CHAPTER 41

Maria stood frozen, barely hearing the stifled "Shit!" from behind her. She gazed into her mother's furious eyes, eyes that were angrier than she'd ever seen them. Even more than when Maria had let Michael spend the night with her.

Her chin rose and she locked her eyes with her mother's. "Hi, Mom," she said coolly, stepping into the room.

Her mother did not look away as she said, "Jeff? Do you mind?"

"No problem, Amy. I think I need to have a talk with my daughter, anyway." With a stern glance at his daughter, Jeff Parker pointed up the stairs. "Come on, Liz."

Maria's eyes flashed to her friend. Liz looked intently at her, mouthing "Sorry," then shook her head helplessly before heading back upstairs after Jeff, leaving Maria alone with her mother. Oh--and Michael. Surprisingly, he hadn't moved from the doorway. Then again, he didn't really know her mother. If Maria were in his shoes, she'd have already bolted.

Amy's eyes followed Maria's to the tall boy; he shifted uncomfortably under the double gaze. "I think you'd better stay for this, Mr. Guerin," Amy said, her voice even more chilly, if that was possible. "I have a few things to say to you, too."

Even if she hadn't been looking at him, Maria would have known that Michael had tensed. But he came in, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

She had to get him out of this. She'd promised Michael that her mother wouldn't find out, and now that was blown. So the least she could do was to try and spare him the flack that was about to hit. "Can't this wait until later?" she asked. "I've got to work, Mom. We'll be opening soon."

"No, it cannot wait. This is more important than work. And Jeff Parker agrees with me." Her mother's voice grew even tenser. "So. Maria. Would you care to explain what you were doing out all night, when you told me you'd be at Liz's? And with...him?" she added, her voice not concealing her dislike.

Maria's eyes narrowed, and her chin set obstinately. "No. I don't think I care to explain."

Even Michael, who'd had no real parental guidance in his life, knew that she'd just given the wrong answer. Massively wrong. Colossally wrong. Unimaginably wrong. He grimaced, but couldn't tear his eyes away from the ongoing confrontation. It was like watching a train wreck.

"No seventeen-year-old daughter of mine is going to stay out all night, god knows where, with some hoodlum!" Amy said sharply.

"He is not a hoodlum!" Maria shouted right back. Uh-oh. She shouldn't bother trying to defend him. He was a dead man anyway. The killer newspaper was beginning to look good. He watched numbly as Maria's mouth kept right on jabbering. "And just what are you doing over here, anyway, Mom? Spying on me?"

"It just so happens that you left your overnight bag at home. I was bringing it to you. And while you're under my roof, I have a right to know what you're doing!"

"Then maybe I shouldn't be under--" Maria began, at the top of her voice. Uh-oh. This wasn't just a train wreck any more. This was getting really ugly.

"Maria?" Michael broke in. She didn't pay any attention, she just kept ranting on. Maybe he should try the other DeLuca. Maybe she'd be more reasonable. He spoke again, louder this time. "Mrs. DeLuca?"

The woman at least looked at him. Her gimlet eye bored a hole into his head. "And you," she said. "I was going to cut you some slack. Give you a chance, because my daughter cares about you--or thinks she does. But you blew it big-time, buddy. Don't think you're ever going to lay eyes on my daughter again." Okay, so it looked like reasonable was not the word.

"You can't stop me from seeing him!" Maria said fiercely.

"Oh yes, I can, young lady," her mother replied. "Because you are grounded. Until you're thirty. You will go to school, but that's all. No job, no spending time with your friends--any of them. And you can forget about the play, too."

Michael watched the hurt flicker through Maria's eyes. Dammit. He might not have put it there directly, but once again it was his fault. He should never have let her stay with him. His fists clenched. "You shouldn't blame her, Mrs. DeLuca. It's not her fault."

"Shut up, Michael!" Maria protested.

He ignored her, looking her mother squarely in the eye. "I wanted to talk to her, and she wouldn't, so when I saw her on her way to Liz's, I took her to my apartment. She didn't want to go. It's not her fault," he repeated.

Amy looked at him skeptically. "And what kept her from leaving?"

He frowned. "I wouldn't let her. I...I locked her in."

Once again, Amy ignored her daughter's protests. "So you're basically saying that you abducted my daughter and held her against her will?"

He nodded.

Her eyes narrowed, an expression he'd seen before on Maria's face. "Do you realize how much trouble that would get you in? That you could go to jail?"

He closed his eyes and nodded again.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Michael?" she asked scathingly.

What? Fuck. His eyes flew open. "No. Ma'am."

'Ma'am' wasn't going to cut it this time. "Then don't lie to me. You are already in enough trouble here. Don't make it worse."

"I'm not lying," he lied.

"Michael--" Maria began again. Amy held up a hand to silence her daughter and then took a threatening step towards Michael. She looked coldly up at him.

"First of all, my daughter thinks she cares about you. She wouldn't have any problem whatsoever going to your apartment to...what did you call it? Oh yes, talk."

"Mom!" The air rang with Maria's horrified cry.

"Second, if you had tried to drag her there against her will, you wouldn't have gotten very far, because I know my daughter and she would have screamed her head off. So perhaps you'd like to stop lying to me before you get yourself in any further."

Shit. What could he possibly say to get them out of this? He could hardly tell the woman the truth. His brain raced, but came up with nothing, and she was standing there waiting for an answer. An answer he couldn't give. "It's still my fault. Not hers," he said stubbornly.

Amy turned to her daughter, who was staring in anger up at the tall boy beside her. Well, well. Maybe things weren't all so peachy in Teenage Lust Land after all. "You might want to tell Sir Galahad here that his efforts are worthless. His misguided attempt to blame himself is not going to do you, or him, any good."

"Tell me something I don't know!" Maria fumed. She looked pointedly up at Michael. "Just where do you get off trying to take the blame, anyway? It was my fault, not yours!"

He scowled. If he'd just listened to his gut instead of giving in to her like a total wuss, they wouldn't be in this mess. Never again. "I let you stay," he pointed out. "I knew I shouldn't, but I let you."

"I made you let me!" she yelled at him.

"Nobody makes me do anything I don't want to do!" he shouted back. He wasn't going to let some chick push him around. Or at least, he was damned if he'd admit it.

Her voice grew even more sarcastic. "Oh, so you're saying you wanted me over there? You wanted me to spend the night on your couch? You actually wanted to kiss me?"

"What? Yes! No--I mean--Hell, I don't know, all right?" he stumbled. Stupid girl, getting him all tied up in knots. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I wanted. I knew better. It's my fault."

Amy watched the two teenagers, so engrossed in their argument that they'd obviously forgotten she was there. Which was doing nothing to calm her ire. Enough was enough. She addressed her daughter. "So that's where you were all night. In the apartment of this...this delinquent."

Maria snapped. "Mom! Get off Michael's case already! Yes, I spent the night at his apartment! Now you know! Happy?"

"The car's out front. I suggest you get in it," Amy said coldly.

"Mom--"

"Car, Maria. Now."

Maria took a deep breath, visibly reining in her temper. "Fine." She turned to Michael. "I'll talk to you later."

"I wouldn't count on that if I were you," her mother put in dryly. "Car. Now." With one last look at Michael, who refused to meet her eyes, Maria pushed open the door to the main dining room and headed outside.

With narrowed eyes, Amy studied the remaining teenager, who stood stiffly with clenched hands. The warning in her tone was perfectly clear. "I don't want you anywhere near my daughter, you hear me?"

Michael's jaw tightened. "Yeah," he said roughly. "I hear you."

"Good." Amy picked up the overnight bag that she'd brought with her and strode out.

Michael watched her go, and then turned on his heel and slammed out the back door.

Max was rudely awakened from a pleasant little dream about Liz and science class when the pounding started. He looked around, momentarily disoriented, before realizing what was happening. This wasn't an unfamiliar scene. "God, Michael," he muttered as he headed towards the window, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "It's seven o'clock on a Saturday morning. Some of us actually like to sleep in, you know." Pushing the curtains aside, he stared at the tense expression on his friend's face, then unlocked the window and moved aside so Michael could climb in.

"Get Isabel," the spike-headed alien ordered.

Letting out a small laugh, Max asked, "Are you trying to get me killed, Michael? Because that's what she'll do if I ruin her beauty sleep, you know."

"Get her," Michael repeated, more urgently this time.

"No need," said a voice from the doorway. Isabel stood there in her pajamas and bathrobe. "Somebody already did that by banging on your window. Gee, thanks, Michael," she ended sarcastically. "What's going on?"

The tense look didn't leave Michael's face as he spoke one word. "Maria."

Isabel was instantly on the alert. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"I think so. In the sense that we weren't ambushed by her stalker or anything. But..." He looked down at his feet. "I can't watch out for her any more."

A frown appeared on Max's face. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because Mrs. DeLuca isn't going to let me anywhere near her daughter," Michael muttered.

"What? What did you do?" Max asked sharply.

"Nothing, okay? I didn't do anything. Mrs. DeLuca just found out about last night and went ballistic." He looked away, obviously not wanting them to read anything in his eyes.

Isabel raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Last night?" she inquired archly. "And just what happened last night that Mrs. DeLuca would get so upset about?"

Michael immediately knew what she was implying. "Nothing! I didn't touch her!"

She smiled, more than a little amused by his discomfort. "You didn't?" she teased.

He turned away and muttered something too low for them to hear.

"What was that?" Max asked.

"I said I kissed her, all right?" Michael burst out. Isabel and Max exchanged smiles. Michael ran a hand through his spiky hair as he looked out into the yard. His voice lost all emotion. "It doesn't matter. It didn't mean anything."

Isabel immediately crossed to him and put supportive arms around him, leaning her cheek against his back. "Of course it meant something, Michael. You care about her."

He shook his head in denial. "I can't."

"But you do."

"I shouldn't. It's all...wrong."

"But you do," she repeated.

Michael shook his head again, but didn't answer, and Isabel gave him a quick squeeze. "And she's pretty lucky," she said firmly, before she moved over and sat on Max's bed. She thought she heard Michael mutter a scathing, "Lucky," but he didn't turn around. "So," she asked, changing the subject. "What's the plan, then?"

"You and I will split the guard duty," Max told her. He turned to Michael. "It's not that I don't trust you with it, it's just that--"

Michael turned and nodded. "Yeah. If her mom catches me around, my ass is grass. I'll be in jail faster than you can say Czechoslovakian."

"But you didn't do anything," Isabel protested.

"She'll come up with something, believe me. You didn't see her, Isabel. You don't mess around with Mrs. DeLuca where Maria is concerned."

"But if you'd just tell her what happened, that you didn't..." Her voice trailed off as she tried to come up with a delicate way of saying it.

He ignored the pause. "And you think she'd believe me? Look at me, Izzy. Would you believe anything I said if you were her?" He shook his head, sneering, "I don't think so."

"She doesn't know you, Michael," she responded.

"Yeah, well, I don't want her to know me."

Max brought the subject back to their plans. "Michael, if Isabel and I are watching Maria, maybe you could work on figuring this thing out from the other end."

Michael nodded. "We need to sit down and talk about that. All of us. Well, the five of us, anyway, since Maria's under house arrest. There have been a few...developments."

Max and Isabel looked at him, surprised. Michael wanted to sit down and talk? Max shrugged. "Okay, how about we meet at the Crashdown for breakfast?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't think I can go there."

"Why not? What did you do?"

"Nothing. It's just that...well, that's where we were busted. Liz's dad was there, and I don't think he's going to be too happy if I show up again. Ever."

"Mr. Parker too? God, is there anyone who doesn't think you slept with Maria?" Isabel burst out.

Michael shrugged. "You. Max. And Maria."

"It isn't fair!" she said angrily.

"Not much is," said Michael with another shrug. "But I can't do anything about it, so forget it. Worry about the things we can do."

She stared at him. Who was the pod-person who had come down and possessed her almost-brother? Since when was he mature and reasonable? She kind of liked it. "Okay," she agreed. "Why don't you head back home? We'll call Alex and Liz and meet you at your place. Oh, and we'll stop off at the Donut Shack and bring breakfast, too."

Michael's face lit up. "Chocolate. Get lots of chocolate-covered ones."

She laughed. Maybe he wasn't so mature after all. "You got it."

He moved back towards the window, then stopped and turned. "Maxwell?"

Max looked at him warmly. "We'll work this out, Michael. All of us, together."

Michael nodded. "Thanks," he said, and then he was gone.

CHAPTER 42

Three aliens and two humans sat in Michael's shabby apartment a little later that morning, a couple of empty donut boxes and a bottle of Tabasco all that remained of their informal breakfast. With some embarrassment, Michael had once again described Mrs. DeLuca's blowup, and now Liz was in the middle of telling her part of the story.

"She just showed up with Maria's overnight bag, and that's when my dad found out she wasn't with me. I didn't tell anyone where she was, honestly." Her brown eyes pleaded with Michael to believe her. "I wouldn't do that."

Michael shrugged. "We should have gotten there earlier."

"Liz, are you okay?" put in Max. "Did you get in trouble, too?"

She shook her head. "Let's just say that I'm not in my father's good graces right now, but I'm not under house arrest like Maria, either. Actually, I'm surprised I didn't have to cover at the Crashdown since Maria isn't working her shifts."

Michael shifted uncomfortably, then said gruffly, "Sorry. Didn't mean to cause problems for you."

Liz smiled at him, surprised by this un-Michaelish behavior. "I know you didn't. And thank you." He looked at the wall across from him, suddenly not willing to meet anyone's eyes.

"One of us should probably get over there, Max," Isabel said. "We're giving the stalker a chance to slip through our defenses."

Liz shook her head. "It's not going to do you any good. She's not allowed to see anyone. She's barely allowed to talk on the phone. Her mother's really upset."

Michael began to pace across the small room. "Then how the hell can we keep her safe?" he muttered.

"Figure out who it is, and stop them," put in Alex reasonably. Michael and Isabel both rolled their eyes. "Anybody come up with a suspect?"

"That's not so easy, Alex," Liz pointed out. "We don't have enough clues, remember?"

"We might have one more," Michael said unexpectedly. All eyes fastened on him. "Last night, I tried to get a vision from the latest note."

"Did it work, Michael?" asked Isabel in some excitement. "Did you see something?"

"Yeah. But it wasn't what I thought I'd see."

"Well, don't just leave us hanging, explain!" she commanded.

He raised an eyebrow at her, but complied. "I thought I might've figured out who sent the note. But I was wrong."

"Who? What did you see? God, getting answers from him is like pulling teeth," she said to the others in an aside.

"Well, if you'd actually let me talk, maybe I could tell you," Michael said with a smirk.

"Get to the point, Michael!"

"I was thinking about who might've sent it, and I don't think they meant Maria to think it was from me. So I was thinking about people whose names began with M, who've been around lately, and I came up with--"

"Mark," Alex said, suddenly realizing where this was going.

"Yep." Michael crossed over to the counter and picked up his sketchbook, flipping it open to the page he'd spent most of the night working on. Once Maria had gone back to sleep, that is.

"But it wasn't him?" asked Liz. "You saw that in your vision?"

"Not unless he's taken to wearing fingernail polish," Michael announced. "It took me a while to figure out, but what I saw was a hand writing the note. And it was definitely a girl. Had that red stuff gooped all over her fingers. You know, Isabel, the one you wear a lot. More of a cranberry than a true red." He looked around to see their startled expressions. "So I remember colors. So sue me," he said rudely, tossing the sketch pad to Alex, who was nearest.

Alex studied the penciled drawing. It showed a distinctly feminine hand, holding a pen. "A girl, huh?" he mused. "Well, that narrows it down to about half the population."

"There's something else," added Michael. "Another reason I thought it was Mark was that I saw him. In the park. So I came back here to try and get some confirmation."

"But it wasn't him," Liz objected. "You just said so." She took the sketchbook from Alex.

"Yeah, but the point is, he wasn't alone. He had a girl with him. One of the chicks from the play."

"Brunette or blond?" asked Alex excitedly.

"Blond. Short."

"It's got to be Melanie Royer," Alex decided. "Debbie and Pamela are both brunettes."

"And there's your M," added Isabel. "But why would she be harassing Maria? She's just a regular girl."

"I don't know. But I'm gonna find out," said Michael with determination.

As she listened, Liz inspected the drawing. "This is really good, Michael," she commented.

"Let me see," said Isabel. Liz handed her the pad. "She's right," the alien said in a pleased tone. She started to flip through the pages, only to have it taken summarily from her hands.

"Off limits." Michael's tone was uncompromising.

"Why? What else have you got in there?" Isabel asked, her curiosity piqued.

Michael ignored her, closing the sketchbook firmly and carefully placing it on the counter behind him. Isabel raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Michael," she nagged. "You're only making me more curious. Hand it over."

Michael folded his arms across his chest.

"Leave him alone, Izzy," cautioned Max. "We have planning to do."

"Done," said Michael matter-of-factly. "You two and Liz get as close to Maria as her mother will allow. At the very least, keep the lines of communication open. Have her phone if something else happens. Before it happens, even. Alex, investigate that Melanie chick. Get on your computer and find out everything you can about her."

Four faces turned to him in surprise. "What?" he asked defensively.

"Well, what are you going to do?" demanded Isabel.

Michael looked her squarely in the eye. "I'm gonna go finish building me some plants." With a pointed look, he grabbed his sketchpad and headed out of the apartment.

"Wow," said Alex with a grin. "That's nowhere near the same Michael as even a couple of weeks ago. I'm kind of impressed."

His eyes on the door through which his friend had disappeared, Max said softly, "Yeah. Me too."

Liz pushed the hair back from her forehead and resettled the alien antennae on her head. She'd hardly been home for two minutes before her father had asked her to cover Maria's waitressing shifts. She should have known that he'd think of it. And of course, with him peeved at her, she could hardly say no. She was just lucky that he hadn't thought of it soon enough to keep her from that morning's impromptu meeting.

She wondered how Maria was doing. She knew her friend was probably going crazy from the enforced solitude. For the most part, Maria didn't deal well with no one to talk to. She didn't like being alone. And now to be sequestered away...she had to be completely bonkers by now. With a sigh, Liz decided that once the double shift was over, she would try calling Maria again. Maybe this time Mrs. DeLuca would allow her to spend more than two minutes on the phone.

Carrying over a bus tub, she began to clear the dishes from an empty table. She looked up tiredly as the bell rang and the front door opened. Leaving the table half bussed, she dumped the almost empty tub in the kitchen and ran for the phone in back. She knew Alex's line would be busy, his modem tying up the line as he hacked away at the school records and anything else he could find on Melanie, which left Max and Isabel. Inwardly debating for a second and a half, she dialed Isabel's cell phone.

The alien must have been expecting a call, because she answered it on the first ring. "You need to get to the Crashdown right away," said Liz urgently. "You'll never guess who just came in. Pamela Harris and Melanie Royer." A moment later the call was disconnected and Liz was heading back out into the main dining room.

Barely five minutes had passed before Isabel strolled casually into the restaurant. She spotted Liz instantly, and the waitress glanced over at a booth, signaling her target's location. Luckily the next booth was available, and Isabel slid into it, her back to the two girls.

"Hi, Isabel," said Liz as she carried over a couple of soft drinks. "I'll be with you in a minute."

"No problem," Isabel returned with a nonchalant smile. "You look pretty busy."

Obviously, the pair in the next booth overheard this exchange. "Yeah, we couldn't help but notice that, too," commented Melanie. "Where's Maria? Isn't she working today?"

"No, not today," responded Liz as she set down their drinks.

"Oh," said Pamela with disinterest. "I thought maybe she was sick or something."

"Nope," Liz said, shaking her head. "Ummm...I'll be back with your order in a minute." She headed back to the counter, trying to keep an inconspicuous eye on the pair as she worked.

Isabel approached her near the door to the break room about forty minutes later. "They're finishing up," she said in a low tone. "I'll give Max a heads up and he can tail Melanie to see if she strikes again."

"Did you overhear anything?" Liz queried.

"No, just mindless chat about clothes and things." Isabel frowned. "God, please tell me I was never that shallow."

Liz pretended to consider for a moment. "Well, only in public," she said with a small grin. Isabel gave her an exasperated look, but then laughed as she headed back to her booth. Watching her go, Liz bit her lip. She hoped this would be over soon. It had to be.

"God, I hope this is over soon!" Maria complained as she set her lunch down on the table in the cafeteria. "I mean, I'm practically living like a nun!"

"Maria, you're not even Catholic," Liz reminded her.

"I know. But the whole weekend was like being in a convent. You know, where everyone has taken a vow of silence." Her nose wrinkled up. "Or do I mean a monastery? Anyway, my mother barely spoke to me until last night."

"It's amazing you survived," teased Liz with a grin.

"Lizzy!" Maria pouted.

Liz looked sympathetically at her best friend. "No, really, 'Ria, how are you handling it?"

"Well, it's not as bad as I thought it was going to be," Maria admitted. "Mom and I had a very...well, let's just say painful conversation last night. But after hours of begging, I actually got her to listen to me."

An inquiring expression crossed Liz's face. "About...what, exactly?"

"Well, of course I couldn't tell her everything," Maria said. "I mean, some things are just not for public consumption, you know? Even if there weren't Czechoslovakians involved. But I think I finally managed to convince her that Michael and I did not sleep together."

"Really? That's good," Liz commented.

"Yeah. I told her he was a perfect gentleman the whole time. Although I don't think she bought that part. She really has it in for him." Maria frowned as she unwrapped her sandwich.

"Well, was he? A perfect gentleman, I mean?" Liz dared to ask.

Maria sighed. "Unfortunately, yes." Her face brightened. "Well, he did kiss me."

Liz pounced on this. "Really? When? Details, I want details!"

"I can't give you many, chica, because almost as soon as he started, someone burst into the room to make sure I was okay." Maria stared pointedly at Liz, who grimaced.

"Oooh. Sorry."

"Oh, it's not your fault. The others were with you too," Maria assured her. "It's just...it'd been months, and we were arguing and suddenly he was...kissing me...and it felt so good...and then the door started to open and he dropped me like a hot potato." She smiled ruefully at Liz's contrite expression and brought the subject back to her mother. "Never mind. Anyway, Mom's no longer caught up on the whole 'my teenage daughter had sex with a juvenile delinquent' kick, so things are looking up."

"What? You mean you're not grounded anymore?"

"No such luck. Let's see, I still stayed out all night with a boy--and it was Michael, which makes it even worse, if that were possible. And then there's the fact that I might just have slightly overreacted when she found out about it. Let me tell you, Liz, yelling at your mother is not the way to assure a busy social life."

"Slightly overreacted?" responded Liz in disbelief. "Michael did tell us what happened, you know." She paused. "Although I get the feeling he didn't tell us everything."

"Yeah, well, when does he ever?" complained Maria. "Oh well. At least Mom has calmed down enough to let me off the hook as far as the Crashdown and the play are concerned. Unfortunately, I still can't hang out with any of you guys. And--get this--she actually forbade me to so much as speak to Michael!"

"But now that she knows you haven't slept together--"

"It doesn't matter. She's still all ticked because she thinks I lied to her. And I didn't, Liz, not really. I mean, when I told her I was going to be at your house, I honestly meant it. I just didn't let her know when my plans changed, that's all. But she thinks I wouldn't have lied or stayed out all night if it weren't for Michael. Which is true, I guess. Except that she thinks he's a bad influence on me, which is not true. Anyway, she hates him, hence the whole 'forbidden to speak to him' thing."

"And you're going to just accept that?" Liz asked in astonishment, knowing her friend's feelings for the alien in question.

Maria's face darkened. "I don't have much choice," she said in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" said Liz in trepidation.

"Because when I said hello to him before English this morning, he turned his back on me and totally ignored my existence," Maria said. Her eyes began to shine, but a bout of rapid blinking kept the tears in check. "And, Lizzy? You know what really sucks? He does it so much better than I did."

A moment of unspoken sympathy between the two friends was interrupted by the approach of Isabel, Max and Alex. The lanky teen greeted Maria warmly. "So how's it feel to be let out of the tower, Rapunzel?" he quipped.

"Nice," Maria admitted. "I was going a little stir crazy."

"And Mrs. DeLuca has relented enough to let Maria do the play and go to work," Liz put in, "so no more make-up shifts for me!"

"Are you kidding? Once the play is over, I'm going to be begging your dad for extra shifts just so I can get out of the house, since I'm grounded until I'm thirty," Maria said with a sigh. She watched the others start in on their lunches. "Okay, so where is he?"

Everyone knew immediately whom she meant. "I think he's putting some finishing touches on the plant puppets. He did a lot of work on them this weekend, when he wasn't at the gas station. He wanted them to be ready for today's rehearsal," answered Isabel calmly. Maybe too calmly.

Maria's eyes lit up. "Really?" she said, excitement raising her voice. "We'll have them at rehearsal today? That's great!" Looking around at the four friends around her, she pointed out, "Hey, other than lunch time, the play's the only time when I'm actually allowed to enjoy myself nowadays. Don't blame me if I get excited about it." She took a sip of her bottled water. "So," she continued calmly, "Is he avoiding everyone again, or am I the only one blessed this time?" The guilty looks on their faces answered her immediately. "Fantastic," she muttered. "I'm the only one. Meet Maria DeLuca, Queen of the Lepers."

Liz immediately began to protest, and Maria cut her off. "Don't worry about it. His loss. Let's talk about something else, okay?" She looked around, trying to come up with a fresh topic of conversation, and her eyes lit on Isabel. "Hey, Isabel," she asked, "you done any dreamwalking lately?"

The alien shook her head. "No, not since we got Mi--not since you went with me the last time."

"Ha! I knew it was real!" Maria exclaimed. Seeing everyone's confusion, she asked, "Michael told you about the dream we had on Friday, didn't he?", totally ignoring the fact that she'd brought the topic back to the spiky-haired alien in less than ten seconds.

"'The dream we had'? Both of you?" asked Isabel sharply. "Michael dreamwalked you?"

"He didn't tell you." It wasn't a question this time. She should have known.

"He didn't tell us anything about that," Max said. "Just about the vision."

"The vision? He figured out what he saw in the vision?" Maria could hear her own voice rise in pitch with her agitation. "When did he figure it out?"

All four of them exchanged glances. Finally, Liz spoke. "Sometime Friday night, I think. He told us about it at breakfast on Saturday."

"I see," said Maria slowly. "So he knew about it on the way to the Crashdown, and he didn't even bother to tell me about it." No one spoke. "Well, what was it? What did he see?"

After a glance around at the others, Liz described the sketch and the conclusions they'd drawn from it. Afterwards, Maria sat quietly, obviously mulling this over. "Interesting," was all she had to say.

Isabel, relieved that Maria had taken it all so calmly, spoke up. "So what was this about Michael dreamwalking you?" she asked. "I didn't think he could do that."

"As far as I know, he can't," Maria responded. "When you dreamwalk, you go into someone else's dream, right?" Isabel nodded. "So if Michael had dreamwalked me, he would have come into whatever I was dreaming?"

"That's the way it works," Isabel said.

"Well, he didn't dreamwalk then. Because he didn't visit my dream. I was dreaming and went through a door, and then I was in his dream. With him."

"You dreamwalked Michael?" Isabel said in shock. "By yourself?"

"I guess," said Maria, gathering up her things as the bell rang.

"How is that even possible?" asked Liz.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask Michael?" Maria said. "Since he's so good at sharing things with people, you know." She smiled at them. "Look, I have to get to class. I can't afford to be late and get my mom even more pissed than she already is. Talk to Michael about it." She started across the cafeteria, calling back over her shoulder, "I'll see you at rehearsal, Alex." Liz followed hard on her heels.

"Wait, Maria," the brunette said as she pulled the straps of her backpack over her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, my life is just peachy," said Maria, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. "I'm under house arrest, I'm being sent threatening notes by a crazy person, and I'm in love with an infuriating, stubborn jackass who can't even be bothered to talk to me and share with me vital information about said threatening notes from said crazy person, even though it has a direct bearing on my well-being!" Her voice rose to a screech. A gleam appeared in her eye.

Liz looked at her apprehensively. "What...what are you going to do?" she fumbled.

Maria's grin was almost wolfish. "He may not be speaking to me, but that doesn't mean I'm not speaking to him. And believe me, I have a few things to say! He thinks my mother was bad? Well, he hasn't seen anything yet!" And with that, she headed down the hall to her next class.

Liz just stood and watched her. Oh lord. Michael had better watch out. Hurricane DeLuca was about to hit.

CHAPTER 43

Michael stood back and studied the plant puppets that were sitting in the corner of the shop room. He'd worked his ass off on them over the weekend, only taking time away to work at the gas station. It was okay; he didn't need to sleep anyway, not when he was gonna dream about...whatever. Never mind.

He was lucky he'd been able to control his powers long enough to undo the locks on the school, and no one had noticed the light shining in the shop room at night. And now, the plants were just about done.

He'd made four of them, ranging from a hand-size plant in a pot to a gigantic, flytrap-looking thing, big enough to swallow a human. He'd started with the sketches Ms. Bedinger had shown him and the information in the back of the script, and had let his imagination go from there.

He tried to decide if the biggest plant needed a touch more purple, but shook his head and decided to let it rest. He looked up as he felt someone approach. It was not someone that he particularly wanted to see.

"Nice job," commented Mark. The alien didn't answer, just went back to studying his handiwork. Mark continued, undaunted. "I heard you were about finished with them, so I thought I'd come check them out. They look great. When are you going to start using them? You're going to have to get used to working with Brian, to make sure your movements coordinate with his vocals, and--"

What the hell was he talking about? At Michael's look of bafflement, Mark slowed to a stop. "You are working the puppets, right?" he asked. Michael gave him a disbelieving look. "You built them. I guess I just assumed..." the senior started.

Michael found his voice. "Do I look like I want to waste any more time on your lame-ass play?" he asked scathingly.

Mark's brow wrinkled. "If you're not interested in theater, why'd you agree to build them in the first place?" He sounded sincere, like he really wanted to know. Michael didn't buy it. The guy might not be Maria's stalker, but he wasn't to be trusted, either. He was obviously up to something. Why else come talk to Michael?

"Whitman asked me to do it," he said brusquely.

"Alex Whitman? The bass player?" Michael gave a single affirmative nod. "Oh," Mark said. "I thought maybe it was because of Maria."

Turning abruptly away, Michael denied it with one word. "No." Reaching out, he ran a hand over the shell of the largest plant, as if to test the dryness of the paint. He could feel Mark studying him, and it was starting to piss him off. The guy was off his stalker suspect list. Michael didn't need him hanging around. It was lunch time, so why wasn't he off eating or studying his lines or something?

Mark appeared to be toying with how to approach the next subject. Michael purposely didn't give him any encouragement. The senior finally grimaced and said, "Look, Guerin, I don't know what's up with you and Maria--"

Michael broke in with a curt, "Nothing." Mark went on, ignoring the interruption.

"--but it's pretty damn obvious that she's hung up on you."

Great. Just what he didn't need, a heart-to-heart with Actorboy. What was up with him, anyway? He couldn't be after Maria, not after the grope session he and Melanie had put on in the park the other night. Or maybe he was, the horndog. Wait--what was he going on about now?

"...because we only have nine more days before the show opens, and I can't afford to have her lose focus. It's my last year here, and I'm going to damn well make sure that this show is fucking fantastic." He looked over at Michael, who was still pretending to check out the paint job. "The show may not mean anything to you, but it means a hell of a lot to me and Maria and everyone else who's involved. So don't screw it up for us."

Michael swung around and looked him squarely in the eye. "Just what are you asking me to do? And why should I care enough to do it?"

"I'm asking you not to do anything to...upset Maria. This is her first show and she needs to concentrate. She could be really great if she doesn't have any distractions. So don't distract her. Leave her alone and let her do what she needs to do. As for why you should do it, I guess you'll have to work that out on your own."

Michael's eyes narrowed menacingly. What a total prick. "You only care about how your little play comes off, don't you? You have no concern for what Maria might actually be feeling, as long as it doesn't hurt her performance. You don't care about her at all," he challenged.

Mark didn't back down. "Do you?" He headed toward the door, then stopped and added, "You really have done a great job on the plants. Maybe you should give theater a chance. You might find out it's not so 'lame-ass' after all." He pushed the shop doors open and headed into the hall, leaving Michael staring silently after him.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period, Michael shook his head to clear it and slouched off to class. Instead of dragging on like every other school day, the afternoon seemed to speed by, and suddenly he found himself in the hallway, on his way to the last class of the day. World History. With Maria.

He wasn't looking forward to the class, not that he ever did. But today she'd either be ticked that he'd ignored her that morning, or she'd act overly happy to show she didn't care, or she'd pretend he wasn't there either. And he wasn't sure which would be worst.

He knew he'd hurt her by shutting her out again. But so many things were telling him to leave her alone: his gut, his brain...not to mention her mother. Although, thanks to Mark's little speech, he was sorely tempted to become her new best friend just to piss the guy off. If he wanted to, he could provide plenty of distraction. Of course, she might distract him just as much...No, backing away was the right thing to do. He just had to make it through the afternoon. He'd worry about later...well, later.

He steeled himself as he approached the classroom door. Sure enough, her voice came as he was stepping through the doorway. "Hey, Michael," she said from behind him. He just kept moving into the classroom. Sitting down, he pulled out a pen and started to doodle aimlessly on the cover of his notebook.

He could do this. He would just ignore the fact that she was standing next to him, looking down with fire in her eyes. He wouldn't listen to whatever it was that she was running on about. He would show no reaction to anything.

Too bad he couldn't fall into a voice-induced trance. That would be a great thing right now. He would just go away to wherever, and by the time he came out of it, maybe she'd have gone away and Mrs. Lyons would be talking instead. Even listening to the lecture would be better than this.

With a sudden start, he realized that he hadn't had a blackout the whole weekend. Not since the one in his apartment Friday night. Figured. When he didn't want them, they came without warning. When he did want them, no dice. Maybe he could fake one...

He was rescued by the arrival of the teacher, which sent Maria hurrying to her desk. Saved. He breathed a sigh of relief.

As Mrs. Lyons began the class, Michael studied the geometric designs he'd doodled on his notebook. With a few extra pen strokes, he fleshed one of them out, making it appear three-dimensional. Throughout the lecture, he continued to draw, looking up at the teacher only occasionally. It wasn't like he had any interest in--what was the topic?--oh yeah, Spanish exploration of North America, anyway.

His interest was drawn however, as a familiar voice spoke.

"But Coronado had already explored the whole area, looking for the Seven Cities of Gold, right?" Maria asked. The teacher nodded.

"It's nice to see you were actually paying some attention to the lectures last week, Maria. Yes, you're right, Spain had explored much of what is now the interior United States, but didn't include what its explorers found on printed maps well into the nineteenth century."

Maria frowned in concentration. "So what you're saying is that, if Spain had published maps of what Coronado and Onate and the other explorers discovered back in the 1500's, it could have used the maps--proof that they'd been there--to help them claim ownership later. Basically, it didn't share important information and lost out because of it," she wound up, carefully stressing her last statement to give it extra significance. Michael wasn't looking at her, but he could tell she had turned in his direction. He stared at the blackboard. Not exactly subtle, that Maria.

So. She'd obviously found out about the vision, that he'd figured it out and hadn't told her. He hadn't purposely made the decision not to tell her; he'd just--well, to be honest, he'd been tired and in a crappy mood that morning. He hadn't felt like talking. And since he hadn't expected her mother to be lying in wait, he'd just figured he had plenty of time to tell her later. Not that she'd believe that now. And then they'd gotten to the Crashdown, and everything had happened so fast, and the next thing he knew, Mrs. DeLuca was warning him away from her daughter, and life officially sucked. Big time.

His pen continued to glide over the notebook cover, biting in more deeply now. Geometric shapes were filled in and then ruthlessly obliterated by additional layers of ink. He wasn't alone. He could feel the angry vibes pouring off of Maria in waves. The vibrations were so strong that he was surprised the windows hadn't shattered. And so when the bell rang, he reacted instinctively. He did what he was best at. He ran.

He shouldered his way roughly through the people in the hallway, telling himself that he wasn't a total wuss for running from a girl. He wasn't scared of her, not really. She couldn't exactly hurt him, and if she could, well, Hank had gotten him used to that. No, he was more afraid of what he might do.

And even though she had no idea of the real reasons, Mrs. DeLuca was right. He had no business being anywhere near her daughter. No matter how much he might wish it were different.

"Hey, Guerin!" The shout caught his attention. What now? He bristled. If Blumenthal thought he was gonna have another little talk, he had another think coming. Michael might just have to deck him.

But it wasn't Mark who jogged up to him. It was Kyle Valenti. Star quarterback, captain of the basketball team, and the latest (and hopefully last) human to find out about the three aliens' otherworldly status. Michael hadn't spoken to him since Kyle was shot and Max healed him. Then again, they didn't really talk before then, either. They moved in totally different circles. Well, Kyle moved in a circle. Michael's circle only had five other people in it--he could hardly even call it a dot.

"Valenti," he said, his tone wary.

"I heard you're unveiling the plants today," Kyle said. "Came to see if you needed some help getting them to the auditorium."

Michael, being Michael, was immediately suspicious. "I didn't know you were such a theater buff."

Kyle grinned. "I'm not. But it's a great place to meet girls."

"There are only four girls in the play, and you already know them," Michael pointed out.

"True," responded the athlete. "It's not a big deal. A couple of guys and I always help out backstage, pushing the set around and stuff. It's a favor for Ms. Bedinger."

Michael had major difficulty dealing with the idea that someone might actually want to do a favor for a teacher, but he let it go. He shrugged. "Plants are in the shop room," was all he said.

It took several trips for the two of them to get the puppets from the shop to the stage. They left the biggest one for last, working without talking. Finally, Kyle broke the silence.

"Look, Guerin. I'm trying to deal with everything that happened last spring." Michael stiffened. "I'm not going to tell anyone about it or anything. I just have some questions, and I need to talk to someone about them."

Michael began listing names. "Liz. Maria. Alex. Hell, even your father."

With a shake of his head, Kyle said, "No. I mean someone...well, you know, a visitor." He glanced carefully around to make sure no one was listening.

Michael shifted his grip on the plant. His voice was gruff. "Then talk to Max. I'm not your man."

"Yes, you are," insisted Kyle. "I don't want to talk to Max; he and I have too much history, what with Liz and then everything that happened in May. And Isabel? Tess Harding? Uh-uh. I think I'd prefer a guy's point of view. That leaves you."

"How flattering," was Michael's sarcastic response. Kyle grinned.

"Well, I'm not trying to date you, sport. I just want some answers."

Valenti was out of luck there. "I don't have any."

"I'll take whatever I can get," Kyle said. "I just want to figure out what it all means. So, what do you think? Can we talk about it some time?"

What did he think? Kyle Valenti was coming to him to talk? Lately, Michael had a hard enough time talking to Max, his best friend, and now this jock wanted to discuss the big significant questions of his existence? Valenti was nuts if he thought Michael had any answers for him. He could forget it. Michael opened his mouth to turn the guy down. And then with shock, he heard his own voice. "Sure. Why the hell not?"

"Great," answered Kyle. Together, they set the puppet down on the stage and Michael stood, his mind whirling. What had he just done? He had to get out of there, and fast. Or else he was pretty sure he'd end up doing something else crazy, like joining the chess club. Or standing at the center of the stage and announcing to the world that he was an alien. Besides, by clearing out he could also avoid the determined blonde that was heading down an auditorium aisle, directly towards him.

"Gotta go," Michael blurted and bolted for the second time that afternoon. No, Michael Guerin wasn't afraid of a girl. No way. Right. Face it: he didn't remember anything about his supposed previous existence, but in whatever language he had spoken, the name 'Michael Guerin' probably translated as 'totally chickenshit.'

With a frustrated shriek, Maria watched as Michael jumped lightly down off the stage and headed out the side door. Oh yes. Let him run. But when she finally got her hands on him...well, she didn't mean that literally. Or come to think of it, maybe she did. She laughed to herself. Only Michael could get her this angry and this...not angry, all at the same time.

"Having problems with loverboy?" said Mark, coming up behind her. "He seemed to take off awfully quickly."

"He probably had somewhere else he needed to be," she said. "He works, you know."

"Didn't know. Didn't particularly care," he responded cheerfully. "So, you ready for a good run-through?"

"Yeah, I guess so. It's exciting to finally have the plants to work with."

"I have to admit it, Guerin did a good job on them," said Mark with satisfaction. "Not too shabby, huh?"

Maria grinned at him. "Sure. It's amazing what you can do with a little canvas, some chicken wire and a complete lack of know-how." But all joking aside, she was really impressed. It was obvious that Michael must have spent hours on them, and she'd wager that it was all done by hand--no powers. Plus Alex had finally admitted that it had been his idea, and that Michael had only agreed to build them to have an excuse to hang around and watch out for her. A foolish-looking grin grew on her face. It was getting harder and harder to stay angry with the big lunkhead. Not that she had any intention of letting him know that. He was still going to regret leaving her out of things.

It was one thing for him not to share stuff with anyone. She knew how hard it was for him to open up, and she'd promised to try not to pressure him into it when he wasn't ready. Which hadn't been easy for her. But it was a totally different matter when he voluntarily told other people, but purposely left her out. No sir, Spaceboy was going to have to admit he'd made a big mistake there. And she was going to have fun tormenting him until he did. She had plenty of time to plan. After all, she was grounded--what else was she going to do? Homework?

Wearily, Michael shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed down the stairs to begin the trek to school. He'd had another long, sleepless night. But this time there were no plants to work on and no Maria to guard, so he'd spent the night sprawled on his couch, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think, and waiting for morning.

He'd even finished Oliver Twist. He'd have to go exchange it for another book--maybe A Tale of Two Cities this time. He'd never bothered to read it when they'd studied it in English last year. And since he'd told Maria he was working his way through Dickens, maybe he should actually do it. Victorian melodrama wasn't really his style; he preferred more modern writers, like Joyce and even Hemingway. But he'd come up with the excuse as a way to fob Maria off when she'd been so shocked at his choice of reading matter. He hadn't been about to tell her that he'd picked up the novel out of curiosity because he'd found out from Isabel that Maria loved the movie based on the musical based on the book.

Pushing open the door to the apartment building, he stepped outside and stopped in his tracks. It was snowing. It wasn't often that it was both cold enough and humid enough to snow in Roswell, and he was fascinated by it each time. He stood and watched as the flurries danced around on columns of crisp air, to hit his jacket and the ground and melt away into nothingness.

A car horn broke into his thoughts. He looked up to see the Jeep, top up, at the curb, Max behind the wheel and Isabel smiling at him from the back seat. "Get in," Max called, holding the door flap open. "We'll give you a lift to school."

Heading over to them, Michael swung himself into the passenger seat, fastening the canvas behind him. "Hey."

"As soon as I looked out the window this morning, I knew we'd have to come over and get you," Isabel teased as Max pulled out onto the road. "Otherwise you'd be standing there watching it snow all day."

Michael shrugged and looked out the window. She was probably right. He could feel Max taking occasional glances over at him, but his friend didn't say anything. Finally, Michael called him on it. "What's on your mind, Maxwell?"

"Are you going to join us for lunch today?" his friend asked carefully.

Michael's answer was curt. "Nope."

"You can't avoid her forever, you know."

"I can try," Michael spat out. Then his voice calmed a little, and he said, "It's better this way. Easier."

"Are you sure of that?" Isabel asked from the back seat.

Was she kidding? He wasn't sure of anything any more. So he didn't answer. Instead, he asked, "Alex find out anything yet?"

Isabel sighed. "No, as far as he can tell, Melanie Royer is a perfectly normal high school student. B average. Member of the Drama and Speech clubs. Has lived in Roswell all her life. Nothing unusual."

"Great." Well, they'd have to go back to nontraditional information gathering. "Who's got the notes now? The old ones, I mean. Maybe I can try to pick something up from them again."

"Maria still has them. Why don't you find her and ask her for them?" Isabel suggested sweetly.

"Why don't you do it and bring them to me?" he retorted.

"Come on, guys. Knock it off," Max commanded. "I'll get the notes from Maria and bring them to you, Michael. All right?" Neither of his companions answered. "All right," he said decisively.

And that was the last thing said for the duration of the short trip to school. Max concentrated on driving, Michael stared out the window at the snow flurries, and Isabel stared pointedly at Michael.

They finally pulled into a spot in the school parking lot, and Michael was instantly out of the Jeep. "Thanks for the ride," he said roughly before disappearing into the crowd of students heading for the school.

Isabel leaned back with a sigh and looked at her brother. "God, why does he have to be so difficult? For once, why can't he do things the easy way?"

"Because then he wouldn't be Michael," Max pointed out with a grin.

Michael managed to make it all the way into the building and halfway to his locker before he was stopped. This time it wasn't Blumenthal or Valenti, it was a teacher. "Good morning, Michael," said Ms. Bedinger. "Do you have a minute?"

Michael shrugged half-heartedly. Ms. Bedinger smiled at him.

"First of all," she began, "I am very pleased with the job you've done on the plant puppets. It's excellent work, and you should be very proud of it." Michael shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Not only have you enabled us to put on the show, but you've gone above and beyond with some truly exceptional work. Thank you, Michael."

"No problem," he managed, clearly unused to praise from an adult.

"Secondly, Kyle Valenti has agreed to be our puppeteer," Ms. Bedinger went on, oblivious to the smirk that crossed Michael's face. "Would you be available after school to go over the plants with him and show him how everything works?"

"I guess so," he muttered.

"Very good!" the teacher said in a satisfied tone. "We'll see you at the rehearsal then. And Michael," she continued. "I would be more than pleased to have you work on any of our future productions, if you're interested. Think about it." With that, she started down the hallway.

Yeah, right. After this, they'd have to pay him to get anywhere near a theater. He could just see it now: "Well, gosh, Max, I'd love to come help you fight your interplanetary war, but I've got to make sure the paint on this set doesn't clash with the costumes. Can you hold off until the show closes?" Yup, save it for the lame-ass actors like Blumenthal and the idiots who let themselves get suckered into it, like Valenti. It sure wasn't for him.

And yet there he was, seven hours later, standing backstage with Kyle and showing him how the puppets worked. "It's got a slit in the lower lining," Michael said as they studied the largest plant. "When someone is eaten, they make sure their feet go in first, through the slit, and crouch down. You bring the upper lip down over them, and then they can crawl backwards through the slit and out the escape hatch in the back."

Kyle nodded. "Looks easy enough." He looked hopefully at Michael. "Look, they're your puppets. You sure you don't want to work them?"

Michael's response was instant. "Hell, no."

"Okay, okay, just asking." He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "Man, I'm telling you to watch out for Ms. Bedinger. The woman can talk you into anything."

Michael said, amused, "So that's how you ended up doing this?"

"Yeah. Watch out, or you could be next."

"Not gonna happen. I've got other commitments," Michael told him.

"So do I. But that didn't stop her. You should have seen her taking on Coach Allen to get me out of practice for these rehearsals...she is fierce. And she calls this puppet thing a 'promotion' from stage crew. I don't know. I kind of liked it on stage crew." Kyle eyed two of his friends, who were moving a bunch of painted flats in and stacking them against the wall.

"So tell Ms. Bedinger you don't want to do this," Michael suggested dispassionately. "Go join your buddies and move walls."

"They're called flats," Kyle told him. "They're made of two-by-fours and plywood. They're not walls, they just look that way."

Michael looked at him. Did the jock really think he gave a damn what they were called? Turning his back on him, he allowed his eyes to wander around the stage. He hadn't seen Maria yet. He knew she was around somewhere, but he was hoping to finish up with Valenti and get out of there before she saw him. It had worked yesterday, and he'd been successful in ignoring her in both English and History today. Maybe his luck would continue to hold.

Raised voices caught his attention, and he turned back to Kyle. His so-called buddies were horsing around, evidently giving him a hard time about his 'promotion'.

"Hey, Puppet Man!" one called, giving Kyle a teasing shove. But a big enough shove to send the football player reeling into a stack of flats and send them plummeting towards the stage.

But not directly towards the stage. Michael caught a tiny glimpse of a blond head directly in their path. His heart froze. Oh god. Maria.

In a flash, Michael was there, reaching out and shoving her roughly out of the way. She made it clear, tumbling with a cry to her hands and knees. Michael wasn't so lucky. The flats fell towards him, catching him squarely on his temple. He felt a sharp pain on the side of his head, and everything went black.

TBC...

CHAPTER 44

He came to, confused, his head swimming. Everything hurt. God, was Hank at it again? He had to get up, then. There was nothing his foster father liked more than a helpless target. One hand was caught under him; he tried to brace it and use it to push upwards, but didn't get very far. Something was pinning him to the floor. The ringing in his ears died down a little, though, and he began to hear a babble of voices.

Not Hank this time. Hank was gone, and he was on his own. A moment later he remembered where he was, what had happened. Maria. Was she all right? He felt the weight on top of him getting lighter as the flats were moved aside, and he realized that someone was holding his outstretched hand, gripping it tightly. He knew who it was, too. He could hear her, repeating his name in a panic-stricken voice.

He let out a deep breath. She was okay, then. He closed his fingers around hers.

The final flat was lifted off, and Ms. Bedinger crouched down by his head. She spoke in a worried tone. "Michael? Don't move. You've hit your head."

"'S okay. Got the wind knocked out of me, that's all," he lied. Maria clutched his hand even more tightly, as if she knew he wasn't telling the truth. Pulling his hand roughly from her grasp, he rolled onto his back and squinted against the glare of the stage lights. "Just gimme a minute."

Feet pounded down the aisle, and a voice called out, "No one's there. The school nurse already left."

Michael could've sworn he heard the drama teacher mutter, "Damn," under her breath. Then again, it could've been his ears ringing. "We'll call the paramedics," Ms. Bedinger decided.

No. No doctors. They'd been lucky when Max had the car accident; they couldn't chance it again. "I'm okay," he said groggily, pushing himself to a sitting position before looking at the teacher. His vision swam, and he was pretty sure there were two of her. He ignored it, and managed a very unaccustomed, rather crooked grin. "I've got a hard head. I'm fine."

The teacher disagreed. "You hit your head; you could have a concussion. And in the absence of a parent, I'm required to call for help."

Panic rose in him. He had to get out of there, before they found out, before he was caught..."No doctors!"

"I'm afraid it's not your decision, Michael," Ms. Bedinger told him.

Alex's voice, firm and unwavering, broke through Michael's panic. "Actually, it is. He's an emancipated minor. He has the legal right to make his own medical decisions." What do you know. Whitman to the rescue. Seeing right to the problem and dealing with it. Covering for him. Again.

Ms. Bedinger protested again, but Michael put paid to the discussion. Brushing aside all the helping hands, he rose to his feet and stood there, willing himself not to sway. Or pass out. He couldn't allow himself to show any weakness. "I'm fine," he said again.

"But your head--"

He put his hand up to it and immediately regretted it. Gritting his teeth, he waited for the world to stop spinning. "I'll go put some ice on it or something. I'll be fine." He took a few steps towards the side of the stage. A small part of him took the time to be amazed at his steadiness. The rest of him--which hopefully wasn't showing--fought the urge to collapse.

"I can't let you leave without making sure you're okay," Ms. Bedinger insisted.

"What if he agrees to see his personal physician?" Alex spoke again. "Since you can't legally keep him here," he reminded the teacher.

"Michael?" Ms. Bedinger asked. "Do you promise you'll go straight to your doctor's?"

He started to nod but decided that wasn't a very good idea either. "Yeah," he said.

She still looked uncertain, and he made up her mind for her. Ignoring her protests, he headed towards the side door. He'd just take off. What was she gonna do? Tie him up?

"Michael!" Maria cried out. He didn't turn around.

Unexpectedly, Kyle Valenti spoke. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets there," he said, heading after Michael, who was still moving doggedly towards freedom.

Michael vaguely heard Ms. Bedinger calling, "I expect to hear from you when you get to the doctor's!" before the door swung shut behind him. He put out a hand to brace himself against the wall. The door swung back open and he turned his head reflexively. Ouch. Too fast.

Beside him, Kyle said, "I'll get my car and meet you at the back door," and took off running down the hall. Trying not to jar his head, Michael slowly made it to the door in question. Sure enough, there was Kyle's red convertible. Wordlessly, the alien got in, pulled the door shut and fastened his seatbelt before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"So I take it we're not going to a doctor," Kyle said as he pulled away from the curb.

"Can't. Our blood is different," Michael said.

"Oh." Kyle seemed to muse about that for a moment. "Where then?"

"My place." Michael gave him the address and then was silent.

"Are you really okay?" asked Kyle.

Michael opened his eyes and carefully turned his head in Kyle's direction. "Not unless there's really two of you."

"I could call my dad."

"No." His eyes closed again.

The obvious answer hit Kyle. "Max! He healed me. We'll call Max."

"You don't need to," Michael told him.

"Why? Does he already know? Do you guys read minds or something?" Kyle asked nervously.

"No, we don't read minds or something," Michael echoed in a sarcastic voice. "Maria's already called him."

"How do you know that?" asked Kyle.

Michael's voice was low. "I know Maria." He lapsed back into silence.

A short while later, Kyle pulled up to the curb in front of Michael's apartment building. The alien braced himself, and managed to get out of the car. He was surprised to see Kyle hop out as well. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to make sure you manage to get in all right," said the athlete.

"I don't need your help."

"Look Guerin, you're barely standing upright."

"You can't leave your car there. It's a no parking zone."

"So I'll get my dad to fix the ticket."

Michael opened his mouth to protest again, and then decided he wasn't in any shape to care, much less to argue about it. "Fine," he said ungraciously, and led the way into the apartment building. He reeled a little going up the steps, but managed to make it to the top under his own steam. Arriving at his apartment, he pulled out his key and held it out to Kyle. "You do it. Can't see the lock clearly," he mumbled, then stumbled over and collapsed on the couch once the door was open. Kyle followed and stood over him, looking down in concern.

"If you've got a concussion, you're not supposed to fall asleep," the football player instructed.

Michael opened one eye. "You have them often?" he asked.

"No. I just remember it from first aid. You were in the class too," Kyle pointed out.

Michael was about to make a rather snide remark when the door burst open on its hinges and Isabel rushed in, Max on her heels. Michael didn't have to look to know who it was. He smirked. "Told you," he said to Kyle, and then the two aliens were upon him.

"Oh my god, Michael!" Isabel cried out. "Are you all right?"

"I just had my head caved in, Izzy. Do I look all right?" he shot back.

"Well, it can't be too bad, if you're going to be your usual charming self," she responded.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her double image. "Why don't the two of you go away and let Max take a look?"

"The two of us?" she said in confusion.

"He took a good crack to the head. He's seeing double," Kyle explained.

Max knelt beside the couch, frowning. "Hold still, Michael."

"Not really planning to move anytime soon, Maxwell," Michael said evenly. Max placed his hand gently on the side of Michael's head and began the healing process. Michael kept his eyes open. The moment his double vision pulled together into a single image, he pushed Max's hand away. "Thanks," he told the other alien.

"But I'm not done yet," Max protested.

"Yes, you are."

Max's brow wrinkled. "Michael, what's this about? If you don't want me to heal you, Isabel can--" Max was interrupted.

"What the hell's the matter with you? I'm the one who got knocked out, so why am I the only one thinking straight?" barked Michael. He cautiously sat up, and then relaxed as his dizziness didn't return. "Look, Max, a whole bunch of people saw those flats land on me. It's gonna look pretty suspicious if I don't have so much as a scratch."

Isabel shouldered Max aside and took Michael's chin in her hand. "You're going to have a black eye," she told him, studying the abrasions on his temple.

"Won't be the first one." He swatted her hand gently away.

She sat on the couch next to him. "So what happened? All Maria said was that the set fell on you and you were hurt, and we should get over here."

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Her voice rose.

"Yeah, that's what happened." He started to run a hand through his hair, but thought better of it.

"That's not the whole story," put in Kyle. "Man, I've never seen anyone move that fast! You play basketball, Guerin? We could use you on the team."

"Will someone please tell me what happened?" yelled Isabel.

Michael shrugged. "I saw the flats going down, and she was in the way. So I pushed her out of the way."

"And she's okay?"

"Of course she's okay. Do you think I'd let anything happen to her?" he asked crossly.

"Well, not on purpose, of course," Isabel admitted. "But this didn't sound like the--" She cut off, looking at Kyle. "I mean, it was an accident, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. A couple of the guys were goofing around and pushed me into the flats. I knocked them over," explained Kyle. "It was an accident. We didn't mean for it to happen."

"And she's fine," Max stated.

Michael leaned forward, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. "Yeah. Why? Did she say she wasn't, when she called you?"

"Wait a minute," Kyle broke in. "I'm confused here. When who called you?"

"Maria," Max answered shortly.

"Why wouldn't she be fine?"

Michael looked at him for a moment before dropping his eyes to the floor. "I pushed her kind of hard," he admitted.

Kyle shook his head. "Wait--you think it was Maria who you pushed out of the way? She was on the other side of the stage. The girl you saved was Melanie."

Michael blinked. Melanie? He'd risked exposure for the girl who'd been threatening Maria? His head began to pound.

Isabel was incredulous. "All this time, and you can't tell Maria from another girl? She is not going to be pleased to hear that, Michael."

Michael shook his head, racking his brain to remember exactly what had happened. He'd been watching those guys kidding Valenti, and then the flats had been falling, and he'd caught one brief glimpse of blonde hair...He'd just assumed it was her. He didn't consider that it could've been someone else. He'd just reacted. He spoke testily. "What did you want me to do, Izzy? Ask the set politely to stop falling so I could check out who it was? There wasn't time."

"No matter who it was, or who he thought it was, it was a pretty damn nervy thing to do," Kyle pointed out. "He came out of it fine, thanks to Max. But who knows what those flats would have done to someone more fragile?"

"You mean someone less hard-headed," grumbled Isabel, but she put her arms around Michael and hugged him. "I'm glad you're okay," she added.

Michael pushed her arms away, embarrassed at her display of affection. "Cut it out, Iz."

"I will if you lie down for a while. Your head is probably going to start aching," she said.

"Start?" he said wryly, then grew a little more sarcastic. "Fine, I'll lie down. I'll rest. Thank you all for coming. Have a swell trip back home."

"You have to call Ms. Bedinger," Kyle reminded him.

Michael pounced on the first excuse he could think of. "Don't have the phone number."

"I told her you'd call her."

"Yeah, well, you also told her you'd get me to the doctor, and we all know you didn't do that either. Get over it."

Isabel seized the opportunity. "They're still at rehearsal, aren't they? Call on Maria's cell phone."

Michael's brow furrowed. "No."

"I swear, Michael, you are going to drive me insane! Just talk to the girl already."

Max and Michael spoke at the same time.

"Let him be, Isabel."

"You know I can't."

"Look," said Kyle, "if you won't call, I will." He headed over to the phone. "So who's got Maria's phone number?"

Max and Isabel looked directly at Michael. He rolled his eyes but recited the number. Kyle looked at him curiously as he dialed. "Eidetic memory," Michael said gruffly. Kyle looked doubtfully at him until the call was answered. He didn't even have a chance to say hello before Maria started asking frantic questions.

"No, it's Kyle," the football player said into the phone. "He's fine. Yeah, Max fixed him up." He listened for a moment. "Hold on," he said, then held the phone out to Michael, who folded his arms across his chest and refused to take it. "Uh, Maria? Actually, he's still got a bit of a headache, so he's lying down right now. He can't talk."

She must have expressed some agitation, because he continued, "Calm down, DeLuca. I told you he's fine. Now put Ms. Bedinger on, will you? Ms. Bedinger? Kyle Valenti. Yeah, he got patched up. There's nothing wrong, no concussion or anything. He'll probably have a black eye, though. He's just supposed to get some rest and he'll be fine. Yeah. Yeah, I'll tell him."

He hung up the phone and turned to Michael. "Ms. Bedinger says she's glad you're okay. And Maria was a little pissed that you didn't want to talk to her."

Michael shrugged. "She'll get over it."

"If you say so." Kyle hesitated. "Look, Guerin," he said finally, "I'm sorry about this whole thing. We shouldn't have been horsing around backstage, and you shouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Considering the three of us got you shot, I wouldn't worry about it too much, Valenti," Michael said brusquely. "Now if you don't mind, I'm gonna crash for a while. I'll see you guys in school tomorrow."

"All right. See you," said Kyle. With a nod to Isabel and Max, he was gone.

"Do you need anything, Michael?" Isabel asked anxiously. "Do you want us to stay for a while?"

Michael looked over at his best friend. "I'm begging you, Maxwell. Get her out of here before she goes all Florence Nightingale on me, okay?"

Max smiled. "You got it. Come on, Izzy." He grabbed her arm and pulled her, protesting, out of the apartment. The door closed behind them and Michael heard the click of the lock as Max used his powers to lock it behind them.

Letting out a deep breath, Michael stretched out on the couch. He wasn't dizzy any more, but his head was still pounding. And all for Melanie. He couldn't get over the fact that it hadn't been Maria. It should have been Maria he'd saved.

Michael kicked himself mentally. What the hell was he thinking? Of course he was glad it wasn't Maria, that she hadn't been in danger. A sick feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. He knew why he'd wanted it. A part of him had wanted to be the hero. To be worthy in her eyes. In everyone's eyes. What kind of a sick bastard was he, to want her to be in danger, just so he could look good? Maybe he was even less human than he'd thought.

He let his head fall back onto the couch. The important thing was that she wasn't hurt. That's what really counted. Not what anyone thought about him. Ruthlessly, he reminded himself that he didn't care what anyone thought. He could be as hard as he needed to be. He just had to put a little more effort into it, that was all. He'd work on that. But first he would shut his eyes and rest, just for a little while.

CHAPTER 45

Maria paced back and forth across the wings, supposedly waiting for her cue. Her mind was nowhere near the show, though. She didn't even listen to the trio singing 'Ya Never Know' with Mark. All she could think about was Michael.

She'd almost felt her heart stop when she'd seen him dart in the path of the falling flats. There had been a particularly nasty thud as a two-by-four struck his head. She'd felt sick at the sound. And then she was on her knees, holding his limp hand, calling his name, as people had pitched in to move the wood panels off of his body.

He hadn't even looked at her. That hurt her, almost more than anything. He could have been seriously hurt, and she didn't even get the chance to look into his eyes and see for herself that he was okay.

Then he was standing, telling everyone he was fine. She knew better. But his panic at the thought of the paramedics was palpable. With an able assist from Alex--god bless Alex--he was out of there.

For a moment she'd almost abandoned everything and run after him, ready to forget all the stupid constraints on her life. To forget his coldness, the rehearsal, the fact that she was grounded, wasn't supposed to talk to him...everything. Just to make sure he would be all right, and damn the consequences. Alex hadn't let her. So she'd done the next best thing; she'd called Max and Isabel. And then she'd hung up the phone and started to shake.

Thank god Kyle had called. They'd been in the middle of a scene when her cell phone rang, and at the sound, she'd abandoned the stage without any hesitation. She'd hoped against hope it was Michael, but of course it wasn't. But Kyle assured her Michael was going to be just fine, so at least Max and Isabel had been able to help him.

On stage, Melanie forgot her choreography again and the music ground to a halt. Maria couldn't blame her. The girl could have been badly hurt, if Michael hadn't stepped in. It was enough to shake anybody up.

And either the incident was affecting everyone or Melanie's abstraction was contagious, because people were missing lines right and left, unable to focus on much of anything. Except for Mark, who seemed to be giving the same strong performance he gave at every rehearsal. Maria could hardly believe he could act like nothing had happened, that for him rehearsal was going on just like normal. She was furious with Ms. Bedinger too. The show must go on, wasn't that the saying? Well, this wasn't even a show. It was just a stupid rehearsal. And Ms. Bedinger couldn't even give them a few minutes to collect themselves? For the first time, Maria felt like she could actively hate this whole stupid theater thing anyway.

The room was silent. Amy watched as Maria, seemingly lost in gloomy thought, pushed listlessly at her dinner with a fork, separating chunks of chicken from the vegetables in her casserole. Feeling her mother's eyes on her, she looked up, a guilty expression on her face. She set her fork down.

"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?" Amy asked gently. Maria had hardly spoken since she'd arrived home from rehearsal, and Amy was getting worried. It was unlike her chatterbox daughter, who usually had plenty to say about everything.

"I don't think so," Maria answered in a low voice.

"Honey, it's obvious that something's bothering you. I know you're upset that you're on punishment, but I thought we...cleared the air last night. This is something else."

"You don't want to hear it," Maria mumbled.

Amy's suspicions flared up. "Why not?"

"Because it's about Michael," the girl admitted.

A frown crossed Amy's face. "I thought I told you not to have anything to do with him, Maria. I believe I made myself perfectly clear on that point."

She could hear the weariness in her daughter's voice as Maria responded. "You did. And I haven't."

"Well, then--"

"But it's not for want of trying," Maria said hollowly. "It's his choice. He won't even look at me."

Anger at her daughter's actions and relief at Michael's warred with sympathy in Amy's chest. Somehow, sympathy won. Anger could wait until later. Right now, Maria was hurting. She had known that boy would hurt her daughter again. Amy spoke, slowly and honestly. "Sometimes men are like that, honey. You can't count on them." She should know.

Maria shook her head. She didn't speak loudly, but her quiet voice cut through the room, leaving sharp-edged and painful silence in its wake. "He could have died today."

Amy froze. Died? "What?" she finally managed.

Maria kept her eyes on her plate. "He was at rehearsal today. Working on the puppets. And they were putting out set pieces, and...and a stack of flats fell over. They almost hit Melanie Royer. And Michael..." She swallowed. "Michael got there first. He pushed her out of the way, and the flats fell on him."

Amy felt a twinge of alarm. Whether it was due to her daughter's distressed state of mind or to the news itself, she wasn't sure. "Is he all right?" she asked evenly.

"Kyle said they went to the doctor's, and that he's fine. But it could've been so different, Mom. He was hurt, and I couldn't even go check on him." She raised her eyes to her mother's. Her misery was evident to Amy. "He didn't even stop to think about it. He just jumped in there and saved her, no matter what it did to him. It was brave, and selfless. And this is the guy you think is such a bad influence on me?" Maria twisted her napkin. "What did you say to him, Mom?"

An alarm went off in Amy's head. "What do you mean?"

"Saturday morning. After you sent me to the car. What did you say to him?" Somehow Amy couldn't meet her eyes. Maria nodded. "I thought so."

Amy began to defend herself. "I'm only doing what I think is best for--"

Maria interrupted. "I know you are. And I know it's my fault I'm grounded. I can maybe even see why you told me I'm not supposed to see him. But, Mom..." Her voice lowered to a painful whisper. "If something had really happened to him, and he wouldn't even speak to me, to...to say goodbye, because of you...I..." She looked up, a haunted expression on her face. "Mom, I'm not sure I'd ever be able to forgive you."

Amy's face tensed, and Maria continued, "I'm not saying that because I'm angry or upset. It's not some teenage rebellion thing, either. It's how I really feel, deep down. And it scares me."

"Maria," her mother managed.

"I don't know what's going to happen with Michael and me. You can keep us apart, and think this is all just some product of teenage hormones reacting to a cute guy and that what I feel for him isn't real. But eventually, you're going to realize you're wrong."

Amy had never seen her daughter this calm. She was so self-possessed, so sure, as if her emotions weren't getting in the way of her seeing things with total clarity. With a small smile, Maria told her, "I do love you, you know, Mom," and left the room.

Amy sat there, her mind trying to grasp the sudden maturity of her daughter. Her baby was growing up. "You're still grounded!" she called.

Maria's voice held a rueful laugh as she called back, "I know!"

With a groan, Michael Guerin tried to burrow deeper into the confines of his shabby couch. He had absolutely no desire to move, his sleep-befuddled body protesting at the thought. He reached up a hand to rub drowsily at his face. The soreness as his fingers hit his eye roused him, and he blinked against the light shining through the window. Craning his neck slightly, he glanced at the clock. 8:37.

He settled lazily back into his makeshift bed, and then it hit him. It was 8:37 and it was light out. It was morning.

He had slept for more than fifteen hours. And not just slept, but slept deeply, peacefully, with no signs of accusing voices, disappearing corpses, or the terrifying nightmares that had plagued him for as long as he could remember. The realization was enough to bring him completely awake.

Pushing himself to his feet, he padded into his tiny bathroom and splashed some cool water on his face before patting it dry, carefully avoiding putting too much pressure on his eye. With a grimace, he looked into the medicine cabinet mirror. Isabel had been right. The skin around his right eye was turning a lovely greenish-purplish shade, and his temple was red and abraded. Putting a hand up, he gingerly felt the side of his head. Yep, he had a lump the size of a spaceship.

Looking again in the mirror, his eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. He could sense it in his gut. No, not wrong, precisely. Maybe different was the word. It took him a few moments to figure out what it was. He felt kind of...rested.

He wasn't groggy, and he could feel a sense of energy pulsing through him. The bone-weariness that had been his constant companion was nowhere to be found. He felt able to do almost anything. The beginnings of a smile pulled his lips upward slightly. Here he was, looking like the loser in a bar brawl, and he felt pretty damn good.

He took his time getting ready for school. He was already late, anyway, so why bother to rush? It wasn't like he had any pressing reason to actually want to attend class. In fact, he was pretty sure there was a quiz scheduled in his math class. Just another convincing reason not to go rushing off.

But eventually, he walked up West Roswell High's front sidewalk and in the door. He'd managed to time it so that he arrived between classes. Heading towards his locker, he debated whether or not to check in with Max or Isabel at lunch. He probably should; they'd be worried about him. But still...

A few guys dressed in school jackets stopped their conversation and looked over in his direction. He glanced over his shoulder, but couldn't find anything unusual for them to be staring at. And then he realized it was him. He was used to people looking over him, or through him, as if he were too unimportant or weird or scruffy to notice. And that was the way he liked it. But these jocks, who he vaguely recognized as buddies of Kyle Valenti's, were looking at him.

And it wasn't just these guys, either. A lot of eyes were fastened on him. A group of girls started giggling nearby, and he looked up to catch them staring at him too. What the hell was going on? He did a mental check. He was wearing his standard outfit of jeans, T-shirt and jacket, and his fly was zipped, so what was the big deal? Sure, the eye, but they all had to have seen a black eye before.

His unaccustomed good mood faltered, then rapidly shriveled away under the weight of all the interested looks. A scowl crossed his face, and he moved quickly down the hallway, his expression warning them to stop looking.

To hell with this. He'd just hide out in the bathroom until lunch.

Maria bit her lip as she headed down the hall towards her science class. So far, this day had royally sucked. Her mother had been pretty much non-communicative, still seemingly shell-shocked from last night's dinner discussion; they'd had a quiz in French for which she couldn't remember any verb conjugations; and, most distressing, Michael hadn't shown up for English.

Not that he would have talked to her or anything, but at least she would have been able to see for herself that he was okay.

She was just about to round the corner when she felt it--he was nearby. She stopped in her tracks and was almost plowed over by the guy behind her. "Sorry," she muttered, but all her attention was focused on the crowd around her. Where was he? She looked wildly around until a familiar figure came into view. Relaxing, she let out the breath she'd been holding. And then he turned to look suspiciously at a group of giggling girls, and she forgot to breathe.

Kyle had lied.

Michael wasn't okay. The side of his face was red and bruised-looking, and he was sporting a shiner that rivaled the one Terri had given her. Only his wasn't going to wipe off with a little cold cream and water.

She saw him hunch his shoulders forward, scowling at the students around him before moving quickly down the hall. And then his eyes accidentally met hers. Met and held. She could almost swear that Michael--selfless, wounded, stubborn Michael--looked ashamed. And then he tore his eyes away and turned around, stalking away from her.

With a frustrated growl, she collected herself and headed after him. It was about time to give him a piece of her mind to go with the piece of her heart he'd already had for so long. She didn't get very far, though, because as he neared the end of the hall, he swerved into the men's room. Maria hesitated for a moment. Just how badly did she want to see him? She shook her head. Stupid question. Taking a deep breath, she marched up to the bathroom door. Her hand reached out and she was about to push it open...

...only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

"Whoa there, DeLuca," said Kyle. "I know you're easily confused and all, but that's the men's room. The girls' bathroom is down the hall."

In an instant the petite blonde had the star athlete backed up against a bank of lockers, a threatening finger poking him in the chest. "You lied to me!" she seethed.

"Calm down, Maria," Kyle protested. "What are you talking about?"

"Michael! You said he was fine. Well, I just saw him, and do you know what?" She punctuated each word with her finger. "He...is...not...fine!"

Grabbing her hand, Kyle looked around the emptying hallway, then pulled her into a nearby stairwell. "He is fine, Maria. I promise you," he said in a low tone, not wanting to be overheard.

"But his head...his eye..." she protested. "Why didn't Max heal him?" She began to pace back and forth.

"Guerin wouldn't let him," Kyle said.

"What?" Maria exclaimed. "The stubborn, idiotic, selfish fool! When I get my hands on him, a black eye is going to be the least of his problems!"

Kyle laughed, and she turned angrily towards him. He put his hands up to ward her off. "Sorry, but that's ridiculous. You're mad enough that he's still hurt that you're going to hurt him a little more?"

Maria sank down onto the floor and buried her face in her hands.

With a sigh, Kyle looked down at her. "He couldn't let Max heal him all the way. Too many people saw the set fall on him," he explained. "He was just being smart about things, thinking ahead. You have to give him credit for that. And besides, it's not even that bad. I've gotten worse on the football field. He'll recover."

"You're sure?" she asked hesitantly, looking up at him.

"I'm sure," the athlete told her. "So, you want to explain why you went psycho at the idea of him being hurt?" he asked, a quizzical expression on his face.

Her answer was worthy of Michael himself. "No."

"Uh-huh." She flushed, but accepted the hand he held out and let him pull her to her feet. "So can I trust you not to invade the men's room now?"

She flushed again. "Yeah. I just...I have to get to class," she said hurriedly. She took a few steps and then turned. "Kyle?"

"Yes?"

"You'll probably never hear this from Michael, so...thank you for helping yesterday."

The bell rang, and Michael swung himself down from his perch on the bathroom counter. Time to check in with Max and Isabel and then clear out before Maria showed up at lunch. Wouldn't be so bad. He'd probably been imagining the stares and whispers earlier. And even if he hadn't, he didn't really care anyway. He just preferred to keep a low profile, that's all. It was safer. He took a breath and then headed into the hallway.

Putting on indifference like a cloak, Michael moved rapidly towards the cafeteria, ignoring all the eyes that still fastened on him. He breathed a mental sigh of relief as he spotted a tall blonde moving towards a table in the corner. Quickly changing directions, he joined her and carefully took a seat with his back to the room. "Hey."

Isabel studied him carefully before nodding. "Nice eye," she said. Michael shrugged it off. Her brown eyes softened. "How are you really, Michael?" she asked.

He met her eyes clearly. "Fine. Looks worse than it feels."

Isabel gave him a warm smile. "Good." She opened her bag and pulled out a container of yogurt. "I kind of expected to see you earlier today. I was worried about you."

His reply was matter-of-fact. "I overslept."

She looked at him in astonishment. "Really?"

"Yeah. I fell asleep after you left, and didn't wake up until morning."

"Really?" she asked again in excitement. He nodded. "That's wonderful, Michael!" she crowed.

A voice came from behind him. "What's wonderful?"

"Michael," Isabel told her brother, her eyes sparkling. "He slept all night."

Max looked at his friend, who shrugged. "No big deal. It's not like I cured cancer or anything, Maxwell."

"No, it's great, Michael," Max replied with a smile. "You joining us for lunch today?"

Michael shook his head. "No, just checking in. I've got stuff to do."

"Like what?" Isabel asked dryly.

"Stuff."

"You just want to avoid Maria, that's all," she accused.

He looked at her. "You know, I think I liked the other Isabel better, the one from a couple of minutes ago who wasn't on my case."

She didn't rise to the bait. "Look, Michael, just stay and talk to us for a few minutes, all right? When I see Maria, I'll give you enough warning so you can run away."

He glared at her, but didn't leave. The three of them sat in a reasonably comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Alex Whitman strolled over to the table and sat down. He greeted the Evans siblings, then turned to Michael. "So how does it feel to be a celebrity?" he asked nonchalantly.

"What?"

"Your little rescue attempt yesterday is the talk of the entire school. I haven't heard this much buzz since Coach Allen caught Vicky Delaney under the bleachers with Brad Phillips last year," Alex said with a grin. He caught the uneasy glance Michael shot at the others. "What? What's wrong?"

"I don't like it," Michael muttered. "We don't need any attention drawn to us."

"But this isn't Czechoslovakian-based attention," Alex pointed out. "No one has any way of knowing that you're different, except the people who already knew about you guys anyway. This isn't a bad thing, Michael. You may have saved Melanie's life."

Michael abruptly pushed back his chair and left. A puzzled Alex looked after him. "Okay, what did I say?"

Isabel, who'd been watching Michael storm out of the cafeteria, turned to Alex. "He thought it was Maria," she said simply.

"What?"

"He thought it was Maria who was in danger. He's furious at himself for risking being found out for someone who...who is not Maria," she finished lamely.

Alex understood what she meant. "Does Maria know?"

"I don't think so. But she hasn't talked about it much, not to us," Max answered.

Alex looked over to where Liz and Maria were approaching. "Well, maybe now's the time to tell her."

Approaching his History classroom with some dread, Michael debated cutting another class. This whole day had him edgy. People who he didn't even know had been coming up to him, trying to start conversations. In fact, he wasn't positive, but he kind of thought that one girl had actually tried to flirt with him. It all made him extremely uneasy. No, more than uneasy--it made him feel trapped. This sudden in-school notoriety sucked. Sucked buckets. In defense, he'd clammed up even tighter than normal.

At least with Maria around, he'd be in the familiar territory of having her blabbing at him. So maybe he could hack the class after all. He hesitated in the doorway, undecided, until a small hand on the center of his back pushed him gently into the classroom. He turned around with a jerk. It was, of course, Maria.

She searched his face for a moment, her eyes lingering on his bruises. Then she gave him a little smile and headed for her desk, saying nothing, before he could even think about turning away himself.

He knew she was all right, that it hadn't been her in danger, and yet it was still a relief to actually see her. Even if she weren't standing over him, yakking away like she had every other time she'd seen him since Saturday morning. No, she was sitting at her desk, quietly pulling out her notebook and preparing for class. He wasn't getting angry vibes off her any more. He was getting...well, he didn't know what he was getting. But it wasn't what he expected, and he didn't like it.

It was almost a relief when the classroom door opened part way into the class period and Vice Principal Sutter entered. He spoke quietly to Mrs. Lyons, whose eyes flashed towards Michael. She nodded. "Michael, come with me, please," the school administrator told the alien. For the umpteenth time that day, all eyes fixed on Michael as he grabbed his notebook and pen and followed wordlessly in Mr. Sutter's wake.

Shit. What had he done now? The last time he'd been pulled out of class like this, Hank had disappeared, and Valenti had pulled him in for questioning. The Sheriff couldn't be after him this time; he was on their side now. And besides, Michael hadn't done anything. So what the hell was going on?

He didn't lose any of his tension as Mr. Sutter led him into the Principal's office and pointed him towards a chair. Okay, no cops. So this had to be school related. His mind flashed to the classes he'd skipped that morning. Had he pushed his lack of attendance just a little too far?

"Hello Michael," said Principal Bruner as she entered the office. Ms. Bedinger was right behind her. He eyed them warily. "I'm sorry to pull you out of class, but I think we need to have a little talk about what happened yesterday, don't you?"

The halls teemed with students heading to their after-school activities by the time Michael was released from the principal's office. He'd gotten a lecture on listening to teachers' instructions and having more concern for his physical safety, and had to sign a copy of the school's incident report. He himself hadn't contributed much more than a few grunts to the conversation. He'd just sat there, arms folded, letting the sound of the principal's voice wash over him without sinking in.

And now he was free. He decided he had time to check with Max or Isabel on the status of the Maria-and-Melanie watch before he had to head to work. Probably the best place to wait would be by the Jeep in the parking lot. He headed in that direction, uncomfortably aware that he'd have to pass by the auditorium on his way.

And his concerns weren't unfounded, because he didn't make it past the auditorium doors. A hand latched onto his arm and pulled him to a halt. It could've been worse, though. It could've been Maria. But it wasn't.

"Michael!" cried Melanie. "I am so glad to finally see you. I wanted to thank you, you know, for yesterday. You saved my life. So thank you."

Michael nodded absently, his eyes scanning the hallway for a different blonde as Melanie continued talking. He didn't see Maria, and glanced back down to find Melanie looking at him expectantly. She'd evidently asked him something.

"What?" he said, not caring if she realized he hadn't been listening.

"I asked how your eye was," she repeated.

"Fine," he ground out.

"I'm really sorry you got hurt trying to help me," she said honestly. "I wish there was a way I could repay you."

His eyes flashed to hers, then narrowed. "Maybe there is."

Melanie looked nervously up at his cold face, caught under the intense glare of his eyes. "H..how?"

He folded his arms across his chest and stood there adamantly. "You can start by explaining why you've been leaving threatening messages for Maria DeLuca."