Grandma arched one eyebrow playfully as Tate’s coloring drained from brick to chalk.
The big man opened his mouth to say something, spluttered, choked, then tried again. His roar had turned into more of a whisper. “You can’t mean…”
“I’m afraid I can,” Grandma said, waving the newspaper at him. “That was the last time the Air Painters visited.” Her grin got even bigger. “In fact, as I snuck past your campsite on the way home, I heard you giving those boys a lengthy lecture on the northern lights. Oh, yes, they got quite an education that night.”
Tate looked over at the Arkamendians. They smiled shyly and waved at him, tiny light trails wafting up from their fingers. One of them bowed very low. “It makes us most happy to know that you enjoyed our artwork enough to describe it to the local storytellers.” Her voice was fuzzy around the edges, like a radio that’s just out of tune. “The whole community learned about it from you. This makes us quite proud.”
Tate’s face went even paler, if that’s possible.
“And we are so grateful for the opportunity to return,” another one said. The Air Painters all murmured their thank-yous and gathered around Tate in a tight circle. They started a mini-whirlpool of light, and the colors washed over Tate.
“Oh, my. This is a sign of great honor and respect on their planet,” Grandma said. “I think they really like you.”
But Tate was just a rainbow-colored lump of grump.
It was Amy who rescued him. She waded through the Air Painters, thanking them for the show, and pulled her dad out of the circle. She sat him on the couch and fetched a glass of water. The fight had gone out of him.
Grandma hugged all of the Fuzzies in a big group. “We’ll make sure to go up the mountain soon and put on a heck of a show. We can dance all night!”
The Air Painters drifted upstairs, chattering happily to each other. Tate just slumped on the couch, slowly shaking his head.
I knew that things would need to be put in order before I could go to bed, so I helped Mrs. Crowzen round up her alien students, then collected the day passes from the adult aliens. As I pinned the passes to the board, I remembered the two blue “aliens” we had met earlier tonight. I turned to Tate, ready to tell him about them, but he looked so tired and defeated that I decided it could wait until tomorrow morning. Whoever they were, they took off before they saw all of those crazy rainbows, and it’s not like they were knocking the door down or anything.
When just the four of us humans were left, Tate finally lifted his head and snorted out a half-laugh.
“Sometimes I think these two are trying to take over this whole operation,” he said to Grandma as he watched Amy and me finish cleaning up.
“I can’t imagine anyone who would do a better job.” Grandma smiled at us, then leveled her gaze at Tate. The smile disappeared. “Anyone at all.”
Amy gave her dad a too-sweet smile, winked at me, then went back to picking green fuzz out of the carpet.
Tate harrumphed and sat up a little straighter. “You’re a smart girl, my dear, but there’s still a lot you and your friend don’t know about all the details that go into keeping a business running smoothly.”
I dropped down on one knee beside Amy to help her clean up. “Oh, please,” I muttered so only she could hear. “Who does the real work around here half the time, especially when he and Grandma spend so much time arguing?”
“I know,” she whispered back. “And remember what he was doing while we were busy trying to save the planet last week?” She made a zoned-out zombie face, an imitation of Tate after he had eaten some tainted alien treats right before the bad guys showed up in their warship.
“What are you two giggling about over there?” Tate demanded.
“Oh, nothing, Dad.” Then she whispered to me again. “Just how impossible it would be for me and David to keep doing all of our chores without you grumping at us all day.”
I rolled my eyes. “How would we even manage to make it out of bed in the morning?” We both hid our laughter behind fake coughs.
Tate shook his head. “There’s more to running this place than slapping some used clothing on space creatures, you know. Especially a top secret, high-security operation like this. Believe me, you kids don’t know the half of what it takes to keep it all together around here.”
Grandma raised one eyebrow. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll get their chance someday.”
Right. Like that could ever happen.
The next morning, I took Snarffle for a walk in the woods before breakfast. My breakfast, that is. I had learned from experience that if I didn’t feed him right away, he would eat everything in his sight—literally.
Snarffle’s “walks” were really not walks at all. He liked to playfully chase woodland creatures, scurry up tree trunks to bounce along the branches, splash through the Nooksack River to cool himself off, and plunge into dense underbrush seeking new plants to eat. Walking Snarffle was like trying to lasso a cyclone.
But occasionally he did have to stop and, you know…get rid of all that food. And he valued his privacy, suddenly halting that frenetic motion to mince his way daintily behind a cluster of bushes.
So I was leaning against a tree at the edge of the forest, my back to the thicket of underbrush where Snarffle was doing his business, when I saw the hot air balloon.
At first I watched it just because I was curious. You see a few of those around here, but not too many, and it looked pretty cool hanging over the tops of the trees.
But then I squinted and could make out two people leaning over the side of the little basket hanging under the balloon. And they were pointing something at the ground—it was long and black and flared at the end. Maybe a fancy camera with a big zoom lens?
And while I couldn’t see the B&B from here, I was suddenly sure that they were hovering right over the house. Taking pictures.
Pictures! My mind flew to the last time someone had tried to take a picture around here. I thrust my hand into my pocket, and there was the rubber ear. (Okay, maybe Amy was right about me not exactly changing my clothes every single day in the summer.) I pulled out the ear and examined it, cursing myself for not showing it to Tate and Grandma last night.
Snarffle finally finished, and for a change I dragged him, in my haste to get back. By the time we had made it through the forest and returned to the house, the balloon had drifted away, over the town. I relaxed a little bit—it was probably just a couple of random sightseers—but I was still going to have to mention it to Grandma and Tate, and tell them about the blue ear.
When we got inside, a group of Tourists was sitting around the big communal table in the kitchen. The Air Painters were there, as well as a few brightly colored families and individual Tourists that I recognized from the fireworks outing. As soon as we entered, they all hunched over their plates protectively. Apparently Snarffle’s reputation preceded him.
But Grandma was prepared, as always. Humming one of her hippie songs, she pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven. It was piled high with a towering stack of wheat-germ pancakes, a dozen baked apples, three loaves of organic banana-nut bread, and a mixing bowl full of oatmeal and molasses. “Here you go, sweetie. I kept it warm for you.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” I said. “I’m starv—”
Before I realized that the food wasn’t intended for me, and before Grandma even had time to set it down on the floor, Snarffle was inhaling it all, tail twirling like a fan.
Tate grumbled to no one in particular from behind his newspaper. “That thing is fixing to eat up every penny of the profits around here.”
Oh, please. As if someone Tate’s size should be complaining about the grocery bill. But I guess I should cut him a little slack—after all, he was sort of semiconscious and zombified when Snarffle helped us save the world earlier in the summer, so he didn’t know that the little guy was more than your average space pet.
“Hey, Grandma. Can I talk to you about something?” I inclined my head toward
the door, indicating the need for privacy. I didn’t want to tell Tate until I talked to Grandma first, see if she knew anything about the blue ear—maybe she had given them out as novelty door prizes or something, who knows? Tate’s first tendency was to overreact.
“Of course, dear, just give me a few minutes to finish up.”
I nodded and sat down, trying to find something to eat that wasn’t too insanely healthy. But just then Amy poked her head in through the swinging door, glanced over her shoulder, and stepped halfway in. She seemed hesitant and uncertain. It was very un-Amy-like.
Grandma looked up from the stove. “Yes, dear?”
“A group of aliens just showed up to see you.…” Amy swallowed. “Only I don’t think they’re interested in a place to stay.”
Tate put down his paper, revealing a frown, and got up to move toward Amy in the doorway. Grandma straightened up and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Yes? Well, show them in.”
Amy pushed the door open, and a gaggle of aliens bustled right past her and her dad. They were about three feet high and squarish, like smaller versions of a roadside mailbox. Instead of arms they had a swarm of snakelike growths sticking out from their bodies, each one ending in a different shape: knob, net, bulb, vise grip. The Swiss Army knife of alien appendages.
Oh, and each alien balanced on a single sturdy block of a leg. There was lots of hopping.
I shot a glance at Amy, but she just lifted her eyebrows and shrugged: Who knows?
“What’s all this about?” Tate said.
Grandma waved him off. “May I help you?” she said.
But the Hopping Mailboxes didn’t pay either of them much attention. They were very businesslike, bouncing around the room in tight formation. Clearly the group had some sort of mission, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
One of them stood in the middle of the kitchen, two long feelers extended and waving in the air, and hopped around in a little circle as if he was surveying the area. Then he gestured to a couple of the others. In response, one of them nestled into the far corner and aimed a few appendages at the kitchen door. Suddenly, white light flashed out from the tips, and a bright light framed the entrance. The other alien set up camp by the stove and did the same thing, and Grandma was caught in the middle of the spotlight, squinting into the glare.
Two other Mailboxes moved to opposite sides of the room, backs pressed up against the wall. A single feeler from each one extended and snaked straight up, angled at the top of the wall to run along the ceiling, then dropped down to dangle in the air, one right above Grandma and one over the door.
Tate tugged on his mustache and his frown lines deepened. “You ever seen anything like this?” he muttered. Grandma and Amy just shook their heads and watched.
Tate uncrossed his arms and leaned forward; I could tell he was getting ready to lumber into action the moment things went sideways.
He was always overprotective, but in this instance it seemed like a good idea. I had already learned that while most aliens are great, not all of them are friendly. Or peaceful. I looked around for a potential weapon…and came up with a butter knife. Covered in syrup. Oh well, it was better than nothing. If these aliens were dangerous, there was always a chance they were deathly allergic to Mrs. Butterworth’s.
I snapped my fingers close to the ground, and Snarffle hurried over to stand guard by my side, eyeing this new group warily.
The next two Mailboxes to enter were taller but leaner. One pointed all of its feelers at the door, while the other focused on Grandma.
I tried to gauge the possible danger level by the reaction of the Tourists around the table. They definitely seemed more excited than afraid, whispering to each other and pointing at the workmanlike crew of aliens. In fact, one of them—a big Tourist whose head looked like it was made of cottage cheese—was waving frantically at the newly arrived Mailboxes, a goofy grin spread across his lumpy face.
I studied the scene for a moment. The lights, the things dangling from the ceiling, the oversize boxes pointed at Grandma…it was familiar, in a way. It all sort of looked like—
“What in tarnation?” Tate said. “It looks like you’re setting up a durn movie set right in the kitchen.”
“Quiet, please,” said one of the square aliens, adjusting his feelers.
“You don’t tell me to be quiet in my—”
Another Mailbox nudged open the kitchen door and peeked his head in. “Ready for him?” he asked the others in clipped tones.
“Action!” called one of the boxy spotlighters.
Amy and Grandma—ever trusting—were excited to find out more about whatever was going on. Tate looked ready to toss everyone right out the door like a bouncer.
The last Mailbox hopped the rest of the way in and held the door open with his body. Then he waved a few of his snaky appendages rhythmically in front of him, kind of like a maestro leading an orchestra, and music blared out from the tips. Loud music with lots of crashing and blaring, but nothing sinister. More like the prelude to some big event.
And then the Big Event himself made his grand entrance, striding through the doorway in time to the music, wearing a three-legged suit that looked like it was made entirely of white spandex and sequins. He stopped in the exact center of the spotlight, spread out his arms and—Wait, do they really do jazz hands in outer space?
Apparently so. And you know how some guys use a bunch of grease to slick their hair back so it looks kinda wet and shiny all day, and seems like it’s always being blown backward even when there isn’t any wind? Well, this alien looked like that all over, anywhere that wasn’t covered by his suit. All sleek and glistening and windswept. He seemed to be in constant motion, even when he just stood there gazing at the oversize Mailboxes.
The triumphant music swelled to a crescendo and then dropped off, replaced by soft, tinkling notes. The sleek alien turned his attention to Grandma and gave her a dazzling smile. Literally dazzling. His teeth reflected the spotlight so much that they were hard to look at directly.
“Are you the proprietor of the Intergalactic Bed and Breakfast, located here on Earth in the Milky Way Galaxy?” His voice was deep and smooth, like a guy announcing prize packages on a game show.
Grandma nodded slowly, glancing around at the surrounding Mailboxes. It was pretty unsettling to see her speechless.
“Congratulations!” The slick alien sidled up next to Grandma and threw an arm around her shoulders. He sort of bumped her sideways so he was in the exact center of the spotlight.
Tate lurched forward. “You can’t come in here and start grabbing—”
“Dad, that guy doesn’t exactly look dangerous.” Amy took her father’s arm and gestured at the alien’s sparkly clothes.
“Indeed.” The new alien flashed another smile at one of those taller box-aliens, teeth sparkling away. “Ladies and gentlemen and hybrids, I present to you this year’s grand prize winner!”
Mr. Slick beamed at Grandma, but she just stood there, looking around in confusion.
“Don’t be shy now; this is your shining moment. Give a big Earth hello to the adoring crowd back at the convention!” His arm swept with a flourish toward the two tall aliens.
Grandma’s eyebrows crinkled up. “Hello?”
“Hold it a minute.” Tate shook off Amy’s grip. “Just who is she supposed to be talking to? And what’s this convention you’re going on about?”
Mr. Slick made a quick head gesture at the Mailbox who had been directing traffic. The little alien hopped over to Tate and whispered, “Please, sir. Be seated and remain quiet. We are in the middle of a live broadcast.”
Tate was apparently so surprised that he did exactly as he was told, slumping into the chair next to me. But I heard him mutter, “Just who does he think he is?”
The frog-faced Tourist, seated next to Tate, gaped at the Head of Security, his wet lips pulled into an astonished circle. “You mean you’ve never heard of Evanblatt Snappyfalls?” he whispered.
Frog Face nodded. “He hosts all the big award shows.” He looked at Tate’s bewildered expression and added, “You know…the Squigglies? And the Moojies? Why, he even hosts the—”
Tate snorted. “Good gravy, there’s aliens that are famous?”
“Quiet, please,” the Mailbox said.
Evanblatt Snappyfalls did that TV maneuver where he leaned in as if he were letting Grandma in on a little secret, but still spoke in his announcer’s voice, loud enough for us all to hear. “At this point you’ve probably guessed why we’ve come all the way here, am I right?” He nudged Grandma with his elbow. “Or am I right?”
He was wrong. Grandma knew a ton about aliens, but I could tell by the helpless look on her face that she was just as confused as the rest of us. Us humans, at least. Cottage Cheese Head and his alien pals around the table looked about ready to burst with otherworldly joy.
Grandma blinked a few times. “Well, I can’t imagine why you—”
“That’s right!” boomed Snappyfalls, gazing straight at the taller Mailboxes. “You’ve won the Intergalactic Hotelier of the Year Award!”
Amy let out a little gasp as the aliens banged their elbows on the table, hooted like owls, and waved their silverware in the air in celebration (apparently she hadn’t taught these Tourists how to applaud yet).
“Is that so?” Grandma grinned, finally looking like herself again. “Well, that certainly sounds like quite the honor. And thank you so much for coming by to tell me. But if you don’t mind, I need to finish up with the breakfast dishes, and then I need to clean out the—”
Snappyfalls boomed out a fake announcer’s laugh. “Oh no, no, no, my dear. I’m afraid you don’t understand. You need to come along with me. We can’t disappoint all of those conventioneers by denying them an appearance by the guest of honor!”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“The Hoteliers Association is holding its grand meeting. And they need to see you in the flesh, my dear.”
Aliens in Disguise Page 4