"We don't want Isabel," he said. He rolled to the other side of the room.
"But—" she sputtered. She closed her eyes. She was missing something. "But, Tess, she—" Maria had assumed that she was an after thought. Some bargaining chip. Why would they want her?
"By the way, how's your mother? We all thought she was charming. So full of life."
The lipless man said it so casually. Not even with a tinge of regret to imply that the next sentence was, "It's a shame we'll have to kill her."
Maria hadn't thought she'd reach her breaking point so soon. Or so easily. It only took one mention of her mother. She struggled against the restraints. Blood seeped through her socks. "Please. She doesn't know anything. Just--please."
She heard a deep voice from somewhere behind her: "Completely human."
"You've been the topic of debate for quite some time," the lipless man said. "Scientists bandied around theories. You see, our chemistries are very different. But your father was always a bit of a rebel. He wasn't supposed to get involved. But your mother, she was very appealing."
She tried to listen to every word the man said. This was important, but it wasn't making sense to her.
"We were very excited about you. But then he dropped off the face of the Earth, so to speak." The lipless man stopped to appreciate his own joke with a breathy laugh. "This was a drastic measure. We needed him. We had to go through you. A nice family reunion, though, I think."
His hands were doing something outside of her vision. She heard the clink of metal on glass. "We were rather surprised to find you with the others. Right in front of our noses."
At that moment, Tess walked through the door with Nasedo. Tess walked.
"You really should try and keep up," Tess said and smiled.
And suddenly Michael was walking through the door. And in his wake, Tess and the lipless man flew through the air, fell dead against the wall. He leaned over her and unbound her. She pulled against the ankle straps. It was okay, now. Michael was here, and she would follow him out. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. And just as he folded his arms around her, he was gone. She was still in the chair, the restraints secure.
"Clever trick, don't you think?" the lipless man said. "Although just between you and me, it's as difficult as you might think to make people see what they want to see."
Maria concentrated on breathing, although it was becoming increasingly difficult. The line between dream and reality had slipped away. This is what it meant to be crazy. She whimpered.
"We're very excited to see how things turn out for you." The lipless man patted her arm.
She would have to join one of those Abductees Anonymous groups, now. Although she would have trouble saying, "They took me to my dentist's office. And my dad was there, and he was a mailman. And Tess was there." Like some modern day Dorothy. Except Maria's dog had been dead ten years.
"And as much as I'd like to just put you in a glass room to observe your change, he seems to become very uncooperative when we suggest it." The lipless man pointed to her father. Maria waited for him to say something, anything. To tell her that he was sorry for leaving.
"What change? Into what?"
"Don't worry," he said. "We'll be back for you. And to find you, we just have to look for your boyfriend."
"I wouldn't go—It's not like—" she stammered. "He's not my boyfriend." He jabbed Maria in the shoulder with a needle.
"But, dad," she said but was unconscious before she could finish.
When Maria awoke, she was on the side of a dusty road. Which didn't help narrow down her location. All roads to Roswell were dusty.
The sun was setting. She wrapped her arms around her. They were sore. She probably had bruises in the crux of her arms and up and down her legs. These would heal.
She was tired and dirty. She pulled at the sleeves of the coat she now wore. A postal uniform coat, she realized. She started walking. She didn't want to think about the coat or anything. Inside her pocket, she felt the weight of her cellphone bang against her thigh. Considerate, she thought.
She called Liz. "Don't tell them it's me," Maria said.
"I don't understand," Liz said. "Are you all right?" Maria could hear Max and Michael and Alex barking questions. They were probably all in the Jeep.
"Where are you?" Liz's voice rose.
"They may not be who they are," Maria said. She kept walking towards the setting sun. "Call me when you're alone." And then she hung up.
Maria couldn't connect anything that had happened. She had answers to questions never asked. Her father was mailman. He was an alien. Maria's mother had so effectively erased her father from the past that she had eventually stopped asking where he was, what he was like. Maria's fantasy of him had been so easy. Had her mother known? All this time?
She heard that voice again, calm and assured: Don't worry, we'll be back.
She thought of that afternoon in the cave. When Max, Michael and Isabel's big destiny had been revealed. Tess had been with them. Maybe they had seen what Tess had wanted them to see. A smokescreen. To distract them and divide them. Michael wanted nothing more than to find a purpose. He needed to be wanted. No one had really told him that he was wanted before. Certainly not Hank. So maybe he distrusted it, now, even when she said it.
She shook her head. At least she could still obsess over Michael. She found it somewhat comforting.
Maria looked around and wished she could remember her survival skills from the girl scouts: getting water from a cactus, or hunting snakes. She was willing to try both.
She'd wait for Liz's call. Liz would know where she was. Maria would describe the mountains in the distance, the consistency of the dirt on the road, the way the setting sun cast shadowed fingers across the pavement, and Liz would know. Liz would come find her and take her home.
Maria lay in bed. She listened to the sounds of her mother: cabinets opening and closing, the last step creaking, the rustling of plastic bags. These noises made her feel safe. Maria had only been gone two days. Only two days.
Since then she hadn't left her room. She hadn't spoken since Liz had dropped her off.
"You will tell me what's wrong this instant," her mother had demanded this morning. For the past two days, her mother had tried soothing, reassuring words. She had no resorted to empty threats. Maria turned towards the wall. Her mother said, "You can't just stay in your room." Her mom had left the room. "You will go to school."
In a flourish of closing cabinets and jangling keys, her mother was gone. The house was silent. Underneath the covers, Maria felt small.
Liz had told her, "Your mom doesn't know. That anything happened," Liz said, deliberately. "You were staying with me. I left a note for you. We didn't want, I mean, we hoped that, we weren't sure."
Maria nodded. It had been dark in the car. Liz had asked a stream of questions, but when Maria didn't answer, Liz stopped asking and the car was silent.
There were no words for the weight of what had happened. Yesterday, she had stared for hours at her hands and arms. The bruises had turned yellow-green. She had tried to see the difference. Today, she kept arms and legs under the covers. Better not to see.
This was what Isabel must feel like. But Maria didn't care. She didn't want to know what Isabel felt like. What it was like not to know.
She was forming a plan of spending the day, maybe the next few years or so, drifting somewhere between waking and sleeping, when she heard the knock on her window.
Isabel knew she should go see Maria. They all moved in a huddle, whispers swirling around them. About how Maria wouldn't even talk to Liz. Isabel had even put together some magazines and nail polish, like Maria was sick. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't look at her. Max, of course, felt guilty. He blamed himself for involving Liz. He was always eager to burden himself with so much. Michael said little. His eyes fiery, his body tense, electrified. But Isabel knew that it was her fault.
She couldn't stand to be near them. She couldn't tell them that she had been relieved. When she awoke with Max leaning over her, repeating her name, and she had realized that she was outside, lying on the grass, that she had not been taken, she had been glad. They had taken Maria and not her.
Not that Isabel had a choice. But if she'd had, she wouldn't have said, Take me, instead. And the things that she couldn't say seemed to build, one thing on top of another. She sat in the Jeep and waited until she could go home.
Maria pulled the covers over her head at the sound at her window. She heard another thunk. She held her breath and waited. But nothing. Her heart was pounding and all she could hear was that voice, "We'll come for you," over and over, like a hiccup.
Then she heard the back door open, steady footsteps in the kitchen. Her eyes were wide in the darkness underneath her covers. She followed the sounds. The creak of the steps. And then her name.
It was Michael. He called her name again. Closer this time. A knock on her bedroom door. Her name a question. The door creaked open.
Maria held her breath. The blanket was pulled away from her face, and Maria stared at Michael. He squinted his eyes at her but didn't say anything for a moment. He looked around the room.
"What are you doing?" he said. "Why aren't you in school?"
That Michael had asked her that question, struck her as absurdly funny. She started giggling, then laughing, and then she was crying. She tried to turn away from him, but instead he just said, "Come here."
So she did.
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Michael grabbed her arm. She jerked back, trying to pull away.
He released her and said, "Your arm."
She looked down at her arm, almost afraid of what she'd see there: green skin, extra arms.
"You're hurt," he said. "I wish, I mean, Max could—"
"Some things, well, some things take time," she said. She was surprised to find out she still had a voice that she could form words together.
Maria scooted out of bed, taking her comforter with her. She wrapped it around her like a cape as she backed up against the wall. The wall she could trust. She didn't know about Michael.
"Get dressed," he said.
"Why?"
"I have something to show you," he said. "I'll wait outside."
"I'm not going anywhere," she said.
He rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's me, okay? I'm trying to do something nice here." He walked into her closet. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He paused and said, "It's kind of windy out," and put the T-shirt back. He grabbed a long sleeved shirt.
He piled them on the edge of her bed. Maria squinted her eyes at him. "Michael would leave me alone."
He scoffed. "But you wouldn't leave me alone. I'm just returning the favor. Now get dressed."
He left the room. But she could see the shadows of his feet under the door. Isn't this how it all started?
"First, I have a question." She tried to think of something that only Michael would know. "What flavor of lip gloss was I wearing the first time we went into the eraser room?"
"Flavor?" He sighed. His feet moved back and forth.
Maria buttoned up the shirt and tucked it in. She brushed her hair vigorously, then pulled it back into a ponytail.
"Look, how the hell am I supposed to remember? Sometimes it was this berry thing or vanilla. Something fruity. I don't know. I just don't remember. But the point is, you can't stay in there--"
She opened the door.
"Forever," he finished.
"Strawberry," she said. "I'm driving."
Michael directed Maria out of town. She should be scared of him. She kept telling herself, You are making a mistake, a big mistake. But she couldn't seem to muster up the enthusiasm to care. She had to trust Michael. She didn't know how to stay away from him. If it hadn't been Michael, it may have been Liz.
"Pull over," he said.
"What? But it's the middle of nowhere."
"I want to show you something," Michael said. "Pull over."
"I've heard that one before," Maria said.
"But not from me."
This was true. She pulled over. He got out, grabbed his duffel bag out of the back seat. Maria waited. He opened her door.
"We're just going behind those boulders. There's a path that cuts through the rocks into the center."
She stared at him. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel.
"You wanted to know what I did when I wasn't at school. And sometimes I come here." He backed away from the car, and Maria watched as he headed towards the boulders.
Her feet crunched against the gravel. She kept a few yards between them as she followed him. Maria's legs were weak and wobbly as through she were just recovering from a long illness.
She stopped at the entrance of a narrow path that led into the center of red, worn boulders. Maybe they had once been mountains, long ago, the wind wearing them down.
"One day I was just driving," Michael said, finally turning to look at her. "No where in particular." Michael set the bag on a rock ledge. "I drove off the road, around these rocks, and I noticed that it was, like, a circle." He pointed behind her. "Hop up on one of those ledges. Watch this." Michael almost smiled but caught himself as though he couldn't appear too proud.
Maria climbed up. Michael knelt and held his hand over the ground his fingers out. There was a loud crack, like an ice cube tray. Then Maria's mouth dropped as the dirt transformed into ice, stretching towards the edge, until the entire surface was covered.
Maria stared. She couldn't believe it. She made a few indecipherable sounds.
Michael skidded towards the bag and pulled out a pair of ice skates. "Here, put these on."
Maria took them, but she continued to stare at the ice.
"You did that?" she said incredulously.
"Yeah, I did." He pulled out another pair and began to lace them up. "Put them on."
Michael pushed off of the rock. He brushed his hands on his pants as he glided across the ice.
Ice. Michael moved easily, gracefully, his feet crossing over each other. He circled towards her. He took the skates from Maria. He rested her foot against his chest and took off her tennis shoes.
"You did this?"
He shrugged. "I've been practicing."
"I guess."
He pushed her foot into the skate. He tightened the laces, pulling hard. The skates were tight around her ankles. Her feet felt heavy, separate from her body.
"How did you know my size?" she asked.
He didn't answer, just held out his arms for her. She scooted off the ledge. He grabbed her tightly around the waist and lifted her down onto the ice. He held onto her as her ankles bowed on the blades and waited until she caught her balance.
There was already a layer of water over the ice, and as Michael skated away, drops licked the raveled cuff of his jeans.
He bent down without losing his stride. His hand hovered over the surface, restoring the ice.
Maria took two hesitant steps and hit the ice. Michael circled around and held out his hand.
"It's cold," she observed. Michael grabbed both hands and pulled her up, her body a stiff bracket, jerking as Michael pulled her. He let go and circled around her.
She wobbled back and forth. "This isn't going to work," she said sadly.
Michael handed her a hockey stick.
"I can't even skate," she said, though she took it from him.
Michael tossed the puck onto the ice. He dribbled the puck in figure eights around her. "It's easy," he said.
"You're not going to make me feel better." Except, as she tried to keep her balance, her hands straight out, moving back and forth, she realized she could think of nothing but trying to stay on her feet.
With a jerk, she was on her back.
She lay there, the melting ice soaking her clothes. She shivered and closed her eyes. The sun shined red on the inside of her lids.
Maria would have to tell him about Tess. About the men in white suits. He would need to protect himself. And even about her father. But not today.
A shadow passed across her; she opened her eyes with a jolt. Michael stood over her. "I have this talent for making the girls in my life fall at my feet."
He smiled and then stopped. What he had meant as a joke was only a reminder of Isabel. "Look, I'm sorry," he said.
Maria shielded her eyes. "I'm wet and cold," Maria said.
Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his rings glinted. He looked around. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Come on, let's go home."
Maria sat up. She splashed her fingers in the cold water. This was something amazing. Right here in the middle of the desert.
"Like I'd let you drive," she said. She held out her hand, and Michael pulled her up. She grabbed the hockey stick. "Let's play." She batted the puck away from him then stutter stepped to follow as it
bounced off of the rock.