Flame (Fireborn)

by Arden, Mari

  I walk to my locker to exchange a book. Everywhere people are whispering and it sounds like the chirping of birds. I hear Rhys's name, but I also hear another name. Lenora. She's the other alien at our school. I overhear some pompous jock joke overly loud about what other "parts" of her might "glow".

  I roll my eyes in disgust. Really?

  Opening my locker, I search for my calculus book.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  Are those sounds going to be the only sounds I hear all day?

  Snap, snap, snap.

  Apparently so.

  "Uhm." A throat is cleared.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  Seriously, that clicking's going to haunt me in my sleep!

  "Please excuse me." The voice has a strange accent to it.

  I freeze.

  "Please excuse me. Would you mind helping me with my locker?" His voice is formal and polite.

  For a second I tell myself Rhys isn't talking to me. How had he even seen me? When no one answers him, I turn around.

  Rhys is standing less than a foot away. His broad shoulders fill my vision, but not enough that I don't notice the half circle crowd that's suddenly gathered around us. People are pretending not to stare, but I can feel their curiosity. Why is he talking to her?

  It takes a few seconds, but I manage an answer. "Sure. What do you need help with?"

  He gestures to the combination lock on the locker near mine. "I have the correct numbers. I keep turning it, but nothing's happening."

  "It can be kind of a nuisance."

  "New sense?" He pronounces it slowly.

  "Like annoying."

  He smiles. "Yes, it is."

  He hands me a crumpled piece of paper, and I take it. Our hands brush against each other. I notice his skin is rough and hard. Leathery. Unable to stop myself, I take a peek. His palms have calluses.

  He notices my stare and says, "We had a rough landing coming through your atmosphere." I'd heard about that. Each move they've made since contacting Earth four months earlier has been recorded and analyzed by every media outlet in the world. Even the late night talk shows have joined in- putting their own spin on stories, of course.

  What do smart blondes and UFO's have in common? You always hear about them but never see them! Well folks, it looks like we'll be seeing our first smart blonde today…

  What do you call an overweight Saguinox? An extra cholesterol!

  When Jay Leno got wind of their problems with landing, he'd said: what do you call a spaceship with a faulty air conditioning unit? Come on, what do you think? A frying saucer!

  It wasn't a faulty air conditioner, but facts don't matter in entertainment.

  "I did hear about that. Apparently debris from your deflector got into the engine and caught fire?"

  He looks amused. "Our deflector was fine. It's a lot less complicated than that. We miscalculated the heat levels in the mesosphere, and one of our main engines burned."

  "Oh."

  Snap.

  We try to ignore it.

  Turning my back to the crowd, I clasp his lock, preparing to show him what to do. "Turn it three times to the right then you stop at twenty three. Turn to the left… and right again, stopping at nine." Click! It opens. "You try it."

  He walks closer until his chest touches my shoulder. He puts his arms around and over my body as if hiding me from the startled gazes of my peers. This close I can smell his clean, musky scent. It smells like a combination of mint, linen and wood. He fumbles with the lock, turning it the way I demonstrated. I look ahead, my heart beating faster.

  "It's not working." He sounds a little embarrassed.

  I take a peek at the throng of people behind us. It's grown larger.

  Rhys's bodyguard tries to look inconspicuous, but it's hard to hide a six and half foot frame. His body's a tall street light among smaller lampposts. His eyes scan the group surrounding us, but remains where he is.

  "Maybe you'll just have to help me everyday," Rhys half jokes.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  He sees something on my face. Suddenly there's a mischievous glint in his eye. "Don't look so scared. I'm not planning on probing you."

  Whatever awkwardness is between us breaks. I laugh. Letterman had done his top ten alien pick up lines last week and number one was: wanna get probed?

  "Someone must've shot you with a phaser set on 'stunning'," I quip back, remembering number ten on the list.

  "Are you a carbon based model?" Number eight.

  Putting my hand over my heart, I say, "Of all the planets in all the solar systems in all the galaxies, you had to walk into mine…"

  "How about a close encounter with the pantless kind?"

  Holding back a laugh I say, "I know you're an alien because you've just abducted my heart."

  His eyes sparkle.

  Am I flirting? It's never happened before.

  I can't stop smiling. "Do you understand everything you're saying?"

  "Not quite everything," he admits, with a little laugh. "But according to the T.V. audience that list was very funny."

  Snap.

  He moves closer to me until he's all I see, hear or smell.

  "We don't have things like that back on Sangine," he continues. "We don't laugh a lot."

  It's a strange thing to say. I want to respond, but I can't. I see Rhys's eyes with clarity. At first they appear only golden, but on closer inspection they hold odd shades of green and some grays too. The colors seem to shimmer together, intermixing in some spots, and standing boldly in others. Somehow when it all came together, it creates a single golden cloud in each eye. Right now the clouds are shining, beckoning.

  I like the way he looks at me.

  I like the way he sees me.

  "Do you have your schedule with you? I can help you find your next class." Did that sound desperate?

  "I know where it is. Let me walk you to yours."

  I'm so stunned I nod before realizing what I've done. He pulls me to his side. His mouth's moving and I'm pretty sure he's asking me a question like where my next class is. I can't form a thought other than he's still talking to me. He still wants to talk to me. I haven't disappeared.

  Not yet.

  I feel a rush of relief.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  "Where to?" He's waiting patiently as if he's asked three times already. He probably has.

  "Second floor. Room 240."

  His hands clasp my elbow. As if on cue, the crowd parts. This must be what a rock star feels like. The bodyguard moves to Rhys's other side.

  I wonder if Rhys knows where he's going. "Should I lead?"

  He spares me a glance. "I can lead. I'm used to it."

  He pulls ahead.

  I follow.

  People are watching us. I can hear them whispering. I don't care because Rhys is near me. He's real and he makes me feel real, too.

  When we reach room 240, he stops with me at the door. Looking at the floor, I try to think of something cool to say. See you later alligator? No. He'd wonder why I called him a reptile. Kenna out? No, too Ryan Seacrest-ish. Catch you later? Would he think I'd be trying to trip him?

  Beep. I look up in time to see him pull out something small and sleek from his jean pocket. He glances at it, and his lips move wordlessly.

  His eyes darken. He's not happy with what he's reading. When he catches my eyes, he explains, "Something's come up at work."

  "You have to leave." I try to push my disappointment away.

  "No. It's something that can wait." He tries to smile again, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

  I don't want him to go. Not yet. "You've only been here a few days and they've already put you to work?" I joke.

  "I put it on myself." He takes a step back and the warmth between us slowly starts to freeze.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Trying to fix some things I've done." Something about what he says hardens his face. When he speaks again, he sounds flatter, more distant.
"It's, how do you say it? No big deal." His accent is as formal as his tone. He takes another step back. The warmth I felt minutes ago is disappearing with each inch he puts between us.

  My walls come back up.

  "Thank you." My voice is stiff like his presence.

  He hesitates as if he wants to say something. He doesn't.

  With a smile that doesn't fool either of us, he turns and leaves. People rush by to follow, but I'm rooted to the floor.

  I wonder if I've just imagined it all.

  Chapter 4

  When I leave Mr. Bernard's class the hallway is crowded. School staff monitors traffic flow in full force. A teacher is standing every few feet calling out students, giving reminders, and trying as hard as the students not to stare at the reporters, bodyguards and government officials that have suddenly descended on Morrison High School.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  Everywhere I look people are taking pictures. Some carry small cameras, and others are pulling out their camera phones snapping pictures of things like the chair Rhys had sat on and the pencil he'd left behind. Earlier a bodyguard had come to get him five minutes before the dismissal bell rang. We all pretended we hadn't noticed him leaving, but the second he shut the door I heard a collective sigh like nervous tension being released.

  I walk to my locker to exchange a book. Everywhere people are whispering and it sounds like the chirping of birds. I hear Rhys's name, but I also hear another name. Lenora. She's the other alien at our school. I overhear some pompous jock joke overly loud about what other "parts" of her might "glow".

  I roll my eyes in disgust. Really?

  Opening my locker, I search for my calculus book.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  Are those sounds going to be the only sounds I hear all day?

  Snap, snap, snap.

  Apparently so.

  "Uhm." A throat is cleared.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  Seriously, that clicking's going to haunt me in my sleep!

  "Please excuse me." The voice has a strange accent to it.

  I freeze.

  "Please excuse me. Would you mind helping me with my locker?" His voice is formal and polite.

  For a second I tell myself Rhys isn't talking to me. How had he even seen me? When no one answers him, I turn around.

  Rhys is standing less than a foot away. His broad shoulders fill my vision, but not enough that I don't notice the half circle crowd that's suddenly gathered around us. People are pretending not to stare, but I can feel their curiosity. Why is he talking to her?

  It takes a few seconds, but I manage an answer. "Sure. What do you need help with?"

  He gestures to the combination lock on the locker near mine. "I have the correct numbers. I keep turning it, but nothing's happening."

  "It can be kind of a nuisance."

  "New sense?" He pronounces it slowly.

  "Like annoying."

  He smiles. "Yes, it is."

  He hands me a crumpled piece of paper, and I take it. Our hands brush against each other. I notice his skin is rough and hard. Leathery. Unable to stop myself, I take a peek. His palms have calluses.

  He notices my stare and says, "We had a rough landing coming through your atmosphere." I'd heard about that. Each move they've made since contacting Earth four months earlier has been recorded and analyzed by every media outlet in the world. Even the late night talk shows have joined in- putting their own spin on stories, of course.

  What do smart blondes and UFO's have in common? You always hear about them but never see them! Well folks, it looks like we'll be seeing our first smart blonde today…

  What do you call an overweight Saguinox? An extra cholesterol!

  When Jay Leno got wind of their problems with landing, he'd said: what do you call a spaceship with a faulty air conditioning unit? Come on, what do you think? A frying saucer!

  It wasn't a faulty air conditioner, but facts don't matter in entertainment.

  "I did hear about that. Apparently debris from your deflector got into the engine and caught fire?"

  He looks amused. "Our deflector was fine. It's a lot less complicated than that. We miscalculated the heat levels in the mesosphere, and one of our main engines burned."

  "Oh."

  Snap.

  We try to ignore it.

  Turning my back to the crowd, I clasp his lock, preparing to show him what to do. "Turn it three times to the right then you stop at twenty three. Turn to the left… and right again, stopping at nine." Click! It opens. "You try it."

  He walks closer until his chest touches my shoulder. He puts his arms around and over my body as if hiding me from the startled gazes of my peers. This close I can smell his clean, musky scent. It smells like a combination of mint, linen and wood. He fumbles with the lock, turning it the way I demonstrated. I look ahead, my heart beating faster.

  "It's not working." He sounds a little embarrassed.

  I take a peek at the throng of people behind us. It's grown larger.

  Rhys's bodyguard tries to look inconspicuous, but it's hard to hide a six and half foot frame. His body's a tall street light among smaller lampposts. His eyes scan the group surrounding us, but remains where he is.

  "Maybe you'll just have to help me everyday," Rhys half jokes.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  He sees something on my face. Suddenly there's a mischievous glint in his eye. "Don't look so scared. I'm not planning on probing you."

  Whatever awkwardness is between us breaks. I laugh. Letterman had done his top ten alien pick up lines last week and number one was: wanna get probed?

  "Someone must've shot you with a phaser set on 'stunning'," I quip back, remembering number ten on the list.

  "Are you a carbon based model?" Number eight.

  Putting my hand over my heart, I say, "Of all the planets in all the solar systems in all the galaxies, you had to walk into mine…"

  "How about a close encounter with the pantless kind?"

  Holding back a laugh I say, "I know you're an alien because you've just abducted my heart."

  His eyes sparkle.

  Am I flirting? It's never happened before.

  I can't stop smiling. "Do you understand everything you're saying?"

  "Not quite everything," he admits, with a little laugh. "But according to the T.V. audience that list was very funny."

  Snap.

  He moves closer to me until he's all I see, hear or smell.

  "We don't have things like that back on Sangine," he continues. "We don't laugh a lot."

  It's a strange thing to say. I want to respond, but I can't. I see Rhys's eyes with clarity. At first they appear only golden, but on closer inspection they hold odd shades of green and some grays too. The colors seem to shimmer together, intermixing in some spots, and standing boldly in others. Somehow when it all came together, it creates a single golden cloud in each eye. Right now the clouds are shining, beckoning.

  I like the way he looks at me.

  I like the way he sees me.

  "Do you have your schedule with you? I can help you find your next class." Did that sound desperate?

  "I know where it is. Let me walk you to yours."

  I'm so stunned I nod before realizing what I've done. He pulls me to his side. His mouth's moving and I'm pretty sure he's asking me a question like where my next class is. I can't form a thought other than he's still talking to me. He still wants to talk to me. I haven't disappeared.

  Not yet.

  I feel a rush of relief.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  "Where to?" He's waiting patiently as if he's asked three times already. He probably has.

  "Second floor. Room 240."

  His hands clasp my elbow. As if on cue, the crowd parts. This must be what a rock star feels like. The bodyguard moves to Rhys's other side.

  I wonder if Rhys knows where he's going. "Should I lead?"

  He spares me a glance. "I can lead. I'm used to it."


  He pulls ahead.

  I follow.

  People are watching us. I can hear them whispering. I don't care because Rhys is near me. He's real and he makes me feel real, too.

  When we reach room 240, he stops with me at the door. Looking at the floor, I try to think of something cool to say. See you later alligator? No. He'd wonder why I called him a reptile. Kenna out? No, too Ryan Seacrest-ish. Catch you later? Would he think I'd be trying to trip him?

  Beep. I look up in time to see him pull out something small and sleek from his jean pocket. He glances at it, and his lips move wordlessly.

  His eyes darken. He's not happy with what he's reading. When he catches my eyes, he explains, "Something's come up at work."

  "You have to leave." I try to push my disappointment away.

  "No. It's something that can wait." He tries to smile again, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

  I don't want him to go. Not yet. "You've only been here a few days and they've already put you to work?" I joke.

  "I put it on myself." He takes a step back and the warmth between us slowly starts to freeze.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Trying to fix some things I've done." Something about what he says hardens his face. When he speaks again, he sounds flatter, more distant. "It's, how do you say it? No big deal." His accent is as formal as his tone. He takes another step back. The warmth I felt minutes ago is disappearing with each inch he puts between us.

  My walls come back up.

  "Thank you." My voice is stiff like his presence.

  He hesitates as if he wants to say something. He doesn't.

  With a smile that doesn't fool either of us, he turns and leaves. People rush by to follow, but I'm rooted to the floor.

  I wonder if I've just imagined it all.

  Chapter 5

  My footsteps sound loud on the hard wood floor of our hallway. It's a habit for me to make as much noise as possible to announce my arrival. At first it was a coping tactic to make sure someone noticed me, but it stayed on even after I realized my strategy wasn't successful.

  "Dad?" I call to the emptiness. "I'm home!" There's no answer, but I don't expect there to be. He's usually out at a bar, or at Jack's playing cards and drinking. I was happy when my dad found another widower friend to hang out with, but it didn't take long to figure out that they didn't help each other in the way I thought they would.