The Outsider (3 page)

Liz lowered her hands. The patch of skin underneath the little hole did look kind of strange — almost silvery. What was going on?

She slowly unzipped the front of her uniform. When she looked down at her stomach, she began to feel light-headed.

This wasn't happening. None of this could be happening.

But there, on her stomach, were two iridescent handprints. Melded with her flesh. Max's handprints.

Isabel Evans pulled out her top dresser drawer and tossed the contents into the center of her bed. Okay: lips, eyes, skin, nails, scent, she thought. She snatched up every lipstick, lip gloss, lip balm, and lip pencil she saw and piled them in the upper-right-hand corner of her mattress.

Then she picked out all the eye shadows (cream and powder), all the eyeliners (liquid and pencil), all the mascaras, and all the eyebrow pencils. She heaped them in the upper-left corner of the bed, then added two eyelash curlers and a bottle of Visine.

Max always teased her when she did this. He said Isabel was like a little kid dividing her Halloween candy into categories — plain chocolate, chocolate with nuts, hard candy and licorice. But organizing her makeup and stuff calmed Isabel down whenever she was upset. And she was upset now. No,
more
than upset. Totally panicked and heading toward hysterical.

If her brother didn't get home soon, he'd never get the chance to tease her ever again — because Isabel would kill him. And Michael, too.

One of them had used a lot of power — healing, dream walking,
something.
She could feel the power crackling in the air — all the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck were standing up. And the smell of ozone drifted in through her open window — the same way it did after a thunderstorm.

That meant something was very wrong, because Max and Michael never used their power just for kicks. And whenever Isabel did — which was a lot because using her powers was
fun
— they both always chewed her out.

Something big must have happened. Something that made her brother and her friend risk breaking their own rules. But that wasn't the scariest part. The scariest part was that she had felt a burst of terror from both of them. Not fear.
Terror.

Isabel couldn't read Max, or Michael's thoughts. But she could feel their feelings, always. Most of the time she tuned them out. Who wanted to feel Michael's annoyance over some argument with his foster parents or Max's sappy pleasure when Liz Ortecho smiled at him?

But there was no way to block the terror coming from both of them right now. It would be like trying to ignore a volcano erupting in the middle of town, spewing lava everywhere.

Isabel scooped up blushes, and moisturizers, and concealers, and foundations (liquid and powder). She shoved them over to the lower-right-hand corner of the bed. She started to add an apricot-and-oatmeal facial scrub, then hesitated. Should she do cleansing stuff separate this time?

She couldn't think straight. Where were Max and Michael? They had to know she would be going crazy.

Isabel threw the facial scrub in the trash. She hated the way it felt on her skin, all gritty and itchy. She shouldn't have bought it in the first place.

She heard a car pull up in the driveway. Finally! Isabel bolted out of her room, down the hall, and out the front door. Max and Michael were striding up the front walk toward her. Max avoided looking her in the eye, and Michael's face was set and grim.

This is bad, Isabel thought. This is very bad. “Where have you guys been? What happened?” she demanded. Her voice sounded high and shrill.

“Inside,” Max answered as he brushed past Isabel.

“Inside,” Isabel muttered. She and Michael followed Max into the house. Isabel slammed the door shut behind them. “Okay, we're inside. What is going on?”

“Are Mom and Dad home?” Max asked, ignoring her question.

“No, this is their Clovis day,” Isabel answered impatiently. Mr. and Mrs. Evans had decided to expand their small law practice once Max and Isabel started junior high. Now they kept offices in Roswell and over in Clovis, about an hour's drive to the northeast.

Max nodded, then headed into the living room, with Michael right behind him. “Don't you walk away from me,” Isabel cried. “I want to know what you did. And don't tell me nothing — I felt the power jolt. It practically knocked me off my feet.”

Her brother didn't answer. Max flopped down in the recliner. He rested his head on the Indian blanket tossed over the back, his face gray and pasty looking next to the vivid reds, golds, and greens.

He was freaking Isabel out. Max loved to take charge. He loved telling her and Michael what to do. And now he wouldn't open his mouth.

Isabel turned to Michael. “You tell me. Right now.”

“The saint used his powers to heal a gunshot wound — and he did it in front of witnesses,” Michael spat out. He sat down on the nubby brown sofa, then stood right back up. He was obviously too wound up to stay in one place.

“A gunshot wound? Are you crazy?” Isabel screamed at Max. Then she glared at Michael. “He's your best friend — why didn't you stop him?”

“I tried,” Michael shot back. The expression in his gray eyes warned Isabel to back off.

“Did the police show up?” Isabel asked, her voice rising higher and higher.

“Valenti was pulling into the parking lot as we were pulling out,” Michael answered.

Isabel's stomach clenched. Sheriff Valenti scared her. She did everything she could to avoid him. If he crashed a party, Isabel made sure she was out the back door. If he showed up at school, Isabel made sure she was quietly studying in a corner of the library And now Max had practically handed the guy an invitation to come after them.

“Did the witnesses get a good look at you? Do you think they'll be able to give Valenti a decent description?” Isabel asked.

“They'll probably be able to give him names and addresses,” Michael muttered.

Isabel gave Max The look, the “tell all — or else” look.

“Liz Ortecho is the one who got shot. She knows I did something to heal her. I think her friend Maria DeLuca knows, too,” Max admitted. “She must know. She was the one trying to stop the bleeding.”

“That means Valenti is going to be at our door in, like, two seconds,” Isabel cried. “He's going to find out the truth about you!”

“Izzy — ,” Max began.

“And it's not going to take a genius to figure out that if you're not from around here, your sister isn't, either,” Isabel went on. “How could you do that to me, Max? Valenti will know the truth about both of us. He'll turn us over to some government agency, and — ”

“I think we should get out of here,” Michael interrupted. “I think we should get in the Jeep and start driving, and I don't think we should stop until we're out of the state.”

“Stop: Just stop it, okay?” Max ordered. He sat up a little straighter and shoved his blond hair off his forehead. “Liz lied to the paramedics for me. I told her to say that she broke a bottle of ketchup and spilled it all over herself, and she did. We can trust her. And I'm sure Maria will go along with Liz.”

“You don't know that,” Isabel insisted. “You put all of us in danger, Max.”

“Now you know how I feel every time you use your powers,” Max shot back.

“No. Do not even try to make this about me,” Isabel yelled. “You — .”

“Liz is going to have a lot of questions,” Michael cut in. “What exactly are you planning to tell her?”

“The truth,” Max answered.

“No way!” Michael exploded.

Isabel stared at her brother. She recognized the expression on his face — he had made up his mind.

Slowly she sank down on the arm of his chair. She had to find a way to make him really hear her. She had to convince him he was about to do something that could destroy them all.

“Max, we're not living in Disneyland, okay?” she said quietly. “We aren't living in a happy, perfect place. It would be nice if we were, but we're just not. You can't trust everyone. It's not safe.”

Max shook his head. “I'm not talking about
everyone.
I'm talking about Liz.”

“Liz and probably Maria,” Isabel reminded him. “You think you know them, but there is no way you can possibly know how they'll react when you tell them you're — not the same as them. They might look at you and see something totally repulsive and scary.”

Max didn't answer. Isabel could see that he wasn't convinced.

She stood up and began to pace. Maybe Michael was right. Maybe they
should
just take off. They weren't safe now that two humans were so close to learning their secret.

“You're the one who made the rule, Max. You made us all swear we would never tell anyone, remember?” Michael asked.

Isabel could hear the strain in his voice. He sounded almost as scared as she felt.

“And you were right,” Michael continued, “because there are humans out there who would track us down and kill us if they found out we exist.”

Isabel heard a car pull into the driveway.

She spun to face Max. “It's happening,” she spat at him. “Valenti's coming after us already. What are we going to do?”

Max sprang out of the recliner and rushed down the front hall. He took a quick look out the thin window next to the door. “It's not Valenti, it's Liz,” he told Isabel and Michael.

Isabel slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. Max felt a pang of worry — he'd never seen his little sister so hysterical before. But he didn't have time to deal with her now. He had to concentrate on Liz.

He swung open the door before Liz rang the bell. She jumped in surprise but quickly recovered. She stared him straight in the eye. “You said you'd explain everything later. It's later.” Liz crossed her arms and kept looking at him. Obviously she wasn't leaving until she'd gotten an explanation.

Max sighed. He knew Isabel and Michael were probably ready to assassinate him, but what else could he do? Liz must be more freaked out than all of them — she'd almost died.

“Come in,” he told her, ignoring Isabel's groan. “Let's go into my room. Michael and Isabel were about to . . . watch a video.”

Michael and Isabel didn't say anything to back Max up. They didn't say anything at all. They just stared at Liz. If they could, they would be shooting death rays out of their eyes right now, he thought. Lucky for Liz, that was one power they didn't have.

Max led the way into his room and closed the door.

“Uh, sit down. Do you want something to drink or anything?” Max grabbed an armful of dirty clothes off the floor and hurled them into his closet. “We have soda, and juice, and these power drink things Isabel likes, and probably some other stuff.”

“No, I'm okay” Liz sat down on the bed.

Max started to sit next to her, then changed his mind and leaned against his dresser. He'd fantasized about having Liz Ortecho in his bedroom, playing out every possible variation. But he'd never imagined a situation like this.

“So,” Liz said. She fiddled with the braided silver bracelet on her wrist.

“So, ” Max repeated.

Liz's aura had grown lighter. But it hadn't returned to its usual warm, rich amber. It was a sickly yellow. What is it going to look like after I tell her the truth about me? he thought. Is Isabel right — will Liz see me as some repulsive mutant creature?

If she did, who cared about the rest? Who cared if he was captured and experimented on? Nothing could be worse than Liz looking at him and seeing something hideous, something to be feared.

Max knew he had to say something soon but didn't know how to begin.

Liz twisted her bracelet around and around. Man, she's got to be nervous enough without me standing here staring at her, Max thought.

“So, um how are you feeling?” he asked.

How are you feeling. What a dorky thing to say, he thought.

“I'm still sort of shaky, I guess,” Liz answered. “That's normal, right? I probably have all this adrenaline racing around in my body with nothing to do. Like I drank too much coffee — ”

“Yeah,” Max said. I When I was a kid, I almost got hit by a car. My heart didn't quit pounding for, like, an hour. I was riding my bike. I don't know how old I was, but I was still the age where clipping playing cards to the spokes was considered cool, so — ”

“Max, let's just stop. We're both totally babbling,” Liz interrupted. She took a deep breath, then continued. “I lied to everyone just like you asked me to. But I need to know what really happened.”

“Okay. You're right. No more babbling. No babbling allowed from here out. No — ”

“Max!”

“Okay, okay But before I start — there's no chance I could get you to believe that ketchup bottle story, is there?” he asked.

Liz gave a short laugh. “I don't think so.” She pulled her shirt out of her jeans.

What was she doing? Max's mouth went dry. He struggled to keep his expression neutral.

Liz slowly slid up the shirt, revealing the skin of her stomach. Max released his breath in a hiss when he saw the two shining silver handprints. His handprints.

“I didn't get these from a ketchup bottle,” Liz said. She reached out and took one of his hands in hers. Max held completely still. What should he do? What did she
want
him to do?

Liz met his gaze for a long moment, then she drew Max's hand toward her stomach. She matched Max's hand to the silver print, carefully positioning each finger.

Can she feel me trembling? he thought. When he was healing her, Max had been totally focused on dissolving the bullet and closing the wound. But now . . . now he was hyperaware of the texture of Liz's skin, soft and smooth. So warm underneath his palm.

Max sat down next to Liz. She kept his hand pressed against her stomach. “You did this, Max,” she said, her voice charged with emotion. “You saved my life. How?”

He slowly removed his hand. Liz dropped her shirt back down.

“I don't know how to start,” he admitted.

“Just tell me. Whatever it is, just tell me,” Liz said.

This is Liz, Max reminded himself. They had been in school together since the third grade. If Max had to pick one human to tell the truth about himself, he would choose Liz. She really cared about things, about people. So do it, he thought.

“You know I'm adopted, right?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” Liz waited.

“My parents, my real parents, are dead.”

“Oh, God, Max. That's awful,” Liz answered. “I didn't know. Do you remember much about them?”

Typical Liz. She'd already forgotten all about herself, about the questions she wanted answered. Now she was totally focused on him.

“I don't remember them at all. I wish I did,” Max answered. “But I think . . . I think I inherited the power to heal, the power I used on you, from them.”

Liz started to respond, but Max rushed on. If he didn't keep going, he was afraid he'd never get it out.

“My parents died in the Roswell crash. They . . . they weren't human. And neither am I. That's why I can do things like, you know, heal. With my hands.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Liz inched away from Max on the bed. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded way too calm.

“I don't know what you want me to say,” she said, not meeting Max's eyes. “Should I start with the fact that the UFO crash supposedly happened more than
fifty years
ago — and you're only a senior in high school? So your parents have been dead longer than you've been alive?”

She didn't believe him. Max had never even considered the possibility that she wouldn't believe him.

“There were incubation pods on board, and — ,rdquo; Max began, but Liz didn't let him finish.

“Or maybe I should just skip ahead to the really big problem with your story — there was no Roswell crash. Every scientific investigation has confirmed that.”

Liz stood up and put on her jacket. “You know, I thought you trusted me. I thought you were going to tell me the truth.” Her voice was cold, and ugly crimson splotches had appeared in her aura. Max had never seen her so angry.

He blew out a sigh of frustration. He'd been so focused on how Liz would react when he told her the truth that he hadn't stopped to think she might not believe him. Who
would
believe him? It was like saying he was the child of the Loch Ness monster or something.

He had to find a way to convince her. If Liz walked out of here feeling like he'd been jerking her around, Max didn't know what she'd do. She might even decide to tell Sheriff Valenti what had really happened at the cafe.

“What about Colonel William Blanchard?” Max blurted. It was the first thing that popped into his head. “He was the commander of the army airfield. The guy was in charge of an atomic bomb squad strike force, so he had to be pretty well respected. He made the announcement that a flying disk was recovered.”

“I really don't want to have a world's-greatest-unsolved-mysteries kind of conversation with you right now,” Liz snapped. “You promised me you would tell me everything, and you're obviously not going to do it.”

She turned toward the door.

“I would never lie to you, Liz,” Max said desperately “Let me prove it.”

“Fine. You have two minutes. Prove it.”

He jumped up and grabbed her hand. Liz jerked away, but Max held tight. “You said you wanted proof,” he reminded her.

“Okay,” she murmured warily

Max began rubbing her bracelet, concentrating on the molecules of silver. He gave the molecules a little
tap
with his mind. He wanted them to move apart, but not too much. Just a little more, he thought. He gave the molecules another tap and felt the bracelet turn to liquid under his fingers.

Liz gave a tiny gasp as the bracelet began to drip off her wrist. The metal melted faster, sliding to the floor in a silver stream. It formed a circular puddle at Liz's feet.

“I was telling you the truth, Liz,” Max whispered. “ swear.”

Liz stared down at the silver pool, then raised her eyes to Max's face. “I . . . I have to go.” She slowly backed toward the door — as if he were some vicious animal that might attack if she moved too quickly.

Max felt his throat close up. She's looking at me like she doesn't even know me, he thought.

“Liz, wait!” he begged.

She moved faster. “I — I can't,” she said. “I just . . . can't.”

Max was frantic. He had to find a way to fix things. He couldn't let her leave like this.

Quickly he reached down and plunged his hands into the silver puddle, molding it in his hands, pushing the molecules back together. When the bracelet was re-formed, he held it out to Liz.

Take it, he thought. Please just take it. All you have to do is move one step toward me.

Liz opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned and bolted out the door.

Max stared down at the bracelet in his hand. He slowly walked over to his dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. He gently placed the bracelet all the way in the back and covered it with clothes.

He didn't want to see it again. He didn't want any reminder of the way Liz had looked at him when she finally understood what he really was.

Liz tried to put the key in the ignition, but her hand was shaking too hard. “Come on, come on, come on,” she whispered. She didn't want to be there if Max decided to follow her.

She used her other hand to help guide the key into place and started the engine. The car gave a little jerk as she pulled out onto the street.

When she reached the corner, she turned left instead of right. She would go straight to Maria's. She couldn't deal with going home yet. Her parents would start fussing over her, and Liz was afraid she'd just blurt out everything to them.

Her mother would probably insist she go to a doctor or something. And Papa was a total law-abiding citizen — he didn't even jaywalk — so he would make her call Sheriff Valenti and tell him exactly what happened. Liz wasn't ready to do that.

She didn't know
what
she wanted to do. Thinking about Max made her brain freeze up, like a computer trying to download a file that was way too big.

Liz made another left. She'd driven to Maria's so many times, she could do it on autopilot. She picked up speed as she headed down the street.

Stop sign, she told herself as she approached the intersection. Stop sign! But the message didn't get from her brain to her foot fast enough, and she drove straight through. She heard a car horn give a long, angry honk behind her.

“Sorry,” Liz whispered. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”Tears filled her eyes, blurring her view of the road in front of her. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she swerved over to the curb and stopped. Her heart pounded in her ears. It was beating so hard, she could feel it in her fingertips as she clenched the steering-wheel with both hands. She slowly let out her breath.

Okay, just calm down, she thought. Maria's house was only a few more blocks away. Liz checked the rearview mirror; she checked the side mirror; she looked over her shoulder and checked her blind spot. Then she slowly started back down the street.

She concentrated on driving the same way she had the day she took her driver's test. She made sure she stayed exactly at the speed limit, not one mile slower or faster. She came to a full and complete stop at the next stop sign. She clicked on her turn signal early enough — but not too early when she reached Maria's street, and she did a perfect parallel-parking job in front of Maria's house.

Made it, she thought. She climbed out of the car and hurried up the front walk. She rang the bell, waited one second, and rang it again.

“I could have used you two minutes earlier,” Maria said when she opened the door. She led the way into the living room, still talking. “My mother just went out on a date looking like some rock star. I told her she should change, but of course she wouldn't listen to me. Maybe if you had — ”