Lost in Starlight (Starlight Saga) (13 page)

Well, that bites.

“Really? No dating humans? Like ever?”

He nods and looks miserable. Tired and haggard and troubled. We both become still and silent, caught in a boundless trance as if every forbidden second we’ve shared together has formed an unbreakable chain around us. For a moment, neither of us says anything. Then his expression becomes resolved and the emotion gone. In its place is an impassive barrier.

“Nope,” he says. “Humans are usually considered strictly off-limits by the Galactic Brotherhood.”

Wow. Things just keep getting stranger. My heart contracts painfully, and I allow myself a moment of selfishness.
But what about me?
Where do we go from here?
And then I let it go. Because he’s right. It’s dangerous for us to date now. The hybrids can steal my memories with some scary electromagnetic gizmo that can even make me go insane. But being around Hayden and not being able to touch him or date him is going to drive me crazy enough.

So there it is. I’m not going to yearn or whine or wish things could be different. I’m going to be strong. For me, for Hayden, and for hybrids everywhere.

Just as I worry that my poor brain is about to explode more questions pop into my head.

“Do you think the Zetas are planning on coming back?” I ask. “To live here, or return to wipe us out and take over?”

“Doubtful.” He frowns. “Sloane, relax. They’re long gone.”

At least there’s some good news in this strange, gloomy tale.

My gaze wanders back to the ocean. “Hayden, it doesn’t matter to me anymore what you are. You’re a good person and you saved my life.”

Hayden takes my hand and squeezes it, running his thumb across the backside. The electric charge zapping beneath my skin, under the gentle pressure from his thumb, fires into my blood stream and heats everything in its path. I instantly sense that familiar pull, and sigh. So much for trying to be strong.

He looks from my face to our touching hands. “You must have more questions.”

“I do. How did your uncle help you? What did he do?”

He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck before answering. “The Zetas left us with some intergalactic technology and powerful medications that my uncle is using to heal me. These meds contain only natural energy, which we can use to speed our body’s healing process.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you couldn’t go to a regular hospital and be treated.”

“If the doctors were to take any blood samples, they’d realize rather quickly that I wasn’t entirely human. It would only cause massive confusion
and
a lot of questions…then of course, a massive mind-wiping of all the medical staff,” he says solemnly. “I knew it was much safer if I went to my brother and uncle for help. Our advanced technology is far superior to modern medicine, anyway.”

I nod. “One of my relatives, Lauren is really into Wicca and she has lots of crystals around her house, which she claims have healing powers. But she’s sort of cracked.” I smile and add, “She once told me that if I was ever asked to sign a contract or make a deal, and I’m experiencing any doubts, then I should sign my neighbor’s name. Apparently, malevolent entities rarely ask for photo ID.”

Hayden laughs. “She sounds like an interesting person.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got some really
weird
relatives in Fallen Oaks.” I lace our fingers. “Oh, man, I’m totally babbling. Sorry, I’m just still trying to wrap my head around all this crazy stuff.” I squeeze his fingers. “Don’t worry, I’m not running away.”

He untangles our fingers. “All my family has ever done is run or hide, so you’ll have to be patient with me.”

The pain reflected in his voice and lingering in his eyes makes me decide to change the subject.

“So, what are your special abilities? Does everyone in your family have them?” I ask.

“Yes, everyone in my family has enhanced intelligence, the use of ferrokinesis, and we can teleport. But the farther we travel, the more energy it uses,” he explains. “Sometimes it leaves me drained for hours.”

“I knew it!” I pump a fist in the air. “That’s how you saved the puppy and bent the fork, right?”

“Yes, I teleported to save the dog, and my emotions are tied to my powers, like my ability to manipulate iron and other metals,” he says quietly, his expression uncertain. “You’re taking this much better than I thought you would.”

“And that’s a bad thing? It beats thinking I’m crazy—
trust
me.”

He half-smiles, and before he can answer, his cell buzzes in his pocket. He checks the screen. “It’s my uncle. I’m sorry, Sloane, but I have to go back to his house. I’m still weak and he wants to do more treatments. My parents don’t know about the accident and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Translation: My parents don’t know about
you
either and I’d like to keep it that way

My shoulders droop and I chew on a strand of hair. “Already?”

“Yeah, I’m still kind of banged up. I broke two ribs and my arm, and although, I’m healing fairly quickly, I still need more medical attention.”

I nod. “It’s fine, go heal yourself.”

He hugs me and whispers, “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Thanks for saving mine.”

Hayden cradles his ribs, still nursing the wound. “You going to Diego Velazquez’s party next weekend?”

Parties have never really been my thing. It’s all the drunk drama, shameless hookups, and vomit minefields.

I stand and dust the sand from my jeans. “Wasn’t planning on it. Why?”

Standing, he looks past me at the ocean. “It might be fun. Do you want to go together?”

My forehead wrinkles in confusion. “You mean, like a date?”

He stiffens. “Yeah, Sloane. When a guy asks a girl to go with him somewhere it usually means he’s asking her out.”

A rush of euphoria sweeps throughout my body. Not even alien genes will get between me and this hot boy.

My cheeks burn. “Oh. Okay, then yes.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at nine.” Hayden’s entire body relaxes, and when he looks at me, his eyes are bright, fervent.

The blush spreads to my neck. “Um, Hayden?”

He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…I just thought we couldn’t be more than friends.”

“Who said I liked playing by the rules?”

Welcome, Snarklings!

Today’s editorial is about movie clichés on the use of firearms that make me wanna choke someone.

Nail guns being used like machine guns.
So lame!

In a society of gun users, there never seems to be any weapons around when the killer is approaching.
Dumb!

Why do guns always seem to hold over fifty rounds of amino, and never need to be reloaded?
Yeah, right.

And why does the gun always jam or stop working as soon as the killer/zombie/demon arrives?
Eye-roll worthy.

And the worst offender, why do the characters toss aside their firearms when they run out of ammo? Why not hold on to it and look for more bullets?
Yeah, not too bright.

Peace, love, and horror flicks,

Zombie Queen aka Sloane

Later that evening, after hearing Hayden’s mind-blowing confession, I mentally crash hard. Exhaustion sets in and my head feels like someone has poured a tub of concrete over it. But as I snuggle in bed with Jinx and absentmindedly stroke his fur, endless questions pop into my mind. Stuff like…

How am I going to keep Hayden’s secret from my friends? Have I ever sat next to a hybrid in a movie theater or stood behind one in line at Hot Topic? How many of his kind are there in the Bay Area? In the entire state? And the most immediate concern, why had I agreed to go to the party with him?

Thinking about everything makes my brain freeze up, like a computer trying to download a file that’s way too big.

I sit up and grab my laptop from the desk. Placing the sleek machine on my lap, I power it on, then Google—
what else?
Aliens. UFOs. And Zetas.

My first search brings up horror movies starring the brilliant Sigourney Weaver and some of the best science fiction films ever made. Next, I read Wikipedia’s data on alien races, but it’s information overload. The website does state that various scientists consider extraterrestrial life plausible, but there’s no direct evidence of their existence.
Ha!
There are also images of little green men with large heads and big black eyes. So lame.

When I type in UFOs, I get a zillion hits. And a freakin’ ton of conspiracy theories pop up. I try to sift through them before finally giving up on trying to figure out what’s truth and what is most likely fiction.

Placing my laptop on the bed, I get up to pace. This is just too many shades of crazy. Seizing my Hello Kitty notebook from my purse, I jot down some notes on what I’ve uncovered so far, trying to make sense of it.

Hayden and his entire family are half-alien. Zeta hybrids are real. Government conspiracies abound. Sector Thirteen: good guys or bad? Galactic Brotherhood: definitely dangerous.

After I add a few web addresses from the sites I found for future reference, I put the notebook away. The room feels stuffy, so I open a window. A chilly wind strokes my flushed skin and somewhat clears my head.

“Sloane!” my brother yells from the bottom of the attic stairwell. “Phone for you.”

Weird. No one ever calls me on the landline.

I trudge downstairs and pick up the cordless phone resting on a table in the hallway. “Hello?”

Static crackles through the line.

“Hello?” I repeat.

The line goes dead. I shudder, but my hands are clammy. I wipe them on my shirt. What if someone’s checking to see if I’m home?

Frowning, I hang up the phone and go back to my room to continue my research. I watch some odd footage of UFO sightings on YouTube, and then look up the Zetas. I check out a “conspiracy” site entitled,
Alien Species from A to Z
that asserts the Zetas are also referred to as the Grey Aliens or The Greys. The website even claims to have knowledge of the hybrids, which have been born with a percentage of Zeta genetics.

Guess I’m not the only human to find out about extraterrestrials and their crossbreeds. Other humans have discovered the truth. This website proves it, but obviously, no one actually believes it.

I scroll further down the page. The website states that Zetas don’t look human. They have dark gray skin and huge heads, and although they appear humanoid, they have reptilian features (ick), some have huge warts (gag) and most have large black eyes (creepy). Thank goodness, when the Zetas did the DNA splicing they left out the ugly genes.

Somehow, I don’t think lizard genetics and human DNA equal hot guys like Zach and Hayden. So I just nix the whole lame reptile BS. I try sifting through all the Zeta stuff, but my brain cells are fried. Enough with the alien studies.

Now if I can just find a Zeta dating manual, I’d be peachy.

I close the browser. The urge to confide in Viola strikes hard. I totally trust her, and we practically tell each other everything. But Hayden’s secret is like a deadly virus—it needs to be contained, or someone might get hurt. Hayden might get hurt.

My stomach grumbles, and I glance at the clock. It’s past dinnertime. Powering off the laptop, I go downstairs to start dinner.

As I pass Jonah’s bedroom, the rapid sounds of gunfire pierce the wood of his closed door. “You’re going down, sucker!” he yells.

Since my mom is working in her studio, I put tater tots in the oven for Jonah and make myself a grilled cheese sandwich. I eat at the circular kitchen table and wait for the timer to buzz, letting me know the tots are done.

My mom emerges from her studio just as the dial buzzes. “I’ll get it.” She shoves on an oven mitt and takes out the tray, putting it on the stove to cool. “Where’s Jonah?”

“In his room playing video games—where else?” I get up, open the freezer door, and take out a tub of cookie dough ice cream. I scoop a huge glop into a bowl, get a spoon, and sit down. But I don’t eat it. Only stare at the cold mound of dessert.

My mom leans against the counter. “You okay, honey? You’re chewing your hair again. Stop it.”

I pull the strands out of my mouth. I really need to break this stupid habit. “Just burned out, Mom. Long day.”

Digging into my ice cream, the sweet flavor hits my tongue. So yum.

“We’ve talked about this,” the Food Police begins in her patronizing you-need-to-eat-healthy tone. As if being chubby is somehow a crime. “I bought some fresh fruit the other day. You should be snacking on that instead of—”

“Dad still in Los Angeles?” I ask to change the subject.

My mom nods. “He’ll be there until next week.” A shadow flashes over her pretty features, darkening her eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You seem...” she pauses and flicks paint off her arm. “Worried about something. Is that why you’re eating that crap?”

No! Yes!

“Well?” she asks.

I shove another big spoonful of sugary goodness into my mouth just to irritate her.
Gee, Mom, where do I start? The guy I’m crushing on is a hybrid. His alien status has to remain a secret. And no, I don’t mean he needs a green card. And let’s not forget, some creeper in dark sunglasses is spying on me.

But sharing this info might get me fitted for a straitjacket. And they don’t even come in black!

“Nope. I’m good.” I fiddle with my napkin. “I just have a calculus test that I need to study for.”

She turns to the stove. “Then you go do that while I finish up Jonah’s dinner.”

I stand and put my dishes in the dishwasher. “I love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, honey,” she says over her shoulder.

Back in my room, I don’t study, although I should. Instead, I turn on my TV and put in a newly released scary movie that the blogosphere has been raving about. I get comfy on my bed beside Jinx to watch the supernatural flick. A two-hour distraction with murderous ghosts seems in order. But my mind keeps wandering, unable to focus.

While watching the movie, I can’t help but think of Hayden. We’re like ill-fated lovers. Even though I will never admit it aloud, maybe Hayden and I are like all those romantic sentimental films—except none of them reveals what happens when you start falling for someone of a different species. I pause the movie. Hayden’s true origins keep penetrating both my consciousness and my heart. Mostly stuff like…

Super intelligent hybrids.

Government conspiracies.

And alien scientists.

My mind is a whirling mass of jumbled thoughts and confused emotions, but the ever-present image of Hayden’s stormy gaze stays at the forefront.

I settle in and hit play on the remote. The movie isn’t fantastic. Not like a yummy four-course meal, but more like a tasty snack, so I only give it three stars in my review.

The only thing I love more than a good meal is a good movie, one I can devour without remorse. Of course, some films are better than others. As a foodie, the terms “feasting” and “insatiable” best describe how much I enjoy movies. My favorites are the ones that have a sharp witty flavor, while the not-so-great ones can leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Yup, I’m weird.

I write another quick article for my column “Fright Night Babble” about movie clichés and respond to comments from my last post, needing the comfort of my online column to remind me what
normal
feels like. But it doesn’t really help. My life has been forever changed by Hayden’s crazyass confession.

A warm breeze plays with my hair and I get up to shut the window. The street outside appears dark and rather quiet. Somewhere a cat in heat yowls miserably. Across the road, a streetlight flickers, casting just enough illumination to shine on a tall figure.

I jerk away from the window and my dinner threatens to come back up. Should I tell my mom? Scream? Throw something at the guy? Dial 911?

Apprehensively, I peek out again, hiding behind the velvet drapes. The man stands about thirty feet away, where he can easily look up into my third-floor window. He’s leaning against a withered oak in the neighbor’s yard, smoking a cigarette as though he’s got all the time in the world. As I watch him, watching me, an icy sensation glides over my skin.

I’m just being paranoid. He’s waiting for someone to pick him up. Or…

Could it actually be someone from the government? Like Sector Thirteen? My throat goes dry. Maybe I should tell Hayden.

I shake my head. Nah. There’s no reason why they would stalk me. Hayden and I are just friends and there’s no hybrid law against that.

When I look again, the night cloaks him so well that all I can tell is that he’s wearing dark clothing and sunglasses. At night.

He stands there for a moment, barely discernible, and then flicks the butt into the gutter. The man shrinks back into the shadows until he completely blends with the darkness.