Chapter Five
When she spoke, she startled him.
If he had been more aware of his surroundings, of himself, Max might have been surprised by Liz's ability to sneak up on him. In fact, it was the first time in his life anyone had ever been able to do so, but it would have been especially worrisome to him that it was Liz of all people who managed to spook him, because she was the one person in the world he was always aware of without even trying... that is, if Max was in the right frame of mind to worry. But he wasn't. He was so relaxed that his body was almost numb, and, for some reason unknown to Max, he was also sad and depressed as well. The fact that he felt that way when everything in his life was seemingly going smoothly made him angry. Inside, he was jumbled and confused, he couldn't focus, and all he really wanted – and needed – was another drink. Yes, just a little more alcohol and he'd be flying high again. His energy would snap back, his mood would return to an even keel, and Liz would finally notice him enough to realize that, not only was he in love with her, but she had feelings for...
"Max, are you alright?"
He moved so suddenly when her voice broke the stillness that he snapped to attention, his eyes ricocheting open and the nearly empty bottle clasped loosely in his right hand slipping out and down onto the jeep's floorboards where it rolled haphazardly, spilling nearly all of its precious remaining contents.
"God damn it, Liz," he growled, glaring at her momentarily before reaching down to rescue his bottle. "Look what you did!"
"I'm sorry," she offered meekly, and, though a part of him felt like an ass for hurting her feelings and yelling at her, the more dominant part of Max's new personality was just furious with her for causing him to mess up yet again and look like an idiot. "But, I mean, it's just water, right, so it won't stain, or make your floorboards sticky, and it's not like it isn't easily replaceable. There are at least a dozen water fountains inside of the school... not that you would know."
He detected a note of censure in her last few words, but the fact that she was reprimanding him when he had done nothing wrong further proved to irritate Max. "What's that supposed to mean," he snapped.
Though she flinched at his tone, he watched as her back stiffened and her shoulders squared. She was like a tiny, beautiful sergeant – her cheeks flushed with determination and her hair wind tossed from the cool, desert breeze – going into battle. "It means where were you this afternoon, Max? Not only did you miss our NHS meeting, but you..."
"Look, I had better things to do with my time then sit around and make plans for yet another stupid dance or fundraiser."
"Oh, so you mean you were studying... you know, since you're on academic probation and can't come to meetings," she volleyed back, catching him off guard for the second time that afternoon.
"How do you know that?"
Her voice softened, her gaze became concerned and probing. "I was worried about you," Liz confessed. "You're usually the first one to arrive at all our meetings. We sit together. You make sure I eat; I make sure you feel like you fit in. So, when you weren't there..."
He cut her off, embarrassed by her explanation. "I never asked for your pity."
"It's not pity, Max. We're friends." When he went to override her once more, she plowed on, refusing to be cut off. "And, because we're friends, I asked Mrs. Hardy if she knew why you had missed the meeting, thinking maybe something was wrong... like you were sick, or hurt, or I don't know."
"And let me guess: she told you that a few of my grades have slipped? And here I thought such information would have been personal and private."
"It's not like that," she defended.
"Oh really," he challenged, a mocking note entering his voice. "Then tell me, Liz, what is it like?"
"Look, even if Mrs. Hardy wouldn't have said anything, I would have put the pieces together on my own eventually. I mean, we share every class together, Max, and we sit by each other in most of them. Not that I've been purposely spying on you or anything, but I've seen some of your recent test scores. They haven't been pretty. And I've seen you talking before and after class with more than one teacher who looked concerned. And, then, after you missed today's meeting, you didn't show up for any of our classes. Where were you," she asked, crossing her arms and cocking her hips in what he perceived to be a challenging stance. It told him that she wasn't going to back down or give up until she got some answers from him. "Were you just sitting out here this whole time, sleeping?"
"Look, I don't know why you care about this. It's none of your business."
"Someone has to care," she returned heatedly, ignoring his directive, "because it's obvious that you don't."
"Just back off, Liz," he warned her. Smirking cruelly, he added, "not all us can be perfect like you, Parker." She visibly flinched, the old taunt hitting its mark just like he had meant it to, while, at the same time, he hadn't even realized that he was aiming to hurt her. Instantly feeling contrite, he sat up straight in the jeep's driver seat, his head swimming with the sudden movement, but Max was too focused upon his dreamgirl to take notice. "I'm so sorry," he apologized profusely, sincerely.
"I can't believe... I can't believe you said that to me," she replied, stumbling over her words as she struggled to reign in her hurt emotions.
"I didn't mean it, I swear," he vowed.
"A part of you must have if you said it in the first place."
With a shaking hand, he lifted his bottle to his trembling lips. He needed a drink. Suddenly, everything was too bold, too much. His feelings were out of control, and he didn't know what to say or what to do to make things better with Liz. But then he was no longer holding his saving grace. Opening his eyes, he saw that she had managed to grab the bottle out of his grasp.
"No, Max," she told him when he reached to reclaim what Liz had no idea to be nearly straight, high proof vodka. She avoided his efforts, though. "For once, you're not going to hide from me, or distract me, or pretend to be doing something else long enough that I forget the fact that you owe me some answers." He had no idea what she was talking about, yet, at the same time, he knew that everything she accused him of to be true. "What is going on with you?"
He decided to tackle the easiest explanation first, and, really, it was the only one he could give her. "I honestly didn't mean... what I said... the way I said it. Yes, I kind of used your nickname, but I wasn't making fun of you or trying to be mean, Liz." Lowering his voice to a whisper, he confessed, "you don't get it. To me, you really are perfect."
"Max...?"
"And I know my grades are slipping, but there just doesn't seem to be enough time in the day to do everything now. Between basketball practice, and games, and coach insisting that we spend time together off the court as a team to strengthen our chemistry on the court, by the time I get home every night, the last thing I want to do is study for our latest calc test or write yet another English paper. And, now, the baseball coach has been hassling me about playing for him, too, and he has me coming to open gym practices before school starts in the morning, and I... I can't keep up with everything."
She stepped closer to him, completely astounding Max when she slipped her free hand into his left one. Squeezing his fingers gently, Liz told him, "I wish you would have said something. If you want, I could help you study. Since all of our classes are the same, I know all your assignments. I could help you keep track of what's due and when. You could come in during my shifts and sit at the counter, and, when I'm off, we could meet at the library or even work out on my balcony." Grinning impishly, Liz added, "plus, you see, I kind of have an in with the owners of the CrashDown, so I could totally get us free study food, too. And you'd be doing me a favor as well, because it gets so boring sometimes doing my schoolwork by myself. Alex is too into his computers, and Maria firmly believes that homework is an option that she doesn't need to say yes to. In fact," she continued, totally on a roll at that point, "I'm off tonight, so you'd have me to yourself for hours. I'm sure we could get you caught back up on all your classes in no time."
It was everything he had wanted to hear from Liz Parker for years. She wanted to spend time with him outside of school. She invited him to her home, into her bedroom, and onto her balcony. She basically asked him to have dinner with her, which, in high school terms, was practically a date. But he was torn. Somewhere in his mind, what was once so easy to determine – the truth – was now jumbled. Everything was twisted, and tied together, and confused. Max forgot the fact that, unlike everyone else at West Roswell High, Liz had been the only person to ever treat him decently before he had changed. Now, he associated her looking at him, her talking to him, her befriending him with his new life – with the drinking, and the socializing, and the basketball playing, and, if he went with her that evening, he'd have to blow off practice, and, if he blew off practice, he'd risk his place on the team, and, in his convoluted mind, that also meant risking his place in Liz Parker's life as well.
"But... but I have practice," he stuttered, unsure of what to do, what to say.
"Max, practice won't matter if your grades drop to the point where you can't play at all."
Bitterly, he retorted, "if Kyle Valenti can somehow manage to maintain his GPA in order to stay academically eligible, then I think I can handle it, Liz, but thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Yeah," she returned sarcastically as she wrenched her hand from his grasp, "because Kyle's such a great example and role model."
At a loss for what he should do next, say next, needing fortification, needing help, Max, without thought, reached, once more, for the bottle of his that Liz was still holding. When she noticed his actions, though, she became suspicious. "What the hell, Max?! I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you, and all you can think about is a drink of water?" As if realizing how insane her own accusations were, a hesitantly curious expression flickered across her features. "I mean, that is what is in this bottle, right," she asked, lifting it to her nose.
He lunged out of his seat to stop her, but she backpedaled away from him effortlessly, a look of horror flashing through her eyes as she discovered his secret. Quickly, though, she shadowed her gaze, hiding her feelings from him further. Dumping out the contents of his bottle, she then threw the empty container back in his direction as harshly as she could. It hit him squarely in the chest. Despite the fact that it physically didn't hurt him, the impact still stung emotionally.
"I can't believe... why... I never...," Liz tripped over her words, continually moving further and further away from him. Shaking her head softly as though to clear away her thoughts, she finally accused, "I guess I never really knew you at all, Max Evans."
And then she was gone.
His arms dropped to his sides, his water bottle falling forgotten on the school parking lot's pavement. Woodenly, Max climbed into his jeep, started its engine, and drove away. Just moments prior, his basketball practice had meant so much to him that he had been willing to turn down Liz's offer to spend the evening together, studying, but, by destroying any bond he might have had with her, by realizing that, no matter what, she could never understand him, and he would never be good enough for her, everything in his life became meaningless. And then the anger – at himself, at his parents, at the school, at his teachers, at his fellow classmates, at fate for making him so different, and at Liz for turning her back on him – rushed back with a vengeance. Gritting his teeth, Max roared into the wind of the passing scenery, slamming the jeep's abused engine into yet another higher gear. When his vision started to blur, he blamed it on his speed, refusing to admit that he had lost his precious, precarious control and was crying. Rather, instead, he simply drove faster.
; : ;
Max was not in the mood to deal with Sheriff Valenti.
Again.
He was already upset. With the scene with Liz playing on repeat through his mind, he could barely restrain himself from turning the jeep around and going back to her. Whether he would beg for her forgiveness or demand it, he wasn't sure, and, if it wasn't for the last sane thread of his intellect which had convinced him neither option would garner him the results he sought, Max probably would have resorted to both. Added to that was his confusion. He had done everything in his power to be as normal as he possibly could be, but, despite this and its consequences – the recognition; the athletic success; his confidence to approach, talk, and now spend time with Liz, he found that he was no happier than he had been months before as the ignored if not slightly feared recluse of West Roswell High.
With all of his roiling emotions spiking his senses despite the steady stream of liquor he had imbibed on throughout the day, by the time he noticed the flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror, Max had been tempted to use those powers to send Valenti off the road. For a moment, he considered harming the Sheriff – just finally taking care of one of his problems so he could shed at least some of his ineptness. It wasn't until he realized in which direction his thoughts, his impulses were taking him that Max finally slowed down and pulled over. Minutes later, he was still upset. Despite everything he had been forced to deal with because of his other-ness, Max had never been afraid of himself or his alien side. In one afternoon, with one dark, selfish, destructive thought, that had all changed.
As he waited for the Sheriff to step out of his vehicle and approach him, Max considered just... running away. He could leave Roswell, leave New Mexico. He could change his identity, become someone new, and no one would have to deal with Max Evans – disappointing son, incompetent extraterrestrial, failed human – again. He would never have to deal with Max Evans again. He could disappear and never be heard from again. The idea was tempting, perhaps too tempting, and there was just one thing which kept him from shifting the jeep out of park and into gear: the thought of leaving Liz Parker behind forever was just too horrifying for Max to consider. Even if she no longer wanted anything to do with him, he knew that he would take a lifetime of watching and loving her from the shadows than nothing at all.
"You know the drill, Mr. Evans. License and registration, please."
Without saying a word, he reached for his glove compartment and removed the necessary paperwork for the Sheriff. Valenti gave the documents a cursory glance before lifting his gaze and his scrutiny back up to Max's face. "Claiming a migraine isn't going to cut it this time, son."
"Was I speeding, officer," he asked politely, and, honestly, Max had no idea what he had done wrong. His mind had been so far beyond such inconsequential concerns as the speed limit or even what he had been doing that any reason the Sheriff gave as to why he pulled him over would be news – not shocking news but still news – to Max.
"Among other things. I need you to step out of the vehicle, Mr. Evans."
Reaching for the driver's side door handle, he prepared to follow directions but hesitated for a moment. "Is there a problem, Sir?"
"Just step out of the vehicle, Mr. Evans." This time, he complied, the steel lining Valenti's voice informing him that the older man was not going to back down. He wobbled slightly, the shock of standing after being seated for so long catching him off guard, but Max quickly righted himself and then waited for his next instructions. "Now, I'm going to need you to walk in a straight line down the center of the road, please."
"Excuse me?"
"Son, you're already in enough trouble as it is," Valenti warned him. "Just do what you're told and quit talking back already."
So, Max walked in a straight line. And then he recited his alphabet backwards. And then had to multitask – pointing to his nose while rubbing his stomach at the same time. Finally, when the Sheriff asked him to blow into a breathalyzer, he both realized what he was being suspected of and failed to keep his mouth shut any longer. "You think I've been drinking? I've already passed all your stupid tests. You have no grounds to..."
Valenti interrupted him, "Son, not only were you speeding before I pulled you over, but you were weaving all over the road, and your breath reeks like alcohol."
Denying the facts while still telling the truth, he excused, "I had a fight with... with a friend." When the cop didn't react and simply stared back at him, his reflective aviators hiding his thoughts and emotions behind their mirrored surface, Max scrambled, "as for the alcohol smell, I had some cough syrup... for a cold. That's why I'm not in practice either."
"And driving around the middle of the desert at excessive speeds," the Sheriff finished, disbelievingly. "Right." Hardening his voice even further, he said, "Mr. Evans, I've been a cop now for more than twenty years. If you think that I haven't heard these same excuses from drunk drivers a thousand times before, then you're an even bigger fool that I thought you were five minutes ago. I don't care if you passed the field sobriety tests, you're not sick, and you're certainly going to blow above the legal limit. Now, blow into the damn breathalyzer, or I'm taking you in for resisting arrest as well."
While Max didn't believe he was drunk, he also couldn't risk an underage. Forget school, forget basketball, and even forget how let down his parents would feel, he couldn't stand the idea of having to face Liz with yet another failure. He was already ashamed of his grades and how he had treated her that afternoon. While Liz was a compassionate, caring, and forgiving person, he knew that drunk driving was not something she would tolerate from her friends, and he couldn't lose her. Not yet. Not when he had finally managed to become a real part of her life.
So, with this refrain warning his thoughts and disguising all Max's common sense, he did the only thing he could think of to escape Valenti's detection: he used his powers to spark and melt the handheld breathalyzer. Suspicions or no suspicions, without the little machine, the Sheriff couldn't prove anything, especially since he had aced the other challenges put before him by the older man.
Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, though, Valenti merely pursed his mouth into a tight frown and tossed the breathalyzer aside. "It looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way," the Sheriff told him. "Turn around and put your hands on top of your head." Dumbfounded, Max obeyed. "Mr. Evans, you are under arrest for suspicion of driving under the influence and underage drinking. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to..."
As the famed Miranda Warning was issued to him, Max zoned out and blocked Valenti's voice. He didn't need to hear his rights. He already knew what they were. Rather, he thought about how he was going to have to convince the Sheriff to try a different breathalyzer rather than performing a blood test – something he should have thought about before his impetuous actions, how he hoped that Valenti drove straight to the Sheriff's office and didn't happen to make a stop at the CrashDown for a cup of coffee as he was known to do, and how he had no idea how he was going to explain his actions to his parents. But most of all Max thought about how a drink would take the edge off of the moment, how just a small sip of anything alcoholic would brace him for the coming evening and the highest pressures he had ever been forced to face.