Dating an Alien Pop Star

by Kendra L. Saunders

  *

  We arrive back at the hotel after a ride that puts Griffin to sleep and even makes me nod off for a bit, leaned against his shoulder. As we pull up near the front entrance of the hotel, I realize there are a lot of people standing outside.

  More than a lot. A full-sized crowd.

  “Wonder what’s going on at the hotel?” I say, waking Griffin. We stare together out the window, and I hope silently that the crowd is for someone else. “Maybe a famous actor is staying at our hotel.”

  “Nah, it’s probably for me,” he says, and I sense something almost like anxiety in his voice. “Look, someone’s got a sign with my name on it.”

  Sure enough, I spot a couple of handwritten signs with Griffin’s name on them.

  One of the bodyguards steps out of the car first, holding the door open for Griffin. I expect him to hang back, to let someone clear a path for him, but instead, he takes an audible deep breath and leaps out of the car. His posture says he’s confident, maybe even arrogant, but I can feel the static around him that tells a different story.

  “Hello, everyone!” he says as I’m climbing out of the car. I haven’t told him yet about the gossip websites or the mean things people are tweeting at him, so all I can do is desperately hope no one brings it up. “I’m flattered and honored that you came out here to see me. Tonight’s show was wonderful, and I invite all of you to watch it on my website. I’m very tired, though, and I’d like to go to my room to get some rest. I have a lot of very important work in the morning. If you’ll be kind enough to allow me through, I would appreciate it.”

  Before I can stop him, Griffin steps out into the crowd.

  It really seems almost like they swallow him. One second, I can see his wisps of hair sticking up at haphazard angles, and then, he disappears from my sight in a crush of arms, faces, and screams.

  I press into the crowd, pushing and shoving my way toward Griffin. From behind, it looks as if he’s being devoured, hands grabbing at his clothes, head, and hair. I can tell by the tension in his shoulders that he’s closing in on himself, even as I see him batting uselessly at the sea of strangers around him.

  As I fight my way closer, I call for Griffin, but I don’t think he can hear me. He raises his hand, snapping his fingers, but nothing happens, so he snaps them again and then again. He sways sideways and loses his balance. I reach him just in time to catch him from falling and cling tightly to him. One of the bodyguards follows at my heels and walks by Griffin and me, clearing a path toward the hotel.

  “Racist!” someone yells, and I pray they’ll shut up. “Racist!” A few other voices join in, hurling insults, though thankfully, most of the crowd seems more interested in touching Griffin rather than hurting him, as we struggle through.

  It’s just as we reach the entrance to the hotel, where a couple of doormen rush out to help us, that someone says, in a very clear voice, “You’re nothing but an over-privileged brat, Valentino. Go back to England, you racist bastard!”

  Griffin shudders, craning his neck to try to find who said it, but we tug him into the safety of the hotel.

  As we burst into the hotel lobby, two members of the staff approach us with terrified looks across their faces. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Valentino,” one of them says. “We called for security, but they’re… they’re on their way. They—they—”

  Griffin, for his part, pushes away from his bodyguards and me, saying “Don’t touch me!” as if his life depends on it. After a few deep breaths, he casts a wild look at the apprehensive hotel staff members. “It’s alright,” he says with a jerky nod. “I’m going to my room. Just see to it that there’s not… not a crowd in the morning, would you?” With that, he turns and walks to the elevator without another word, managing to catch one alone before any of us can join him.

  I have to take an elevator ride with a bunch of nervous bodyguard aliens. Never a fun time, I’ll tell you that.

  As soon as the doors open, I burst from the elevator and run to our suite, knocking on the door until Kammie opens it. I can hear Dev’s voice and feel his concern even before I can see him. “Did something happen to your eye, Griff?”

  Griffin’s stationed close to the bed, the heel of one of his hands ground against his eye and his whole body rigid, as if he expects to be jumped at any moment. Dev, conversely, is in motion, orbiting his friend around and around.

  “My eye’s fine,” Griffin says, though he hasn’t stopped rubbing it.

  One of the bodyguards crosses the room in two long strides and takes hold of Griffin by the head, placing one huge finger on Griffin’s eyelid so he can inspect his eye.

  “Get away from me!” Griffin shouts. The lights in our suite flicker out, the furniture shakes, and little blue-and-green sparks dance through the air around him.

  “Let him go; he doesn’t like people touching his eyes,” I say, taking a few blind steps in the darkness. I hear the bodyguard say something about needing to be sure he’s not injured, and I hear a dangerous hissing that could only be Griffin. “He has bad memories about it—you’re going to give him a panic attack, especially after what just happened out there. Let him go.”

  The lights turn back on, and Griffin slips away from the bodyguard, glowering. “Don’t touch my eye. Don’t you ever bloody touch my eye without asking; do you understand?”

  Dev, for once, stands by with his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes wide, at a complete loss. “Griff, what’s wrong?”

  “He’d better not bloody touch me again.”

  “What’s Daisy mean—bad memories?”

  The furniture shakes, though not as violently this time, and Griffin covers his face with his hands, stepping backward. When he finally looks at us again, he takes a few quick breaths before speaking. “Dev. Did you get the plane tickets for tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Kammie and I got ‘em. But, Griff, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

  “When do we leave?”

  “Seven in the morning.” Dev seems about to say something else, but Griffin’s already walking away, toward the bathroom. “Griff, wait…”

  “We should finish packing, you know? If we’re leaving at seven.” Griffin closes the bathroom door on us before we can say anything else.

  Dev turns to me. “Does he know about the videos?”

  I don’t even want to answer this question, but I know there’s no avoiding it. “I don’t think so. How do you about them?”

  “Kammie and I saw them when we were buying the plane tickets. She said it’s ‘trending’ or… or something like that.” Dev lowers his head. “Please, Daisy, what did he tell you?”

  “Tell me…?”

  “About a bad memory, regarding his eyes.”

  In a million years, I’d never have guessed that there could be anything, anything at all, that Dev wouldn’t know about Griffin. Sure, Griffin has some obvious evasion issues when it comes to serious matters, but it’s hard to believe that could encompass his best friend, too.

  “Daisy,” Dev says, his eyes taking on a pleading level that usually only puppies can achieve.

  “He-he said that someone tried to blind him, when his mom was… you know.”

  “Blind him?”

  “I don’t know the full details, obviously, but he said something about someone trying to blind him. And a few minutes ago, we got mobbed outside. It was insane! So he’s probably having a panic attack.”

  Dev lets out a heavy sigh and turns away, rushing off to lean against the bathroom door and quietly ask Griffin to open it. After much coaxing, I hear the bathroom door open and Dev slips inside with his friend, closing the door behind himself.

  Kammie hugs me, without a word, and I find myself happy to return it.

  “The crowd was pretty scary,” I say against her shoulder. “I’ve never seen that many people swamp someone before.”

  “You’ve never seen Madonna then! Talk about swamped. Personally, I’d be afraid to come too close to her, in case she drank my youth to aid in
her mission to live forever.”

  Despite myself, I can’t help chuckling a little. Leave it to Kammie to say something like that. I’m about to attempt a comment of my own, when I hear an insistent, strange beeping noise emanating from the bed. “What’s that?” I whisper, though I’m not sure why I’m whispering. “Is that your phone?”

  “Nah, my phone’s in my bag.”

  We walk together, slowly, toward the bed. For a few seconds, I consider that it might be a bomb or something, but then realize that’s completely bonkers. Instead, we find Griffin’s little phone-like device on top of the comforter, buzzing, shaking, and beeping.

  “Is he getting a call?” Kammie says. “I saw Dev answer his. Here, hold on.”

  Before I can stop her, she’s picked up the device and hit a button. The device stops shaking and buzzing all at once, and a holographic image of a woman appears in front of us, almost life size. When Kammie drops the device in her surprise, the holograph flickers in and out of view, but it doesn’t disappear.

  Oh, great.