Disclaimer: The "dance and dancer" quote is a variation on a line from Guy Gavriel Kay's The Fionavar Tapestry. The Grijalvas are from the book, The Golden Key by Melanie Rawn, Jennifer Roberson, and Kate Elliott.
Max and a grumpy Isabel waited for their friend to crawl in Max's window. An excited Michael Guerin had called at three in the morning with what he termed 'important news.'
"I swear to god, Max, if he thinks we're taking another road trip," Isabel huffed.
"Don't worry, Isabel, we'll bring your boyfriend this time," she smacked her brother playfully but had smiled at the thought of Alex.
The casement window slid open and Michael grinned at Isabel and Max. "I used them, my powers. I can control them now!" He lifted Isabel's pink bunny slippers off her feet and set them to hopping in front of their shocked faces.
"What happened?"
He paced back and forth, Isabel's slippers mimicking his movements in midair, "I dunno, I was just...I wanted to move the painting but it was still wet and I didn't want to touch it and then it just moved. I didn't even have to think about it. And then I could just do everything. Max, look." He shoved his right hand before them. I cut it, and I healed it."
Max tried to contain his hope. He knew that Michael hated not being in control of his powers. While not exactly jealous of Max and Isabel, he knew his pride was hurt. "Michael, is it okay if we test this. I mean, I believe you. I'm totally proud of you. But let's get to know your limitations just...in case."
Surprisingly, Michael agreed. He was confident in his abilities, now. Isabel hugged him, smiling, then got back to business, "You woke me up, Michael."
"Oh, really," he took in her rumpled hair and pajamas.
"So let's start off with dreamwalking. If anything happens, Max can pull us out."
"Sure, safety first."
He and Isabel laid down on Max's bed. After the pillows had been arranged to her satisfaction, Isabel whispered, "See you there."
Michael found himself in a blue room, not unlike Isabel's. The bed was a little bigger and it was much messier. Her walk-in closet was wide open but there was nothing in there but jeans, shirts, and sweat pants. Inspired, he looked at her vanity. One tube of mascara and a lip gloss, but none of the various lotions and vials that she usually stockpiled.
There were framed photographs of her and Max in Colorado, the entire Evans family, and one of Alex. There were even some stuck in the mirror. More of Max and the Evans family. There was even one with him. He hardly ever had pictures taken, no one ever asked. But this one, he remembered. The first day of sophomore year, Michael couldn't sleep and had walked over to their house. Before hitching a ride with them, Mr. Evans had requested a picture. Max had groaned, apparently they did this every year. He'd stood off of to the side, trying not to look like an intrusion. Mr. Evans fumbled with the timer before joining his wife and children; he looked surprised when he Michael leaning against the jeep. Gesturing, he indicated a spot beside him. And so here it was, a photograph of parents sending their children off to school. Only, it looked like he was the third child. Like he belonged. He whispered, "Like I was family."
Arms enclosed him from behind, "Not like, Michael, you are family. You're my brother," she kissed his cheek, "don't you know that?"
She moved in front of him, holding his hand, "Max is the annoying big brother who acts tries to act all grown up. I'm the spoiled brat little girl princess who gets whatever she wants from her big brothers."
He whispered again, "Brothers." He'd often thought that nothing would change if he'd never been born. Isabel and Max might still be aliens, but they'd still have each other. He didn't fit in the equation, he was excessive; he made things harder.
"And you're the middle child who doesn't want to be bratty or anal retentive. Instead, you're just difficult. A lot."
He laughed, "Okay, brat
***
"No, Agnes. You cannot have another break," Liz gestured towards the floor, "the place is packed. Besides, cigarettes can kill you."
Maria grimaced from behind the older waitress and mouthed, "We should be so lucky."
Liz stifled her laughter as Agnes walked away. Liz was sure Agnes would insult some customer before the hour was over, but she couldn't lose another waitress right now. Her parents had left for a restaurant convention in Oklahoma, leaving her in charge.
They couldn't have chosen a worse weekend. Two huge tour groups had come into town last night and Casa de Enchilada, the only other non-food chain establishment was being renovated. Liz had struggled to handle everything with cool efficiency before breaking down and begging Alex to bus tables.
And then, suddenly, she felt like she could tackle another influx. Looking up, she stared into the eyes of Max Evans. She still hadn't gotten over his rejection. They had gotten close, even sharing one mind-blowing kiss, so when Maria and Michael had hooked up she had asked Max, why they couldn't, too. She'd never expected him to let her go.
He'd loved her for years. But, maybe, now that he knew her, he realized the Liz he'd fallen in love with...the reality didn't stack up.
She knew better now. She could be patient. Wait for him to understand he didn't need to protect her; it was enough to love her. So, they hadn't started at square one, they were friends -best friends.
So when she saw how carefree and happy the three Czechoslovakians were, she couldn't help but let go of the chip on her shoulder.
"Hey guys, what's up? You're all looking less paranoid than usual.
Max, Isabel, and even Michael laughed. Michael was the biggest surprise. He gestured expansively, "Three Tenth Planet special and cherry cokes on me."
What's the occasion?" She'd never seen Michael is such a good mood.
He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear, "I can control my powers!"
So that's why he was acting like a little kid. She hugged him, "Congratulations!" Then pulled back as if burnt, "Um, sorry, Michael, I didn't mean-"
"It's okay, Liz. Thanks for being so great about it. You're not bad for a...not being a Czechoslovakian."
Max, Michael, and Isabel shared smiles. The entire day had been a joy. Playing around with their powers and acting like a family, without looking over their shoulders at strange noises. Max smiled especially wide, happy that Michael was being nice to Liz. It meant a lot to her and when she delivered the order to the cook, Maria could tell she was glowing.
"Hey, Liz, Agnes drop dead?"
"No, umm...," Liz wasn't sure what to tell Maria. She'd been avoiding Michael since the rave and had returned, slowly, to her old nature. Or, maybe not avoiding, Maria had also returned to dancing and singing. Liz had always been a little jealous of Maria's talents but knew that Maria sometimes envied her studiousness. It didn't matter in the long run, they had each other. She had the two best friends in the whole world. So she made her choice, "Michael can control his powers now."
The blonde's eyes widened and Liz was afraid for a moment. Then Maria smiled a tiny smile and suggested, "This is big. Great. Your parents are gone for the weekend, why don't you have a celebratory get together tonight?"
Liz hugged Maria, "That is such a great idea! I'll go tell them!" Orders in hand, Liz approached the three plus Alex who was joking with Isabel.
"C'mon, Is, Liz could use the help. Besides, you look really hot in the uniform."
"You saw that?" Isabel blushed. "Thanks, Liz."
"So what are you guys doing tonight?"
Max quirked an eyebrow, "I was thinking high-speed chase with a bunch of FBI agents in tow, but if you think you can top that, be my guest."
"I was thinking we could have a Michael party."
Michael blushed and ducked his head uncharacteristically. He'd been so obsessed with painting and the right ratio of egg yolk to pigment lately he hadn't been around the gang much. Instead of being insulted, they were acting, well, like friends. Even Liz, who had gone all Sigourney Weaver on him. Most of them were acting like friends, anyhow. Friends. Two human friends and a...broken heart?
"Oh, that's right, Liz," a familiar voice cut in. "Take all the credit."
Max, Michael, and Liz looked up in surprise. Alex and Isabel shared a knowing glance and handsqueeze. "Liz's hands were full so I thought I'd go ahead and bring these over." She put three bottles of Tabasco on the tabletop and walked away leaving the stunned in her wake.
***
Maria let her body flow, sharply now, then smooth. Everytime she danced, it was sweet. She didn't now why she'd stopped. To unconsciously pick up on a hook here and know what to do. No confusion or question of right. Just the feeling of energy and lyric. She stepped into a twist or swing without fear of consequence because there was no way for this to be anything but good.
Michael watched her, reeling. He had kissed that length of arm, left his mark on that expanse of back, he knew she could burn but never imagined that she could exhibit such sense of grace. Yet here she was and all he could think was, "You cannot tell the dancer from the dance."
And then her eyes flew open in rage and he realized he had spoken aloud.
He tried to explain, "Liz called me -told me to pick you up-"
"Did she mention the part about spying on me?"
No, I didn't mean to, it was just so-"
"Private."
He understood. "I'm sorry, Maria. I never meant to disturb you, but I couldn't stop watching you. You were hypnotic, beautiful."
"Who are you and what have you done with spaceboy?"
And then she smiled and he knew it would be all right. "So you thought it was beautiful?"
"Yeah." He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. They were empty now; he hadn't replaced the bottle of cypress oil. "So, uh, how long have you been dancing?"
"All my life. But just started up again, technically. And it's like I don't understand why I ever stopped. Dancing gives me this whole sense of...I'm not sure I know how to explain it, ya know."
"I know. It's how I feel when I paint. It's special."
They shared a smile. Michael crowed inside, he'd missed this. He had his powers, he had friends, it was a day for brightness. And maybe, just maybe Maria and him could work out now. Truthfully, he'd missed her. However he tried to deny it, there was something about her that important. She had this strength you couldn't ignore, and she listened to him as if he was significant. She made him feel good.
And then it all clicked for him; didn't he deserve her? He did.
He cupped her face and pulled her in before she could react and the feel of her body still wet with sweat was electric. Her mouth was still as soft and giving, she opened her mouth to him, he responded, and then she bit his tongue. Hard.
She was out of his arms and furious.
"Godash," his tongue was bleeding. Taking a moment to heal it, he said, "God damn!"
"Oh, you're mad at me?"
"What was that?"
"Make up your mind, Michael. You can't just push me away and then kiss me like that. No, you know what, don't make up your mind. I don't need your opinion. I am so tired of this shit, Michael. So tired."
Michael was stunned. Maria didn't cuss. 'Swearing is just being lazy.' Maria never swore at him, she baited and fired salvos, because she cared enough about him to be creative. Maria obviously didn't care anymore.
"No, it's not like that," he swallowed his pride, "I want to hold you. I've always wanted to hold you. I just don't want to hold you down."
"Oh, that's fucking rich. Did you drag yourself away from Ulysses long enough to watch 90210?"
"Why are you being like this?"
"I don't know, maybe, because you're an asshole."
His expression was pained, "Look, what I said at the soap factory. I'm sorry. We can still work things out."
"It's too late, I already forgave you for that. You want to be alone, go be alone by your own damn self. Just because you leave me bruised, doesn't mean I'm gonna crawl off and die offstage."
"That's why we belong together. You're a fighter. We're of the same ilk."
"No. We're not," she looked him in the eye. "Whatever ilk you're from, I'm confident I'm from a different one." And then she sneered, "Oh, did I say 'ilk,' because I meant species."
"Maria," he looked deep into her eyes, trying to convey his need for her.
She spat at him, "Save the soulful stares for Max, I'm not Liz."
"You've got that right," he muttered under his breath. He would make her understand. "They have that whole let's fall into each other gently mentality. I like what we have. We don't have to be starcross'd."
"What we have?" She smiled, feral, "Don't get all intense, Michael. I'm only sixteen, I want to date, not be involved. I'm young and I plan to enjoy it. That's the way it's gotta be."
"So we date, I can handle that."
"Gee, I don't think so. When I said date, I didn't mean you, I meant other guys. Human men." She walked up to him, close enough to kiss and whispered sweetly, "Let's just be friends."
Max was worried about Michael. He didn't exactly think Michael would take on the FBI by himself, but his sudden disappearance was disturbing. Michael could have been kidnapped...His friend had never shown up at his own party; neither had Maria. But when Michael hadn't shown up at Max's window and Maria had denied any contact, Max had even visited the trailer park. He hadn't really expected Michael to be there, he hated the place, but it a possibility. He'd even skipped Biology on the off chance that Michael had showed for school before ten o' clock.
So when he saw Michael nonchalantly eating fudge ice cream with tabasco in the librarian's office, Max was justifiably upset.
"Max?" Michael jumped up; he'd gotten used to thinking of the library as his.
"I'm not gonna get caught doing anything, Maximilian. I'm just sitting here with my ice cream," he spooned up more.
"Yes, with tabasco sauce! Michael, someone will see and be suspicious. Let's get out of here before you get in trouble."
"No."
"Michael," Max's voice shaded to warning. It seemed that the nice Michael of the weekend was gone, and the brooder was back. And Max didn't understand why.
"Max, look, I'm good here. Why don't you leave?"
"Because I'm trying to watch your back."
"Young man," an authoritarian voice came from Max. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Uh..."
Ms. Clarke greeted Michael more warmly, "Hello, Michael, I see you found the ice cream."
With a parting glare, Max left the library.
"So, who was that?" She sat down in the chair opposite him. This was, by now, a familiar arrangement. They would sit and conversed amiably, usually sharing tabasco and a form of chocolate. Ms. Clarke regarded Michael's twin gustatory inclination as a sign of that he was meant to be her helper. Nothing more. Michael had grown more comfortable with her over the few weeks, sharing his progress with painting and other anecdotes. He never spoke about his foster father and their low socio-economic status. And she didn't seem to care. Roswell wasn't a huge town, he knew that if she did care, she could ask around and find out about his reputation. But even assuming that she had, she hadn't kicked him out.
In turn, Ms. Clarke shared her life with him. Faculty gossip and family stories. She came from one of Roswell's first families, from before the '47 crash so she viewed the town's alien hang-up from a unique perspective.
Michael sighed, "That was Max Evans."
Ms. Clarke frowned. She'd imagined Michael's closest friend to be more pleasant, less brooding. "Oh." She didn't push.
"He's just worried right now. Liz, that's the girl he makes googly eyes at?"
"I remember."
"She threw me a party and I sorta didn't show. And I sorta didn't tell anyone where I was all weekend. They thought something happened to me."
Ms. Clarke watched Michael. She'd gotten familiar with his body language and knew something deeper was bothering him. However, the librarian also knew that it would be best for Michael to volunteer information. The best thing for her to do right now would be to listen.
Michael sighed and looked down. "It's this girl." He'd been thinking about their encounter all weekend and still hadn't figured out what had gone wrong.
"Liz's talkative girlfriend? The blonde." Michael had never really mentioned her.
"She's sort of an ex-girlfriend." He went slow, unsure of how to share his feelings. "To use the term loosely."
"Maria." He savored her name. "She affects me. She's, like, uber paranoid. She always smells like cypress oil because she sniffs it when she freaks." He smiled bittersweetly, "It calms her down."
"And she's gorgeous. Not like Isabel," he looked at Ms. Clarke for recognition. She nodded, "but she's these eyes. Green. Brighter than, than everything. And this mouth. She's always pouting, even when she's laughing.'
"I mean, the mouth on her." He blushed. "I mean, the way she uses it." He put his head in his hands. "That didn't come out right. She's got this way of talking. You think she's this vapid bubblehead, but she's the only one who can keep up with my smart alec cracks. But at the same time, she's like you."
Ms. Clarke smiled encouragingly. Michael sounded as if he was never realized these things before.
"She listens. Really listens. And you should see her dance," he was lost a moment in recollection. "It's like this zone, where she's steam and flood. I never saw anything like it. Plus, she's got this strength. And all of it is amazing and it's like I don't understand how it all fits into one person. She's this girl, and there's no one I'd rather fight with."
"You're in love with her," the older woman smiled benignly.
"Yeah. I guess I am." Then he groaned, "Oh, god..."
"I'm guessing this is the ex-girlfriend portion."
"She got too close. I couldn't handle it." He combed his fingers through his spiky hair. "I told her, I told her," Michael forced himself to look her straight in the eyes, "I didn't want to get intense. Attached, involved whatever you want to call it." He took a breath, shoved his trembling hands into his pocket. "I was scared. I let her think I didn't care that she was some toy.'
"I let her go."
And then Ms. Clarke was handing him a tissue and telling him, "Take your time."
Michael balled his fist in his pockets; "She makes me into this sop. I don't know if I wanna be that person."
"It's okay, it's not too late. You can still make it right."
"No. I can't. Because I hurt her again. I kissed her. I thought it would be okay. We were in this moment, and she looked so right. But it wasn't okay. She, she bit me." He looked dumbfounded.
"Oh, Michael, you're so young," she sympathized. "What you told me -did you tell her?"
"No."He digested what she was saying before groaning. "I am such failure."
"Michael!" Ms. Clarke's voice was sharp; she'd never used that tone with him. "Never say that." She punctuated each word with a gesture. "You are incredible." She smiled gently, "Now, go put the ice cream dishes in the back sink, and go. Go find her, Michael."
He looked up. "What?"
"I'm a hopeless romantic, now, scoot! Faint heart never won fair maid," she said.
Michael stood up with a look of determination.
As he ran the door, she called out, "And no kissing until after you get the girl!"
***
She was drooling slightly onto her textbook when Michael found her in study hall. He smiled. She wasn't so much snoring as softly murmuring. He enjoyed the opportunity to look her over. Skin so fair and creamy. Even in the desert. He reached out a hand to her caress her face.
He was in her dream:
They were back at the rave. But before she'd finally trapped him in the corner. She was talking to Liz; they were searching the factory for something. Him and Max.
The real Michael stepped towards Maria, he would tell her now. The truth.
But then the band stopped playing and the party hushed. The lead singer stepped up to the mic and said, "Is Maria here? Maria DeLuca?"
Maria, in her barely-there seventies revival outfit, moved to the stage. Party-goers, even the drunk ones, had made a path. The trumpet players helped her up before playing a sort of trilling salute. A red carpet rolled out from the door to the makeshift stage.
"Maria DeLuca, meet your father!"
A handsome man in his forties strode towards her in an impeccable Armani suit. He held his arms open, "Maria, my Maria? I've been looking for you for sixteen years. You're so tall! So lovely! Baby, I understand if you don't want anything to do with me, but, please, give me a chance. I live my life for you. If you're willing to trust me, the limo is waiting outside."
"Daddy?" Maria ran into his arms.
He held her fiercely, "My daughter. I will never leave you. I love you."
They walked out together as the partygoers cheered and threw confetti. Maria got into the limo with the help of her father. Never looking back. Never seeing the rawness in Michael's eyes.
***
The painting was wrong, all wrong. He'd make huge mistakes. The technique was perfect but he looked nothing like Maria's father.
"Mr. Guerin? It's not time for class yet." Mr. Hinds noticed Michael staring at the painting. He'd given it an A+.
"I hate him," Michael growled under his breath. Louder, he said, "I hate it."
"But it's the best work to come out of my classes all year. A formidable enterprise, I was hoping to exhibit it at the state level."
"No."
"Mr. Guerin, I must beg you to reconsider."
"No. I can do better."
***
Michael shed his jacket and brought out his leftover panel and gesso. Never stopping except to ask Mr. Hinds for eggs from the cafeteria. He didn't bother with a sketch.
His hands edged out, coaxing Maria's father onto the wood. He didn't hate Mr. DeLuca. Mr. DeLuca made Maria happy, he made Maria forget Michael.
But Mr. DeLuca wasn't perfect. The other painting, it was flawless; but there was no passion there. It was not the labor of love he had striven for. He'd gotten too caught up in methodology and application. So now he fixed it. Little lines around his eyes, Maria's sometimes-feral eyes. He made a man of experience, capable of love. Of making her happy. Of doing everything that Michael could not.
Michael couldn't stop. He was driven to make this into an act of transcendence. This would be his penance. His silent admission of love and guilt. More than ever, he realized he could not be with her and so he painted.
Mr. Hinds handed Michael a glass of ice water every hour or so. The teacher recognized, but had never experienced, this frenzy. It sucked Mr. Guerin in and spilled out art. The paintings were similar but for shadows of longing and other inexplicable changes. It was dynamic; he had a prodigy on his hands.
When Michael finally relented, he could barely encompass what he had done.
He put down his paintbrush, asked the speechless Mr. Hinds to grade it, and walked out, empty.
***
Sugar?" Ms. Clarke held her hand out, "Michael? Sugar?"
"Huh?"
"The sugar, you kooky child. Two cups."
"Oh, sorry." Michael handed the librarian the measuring cup. "I'm just kinda tired." He cracked his neck, "I'm here though. Look, flour."
Ms. Clarke smiled, "This was a really good idea, Michael. I'm sure your friends will like it."
"If I can get it, right, I've never baked before. Thanks for helping me."
"But are you sure they'll like tabasco?"
"Oh, it'll be great. We like it, don't we?" Michael had decided to make a tabasco tunnel cake. He'd gotten the idea for a chocolate bundt cake with a ring of equal parts fudge pudding and tabasco sauce from the Flying Saucer cakes they served at the Crashdown. Originally, he'd planned on using cake mix, jell-o, and the bottle, but Ms. Clarke had been so enthusiastic he asked for her help. When the day's errands and various other duties had been accomplished, she'd marched him of to the home ec lab.
Michael figured it for a peace making gesture. Max was still a little mad for looking like a jerk in the library.
"Maybe you should ease off on the painting for a while, if you're tired. It takes a lot out of you. Emotionally, I mean, it's exhausting. Here," she put the spatula in his hands. "Pour half the batter in the pan, then the pudding and tabasco. Yes, you're doing it right. Now, put the rest of the batter on top. Great, now we'll pop it in the over and voila!"
Michael held the pan gingerly and tried not to burn himself. He stifled a yawn. "Huh, maybe I should take a nap."
"Yes, you should. The cake will still rise if you're sleeping." Ms. Clarke rummaged in a trunk by the sewing machine and pulled out a red and green patched quilt. Leading Michael to the Family Like part of the room, she laid him and the quilt down on an old orange couch.
"I feel like I'm in kindergarten," he mumbled. Secretly, he relished the attention. Hank had never tucked Michael in. He could admit to himself, sometimes he wished Ms. Clarke was his mother or even his grandmother. When he was with her, he didn't feel an unsteady or discarded. Alone, he could admit that he liked who he was when she was around. Maybe he could have been that person if someone had loved him.
"Then I guess I'll have to tell you a story," she ran her fingers through his spiky hair. Ms. Clarke smiled, she had a knack for choosing the special children. She conceded that all children were special, but her helpers tended to the incredible. Insightful, talented, good-natured. She knew how to pick them. Michael Guerin could go far, if he wanted. If, when his senior year rolled around, he was interested, she would bring up art school.
Her grandfather, great-grandmother, and several other relatives for the last hundred years had attended the Corcoran school in Washington DC. He could get there on his own merits, assuredly, but recommendations from alumni would assure they would come begging after him.
"This is the story of a family, the Grijalvas. The Grijalvas were limners, painters, and they lived in the duchy of Tira Virte. But they were not just painters, they were special. The art ran in their blood, but more than that, some of the males of their line possessed magic. What they painted, came to be..."
A soft rumble interrupted her. Michael could hear the story later. She pulled the covers up to his chin and rearranged them to cover his feet before standing up. The frosting would not make itself.
***
Isabel rolled her eyes, "You know, Max, you could have just said, 'I want to go make googly eyes at Liz' and it'd be okay."
"I was hungry." The dark boy smiled sheepishly.
"But we could have waited for Michael. You peeled out of the parking lot."
"Oh, he'll find a ride."
"You're still upset." It was a statement.
Max was saved from further embarassment by the appearance of their waitress.
"Hey, guys, what can I get for you?" Liz leaned towards Max. Isabel wondered what it would take to push Liz into her brother's lap. By accident, of course.
"No dessert." Michael slid into the booth carrying a white cardboard box.
"No outside food, Michael." Liz pointed to a sign on the wall.
"Aw, c'mon, Liz. I baked it myself." He lifted up the cover to reveal the fudge glazed bundt cake sitting daintily on a white lace doily. He'd been so refreshed from his nap he'd even made little chocolate leaves.
Liz was practically drooling, "I'll cut you a deal. If you share, I won't confiscate it."
"Sure, Liz," he looked up slyly, "didn't know you liked tabasco tunnel cake."
"Nevermind. Ugh."
Isabel looked into the box, "How'd you manage that? I didn't know you baked."
"I'm a Renaissance man. Did you know, little sister, that I am also a proficient airplane pilot, fashionista, and-"
"Liz!" The blonde's shriek was head splitting. Maria was standing ten feet away, at the door. And she had a new haircut. She had a bang now, and it slanted across her forehead. The back had been shorn and leveled as well. Michael noticed the way it exposed her unblemished neck. He remembered the time she'd had to wear that ridiculous turtleneck in the middle of a heatwave
Maria ran to her friend's side, "Guess what! No, you'll never guess! He called me! Again!"
The two girls let out another joyous shriek and jumped up and down.
"What's up, Maria," Isabel asked. Though she had grown closer to Maria and Liz, she knew nothing about the new development. She flashed a look at Michael, who looked like he was caving in on himself.
"Oh, hey, Isabel, Max." Maria waved and glanced at her watch, "Look at the time! I gotta change into uniform. Duty calls."
As the door swung shut behind Maria, Michael looked inquiringly at Liz.
"It's not my secret to tell."
"Liz?" Max was a little hurt. They had no secrets between them. Or at least, not on his side.
She nearly crumbled, "It's between Maria and her...her god."
Isabel didn't like the tension, "Hey, Max, let me up," she pushed Max out of the booth and into Liz. "Order for me, I'm gonna call Alex."
Looking back, she saw Max hold his arms out to Liz for balance. Touching, they stared into each other's eyes. "Just friends," Isabel snorted.
***
Michael watched his best friend make googly eyes at Liz. Thinking maybe, if he had deep brown eyes the soulful stare thing might've worked on Maria. Did brown even do Max's eyes justice? He thought of them critically. They were sorta girly, all delicate long lashes. And they weren't really brown, they were more earthy. Like a furry, woodland creature. Max had Bambi eyes. Yes, earthy -which was funny, considering.
Max and Liz wrenched there eyes apart when Michael began to heckle them because what was a soulful stare, really. Trite nonsense, people! Okay, he was being just a little harsh. Maybe. But the symmetry of their relationship bothered him. Happy families, looks, smarts -not an ounce of dissidence between them. He respected, but could not understand how they got worked up over each other.
They probably agreed on everything. And then he smiled, remembering Liz's Xena imitation. He wondered if Max would like to hear about it.
Liz was okay, but give him a good Maria fight anyday.
Except for the fact that Maria wasn't even acknowledging him anymore. Sometimes he thought that it was good that way. He'd probably end up just like her dad anyhow, abandoning...
At least, that bastard would at least get in Maria's slapping distance before she turned her back on him.
"Michael, hey, man, you there?" Max was shaking him.
"Uh, yeah."
"You wanna go somewhere?"
"Done staring already? That was quick."
***
"Isabel, grab my hand and I'll pull you up. Did you really have to wear those shoes?"
"Play nice, Maximilian."
"I don't see you helping me."
Isabel grunted as her two brothers helped her up the rock, "No one told me we were coming up here. Did you think I wanted to ruin my new shoes?"
"I forgot how beautiful it is up here," she looked around and began to spin. Michael and Max watched as her golden hair wrapped around her body. Their sister: the whirlwind, the brat, the Elle McPherson of the sophomore class.
"Uh, dizzy." They laughed and helped her lie down between them on the rock
This was a good place for them, where the chinks in their armor become rifts. Yawning gulfs. This rock in the middle of the desert, away from the highway, laden with their memories. It was almost a tie to home. Every time they visited they'd say, "We will come back soon." But they don't. They cannot allow these chasms.
A good place, and deep.
"Sometimes I feel so porous. Like honeycomb, you know?" Michael spoke up. He is neither whispering, nor speaking. The three are connected by more than love and species, they are linked by survival instincts. They don't like to talk about it, though. "That things are happening all around me, but they wash right through. I don't know sometimes. I don't want to think about it. I want to think about going home and I feel guilty if I think about other things. Because, maybe, I'm being punished. They, I don't know who, won't let us come home because I don't want it bad enough. So I gotta focus."
Isabel grabbed his hand, she is shivering. "That's not true. We all want it. Our whole lives, there has been nothing else."
"No, Isabel. He's right, sometimes, when I look at Liz I can't keep home in my mind. She's all I want."
Isabel pursed her lips, "Then how come you're not with her? That's they way I feel about Alex and if I ever lost him-"
"That's exactly why. I can't be with Liz until I can be sure I can stay. She deserves better. That's why we need answers. If we could just find our planet-"
The three hushed, the words were coming too fast now. Too hard. And so, for a while, they drew inside themselves for calm. Each concentrating on the starscape, but trying not to think, "Which one is home?"
Michael broke the silence, "What if I could paint us there? Home, I mean."
"What are you talking about?" Max asked.
"There's this book, The Golden Key, where when some people paint certain things, they come true. I know it sounds crazy, but-"
"Was this a fairy tale, a children's book?"
"Just listen, Isabel. Okay, just listen." Michael stood up and paced while Max and Is leaned against each other. "I researched. It's not an entirely new concept. There are lots of stories where life imitates art. Like the story where everything written on a magic typewriter comes true. There are movies, too."
"A John Candy movie," Isabel cut in. "You're going on pop culture, Michael."
"Look, just hear me out. Our species, our people aren't like humans."
"Yeah, super powers. No kidding, Captain Deduction." Max gently squeezed Isabel's hand, urging her to be quiet. If Michael was going to start sharing his plans -actually planning- before acting, Max was willing to give it a chance.
"I mean. Look at all our clues and powers: visions, dreamwalking, glyphs. They're all highly visual. The molecular structure and the healing aren't here nor there but they don't require chanting or words or anything, you know."
"I guess."
"Think about it. None of us very good at talking. We can't sing a note. Did you ever think it's because our people don't talk? When we came out of our pods, we couldn't talk."
"You're right. Isabel, remember, I understood you, but we couldn't talk. Mom and Dad thought we might be deaf."
"Exactly, Maximilian! Maybe in our original bodies, we don't have the equipment to talk."
"I still don't know," Isabel's brow was furrowed, "it sounds like a fantasy or something."
Max spoke up, "Aren't we? A fantasy. Aliens, dreamwalking, telekinesis. Is, we're livin' la vida fantasy here. I don't see why Michael can't try."
"We don't even know what home looks like!"
"We could start small. Paint ourselves into Valenti's office and get his files or something."
Isabel gave in, "I guess, you could at least try. I mean, it wouldn't be dangerous if it didn't work. You'd just have a painting."
Michael hugged her, "Thank you. Your approval does mean something to me, Is."
Max joined in the hug, figuring Michael hugs were rare and not to be missed, "Like you wouldn't have done it, anyway. But this way, Isabel gets cake."
***
"...topic may not be an event or a person. It must be relevant in throughout the history of the world. Not just the seventies or the Middle Ages, throughout the history of the world..."
Michael shook himself, wondering why he'd even bothered to come to class. Mr. Sommers was in full Ben Stein monotone mode. He wanted to fall asleep, like most of the class, but he couldn't. He'd slept so much in the last few days it was almost like he was hibernating, but the dreams hurt.
His dreams were usually safe. But now they hurt.
So he stayed awake
He tried to think about his new project and the approach. In the Grijalva story, the painters had to use items from their body. Hair for brushes. Bodily fluids mixed in the paint. All of the fluids, or just one? Sweat, spit, tears, urine, semen. And just how were they to be mixed?
"Michael? Hey, man, its lunchtime." Max stood at Michael's shoulder with his books. "Is it cool if we eat here? I gotta stop by locker first and dump all this stuff."
"Whatever." Michael grabbed his pencil and jacket before heading for the quad, "I'll meet you in the quad."
When Michael reached their usual group of benches, he stopped. Maria was there, chewing on a cucumber sandwich. They hadn't spoken since the night in the dance studio. He could understand, now, why she hated him. And, it wasn't like he made her life shine any brighter. So he left it all up to her. And she had moved on to some guy who actually called her.
Michael sat down and stuck his hands in his pockets, "So, uh, hi."
"Hi." She was aloof and her voice rang with finality.
"Good sandwich?"
She chewed.
He pulled his hands of his pockets and stared at them. "Uh, dance much lately?"
She swallowed, "Look, since you obviously are not possessed of the necessary social acumen, I'm going to spell this out for you. I'm not your friend. I don't like you. I don't like your hair. Now, go sit over there, far away from me, and return to whatever you were doing with your hands in your pockets."
Michael knew what he should have done. He should have offered her a head-snapping retort on the way her shirt emphasized her more salient features. Or lack thereof. He should have attacked her anything, her blondeness, her waitresness, her humanity. This was the time to for a killing blow. But he could do nothing but try not to touch her.
Maria looked away from him, her eyes heavy with loathing until she spotted Isabel and Alex. They sat down at roughly the same time as Max and Liz; the girls began to chatter. Accustomed to Michael's distanced look, Max and Alex discussed the history assignment.
Michael watched Maria unwrap another cucumber sandwich. Her hands unfolded the wax paper without tearing it.
"So," Isabel started, "who's been calling you? I want details!"
Michael looked up. She was glowing.
She was inaccessible.
"Oh, my gawd," Queen Isabel's friend Sienna ran up to them. "A limo just pulled up to the school."
A limo?" Alex asked.
"Yes, a limo, you...nice boy," Sienna was too much the follower to insult the chosen consort. "I think it's an actor. He was so totally hot."
"Who?"
"The guy in the limo. Armani suit. Not old, but more like, aged. Robert Redford, Paul Newman aged." She sighed, "Total hottie."
The steady babble of the quad became frenzied as news of the limo seeped in. Those swift of mind had already taken into account that there were no limosines in Roswell, this person had been driven in a limo through the desert highway.
And then it all stopped. The proclaimed hottie appeared on the quad in his proclaimed Armani suit wearing a visitor's pass.
He looked at the students, a little anxious. His eyes fell on their little group and Sienna let out another sigh.
"Maria?"
"Daddy?"
Maria ran into her father's arms. As he swung her up into his embrace, Liz was explaining everything to Alex, Is, and Max.
"It's her dad. He first called her a few days ago, he said he'd been looking for her all these years. She wasn't sure how she felt, but after a few phone calls, she asked him to come out here. That's what I couldn't tell you. Sorry."
Maria was crying and laughing and smiling. Amy DeLuca was right, they had the same laugh, same eyes.
But, Michael reflected, this was no surprise. That was how he had painted Maria's father.
Maria grunted as she pulled at the cardboard box from the closet's top shelf. Just a few more inches and she'd have it.
"Mooooom!" Maria screamed as the chair began to teeter beneath her
"Maria DeLuca! We have a step ladder for a reason," Amy put both hands on the back of the chair.
"I know," she answered penitently. "I just wanted to find this necklace." She jumped off the chair and plopped onto the bed, box in her lap. Shaw pawed through the box of never worn jewelry. Smiling, she found the small vial and slipped the silver chain around the neck.
"Cedar oil, sweetheart?" Amy didn't want to pry, for both their sakes, but it didn't mean she wouldn'tworry.
"Bubbles, actually. I thought it'd be a nice touch -you know, festive." Maria stood and smoothed out her cherry red, triple-tiered skirt. "What do you think?"
Amy sighed. Sometimes the hurt was too much, her life was one extended mistake from birth to...but Maria was no part of that. She loved her daughter and whenever she lapsed into the pain, she kept her daughter at arm's length for fear her daughter would blame her own birth. Whatever betrayals and scarring Amy had exchanged with Jeremy, she could never forget their brief liaison -it had given her this incandescent, sun-crowned daughter. The one right thing she'd done.
Amy sighed. Sometimes the hurt was too much, her life was one extended mistake from birth to...but Maria was no part of that. She loved her daughter and whenever she lapsed into the pain, she kept her daughter at arm's length for fear her daughter would blame her own birth. Whatever betrayals and scarring Amy had exchanged with Jeremy, she could never forget their brief liaison -it had given her this incandescent, sun-crowned daughter. The one right thing she'd done.
"You are beautiful, baby. He's always loved that color."
Maria took her mother into her arms, "He won't be here for a while longer. Let's go sit in the kitchen, I'll fill you in on Alex and Liz's love lives."
***
"Alex and Is get a sort of sick kick out of it. That's why they are, you know. Perverts to the core. I mean, I knew about Alex's proclivities but I had no idea about the princess." Maria shared a wry grin with her mom, "But I don't think Liz and Max really mind being stranded together, alone, every time we all make plans. I'm pretty sure they enjoy it. Max still acts standoff-ish about their relationship that way but he can't help himself from loving her. Liz knows he'll come around so she deals with his dysfunction. It's kind of cute, in a sort gross wet-calf way, I guess."
Amy looked at her daughter critically. She would be vibrant to a stranger's eyes, but Amy DeLuca knew her baby. "But what about your love life?"
Maria flinched, "It's no biggie. I've been so busy with dancing and singing and work, you know. Oh, and not to mention, school! I'm way into school these days. I heard it was good for your pores," she cracked.
Amy smiled. Though Maria's instructors had taken her on as a scholarship student, Amy'd had to scrape up the money for toe shoes and sheet music. But it had all been worth it. Her baby had talent. The recent revival of her interests had also brought color back into her daughter's cheeks. The first time she had heard Maria's plum like voice resonate from the bathroom shower in a year had been a pleasant shock. Amy often wondered what her own life would have been like if she'd found passion in art instead of physical touches alone.
"Besides, I've got you, Mom, and-"
The doorbell rang.
"Go ahead and answer it, honey, I've got start those pies, anyway."
Maria grabbed her mom's hand, "Mom? Please, say hi this time. It would, it means a lot to me.
She broke, "Just give me a minute, okay?"
Maria bounced through the kitchen door and came back with a bouquet of yellow stargazers. The tall man following her held another bunch of the lilies, he handed them shyly to Amy.
"Hello, Amy," his hand was trembling a little. She studied the man -the years had been kind. And, surprisingly, it didn't hurt to look into those green eyes anymore. She took the flowers and busied herselfwith finding a vase.
"Jeremy, it's been a long time."
"Yes," he sat down at the kitchen table holding Maria's small hand. Amy felt relief as she watched him watch their daughter. This man who could not love her would not be leaving her baby. "You look beautiful, though."
She blushed -but only a little. Maria sat back in her chair, eating it up. Having her father back was more than enough but if there was even the distinct possibility of a nuclear family...they weren't old, she could have a little brother!
"Jim Valenti is a lucky man."
Maria stopped dreaming but didn't feel so disappointed when her mother smiled in response, "Thank you."
An awkward silence.
He stood up, still holding Maria's hand. "Well, we have to get going. Rent starts at six. I'll have her back by eleven, okay?"
Amy nodded her assent with a small smile on her face,"Oh, Jeremy?"
He turned, half-afraid she wouldn't let him take their daughter.
***
She sat down on a the table and barely noticed when he locked the door behind him. Shaking her head in disbelief, Amy reached for the phone. Jim was off duty.
"And there was this time in middle school when Alex was feeling all unmanly because Isabel's new boytoy was a jock, right?" Jeremy gazed at his daughter fondly from across the table. "So me and Liz dress up in this football uniforms with pads and straps and just everything. We jumped him from after school with a football and played tacked on the front lawn of the school. Me and Liz were so bad, Alex looked like a pro." Maria bounced a little, happily slurping her virgin strawberry daiquiri. It was the closest thing the place had to a milkshake.
The ambient light of the overhead chandelier swung dancing flares over her head and the table. After the play, the limo had taken them to Mesa dela Estrella, a posh and exclusive restaurant hidden just off the desert highway. Maria had been so excite, she hadn't even known it existed. He smiled over her indecision of menu choices and her incredible grin when he'd told her they could keep coming back until she'd tried everything.
He laughed at his little girl's story. He didn't know how he'd gone so long without her, "Bet Alex doesn't feel unmanly now. Isabel is his girlfriend, right?"
Maria nodded as the water cleared away the remains of the walnut salad in preparation for their main course. Jeremy spared the young main a stern glare as the young man stared at his daughter. Not that Jeremy could really blame him, she was incandescent. Sun-crowned.
"Yup. Hey, uh, Daddy? Would you like to meet them?"
"Alex and Isabel?"
"Well, everybody. Alex, Max, Is, Liz," Maria giggled. Is and Liz. And didn't, sometimes, Max call her Izzy? Izzy and Lizzy, she'd have to share that.
He arched an eyebrow at her, "I thought there were five when I came to your school. Another boy?"
Maria frowned, "That's Michael Guerin. He's just Max's friend."
Jeremy noticed the blaze of pain cross her eyes but decided to pursue it later. "Sweetheart, I'd love to meet your friends. Tell you what, why don't we stop by the Crashdown for dessert. Maybe they'll be there?"
She beamed and squeezed his hand. Just then, the waiter reappeared carrying Chicken Kiev and Turkey Mole. Her eyes widened and her tongue darted across her lips in anticipation.
He laughed, "But there will be no eye-contact with the waiter. I see the way he's looking at you."
Maria blushed as the waiter rushed away from their table, "Oh, Dad! Don't embarrass me like that!"
"But, favorite daughter, isn't that what fathers do?"
"Favorite daughter," she arched her brow in a way reminiscent of his own. "Aren't I your only daughter? I mean, I am, aren't I?"
He took her chin in his and looked into the green eyes that were as clear as his own, "My only, ever. My favorite, always."
***
His blonde woman-child had fallen asleep on the way to the Crashdown so Jeremy carried her up the porch and rang the doorbell.
"Maria?" Amy's voice was sleep-mazed.
"It's Jeremy," he whispered. "Maria fell asleep."
She unlocked the door and ushered him inside. She showed into their daughter's room and tucked the blanket over her after he laid her down. For a moment they both looked at Maria with absolute love, then a flash of what might have been. Had things gone differently, this could have been a nightly ritual.
"Amy," he whispered, but not the way he had yearsbefore. We need to talk."
She nodded and led him into the living room. Their past had been whirlwind. They'd met at a California redwood rally. The air between them had been charged with passion and urges -but it had not been a tender thing. They had both known it, but in youth, the strong attraction was undeniable. They had fought and made up again and again for months. And when he'd told her he was leaving for Alaska, for minta trees and polar bears and that she would not be joining him, she hadn't been sad. But she had told him the truth, she was pregnant. He accused of making it up to traphim. Then he left.
The pregnancy had been rough, physically and mentally. Eighteen, she had nowhere to go. And she didn't know which hurt more, the rejection of accusation. The scorn of being an unwed mother and the hardship of providing had nearly devastated her. God knew that sometimes she drank too much. She knew, now, that it had never been love but the truth was no less bitter.
They sat down, looking at each other. Amy waited for him to speak. This man couldn't hurt her anymore; she was afraid, however, for her daughter. Though she'd witnessed the love she'd seen in his face, she couldn't stop thinking of her baby.
"Amy, I have to leave."
Oh, god, she'd heard those words before.
But this time, she would fight.
"No."
"I have to. It's business. I promised the firm to end this deal before I retired."
"No. You are not leaving my daughter, Jeremy. I swear to god I will shoot and stew you before you hurt Maria."
Incredibly, he laughed. "I wasn't planning on abandoning her, Amy. But I wanted to ask you first before I asked Maria. I want, Amy, can I take her with me? Please?"
Amy was shocked, "Where?"
"Europe. The business part is going to be in England, but I figured we could make a tour of it. Visit the continent, it could be educational." Fiercely, he added, "I can't make up for those years, Amy, but I will cherish her."
Amy watched him closely, saw his desperation. She considered what it must have felt like, she could afford kindness. "You have my permission. But youstill have to ask Maria."
"Thank you, Amy!" He hugged her briefly, lifting her off her feet. "You don't know how much this means to me! I'll take great care of her!"
She smiled and shooed him out of the door.
He walked backward towards the limo, still shouting, "Tell her I love her! Tell her I'll meet her friends tomorrow! And tell her I love her! A lot, okay? Amy, don't forget! More than anything!"
Maria sank into the cool and firm seat in the back of the limo surrounded by the deep smell of leather. For Maria, leather spoke of the past -something for which she'd always felt a lack. No more. She was the favorite daughter of a father now -not that her mother's love was worth less, it was just different. Her father -who had a name and a limo like right out of adolescent dreams. It would've been enough if he'd been broke and disinterested in her, but this man was everything she'd ever wanted in her dreams of family bliss.
But the limo was nice, too. Goodbye, Volkswagen Jetta. Hello, sleek, shiny, and running limousine. Finally, a car that didn't suck.
"Your car sucks!" "And so do you."
Another good thing about her father: in Europe, there was no Michael. She would be so far away, it would be like being on a whole different planet.
She hummed softly to herself as the limo pulled up to the school.
***
"Lizzy! Alex, where's your better half?" She ruffled his hair before enveloping them both in a power hug.
"Whoa, air," Liz gasped for breath.
Maria grinned sheepishly, "Sorry, just happy to see you."
"Oh, no," Alex returned. "That's not a happy to see you look. That is the same look from...,"Alex grimaced, struggled with the memory, then snapped his fingers in triumph. "First time you beat the crap out of Kyle!"
"Yeh, I did sort of mop up, huh?"
"Last time he ever tried to take my dodgeball." Alex fluttered hit eyelashes outrageously, "My hero."
Maria sniffed back some tears, "God, I'm gonna miss you. You are the best things in this one-horse town."
Liz put an arm around her best friend, "It's okay, Maria, we understand. You have to go, who else is going to feed me and Alex's need for cheesy souvenirs."
"She's right. I'm talking collectible silver spoons and stuffed animals. Actually, what I really want is some lederhosen." Alex did a little jig in front of his locker.
Maria smiled, "So, Liz, I take it you want a dirndl?"
"Oh, yeah, that's me. A little Alpine milkmaid," Liz fluttered her eyelashes in a much more attractive way than Alex had.
"Hey, what about me?" Max said as he and Isabel joined the group.
"For you, I'm thinking a beret."
Alex wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "Zee French, zey are zee best luhv-erz! Eh, mon cheri, Liz?"
Max and Liz blushed; Isabel threw her head back in laughter. The Ice Princess, Maria reflected, would never have done that. Alex had softened her defenses, let Isabel find herself secure in his unconditional love.
She would miss her Czechoslovakian friends, she admitted. It was like they fit perfectly into the little group Alex and Liz had formed in elementary school. Max and Is, anyhow.
Maybe the reason Michael didn't was herself. She wasn't like Alex or Liz, one to comfort or smooth things over despite rejection. Maria, even with two parents, had her own defenses
The warning bell rang out, disturbing the path of her musings.
"So, uh, I'll see you guys at lunch?"
You're not coming to geometry?" Is arched a perfect brow.
"I leave in four days, yeh, I'm going to waste my time in that pit of despair?" Maria arched her own (no less perfect) brow. "Besides, I've got to do some paperwork. Return this book from the library," she flashed the cover of Grapes of Wrath at them.
"I leave in four days, yeh, I'm going to waste my time in that pit of despair?" Maria arched her own (no less perfect) brow. "Besides, I've got to do some paperwork. Return this book from the library," she flashed the cover of Grapes of Wrath at them.
Maria tucked the book back in her messenger bag, "Yeah, I sort of never returned it. Truthfully, I didn't find it until last night when I reclaimed my room."
"Reclaimed?" Max inquired.
"You know, like from the wilderness," Liz laughed brightly. She looked down at her watch, "Oh, guys, we have to go. Unlike Ms. European Vacation over there, we have class."
"Go ahead, I'll check you all later," Maria agreed as she turned towards the library. Though the halls were empty, she walked close to the walls, running her fingers lightly along the cool plaster. Four more days, Friday never seemed more far away. Finally, she had found something better for her than Roswell.
Substitute a spaceship for a limo, and you know what I mean.
Maria faltered, nearly colliding with the library entrance as the memory flashed before steeling herself. I don't need this. I've got a father and a mother and -and Michael would do just fine on his own. He had Isabel and Max and his powers and his godamned stone wall.
***
The difference that marked the library from the rest of Roswell High (besides the books and emptiness and the accompanying quiet) was the light. The wall that joined it to the building was common plaster, but the two springing from it were glass connected by a panel of stained glass that looked like it belonged in a cathedral.
Shards of pale buttery gold, prismatic bone, and diaphanous windowpane swept through each other in a random, wild pattern. Maria saw herself moving through the beams, becoming a part of it. She could hear the soft, insistent pulse of rhythm -she could put words to that music; it would be like the sea slapping against sand. So very wild and akin to herself.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice interrupted.
She turned around, unconsciously clutching her bag.
The bearer of the voice held out a hand, "Hi. I'm Ms. Clarke, the librarian."
Maria shook it with as much grace as she could muster with her eyes once again planted on the stained glass. "It's gorgeous. I never knew..."
"But you know now," Ms. Clarke said gently. "It's enough."
With those words, Maria firmly remembered where she was. Pulling the book out of her bag, she said abashedly, "I'm returning a book. I have fines. Big fines."
Amazingly, the librarian laughed. "Ah, a lamb returns to the fold. Thank you."
That was it. No nagging or muttering about the uselessness of teenagers. Maria smiled as the woman punched the computer keys rapidly, "What do I owe you?"
"Thirty-five even." Ms. Clarke put the book on the nearby shelving cart.
"Wow, is that, like, a record? Do I get a ribbon?"
The woman laughed, "Not by a long shot, I've still got an APB from a book checked out in '79," she looked at the screen and cleared it, "Maria DeLuca. Maria. I know that name from somewhere."
"It's a fairly common name."
"No, I don't think that's it." Ms. Clarke's face clouded over briefly, "That's okay. I'll remember eventually. Now, what else can I do for you?"
"Well, I've got these checkout-papers I need to clear. I guess I can get them done now," Maria pulled the multi-colored sheets out of her bag.
The librarian grimaced good-naturedly, "Where's my young helper when I need him? I'm sure he wouldn't mind having this stack shoved on him since you're so lovely -Maria DeLuca! You're Michael's Maria!" The woman's smiled widened infinitely.
"Oh, I don't have a boyfriend." A beat, "Michael Guerin?"
"Yes, he's my library aide. He's a gem!" Ms. Clarke gushed while inconspicuously inspecting the small blonde. Michael was a very special young man, after all. While she had had no doubt of Michael's good taste, this girl who had completely enchanted him interested her. "And so talented. Do you see that?"
The librarian pointed to a forty by thirty painting of orchids curling around a trailer. The trailer was dirty and old but surrounded by the flowers as it was...sort of like what Liz said, but opposite: wilderness reclaiming. The painting shocked her -power without fanfare and something rooted...admittedly, the motif was rehashed and old-school, but the work remained unpretentious. It was generous in color, acrobatic in scope, so undiluted...
God, Maria thought, to be that beautiful.
Finally, outloud, she said, "Michael did that." To herself, she thought, this is one of the reasons I love him. In front of a painting like this, she would not lie.
Turning away from the painting and its implications, she said, "This place is something else. It's just gorgeous. I wish I'd known-,"
Ms. Clarke put a kind hand to the girl's cheek, "It's okay. If I may ask, where are you going?"
"London," she answered distractedly, "Then Italy and Spain, some other places."
"There's beauty there, too," Ms. Clarke said, seemingly aware that Maria wasn't speaking on the surface.
Hard to believe there was any left for the rest of the world after this room had taken it's lion's share.
"Oh," Maria wasn't sure what else to say. "Could you tell Michael I said, hello then?" It seemed unfair to visit this place which belonged to Michael without his awareness.
"Why don't you go say hi to him yourself. I think he's sleeping in the stacks back there." Ms. Clarke smiled, "Just give him a little shove, okay?"
Maria smiled back, not able to remember she'd felt this comfortable with an adult. Not since Grandma Claudia...
The light sound of snoring could be heard from around the corner in Reference. Running her hands against the book spines, she slowed. What would she say? Sorry, I intruded on your private sanctuary and haven't acknowledged your presence in a two weeks, by the way, have I told you I'm leaving the country?
She was pretty sure he already knew she was going, what with Is and Max, but he'd never said anything. Not that she would have stuck around to listen, she walked away when he was within speaking distance because it was so so hard not to touch him when he was near.
In the days when he touched her like it was necessary and not just about groping, she had thought that, maybe, there was something to be cherished between them. The way they moved together was too searing to be anything less.
She sighed and decided to leave. Better, this way she would not have to remember craving for and never receiving a heartfelt goodbye, some confessional spar of feeling.
She wanted him to miss her. To say so.
Maria saw herself :
Above a crystal bier crowned with honeysuckle and pink delphinium, Michael laid quietly. She reverently caressed his cold cheek and leaned into him, careful of the flowers.
When she kissed him, manna fell from the sky onto grass.
A castle appeared and a black jagged tower, which fell. The castle spired into the sky, gleaming like a pearl.
They stood together on the water, which sang to them. He pulled her in and whispered, "You came."
"Maria?" Michael shook himself, he'd awakened to find her staring dumbly at the stained glass wall behind him, one hand placed on a bookshelf holding her upright.
"Oh, I just stopped in to return a book and the lady up front told me you were here so I wanted to say hi," she responded quickly. "But I can see that you're sleeping, so I'm gonna go. Okay?"
"Sure," her appearance in the library evoked somewhat a different reaction than Max's.
"Hey, I just wanted to tell you, I hope you have a good trip."
So he knew.
He went on, "I'm just glad one of us got out."
She hid her face from his smile, he was glad. "Thanks, I'll send you a postcard or something, okay."
She fled, taking only a moment to say goodbye to the librarian.
"Uh, I have to go get some more paperwork cleared but thanks, you know, for showing me the library."
Ms. Clarke looked up from her computer and cup of cafe au lait. "No problem, do you want a mug before you go."
Maria looked closer, it was suspiciously pink as if something red had been added...
She shook her head, twisted Snow White daydreams and suspecting the librarian of being Czechoslovakian? She had to get out of this town.
Later, sighing before a mirror with the benefit of bathroom lighting, she splashed water on her face. He was glad she was leaving.
***
"Max! Stop being such a hog!" Isabel snorted ungracefully and grabbed the bottle of Tabasco from her brother. He snatched it back and bopped her on the shoulder before she could uncap it. War declared, the two began to tug on the sauce bottle.
Maria, Liz, and Alex watched in complete amusement as the siblings battled.
"You know," Alex began conversationally, "I've always wondered why you don't you just use ketchup like normal people-"
"Normal humans," Isabel interrupted despite her attack on Max.
"Let me finish. And then use your almighty molecular powers to change it into Tabasco. Less unsightly bottles that way. And much cheaper. Not to mention, inconspicuous."
Alex caught the bottle as both Evans' loosened their grip on it. They looked at each other in amazed silence as Alex's idea soaked into their brains once again setting Liz and Maria into laughter.
Alex patted Max on the shoulder and said comfortingly, "You will learn, young grasshopper, one day you will be as wise as me. One day, grasshopper."
Liz gave her best friend a sidelong glance, noticing the marks of hard scrubbing on her fair skin. She nudged her softly and mouthed, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she replied a smile on her face. "Just mentally packing, you know."
Liz hugged Maria, not believing her.
***
Above a crystal bier crowned with apples and rampion, Michael laid quietly. She reverently brushed his lips with her fingers, tracing the length his smile would take and leaned into him carefully.
When she kissed him, salt fell from the sky onto grass and gathered on his still form.
White as bone, it encased him like a moth in cocoon.
A black tower appeared and a spiring pearl castle, which fell. The tower plunged cloudward into the starless sky.
She stood alone in the water, which was clogged with salt. She clawed at the cocoon refusing to acknowledge thehis contented smile traced through stiff salt.
After the friction of her hands and the cocoon had grated her flesh she noticed the salt mixing with the blood, stinging. Her body shaking violently, drops of it fell, slowly, into the still waters. Then the faces appeared beneath the sheen of water, howling:
You took you took you took
Maria woke up, sweating and thirsty. Asking herself, "What the hell?"
"-never went home last night."
"-still in yesterday's clothes."
"Oh, god-"
"-alright?"
"-can't stay, gotta be moved, now."
"-collapsed in our driveway."
"-so scared right now."
***
Moving through the crowds of people in the hall prior to the warning bell, Maria felt weak. She'd never had such full-bodied dreams before and they scared at her. She'd been surprised to find her hands were not ragged strips but the dissonance of Michael encased in salt was so much as to keep the surprise pleasant.
She hadn't experienced anything so horrifyingly graphic since Isabel had made a guest appearance-
"Oof!" Maria fell to the ground, cogent enough to be glad she wasn't carrying books.
"Oof!" Maria fell to the ground, cogent enough to be glad she wasn't carrying books.
"Oh, hey, Maria," Max said distantly as he helped her up.
"No harm, no foul."
Well, okay then," Max turned away
"What's your hurry?"
"No hurry, just class. School, you know?"
The five-minute bell rang.
"Actually, Max, I wanted to ask you about Michael."
He looked her in the eyes. She noticed the tense set of his shoulders.
"What do you mean?"
"Um, is something wrong I mean, you know, he's good right?"
"He tends to be self-sufficient when he's not being, uh, Michael-ish."
Ordinarily, Maria would have laughed. "Oh, okay."
He waited until he turned right before he broke into a run towards the parking lot, vaguely making out her parting, "Are you sure?"
***
"Maria DeLuca?"
"Hi, I came back." She smiled half-heartedly, one-hand still planted on the stained glass wall.
"I'm glad, I've got your paperwork done." Ms. Clarke led her to the office. "I had that wall put in specially. Years ago, I wasn't sure why."
"It's comforting," Maria responded. Though she'd slept hours last night, she was tired but too terrified to fall asleep.
"Actually, Maria, I wanted to ask if you've seen Michael today? He was supposed to come in today and he never came. It's never happened before
"I haven't seen him either." She hadn't seen anyone today, except for Max in the hall.
"Well, do you think you could take him something for me?" Ms. Clarke pointed to a paper-wrapped square, "Michael's art project, Mr. Hinds said he didn't dare keep it in the classroom."
"Sure thing."
"Thanks, Maria. Michael's lucky to have such a good friend."
"Yeah..."
Ten minutes later, the blonde was breaking into Liz's bedroom through the window. She had walked because she couldn't very well take the limousine on a truant's quest. Finding no one there, she went on to the Evans'. None of them had been in school. Not Michael, Liz, Isabel, Max, or Alex. No way was this a coincedence.
Even though she'd grown up in Roswell, Maria could appreciate the New Mexico sun. She was wearing four-inch platforms that had never been meant for anything more strenuous than crossing your legs. Why the hell did Alex have to live so far away?
She could see the jeep through the Whitman's open garage. What is going on, she thought as she collapsed on the doormat.
***
"I can barely see him," Isabel said again.
"What do you mean you can't see him? He's right there." Alex patted a comatose Michael on his bed
"No, she's right," Max answered tersely. "He's fading and I can't sense him."
"Try touching him," Liz suggested. There had to be a reasonable answer for this. "Maybe it's an alien thing."
Max's hand swept right through chest and didn't stop until it hit the comforter.
"What are we gonna do, Max?" Isabel clung to Alex. "How can we heal him if we can't touch him?"
Liz spoke up, finding an inner calm contrary to Isabel's desperate sobbing. "Is he...resting?"
"I can't tell, Liz, I can't even...," Max broke off, shaken by his friend's condition.
Alex let go off Isabel and placed her in Max's arms. They needed to touch each other right now. He put his hand over Michael's chest, then his mouth, "He's breathing steadily. Shallowly, but steady."
"So do you think he's dreaming? Because maybe if he's dreaming, Isabel can...check it out?"
"So do you think he's dreaming? Because maybe if he's dreaming, Isabel can...check it out?"
"Not Isabel, I'll do it. It's my responsibility."
"No, Max. I'm better at dreamwalking than you." She went to lie down next to Michael but offered one hand to both Max and Alex. Her brother and her boyfriend both squeezed her tight and Liz placed herself at the foot of the bed.
***
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***
Liz had to hold down Isabel's legs once she started convulsing.
Clouds of steam began to billow from Michael's still form. It was the sort of steam that made your skin blister if you put your face over an open boiling pot. Liz could feel the sores on her cheeks and saw them on Alex, too, through the steam.
"Alex, we have to get out of here," she screamed, trying to ignore the pain.
"We have to take her with us -she's starting fade, too!"
"Downstairs, hurry!"
"I won't leave him," Max screamed as he opened the door for them.
Liz and Alex practically tumbled down the stairs holding Isabel's swollen body. Panting, they dropped her on the couch and watched as the steam began to fill the rest of the house.
"Water," Liz rasped. "I'm dry."
"Me, too," Alex said agreed. He had difficulty pouring them drinks. He looked down at his blistered hands; "This was not the best idea."
"Water helps, we should bring some up to Max."
"Go ahead, I'll try to get some into Is-"
A scream split through the dissolving steam. Max's.
***
"I had to," Max whispered, his entire body glowing silver. Like Isabel, his eyes were sunken and it looked like they were going to slide off the couch.
"I couldn't get in." Isabel repeated, "I couldn't get in. It was like, there wasn't anything to get into. I've never felt anything like that."
She paused, "But it hurt."
Liz sighed; Max had healed all of them though he had been exhausted; the steam had disappeared through open windows. She looked at him, "What happened?"
"After you left, I could see him, touch him. It helped, I thought that if I did, maybe it'd...help enough."
"He drained us," Isabel said. "Why?"
"I CHOOSE HIM!" Michael's scream was deafening. Alex and Liz raced upstairs to find him thrashing, moaning.
Liz grabbed a sock out of Alex's top drawer, and moving quickly, stuffed it in Michael's mouth. "Calm down," she crooned, "You'll choke yourself."
By degrees, he subsided. By the time Isabel and Max had made it up the stairs, supporting each other, Liz had taken out the sock.
Max took Michael's hand. Isabel sat next to him on the bed and cradled his face. Running her fingers through his hair she asked, "What's happening, Michael? Do you know."
Michael put a finger to his lips, "Can't tell you, Izzy. Secret." His eyes lit up faintly and he leaned forward conspiratorially, "I did it. Are you proud of me?"
The four exchanged confused looks.
"What did he do?" Alex voiced for all of them. "What did he do to himself?"
***
Water churned around her waist. The faces had swallowed up Michael; she dove down through droves of small jawed fish until her hair caught in the sharp coral. It lashed her as the waves tossed her body back and forth, she broke against it losing a bit of her scalp. She ignored the sea salt working its way into wound, she was deep now where the fish had no eyes. Crawling on the ocean floor, she scraped her knees on shell and became lost in the algae.
It was too dark, she couldn't see anything. She could feel faces made out in water, they pressed against her body buoying her up, carrying her. They had little teeth that scratched when they groaned wordlessly.
They brought her into a hall lit by phosphorescent slugs. Bonelessly, she drifted to Michael when the emerald scales of his tail blinded her. She held out her arms. She tried to call out but the water rushed into her, it filled she was going to be torn apart.
Then a great wave swept through the hall, bearing her back up to the sky. She could see the ruins of a castle and a black tower's base, both smothered by the white salt sea.
Before the sea crumbled and the sky with it, she saw one spot of color. The observation was almost divorced from herself: Distantly, was Michael that in the embrace of her wave's twin? She only saw his emerald tail bobbing up and down.
Maria gasped for air when the dream broke.
It took her a moment to realize she was lying face down in the Whitman's welcome mat. Gathering herself she rapped on the door.
"Maria?" Alex was surprised to see her, school had not let out yet.
"What's going on, Alex?" She shouldered her way past him. "What the hell is going on? What's wrong with Michael? Where is he?"
"Maria-"
"Why would something be wrong?" Isabel cut in, suspicious. She was still, as ever, protective of her brothers. As much as she liked Maria, the girl had still shown up here without having been informed.
"Why are you all here then?" Maria stepped closer to the taller girl, anger edging into her voice.
Alex tried to placate them both, "Why don't we all just sit down?"
Isabel's eyes narrowed, "You," she hissed. "What have you done?" Alex had to step between them to keep Isabel from clawing at Maria.
"Me? What have I done? I'm a victim here I never wanted any of you in my sleep! I never asked for weird, freaky mermaid dreams to pull me out of consciousness! Where's Michael? If he's the one who done this, I want it fixed!"
Alex took Maria aside, "Look, Maria, you're angry. Isabel's angry. Why don't we just take some time and I'll tell you what's going on later. Deal?"
"Alex," she snarled warningly.
Firmly, he replied, "Later. I promise."
"Fine," she looked down at her watch. "I gotta meet my dad anyway."
***
"He's gone," Max said quietly when Isabel returned upstairs.
"No," she grabbed at where Michael should have been.
"I can still see him, Isabel, just barely," Liz affirmed.
"It's Maria," Isabel said.
"Now, you don't-"
"You heard her yourself, Alex! She's stealing his dreams somehow."
"Maria wouldn't do that."
"Liz is right, Is." Max held his sister. "I'm scared, too. But you remember what Michael said, that he did something?"
"That's vague," Alex said.
"And he asked if you were proud," Liz frowned. "Was there anything he was trying to do."
"Oh, my god, Max, the painting." Isabel grabbed her head between her hands. "That night, on the rock...do you think he did it?"
Did what, Isabel?" Alex asked.
"He was going to try to paint something into life." Max explained, "He got the idea from some fairy tale. I thought he gave it up, though. He never mentioned it after that night."
"He never mentioned the dreams either."
"What night?" Liz asked.
"The day he made that cake," Max tried to remember. "What if he did and whatever kind of monster he created is stealing his life force?"
"Whoa," Alex said. "Don't you think that's kind of far fetched? It sounds like a bad B-movie. You know, siphoning alien brains."
"We don't know," Is said. "Anything is possible."
"Okay," Liz spoke up. "So we go and find Michael's paintings and destroy them?"
They stopped to stare at him. Finally Max answered, "Let's not even deal with that thought yet. Alex and I will drive to the school and see if he's got anything there. He wouldn't have left anything at Hank's. You two stay and watch Michael."
"What about Maria?"
"She's with her dad right now," Isabel felt guilty. "I don't want to bother her. We'll call her later."
***
"And we go ski in Zurich or see the fjords in Norway," Jeremy told his daughter. She was cuddled next to him, a stack of tour guides in front of them. "Oh, and you'll love Germany, they have the best food: schnitzel, bratwurst, and brotchen."
"Cool, I promised Liz I'd get her a dirndl!"
Jeremy hugged Maria, "And, of course, we'll have to get Alex lederhosen."
She laughed; he was great. The incident with Isabel had left her mind. She didn't need anyone but her dad.
***
"Thanks, Mr. Hinds," Max told the art teacher. "Michael thought he should start to keep them all at home."
"No problem, they were starting to clutter the room, anyway. Actually, about his final project-"
"Max!" Alex yelled from down the hall. "Motor's running, come on."
"Oh, gotta go, Mr. Hinds. Thanks again."
"Did you get them all?"
"Yeah, come on, help me with them." The two boys loaded the paintings into the jeep.
***
"There are only seven?" Isabel asked.
"Not including the domes, but I think those were made too long ago."
"And the one in the library but we checked it out," Max added.
"Okay, so what do we have?" Liz began to unwrap the paintings.
They worked slowly, not sure what they wanted.
"These are all landscapes and still lifes," Max said, finally.
"So we're thinking Venus Fly Trap-Little Shoppe o' Horrors maybe," Alex deadpanned.
"Alex, this isn't the time."
"I'm serious."
"Hey, stop, you guys," Liz broke in. "There's one left."
"It's heavier."
Isabel touched it, "I don't feel anything special about it."
"Who says you should?" Max said impatiently
"No."
"What is it? We can't see, Liz."
Liz swallowed hard as she turned the panel around
"Oh my god, that's-"
"Look at the date on it, Isabel, it's the night Michael got his powers under control."
"Max," Alex's voice had lost all humor, "How did he know...?"
"He's right," Liz said, "This is before we ever met him. That's just before Maria started getting the phone calls. Max, how did he know what Maria's dad looked like?"
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