Tales Of An Alien Invader

by Michelle Brown

  Clearing his throat and wetting his lips, Jake appears to brace himself. “Izzy, would you like to dance with me?” he stammers quickly, as if relieved to get the words out of his mouth. Ned immediately smiles in anticipation, no doubt waiting for Izzy to crush Jake before his very eyes.

  “Um, sure,” Izzy says, rising from her chair. Ned’s look transforms from amusement to shock as Izzy and Jake walk to the dance floor together, joining a handful of other couples who are swaying in a large, gentle circle. Next to me, Ned regains his power of speech.

  “But I thought she said she didn’t dance,” Ned says with a slightly outraged tone. “And with Jake of all people. He hangs out with her old group of friends, you know, the guys who spread those rumors about her and basically made her an outcast. I can’t believe she’s dancing with him.”

  “Well, this is a dance. And it is my understanding that the boy normally asks the girl to dance in this situation, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well maybe Izzy said she didn’t dance before because she was afraid no one would ask her.” I nod to where Izzy is dancing and we watch her give Jake a small smile. “She seems like she’s enjoying herself.”

  “Maybe. She probably just felt bad for the guy though,” Ned says. He is also watching Izzy and Jake on the dance floor.

  “Looks like your girlfriend is cheating on you.” My chair tips back and Curtis’s sneering face appears above me. “I guess even she has standards.”

  “She’s not his girlfriend.” Ned reaches out to help me, but Cameron quickly blocks his way. Michael is nowhere to be found. Curtis’s hands on my chair are the only thing keeping it from toppling backwards, though crashing to the ground might be preferable to enduring his reeking breath.

  “Leave them alone.” Izzy’s voice rings out strong and clear, and though I can’t see it, I can picture she’s giving Curtis and Cameron one of her most disdainful looks.

  “Make me,” Curtis challenges, pulling my chair even farther back so all I can see are the rafters up above. I sense movement to my side, hear a howl like some deranged creature, and suddenly I’m falling backwards, crashing noisily to the ground. Scrambling upright, I see Curtis hopping on one foot, his face twisted with rage. People from the nearby tables are all staring in our direction, curious about the commotion.

  “You kicked me, you crazy b—!”

  “Is there a problem here?” Mr. Blair’s smooth voice interrupts the flurry of expletives no doubt about to leave Curtis’s mouth. As always, Mr. Blair has a smile pasted on his face, but his eyes show no signs of humor as he waits for Curtis to respond.

  “No, no problem,” Curtis mumbles, bending over to rub his shin.

  “What about you guys? Ned? Felix? Something wrong?”

  “No. No problem,” Ned and I say in unison. Cameron stands innocently behind Ned’s chair, pretending he has nothing to do with what’s going on.

  “Good,” Mr. Blair says. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. All of you.” He looks at Izzy with a warning glance, which she returns with a winning smile.

  “We were leaving anyway,” Curtis spits, and without another word, he hobbles towards the exit with Cameron shuffling behind. Mr. Blair gives us one more glance before retreating into the dimness of the sidelines.

  “Thanks,” I say to Izzy, brushing off my pants. Picking up my chair, I take a seat again shakily, trying to ignore the various places my body aches.

  “Did you enjoy your dance?” Ned asks, a slightly mocking tone to his voice.

  “Uh-huh,” Izzy says.

  “It’s just weird. You said you didn’t like dancing, but then you dance with the first guy that asks you?”

  “I guess I changed my mind.”

  An uncomfortable silence falls over the table as I resume watching the people on the dance floor.

  School dances—definitely not my idea of fun.

  CHAPTER 11

  Walking into the gallery with Ned, I figure I’m in for a pretty boring afternoon. I want to support Izzy, but spending a couple of hours wandering about a building and staring at pictures hanging up on walls sounds about as interesting as watching a bone fossilize.

  When we arrive, we join groups of people already milling through the gallery, moving at a leisurely pace. Ned’s mother finds another woman to join, and we make plans to meet her back at the gift shop later on.

  The Amateur Art Exhibit is at the back of the gallery, so we have to navigate our way through the regular exhibit to reach it. A group in front of us, made up of students from a nearby college, comes to a halt in front of a large painting of a lion pinning down an antelope.

  “The use of shading to convey the darkness and savagery of the piece is amazing,” a young man with a goatee comments, gesturing to the piece with an awestruck expression.

  “And the detail is extraordinary,” a young woman chimes in, leaning closer to get a better look.

  Ned rolls his eyes and coughs loudly. Either unaware or ignoring us, the group continues to comment about the piece. They take up the entire hallway, leaving no room for us to pass. Resigned to the fact that we’re going to have to wait, I take a closer look at the picture, really looking at it for the first time. I suppose the shading is somewhat interesting. And there are a lot of intricate details. Like the way the claws are ripping into the antelope’s skin. And how the moonlight is reflecting off the water in the background.

  “Earth to Felix. Come on, let’s go.” Ned’s exasperated voice snaps me back to reality. The group had moved on and I hadn’t even noticed. Shuffling behind Ned, I pay closer attention to each painting as we pass, allowing myself to appreciate the different artistic techniques as we go. I end up pausing occasionally along the way, much to Ned’s annoyance, before we finally reach the Amateur Exhibit.

  “Look, there’s Izzy,” I say, pointing to the right corner of the room where Izzy is standing with her father. Her work, which is composed of vivid bursts of color, hangs on the wall behind her. The paintings are centered on different Greek myths, each showcasing either a villain or a hero. I recognize Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a hill, his eternal punishment for angering the gods. And there is Pygmalion sculpting Galatea, the statue that would one day come to life thanks to the pity of Aphrodite.

  “Isabelle, it’s your friends!” Izzy’s father says in a booming voice. A large man, he always seems to be in good spirits. Clapping me and Ned on the back, he waves a hand to Izzy’s work on the wall.

  “Aren’t these the best paintings you’ve ever seen?” he says with pride in his voice and bright eyes.

  Izzy hunches her shoulders. “Dad, stop.”

  “I’m just saying you should be proud of yourself.”

  “I am. Just don’t make such a big deal about it.” She gives him a pleading glance. He shakes his head, but his smile remains.

  “I’ll let you have some time with your friends, then.” Clapping us on the back one more time, he retreats into the crowd.

  “These are very good,” I say, peering closely at her paintings.

  “Yeah, your use of color shows the, um, awesomeness of each piece,” Ned says clumsily, nearly whacking a bystander in the head as he gestures.

  Attempting to stifle a laugh, I jump when a voice speaks alarmingly close to my ear.

  “You might say the use of color is out of this world.” Old Tom stares with wide eyes at Izzy’s paintings as if entranced. The three of us exchange looks, standing silently by as Old Tom continues to look, and the moment stretches out uncomfortably. Then, without another word, he leaves, and we let out a collective breath.

  Ned makes a face. “What is with that guy? He’s so creepy.”

  “He is pretty weird,” Izzy agrees. “But at least he seemed to like my paintings.”

  “Maybe he was really abducted by aliens,” Ned continues. “Maybe they put a probe in his head or something.”

  Uncomfortable with where the conversation is heading, I quickly change the subject. “So, Izzy, wh
o else has been here?”

  Luckily, this leads into a lengthy description of who Izzy has seen, including an amusing story of how Curtis and Cameron were thrown out by security for touching the paintings. Izzy is still describing the look on Curtis’s face as he got hauled out by two armed men when Ned’s mother arrives in frantic state.

  “You guys were supposed to meet me over twenty minutes ago,” she exclaims, her forehead wrinkled with worry.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Ned apologizes. “We must have lost track of time.”

  “Well, we have to go,” Mrs. Holton says curtly.

  “Can’t we stay just a little longer? Izzy was in the middle of telling us a story.”

  “No, she can finish telling you later.” Mrs. Holton gives Izzy a small smile. “Your work is lovely, dear, but we really must be going.”

  Sighing loudly, Ned says goodbye to Izzy and we are led by his mother to the exit. Though I’m no expert at human body language, Mrs. Holton seems rather tense as we walk towards the car, repeatedly wringing her hands and looking nervously down at her watch. I tap Ned on the arm and mouth, “What’s wrong?” He shrugs in response and we get into the car and drive home in silence, with Mrs. Holton speeding the whole way.

  Walking into the Holton house behind Ned, I bump into him when he comes to a sudden stop. I look around him and see a tall, brawny man standing in the middle of the hallway, dressed in full uniform.

  “Dad!” Ned shouts, bounding forward into the man’s arms. Wrapping his son in a bone-crushing embrace, his eyes look at me with curiosity.

  The hunter has come home.

  CHAPTER 12

  I hang back while Ned’s family reunion unfolds in front of me. Ned asks his father one question after another: When did he get home? How long was he staying? Could they go camping while he was home? Did he bring Ned any presents?

  Ned’s mother stands next to his father, her lips upturned in a small smile as she gazes at her husband. Ned’s father answers his son’s questions with an affectionate patience, and though his face is bright, his body is held rigid with discipline, a stance that exudes authority. He is a sturdy man, the type of man that swallows up the space around him. I imagine he’s quite an amazing leader; his presence commands attention and possesses the type of confidence that comes with having the obedience and respect of others.

  Feeling a bit like an intruder, I uncomfortably begin to shift from one foot to the other, debating on whether or not I should call Aunt Shirley to come pick me up. However, Ned remembers my existence before I can make a decision and motions me forward eagerly. I feel the weight of judgment upon me as Ned’s father turns his assessing gaze on me.

  “Dad, this is my friend, Felix. He just moved here from…well, everywhere, really. His parents are archaeologists. He’s traveled all over the world.”

  “Oh, really,” Ned’s father says with his eyebrows raised. “I’m a bit of a world traveler myself, being in the service and all. You’ll have to tell me about some of the places you’ve been sometime.”

  I smile and nod, though a bubble of panic wells up inside of me. I can fool the average person with stories of my travels based on what I have researched, but if someone with firsthand experience in these locations decides to have a discussion with me about said locations, that could be a problem. A big problem.

  Eager to change the subject, I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. “Ned mentioned you love hunting.”

  The statement hangs in the air for a moment before Ned’s father answers.

  “Yes, hunting is a hobby of mine. You might even call it a passion.” His eyes seem to pin me in place, and an involuntary image of myself running through the woods as prey flashes through my mind. As if the universe has decided to make my worst fears come true, Ned’s father continues. “I’ll have to take you boys out while I’m here.”

  “Awesome,” Ned says, his excitement apparently on par with my despair. Aside from the not-so-pleasant thought of spending a day alone with Ned’s gun-wielding father in the woods, I also don’t enjoy the idea of shooting some poor animal. It is a bit ridiculous actually, an alien invader that gets squeamish at the idea of killing its supper. Then again, I am going to be responsible for a lot more terrifying things if I decide to…

  Pushing the thought from my mind, I paste a smile on my face.

  “Felix is spending the night tonight,” Ned adds. “Can we go tomorrow?”

  “Sure, why not?” Mr. Holton says, ushering Ned and his mother into the kitchen. “Now what’s for dinner?”

  Words of protest die on my lips as I realize the decision has already been made. I think about making up a lie, some excuse to go home, but Ned already knows that I don’t have any other plans for the weekend. Plus, I have the feeling Mr. Holton might be like a human lie detector. I hear my own father’s voice once again, always blend in; never arouse suspicion. Especially around a soldier. Especially around a hunter. Resigned, I follow the Holtons into the kitchen for dinner, though I feel anything but hungry.

  * * *

  I peel my eyes open at the break of dawn when the light turns on in Ned’s room.

  “Rise and shine,” comes the gruff voice of his father. “Get up and get dressed.”

  Resisting the urge to burrow back into the covers, I rise like a zombie and stumble to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready. I hadn’t slept well at all; I kept having the same nightmare in which Ned’s father somehow discovered the contents of my globe and sent it to a government lab to be analyzed.

  A few minutes later, I join Ned and his father in the basement, still feeling sluggish and anxious. Ned, on the other hand, is wide-eyed and perky, helping his father pack up the bags we will be taking along. I throw in the jacket and orange vest they are letting me borrow (Ned happily explained to me last night that hunters need to wear orange in order to avoid being shot by other hunters. That didn’t exactly make me feel better about the situation).

  Going out into the cool, crisp morning air manages to wake me up a little. We load the car and drive for about an hour until the rows of houses and intersecting roadways have given way to a remote area of wilderness. As I stare at the sky growing thick and dark with clouds, I think about my dream from last night.

  During the car ride, a light curtain of rain begins to shower down from the sky, but apparently nothing short of a hurricane will stop Ned and his father. Mr. Holton pulls the car into a dirt parking lot next to the woods, and I eye my surroundings warily. Slapping a hat on top of my head, I follow Ned and his father out, through the mud that hugs the car’s tires, and into the woods. Once we reach the tree line, the rain lets up, the trees providing shelter from its persistent downpour.

  And then we begin to walk. And walk. And walk some more.

  Every once in a while, Ned’s father perks up and signals to Ned. Then the two of them crouch down and creep in the direction of whatever sound they have heard. But we never see anything. Not a single animal.

  We don’t talk for the most part either, in case it would scare off the nonexistent creatures we are pursuing. Yawning about every five seconds into the sleeve of my coat, I fantasize about being back home at Aunt Shirley and Uncle Matt’s, spending the day blissfully playing video games, a newfound hobby of mine (a few weeks before, Ned had sacrificed an entire weekend and two long nights in order to convert me into a “gamer”; his methods were surprisingly effective). Ned keeps in stride with his father and looks as if he’s having the time of his life. It’s curious to me how differently two people, even friends, can feel about the same situation. The day warms up and it stops raining, leaving behind a humid, sticky feeling in the air. Ned’s father breaks the silence by talking about his most recent military tour in the Middle East and then turns the subject to one I have been dreading. My travels.

  “So, Felix, tell me a bit about the places you’ve been. It must have been interesting growing up all over the world. Exposure to different ways of life can really shape one’s character.�
��

  I nod in agreement, though my heart is racing. “My parents and I have lived in Asia, and the Pacific Islands, and South America, and most recently Africa.” I know I am being way too general, but it feels safer this way.

  “I’ve spent some time in Africa myself. Whereabouts were you and your parents?”

  “Kenya.”

  “Kenya! Really? Fascinating country. Been there several times. Your parents must’ve been studying one of the tribes, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, the Maasai people.” Perspiration starts to bead on my forehead, and I wipe it away hastily. My mind scrabbles for any facts I can remember about the Maasai, but almost everything I learned seems to have escaped me, leaving my mind horribly, undeniably blank.

  “The Maasai people. They’re a cattle-herding tribe, aren’t they?”

  That much I do remember. “Yes, they are.”

  “It just so happens I was lucky enough to observe one of their ceremonies. I don’t remember what it was called, but I’m sure I’ll remember once I hear the name. What about you? What were some of the ceremonies you observed?”

  Nothing. I have absolutely nothing to say. Not even a tiny morsel of information that might at least be enough to satisfy Mr. Holton before changing the subject. The sweat is now dripping into my eye, causing it to sting. Ned and his father are looking at me expectantly, and the moment stretches out.

  But then I’m saved. From out of nowhere, a deer steps out directly in our path. The three of us are so surprised that no one raises their gun until it takes off, bounding safely out of reach as Ned and his father take shots. The rest of the afternoon is spent in quiet pursuit, though to the relief of both the deer and myself, we don’t see another animal. Trudging back to the car with Ned and his father later that day, I finally allow myself to begin to relax. I can’t get back to Aunt Shirley and Uncle Matt’s soon enough.