by Jeff Norton
Even though at this particular moment this particular Martian was driving me nuts, there was something incredibly comforting about the little guys. They reminded me of the two pre-schoolers who lived across the street from us in Geilenkirchen, always waiting for me to come home from school to show off their paintings and ask for piggybacks.
And yet Octo had hyped the Martians as ace racers. It was a weird contrast.
“Really?” I said to Juliet, trying my best to ignore the Martian. “You were hoping to speak with me?”
“I was,” she said, floating into the corridor. “I wanted to apologize.”
I realized that no one walking past in the corridor could take their eyes off her. Meanwhile Klaatu had flattened out the creased flyer and was holding it up to me.
“Sherman Capote!” he chirped.
“Apologize?” I said to Juliet. “For what?”
“I gave you so little to work with in the orchard scene today,” Juliet said. “I was … distracted.”
“Are you crazy?” I said. “You were great.”
Klaatu proudly produced another flyer from his backpack.
“Thank you, Klaatu, you’re too kind,” Juliet said.
The little Martian’s head bobbled from right to left. “She knows Klaatu’s name!” he giggled.
Juliet smiled and rubbed his bulbous, gray head affectionately.
Lucky little Martian.
Octo was right. I had it bad.
“Look! Read!” Klaatu called to us both. “The theme for the Prom is The War of the Worlds!”
I’d thought that maybe I should just ask her to Prom, right then and there. But Octo’s plan played in my spinning brain. Date first, then Prom.
“I love that movie,” I said, bracing myself. “Speaking of movies—”
“The War of the Worlds, the book!” Klaatu corrected. “Written in 1898, by the Englishman of this planet known as Herbert George Wells!”
“Oh, the ethnocentric guy?” I said, thinking of Jessica’s essay.
“That sounds out of this world,” said Juliet with a smile.
“No, in this world,” corrected Klaatu.
“What I was hoping,” I said, trying to blurt it out, “was if you’d maybe like to—”
But Klaatu grabbed my left arm with both his little hands.
“Not the other adaptations,” he said. “Not the Orson Welles radio broadcast of 1938—”
“If maybe I’d like to what?” Juliet asked, tipping her head slightly to one side and giving me a smile that could have powered Nevada for the next millennium.
“ … nor the George Pal motion picture of 1953—”
“If … um …” I stuttered.
“ … nor the presently touring arena show, or the Steven Spielberg motion picture of 2005 …”
Motion picture.
I took a deep breath and went for it. “If you’d maybe- want-to-like-to-if-you’re-not-too-busy-go-to-a-movie- with-me on-Saturday.”
Juliet blinked. It was the longest moment of my life. I felt as small as a Martian as I waited for whatever hair-washing or party-hopping excuse she’d dump on me.
I knew who I was going to blame for this whole date- first-Prom-later idea. And I vowed, in future, to ignore any and all advice they dished out over deep-fried seaweed.
Juliet looked down, almost distracted. “I’ve never noticed that spider web before.”
“I’ve even got wheels for the night,” I added. “So maybe you could just, I dunno, beam in at eight, at the drive-in?”
Beam in at eight. Nice line, Señor Suave. But I didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t actually allowed to drive Hank’s Toyota. I was only allowed to sit in it while parked.
The corridor crowd thinned out and even Klaatu, to my overwhelming relief, finally finished his verbal briefing of every War of the Worlds adaptation and vamoosed to his next class, just like Juliet and I were supposed to do. She leaned against the auditorium doors, her semi-transparent arms folded, and raised her unbelievable crystal eyes back to me.
“A movie? A fabricated reality projected onto a screen designed to distract humans while they eat exploded kernels of corn?”
“Exactly! Popcorn.”
“Do you know,” she said, as if I ought to, “I’ve actually never seen a movie before. What distractions will be displayed?”
“Unmissable classics,” I said. “Independence Day and Mars Attacks.”
“And should I bring ears of corn to explode?” she asked.
“No, no, that’s … fine,” I said. “I’ll get the popcorn, but is that a ‘yes’?”
Even as I asked, I heard tiny footsteps scurrying along the now-deserted corridor, and Klaatu’s sci-fi- cartoon voice getting louder and louder – “No no no no no no no!” – until he pretty much crashed into my legs.
“Not Independence Day!” he said. “Not Mars Attacks! Nothing in any way inspired by The War of the Worlds either! Only The War of the Worlds, the book, Sherman Capote!”
“1898,” Juliet said to Klaatu.
“By Herbert George Wells,” I said.
“Yes,” Juliet said, looking back at me. “That’s a yes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Stranded at the Drive-In
I basked in the glory of Juliet’s yes, but I still had to get through the week. I distracted myself from the excitement and nerves of my first ever date by means of a full schedule of daytime classes and nocturnal rocket building. The ship was really coming together, and despite feeling sleepy during the day, I was even keeping up with the alien subjects.
Well, most of them.
My academic black mark was Galactic Languages, GalLang. I had no ear for Earthly foreign languages, let alone alien lingos, but our teacher, Mrs Rackles, sure did. She looked like a giant, green ear – a large audio receptor on four legs.
She was patient with me as I butchered verb conjugation in dozens of alien languages, only once muttering, “It’s only Earthlings that expect all aliens to speak their languages.”
Sonya was a star pupil in GalLang. Maybe it was from her years of Balleropera training, or maybe it was natural talent, but she picked up the galactic slang like a local, effortlessly reciting poems in foreign tongues while the rest of us struggled to say, “We come in peace.”
I did, however, finally find my footing on the football field. Octo was a sharp shooter when it came to throwing the pigskin and Atawee had clearly put the word out that I was not to be maimed, so I caught the ball with panache and made spectacular touchdowns.
Did I mind that my on-field prowess was only due to an alien protection racket? Nah. It felt great. For once, Sherman Capote was the guy that everyone wanted on their team.
Dad even stopped by between meetings one day to watch part of a game. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a figment of my imagination when I saw him nodding from the stands when the final whistle blew. He wasn’t clapping, but he wasn’t shaking his head in frustration either.
It was progress.
So by Saturday night, date night with Juliet, I was actually feeling pretty confident. Like me, the drive-in pulsed with anticipation.
It was a Groom Lake tradition, and almost everyone from school was there. But unlike the cafeteria, with its strict social hierarchy, this parking lot with a view was a free-for-all. Rows upon rows of personal space cruisers, winged jet packs, and the occasional military Jeep faced a large white screen propped up by two adult-sized AJABots.
Octo had parked Hank’s Toyota for me smack dab in the center. I waited anxiously for Juliet to materialize beside me and watched the Groom Lake kids let loose.
A couple of Xenophine Reeds were playing Frisbee, a gaggle of Martians arranged lawn chairs on top of their low-rider saucer, and the AJABot kids danced to the beat of their own techno. Atawee was there, holding claws with his scorpion companion in what looked like a missile on wheels, if Ferrari made missiles.
It was definitely date night in Groom Lake. The sweet scent of frying onion
s and roasting hot dogs from the concession stand at the back wafted over the coupled teenagers, hoping to make out in parked spaceships.
I even spotted Sonya’s Eggcraft, a few rows in front. She sat cross-legged on the roof with Houston, and I wondered if they were on a date, or just here as friends. I thought about going over to say hello, but they looked like they were having a good time, laughing and talking, and didn’t need any Sherman interruption. Besides, I had to stay on target.
The truck’s clock read 19:58. My heart started to pound and my palms got sweaty.
I tried to sink out of view as Jessica and her Prom committee crew strolled by, munching on hot dogs and chewing on gossip.
“Look at my poor loser brother,” she said, and then she sang a song I recognized from mornings waiting for her to stop using the shower as her private rehearsal space:
“Stranded at the drive-in, branded a fool …”
“She’s materializing at eight, okay?” I said. “Now Grease Lightning outta here.”
“What will they say Monday at school?”
“You have ketchup on your cheek,” I lied. But she swiped at her face anyway.
The whole gang mooched off, chuckling at my comedienne sister, still singing. I would’ve drowned her out with some Foo Fighters from the radio if it hadn’t been for the glow that suddenly flickered over the dashboard.
I checked the clock.
20:00.
Exactly on time.
I hadn’t seen Juliet materialize since she was late for Drama that first day – this time I was much, much closer to the action.
Her spherical blue cloud, so bright I had to squint, zapped into existence right above the passenger seat. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end. The cloud grew arms, then legs, and then the little cardboard air-freshener tree hanging from the rearview mirror started spinning like crazy – until, finally, Juliet was right next to me, floating an inch or so above the seat, looking perplexed by what she saw on the screen.
“I didn’t think movies would be this … interpretative,” she said quietly.
I followed her confused gaze to the white screen.
“Oh, it hasn’t started yet,” I explained. “Don’t worry, we’re not here to watch a white rabbit running in the snow.”
“Though that does sound lovely,” she said with a smile.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen a movie before,” I said.
“My parents are very … traditional,” she said. “But I want to experience everything that the universe has to offer.”
“Well, I’m glad your first time will be with me,” I blurted. “I can still remember my first movie.”
“Was it the white rabbit one?”
Gorgeous, and a sense of humor. What’s not to love?
“I was six,” I said, “and we were on a base in South Korea. The Air Force got a print of the original Star Wars, not the so-called Special Edition ones with all that phony CGI, and not the silly prequels, but the classic – the best.”
I was rambling, but powerless to stop myself. Star Wars had that effect on me. Or perhaps it was Juliet.
“The four of us – my family – went to this art deco cinema, and it was packed. All of the adults had seen the film before, of course, but they wanted to take their kids to see it on the big screen. I don’t think I blinked for two hours. It’s probably what got me interested in space, and building rockets, and …”
I was totally geeking out, drooling over Millennium Falcons, in front of an alien who spends every day in thousands of worlds. “Sorry,” I said, “that probably sounds silly to you.”
“Not at all,” she said. “It’s sweet. I didn’t get to do those kinds of things with my parents. They were always away on Icon business. I was pretty much raised by my Mentors. My parents seem to be more interested in the universe than they are in their own daughter.”
We had more in common than I’d thought.
“My mom and dad were away a lot too, but usually not at the same time. And now, it’s just my dad.”
“Is it your mother’s turn to be away?”
I didn’t want our date to be a downer before it had even begun, but I didn’t want to lie.
“My mom was a nurse in the army and she was training a whole new hospital of nurses in Afghanistan, and, well … she’s not coming back, ever.”
“I’m sorry, Sherman. I sometimes take for granted that we’re immortal.”
“So you’ll never lose your parents?”
“No. But they’re gone so much I sort of feel like I already have.”
The air was heavy and I needed to change the subject. Luckily, the drive-in lights dimmed and a sign projected onscreen telling us to tune our radios to AM 590.
I fiddled with the Toyota’s digital tuner until the cab filled with static.
“Are you excited?” I asked.
“I love it actually,” she said, as the 20th Century Fox drumroll escalated into the familiar fanfare. “I’ve never seen a monument to giant numbers before.”
“And it gets better,” I said as the film began.
Juliet was immediately transfixed by the sound and images, staring at the screen like a glowing blue statue. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that once the lights came up she’d just say, “Thank you and goodnight,” and that’d be it. I needed to impress her, roll this date into the big one. Prom.
So by the time Jeff Goldblum realized the aliens’ signal was a countdown, I was feeling a little panicked, worrying about the future here on Earth, not about the aliens onscreen.
I nearly jumped out of my seat when Octo tapped at my open window.
“How’s your mojo, Romeo?” he whispered.
Juliet, luckily, was entranced in movieland. I double-checked, then consulted the cephalopod.
“I dunno, she’s kind of in her own little world over there.”
“Will Smith has that effect on the ladies,” Octo explained. “It’s universal.”
“You think I should put my arm around her?” I whispered back.
Octo pulled an are-all-Earth-kids-this-dumb face, then ticked off a list with his tentacles.
“Popcorn first, then tentacle … I mean arm – sorry – then snuggle, and then maybe smooch,” he said. “Are you new to this or something?”
I was. I was a complete rookie, and way out of my league.
Popcorn.
The one thing Juliet had asked about!
I’d people-watched, I’d yelled at Jess, I’d even stared at the stars, but I’d completely forgotten to buy popcorn.
“Dude,” Octo said, noting its absence in the truck’s cab. “Seriously, you need to score the corn. It’s how your tentacles touch for the first time.”
“Fingers,” I corrected him.
“Nah, they give me indigestion,” he said. “Anyway, the way it works is, you watch the movie, you both go for a scoop of the salty stuff and then you make first contact. You both pretend it was just an accident, and you have a little stand-off: are you or aren’t you going to pull away? But it’s just a game because you both knew where scooping salted kernels would lead. You do cute little embarrassed giggles, and you catch each other’s eyes, telling each other, ‘Hey, it’s okay, I’m in this tub of buttered corn with you, baby, we’re in it together,’ and then, and only then, is there snuggle potential.”
“Wow,” I said. “How do you know all of this?”
“Ancient wisdom, dude,” he said. “Only once you get an arm around her can you go for the smooch. Otherwise she’ll see you coming a mile away. You’ve gotta flank in from the snuggle.”
“Could you get us the popcorn?” I pleaded.
“For someone in the same species as Darwin, you don’t know much about natural selection, do you?”
I shook my head as Goldblum tried to convince the skeptical, and surprisingly youthful, President to evacuate the White House.
“You getting the popcorn proves to Juliet that you can provide for her. It’
s simple hunter-gatherer stuff. She’s in the cave, and you’re out hunting the woolly mammoth! It’s natural selection, dude. And you want Juliet to select you! Dontcha?”
“Naturally,” I said. He was right. I had to hunt the mammoth, bring its hide back to the cave. “I’ll get the corn.”
“Be quick,” Octo whispered. “And just remember the code: P.A.S.S.”
“Popcorn, Arm, Snuggle, Smooch,” I said.
Octo slinked off between cars with a gyroscopic tentacle-shimmy and I leaned in towards my Icon date.
“Juliet, I’m just going to pop out to get the popcorn.”
“Go!” she shouted, without taking her eyes off the scrambling White House staff. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to the President’s soon-to-be-incinerated lackeys. Either way, I was going hunting for my cave-girl.
But as I double-timed it towards the concession, someone else moved in on my cave. I turned back to check on Juliet as I ran and spotted NED casually leaning against her window, clicking his long, ultra-white fingers to get her attention. My first instinct was to return to the car and defend my cave. But if I returned empty- handed, it would show Juliet that I couldn’t provide.
I blame you, Charles Darwin!
I rocked up to the concession stand to find Lunch Lady Nancy moonlighting behind the snack bar. “We’re closed, sweetheart,” she drawled.
“Wait, what?” I yelped. “We’re not even halfway through the first movie!”
“Union rules.”
“Please, Nancy,” I said, “just one box of popcorn. It’s to save the planet.”
“I’d love to help, but I don’t get overtime and you don’t get popcorn.”
She pulled down the rolling metal barrier over the window, and over my mission.
On the screen, a bunch of crazy-types were waving signs on the roof of a skyscraper. One of them read “Please Take Me Away From Here”.
That’s exactly how I felt. But unlike those sign- waving idiots, I knew exactly what would happen if I didn’t fix this debacle: the end of the world.
Somehow – even though I was about to trudge back to the truck without the mammoth – I had to win this girl’s heart. Wimping out just wasn’t an option.
“Hey, cumin bean, you want some corn?” It was one of the Fungi kids, a football-sized mushroom, peeping out from behind the concession stand. His smirky little black eyes narrowed at me. “Pretty hard to come by after eight-thirty.”