Alienated

• Title Page
  
• Copyright
  
• Dedication
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-One
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three
  
• Chapter Twenty-Four
  
• Chapter Twenty-Five
  
• Chapter Twenty-Six
  
• Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• About the Author
  

W
inning. Cara Sweeney had made it her business, and business was good. Honor Society president? Check. Young Leader Award? Check. State debate champion two years running? Double check. And when the title of valedictorian had eluded her, she’d found a way to snag that, too.

Over the summer, she’d staged an academic ambush of such epic proportions, Midtown High’s geek-elite were still chewing their pencils in shock. Sneaky as a senator, she’d retaken AP Calculus, raised her grade from 92 to 100, and usurped Marcus Johnson as valedictorian. Her stealth attack had caught him with his Hanes down, and unless her grades tanked this year—which was
so
not going to happen—the sulking loser had no chance of reclaiming his rank.

But she had a feeling Marcus would laugh his lacrosse pads off if he could see her now: slumped in the principal’s wingback guest chair, mouth agape as she tried to form a coherent response to the “awesome news” Mr. Ferguson had just tossed into her lap like a live grenade.

“I don’t think you understand what a big deal this is. Not only for you, but for the whole school.” Principal Ferguson’s brown caterpillar eyebrows inched toward a receding hairline. “The L’eihrs chose you over every other valedictorian in the country. We’re talking thirty thousand seniors!”

“Mmm-hmm.” Cara nodded blankly, trying to make sense of it. Maybe there’d been a mistake. She’d cut soccer, track, volunteer tutoring, and chess club a couple years ago when Mom got sick, and it took a lot more than academics to impress a scholarship committee these days. So why hadn’t they chosen someone more accomplished?

“I know the money comes with a few strings attached, but this is the opportunity of a lifetime.” Mr. Ferguson pointed a marble fountain pen at her and “fired” it like a tiny pistol. “Especially for a budding journalist. Think of the blog potential here.”

A few strings attached? Holy Mary, mother of all understatements! Cara shifted in her seat, the backs of her thighs sticking to the warm leather. “Oh, right—yeah, of course I’m happy. It’s just a shock. I didn’t even apply.”

“No application. Every high school submitted its top candidate, and the L’eihrs took it from there. You’ll never guess why they picked you.” Without giving her a chance to try, he announced, “They saw your footage from last year’s state debate finals. They admired your”—he held up two fingers and made air quotes—“passion.”

“What?” Cara scrunched her brows. Passion? She’d hammered the opposing team until their captain had cried and run off stage. The L’eihrs, who had the emotional range of tree bark, liked her atomic temper?

“This is huge!” Pausing a moment, Mr. Ferguson twisted his mouth while jabbing his index finger at a closed manila file folder. “And you don’t seem thrilled. Last year you said you were interested in exchange programs.”

Well, yeah. But there was foreign, and then there was
foreign
.

Mr. Ferguson leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk’s polished mahogany surface. His eyes softened behind thick glasses, voice lowering to a whisper. “You’re not afraid of the L’eihrs, are you?”

“No!” Cara scoffed, wiping her clammy palms on the front of her skirt. “Of course not.”

Okay, maybe a little. She’d been as fascinated as everyone else when the aliens made contact two years ago, but their secretive nature made her stomach feel heavy, like she’d eaten a dozen Taco Bell double-decker burritos in one sitting. And as much as she wanted to travel, leaving Earth wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

“Good. I don’t want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. The young man—uh, I mean the young…uh, well, technically we have the same DNA, so I guess I could call him—”

A sharp voice barked, “Student ambassador,” and Cara jumped in her seat. The old military guy lurking near the corner had camouflaged so perfectly into the green curtains that she’d almost forgotten he was there.

Mr. Ferguson nodded. “Right. The ambassador who’ll stay with your family sounds just like you—a top student, even by L’eihr standards, which is saying a lot.” He picked up a small photograph and handed it across the desk. “He just turned eighteen. His name’s Aelyx.”

He pronounced it
A-licks
. Cara gave the photo a perfunctory glance and handed it back. Whatever. They all looked the same to her.

“Wow, this scholarship is a lot more…” What was the right word? Lavish? Excessive? “…generous than the others I’ve applied for, but I don’t know how my parents will feel.”

What a bald-faced lie—she half expected her nose to grow. Mom and Dad would streak the Super Bowl halftime show just to meet a L’eihr, let alone live with one.

“No problem. I called your folks this morning, and they’re totally on board.”

Frick. Of course they were. Mom was probably emptying Troy’s old bedroom at that very moment, finally clearing out his tacky, testosterone-fueled shrine to heavy metal and Harley-straddling bimbos.

Mr. Ferguson stood and pulled some papers from his file. “And from what the colonel says, your brother’s over the moon”—he let out a hearty laugh—“to be the first human on planet L’eihr.”

“Wait.” She bolted forward, gripping the armrests. “Troy’s going
there
?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head.

“As soon as he heard you were selected, he volunteered to serve as human liaison for the program. He’ll get acclimated to the L’eihr culture now so he can help you and the other two exchange students adjust when it’s your turn next year. Think of him as your intergalactic mentor.” He grinned. “A big brother, no pun intended.”

If this were Mr. Ferguson’s idea of a few strings attached, she’d hate to see what he considered complicated.

The colonel came to life again, stepping forward and giving a curt nod. “Your brother’s a fine Marine. He’s never turned down an opportunity to serve his country.”

Exactly. Which was why Cara hadn’t seen the jerkwagon in almost two years. Apparently the Middle East wasn’t far enough away for Troy—he needed to leave the galaxy now. What was next, time travel?

Principal Ferguson strode to the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet and happier than a pigeon with a French fry. “I’ll make some copies of the exchange contract while Colonel Rutter explains the details.”

Cara turned her head and caught a glimpse of her dazed reflection in the debate team trophy cabinet. The blue eyes of the concavely distorted girl staring back looked haunted, like the stuffed owls in science lab, and long wisps of fiery auburn hair made her cheeks look even paler.

Get a grip
, she chided herself.
Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Sure, living with a L’eihr for the rest of the year would blow chunks, but she’d get a full ride out of the deal—anywhere she wanted, even Dartmouth! She’d never dreamed she could afford the Big Green, considering Mom’s treatments had knocked the family into a black hole of debt six figures deep.

And Mr. Ferguson was right about the blog potential. Humans knew next to nothing about L’eihrs, and she’d be sharing a bathroom with one. That gave her an instant leg up on every other journalist in the country.

What if she started a brand-new site, something with a catchy title and an outer-space theme? If A-licks would open up and spill some tidbits about life back home, she could run a special-interest series and attract followers from around the globe. And when it was her turn to visit L’eihr, all the photos and news she’d gather could land her a book deal. She might even be able to sell her proposal to a publisher before she left.

The more Cara thought about it, the more she realized the scholarship wasn’t the real prize here. This exchange could launch her career into the stratosphere. When she looked at it that way, putting up with a creepy houseguest was totally worth it.

“Buck up, Miss Sweeney.” Colonel Rutter’s firm voice brought her to attention, and she jerked upright like a soldier. He stood tall and lean behind the principal’s desk, narrowing his shrewd gray eyes as he spoke. “You look shell-shocked, and you should be. This program’s not for namby-pambies. I’m gonna lay it all out, and if you can’t handle this, you’d better say so. Understood?”

“Uh, yes.”

He glanced at his shoulder and smoothed a derelict wrinkle into submission before sitting down. This man didn’t take any crap, not even from his clothes. “The World Trade Organization chose me to head the LEAP: the L’eihr Exchange Ambassador Program. America, France, and China will each get a student ambassador. The goal is to help humans and L’eihrs understand each other better. Now let’s be frank. We want an alliance with L’eihr.”

Cara nodded. Unlike most of her classmates, she made it her business to know what went on in the world beyond the school’s graffiti-stained walls.

“Our polls show Americans don’t support it. Too many suspicions. But the LEAP’s gonna change all that.”

“Seriously? How?”

“Aelyx will be your shadow. Where you go, he goes. Do you work?”

“I waitress on the weeken—”

“Quit.”

She cleared her throat. “Just quit?”

“The LEAP pays a small stipend, so consider it your job. Full time. You’ll represent the whole country, so you gotta go all in.” He leaned forward and raised his brows as if expecting a reply.

“Understood.” That seemed fair. The higher the reward, the greater the responsibility. She’d rock this exchange like a hurricane. Besides, she wouldn’t exactly miss slinging footlongs at the Dreamy Weenie. “I’ll give my two weeks’ notice after school.”

“Make it one week.” Then he added, “Every other Wednesday, a camera crew will come to your house to tape interviews. They’ll air Fridays at nineteen hundred hours.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Televised interviews? Cara wiped her palms on her skirt again, rethinking a career at the Dreamy Weenie. “We’ll be on TV?”

“You asked how we’re gonna ease suspicions. This is how. By bringing a harmless L’eihr into everyone’s living rooms. People fear what they don’t understand, so they’re gonna get to know Aelyx. More importantly, they’ll see you”—he pointed an index finger at her nose, just like the old Uncle Sam poster—“at ease beside Aelyx, showing the world there’s nothing to fear.”

“But—”

“Now back to your responsibilities. You need to help Aelyx collect water and soil samples. Their scientists want to analyze contaminants. And I’ll expect you in Manhattan for the LEAP gala in three weeks.”

“An excused absence, so don’t worry.” Principal Ferguson breezed back into the room, oblivious to the fact that Cara’s pulse was pounding at the base of her throat. Probably because he wasn’t the one going on camera in front of eleventy billion people. He handed her a stack of papers still warm from the copier. “Here’s the contract and the scholarship details. Read this over with your folks tonight, then sign it and bring it back in the morning.”

Colonel Rutter thrust a business card at her chest. “Call if you have any questions. See you in three weeks.” Then he stood, turned on his heel, and left the room before she could ask if skipping the interviews was a deal breaker.

This was happening so fast. She could barely catch her breath. Less than five minutes ago, her greatest dilemma had been which movie to see Saturday night with her boyfriend, Eric, and now…

Oh, no! Eric! She’d forgotten all about him. He and his friends hated L’eihrs—not just a pinch of ignorance and a dash of mistrust, but serious loathing. He’d go full-on banana sandwich when she told him.

“You look a little overwhelmed.” Principal Ferguson sat on the edge of his desk, smiling down at her with such tenderness it made her heart pinch. “But I know you’ll do great. I’m so proud of you.”

That nearly undid her. For some ass-backward reason, she could take any criticism, but kindness made her blubber like an infant. Digging a fingernail into her thigh to keep from crying, she whispered, “Thanks.”

“And this gives you a chance to thank the L’eihrs for what they’ve done.” He tilted his head, delivering a pointed look that shamed her. “I hope you don’t take that gift for granted.”

With flaming cheeks, Cara stared into her lap and brushed her thumb over the frayed hem of her jean skirt. The fact that she questioned this opportunity just proved she was the most unappreciative jerk on the planet. Her whole family owed an enormous debt to the scientists of L’eihr. Two years ago, as a gesture of goodwill, they introduced humans to the
asheem
—a potent medicinal root native to their planet, which could isolate and kill cancer cells. It had come just in time to save Mom’s life.

Standing, she summoned all her courage and extended her palm to shake the principal’s hand. It was time to woman up. This wasn’t the end of the world.

“This feels like the end of the world,” Syrine said, pressing her fingertips delicately against the spaceport window as if trying to capture the distant, backlit planet glowing in the darkness.

Aelyx glanced over the top of her head at Mother L’eihr. He’d never traveled off-terrain before, and he couldn’t deny the pang of longing that settled beneath his breastbone when he viewed their home from five hundred miles above the ground. Why the Elders had chosen to send them away—and to a primitive, foul planet such as Earth—was beyond him. Perhaps his leaders really had gone soft in the mind, as many of the other clones suspected.

“I wish they’d reconsider,” Eron whispered, glancing over his shoulder to ensure the ambassador hadn’t returned. “This alliance is madness.”

“Which is exactly why we need to go,” Aelyx told his friends. Unwilling to risk speaking aloud any longer, he locked eyes with Eron.
Did you bring the
sh’alear
?

I sewed it into my tunic lining with a sprig of nilweed
, Eron assured him.
Just like you said. And I helped Syrine do the same.
The canines at Earth’s customs checkpoint won’t smell a thing.

Good.
Aelyx leaned against the cool metal wall, trying to look innocent.
Just make sure you don’t launder your tunic while
we’re aboard the ship.

Eron laughed.
Like I’m that deficient. You’re the one who left a
ration of
l’ina
under his bunk for a week.