CHAPTER 46

"Wh..what?" stammered Melanie.

"The notes," Michael said impatiently. "The ones you left in her locker, on her car, at work."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she protested.

He glared down at her, and she quailed, taking a quick step backward. "Alex," he barked, seeing the bass player approaching down the hall, "Go find Maria. Get the notes from her and bring them here."

"What's going on?" Alex asked.

"Just do it!" Michael snapped, not tearing his gaze from the cowering girl in front of him. Alex took one look at the expression on Michael's face and bolted for the auditorium doors.

Once inside, he rushed up to Maria, who was sitting in the house, reviewing her script. "I need the notes," he said without any preliminaries.

"Huh?" she said, caught off guard.

"The notes, the ones you found. I need them!" Alex hissed. She looked at him, then began to rummage in her bag for them. "What's going on, Alex?"

"Michael's cornered Melanie in the hallway. I think he's confronting her about them," he blurted as he snatched the papers from her.

"Oh my god." She dropped her bag and ran after Alex. She found him in the hallway, handing the notes to Michael, who was towering over Melanie.

"I'm talking about these," the alien bit out. "Look familiar?"

Melanie took them with trembling hands. Unfolding them, she read each one. She hesitated, then responded, "No. I haven't seen them before." She held the notes out to him.

For a moment, Maria thought Michael was going to lose it. She put a restraining hand on his arm. He threw it off and she stepped back, hurt. Alex said his name in warning. The alien closed his eyes and held perfectly still for a moment, struggling to regain control of his rage. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and spoke more calmly. "You didn't write them?"

Melanie shook her head, wide-eyed. "No."

He studied her expression for a moment, weighing her sincerity. Then his hand shot out and grabbed her right wrist, pulling it towards him. She held still, confused, as he studied her hand as if he were trying to fix it in his memory. Then he let go just as suddenly. Reaching out slowly, he gently took the papers from her other hand. Turning to Alex, he spoke in a dull tone. "It's not her. Tell the others." And then he strode down the hallway towards the parking lot.

Melanie watched him go, eyes as big as saucers. Finally, she whispered, "What was that all about?"

"...so it looks like we're back to scratch," Michael said testily into the phone. "We still have no clue who's behind the notes."

On the other end, Max reminded him, "We still have your vision to go by."

"It's not enough, Maxwell! She could be in danger. I wasn't so worried when we thought it was Melanie, but now..." His voice trailed off. "We have to figure this out."

"I know. We will," Max assured him.

Michael ran his free hand through his hair. "But I don't know how, or even what to do next. I thought about it the whole time I was at work, and I just can't get my brain wrapped around it. I--"

A crisp knock on the door cut him off in mid-sentence. "Hold on, Max. Someone's here." Setting the phone down, he padded to the door and swung it open. "What do you wa--" he demanded, only to stop mid-phrase when he saw who was standing outside. It was the last person he would have expected. Mrs. DeLuca.

He stood looking at her in confusion, no words coming to him. She raised her eyebrows and then pushed past him into his apartment. Staying by the door as she looked around, he tried to see the shabby room through her eyes. He wasn't impressed by it.

Mrs. DeLuca quickly took in the small details, like the tie-dyed cloth Isabel had draped over the window as a curtain and the Metallica posters on the walls, that attempted to make it a little more homey. It didn't quite work. She had to admit, though, especially for a teenage boy living on his own, it was fairly neat. She gave a noncommittal "Hmmm."

When she had looked her fill, she turned back to Michael, who was still standing wordlessly in front of the open apartment door. She stepped nearer to him and he braced himself for the confrontation he knew was coming. Instead, she reached out and took his chin in one hand, tilting his face to the side as she clinically studied his bruises just as carefully as she had studied his apartment. She spoke for the first time. Her voice was calm. "You should try some witch hazel on that." He shied back away from her without responding.

He couldn't read her expression. It wasn't one he was familiar with. "I still don't want you near Maria," she said firmly. He nodded, and she continued, "But I pay my debts." And with that, she held out the box she was holding in her other hand towards him. He looked at it but didn't move to take it. "It won't bite. That's your job," she said, thrusting the box into his hands. Then she coolly left his apartment.

He looked down at it, unsure of what had just happened. After a few moments, he gingerly opened the box and stood staring down at its contents. Then he headed back to the phone. "Max? You still there?"

"Yeah."

Michael hesitated. "Something weird just happened." He could hear the rustle as Max sat up.

"What?" Max asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Mrs. DeLuca just showed up at my door. She looked around, handed me a pie, and left."

"And?" prompted Max, feeling that there was more to it than that.

"Why would she do that?" said Michael, almost to himself. "She hates me, so why bring me food? Why bother seeing where I live? Why...why check out my eye and act like...like...It was weird, that's all," he finished abruptly.

"What did she say, Michael?" Max asked.

"Same old speech about staying away from Maria, but that she pays her debts." A thought struck him. "You don't think she's trying to poison me, do you?"

Max burst into laughter. "No, Michael. It's for helping with her car, remember? She dropped a blackberry pie off for me at the UFO Museum this afternoon. It's her way of saying thank you."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Max waited patiently, and finally Michael said, "I don't get it, though."

"What?"

"Why bother with it? She got what she wanted; I'm staying away from Maria. Mrs. DeLuca never had to see me again. It would've been easier to forget about me. I would've."

"Sometimes it's better to confront things, Michael," Max said quietly. "You can't always run away and pretend things don't exist. Looks like Mrs. DeLuca knows that." Michael was silent, absorbing this thought. "Don't worry too much about it. Go have some pie. Enjoy it," Max advised. "What kind is it, anyway?"

"I don't know," Michael admitted. "I haven't had any yet. It looks like chocolate, though. Maybe chocolate cream."

"Well, have a piece and try to stop worrying. We'll all put out heads together and try to come up with a plan tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah."

"You're not alone in this, you know," Max reminded him.

"I know."

"See you tomorrow then."

"Yeah." Michael hung up the phone and then picked up the pie and carried it over to the counter. Rummaging in a drawer for a fork, he thought about Mrs. DeLuca, still trying to grasp the reason for her visit. She confused him almost as much as her daughter did. The woman hated him; Michael was sure of that. She blamed him for Maria's lying to her, for her staying out all night, and, worst, for sleeping with her daughter...Hell, she probably blamed him for rioting, terrorism and the hole in the ozone layer too.

But she had brought him a pie, and she had held his face as she studied it. Michael wasn't used to being touched like that. Not like...like a mother might have, if he'd had one. Gentle and stern at the same time.

Maria was lucky. He wasn't sure she realized just how lucky she was. And he was not going to do anything to come between this girl and her mother. Their relationship--it was too important. He would just settle for...pie.

He sat down at the counter and pulled the box towards him, lifting the foil pie pan out. It was cool, like it had been in the refrigerator. Not bothering with a plate, he scooped out a forkful and put it in his mouth. The flavors of cream cheese, pie crust and nuts melded with the chocolate taste on his tongue. It wasn't a chocolate cream pie, not like any he'd had before. They usually had whipped cream or meringue on top. This was different, but he knew what it was. He'd never had it before, but he'd heard of it. It was ironic. Mrs. DeLuca could have no idea how ironic it was. Setting down his fork, he headed for the kitchen and a bottle of Tabasco sauce to pour onto his homemade Mississippi Mud Pie.

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" Maria burst out, dropping her half-eaten sandwich onto her napkin. "It is impossible to have a planning meeting without all of us here. You're just going to end up going over all of this again with Michael, anyway, so why can't he save you some time and just show up in the first place? Would it kill him to spend five minutes in my presence?"

"It's not that, and you know it," Isabel put in blandly. "Lord knows I think he's being an idiot too, but he has his reasons for what he's doing, and they're important to him."

"I can't believe he let my mother scare him off," Maria groused. "I mean, I'm the one who's in trouble here. She can't do anything to him. She gets queasy when she sees blood."

"It's not just about your mother, Maria," Max reminded her. "There's a lot more going on in his head than that."

"I know that, I do. But can't we at least be civil?" She shook her head, sighing. "No, I guess we can't, and I'm just going to have to live with it. For now, anyway." She looked around at her four companions, two human and two alien. "So where do we go from here? I mean, if Melanie isn't my stalker?"

"It still seems to me that it's got to be someone innocuous," volunteered Liz. "I mean as far as Czechoslovakian issues are concerned. There's no proof that it isn't someone who just hates you."

"Gee, thanks, Liz. Nice to know you think I'm so popular," Maria chided her.

"Never fear!" Alex put in dramatically. "Even when the rest of the world turns against you, you'll still have us."

"Well, there's real cause for rejoicing right there," said Maria, straight-faced. Liz wadded up her napkin and flung it at her friend. Maria ducked and laughed, and the rest joined in.

"Feeding time at Losers-R-Us?" asked Pamela Harris snidely as she came up behind Maria.

"Speaking of someone who hates me," Maria muttered under her breath. But the weeks of being the brunt of this girl's sniping had finally come to a head. "Okay, Pamela, you know what? I've had enough from you. If you have a problem with me, then have the guts to tell me about it, because I'm not putting up with your little comments any more," Maria challenged, a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Oooh, you have me so scared," Pamela mocked. Liz and Alex immediately knew the girl had just made a big mistake. Maria was already enough on edge, what with being grounded, Michael avoiding her, Michael being hurt, Michael avoiding her, the final weeks of play rehearsal, and, of course, Michael avoiding her. Poor unsuspecting Pamela had no idea what she had just unleashed.

Across the table, Isabel opened her mouth to speak up in her friend's defense. Shaking his head slightly, Alex put a restraining hand on her arm and then settled back to watch the show.

"So what's the bug up your butt, Pamela?" Maria asked in a deceptively calm voice. "Bad hair day, flunked exam, the words in the National Enquirer too big for you, what?"

The brunette bristled. "You think you're so much better than everyone else, don't you? Always coming in and screwing things up for everybody. Well, you're not going to get away with it this time. I'm on to you."

"What are you talking about? I never did anything to you. You just started being a total bitch to me for no reason."

"No reason?" Pamela hissed. "You thieving whore!"

Maria rose slowly from her chair and stood facing the other girl. Her tone was fierce. "Would you prefer to take that back on your own, or am I going to have to knock an apology out of you?"

"You're the one who should apologize. Stop trying to steal my boyfriend!" Pamela shouted.

"What?"

"God, I knew blondes were dumb, but I didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you! Mark. Mark Blumenthal. Stay away from him!"

Maria's face crinkled up in angry confusion. "What? You think I...? No. No way. It's a good thing white looks good on you, Pamela, because you're going to be wearing a straightjacket for a very long time. You are insane."

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" the senior shouted. "Did you think I was stupid?"

"I am so not going there, it's too easy," said Maria with a smirk. "Look, I am not after Mark. We're just in the play together; it's acting. I don't even like him all that much. And besides, I'm kind of involved with someone else."

"Stop lying about it," scoffed Pamela. "Involved with someone else? Now you're making up pitiful stories to try and cover up what you've done. So who are you going to use as your pretend boyfriend, Alex here? I don't think so. I know the truth, you lying bitch. I found a blonde hair on his jacket! Explain that!"

Maria responded with sarcasm. "Gee, I don't know. Maybe he has a golden retriever? Get a grip on reality, Pamela."

"I'll get a grip on you, you two-bit slut!" Pamela screamed.

"Oh, for god's sake," Maria burst out. She nimbly stepped onto her chair and then up onto the table, her feet narrowly avoiding the remains of her lunch. She raised her voice. "Can I have your attention, please?" she shouted. Within seconds, the entire cafeteria was quiet and looking at her. Strangely enough, she didn't experience the slightest bit of nervousness as all eyes focused on her.

"For the last time, I would like to officially announce that I have absolutely no, nor have I ever had any, romantic interest in Mark Blumenthal. I don't even want to try to think about him that way, it's gross." She saw Mark across the room. He didn't look particularly amused. "Sorry, Mark. You're a nice guy and all, but uh-uh. No way." Pamela began to protest, but Maria continued on like a steamroller.

"And even if I could think about Mark that way, it wouldn't make any difference, because I am totally head over heels in love with Michael Guerin, who is a million times more worthy of being loved. Everyone got that? Are we clear now? Any questions? No? Okay." She held out a steady hand to Max, who was closest, and he wordlessly helped her down off the table.

Maria turned to Pamela, who was looking at her in shock. "Better close your mouth, Pam, before the rest of your brains attempt to flee the gaping void that's masquerading as your mind," she said sweetly, then sat down and calmly took a bite of her sandwich.

After a moment of silence, the cafeteria erupted in excited speech and the buzz of conversation surrounded them. The four other people at her table remained quiet, watching her. "You can go now, Pamela," she directed, not bothering to turn around. The girl walked away in high dudgeon and Maria permitted herself a small smile. Four pairs of eyes, with various expressions of shock, surprise and amusement, were still fixed on her. "What?" she asked.

Isabel was the first to recover. "That was...unexpected."

"Yeah, well, she ticked me off," explained Maria airily.

Max looked at her in concern. "Maria, I hate to burst your bubble, but how do you think Michael is going to take this? You're already upset that he's staying away from you. I don't think this is going to help any."

She blinked at him. "He isn't even here. I would have felt him."

"Even before all this...recent stuff happened, he was a pretty private person, you know that. He doesn't like public attention. And between the school-wide gossip and the article in the Roswell Journal this morning, he's already had more than his fill of it this week. And now, with you..." Max trailed off.

Maria's face tensed. "With me shooting my mouth off, you mean. Well, we won't tell him about it then. I mean, there's no reason he has to know, right?" she said nervously.

Liz spoke gently. "Look around you", she said, gesturing towards the chattering students around them. "Do you really think he won't hear about it, 'Ria?"

"Oh my god," Maria groaned. "How could I just do that? Why didn't I stop myself? What was I thinking? What?" She looked frantically around at the others. "There are four of you. Why didn't one of you stop me?" she wailed.

Isabel shook her head. "We could hardly know you were going to announce your undying passion for my backward brother to the entire student body."

Maria looked at her for a moment. Then she shoved her lunch out of the way and folded her arms on the table, letting her head fall down on them with a thud. When she spoke, her voice was hopeless. "I am so dead."

CHAPTER 47

For the second afternoon in a row, Michael Guerin stalked down the hallways of West Roswell High with all eyes fixed on him. For the second afternoon in a row, Michael Guerin was in a crappy mood.

It was different this time, though. It wasn't just staring and whispering. This time there were smirks and knowing looks, and Michael was even more uneasy than the day before. Not to mention kind of pissed off.

He'd spent his whole life trying to fade into the woodwork, to be unseen. It had started long before he'd found Max and Isabel again, at a time when he couldn't even communicate properly with the strange people who picked him up and moved him from place to place, talking in loud voices and ignoring his fright and confusion.

And later on, after three years of being moved around from family to family, knowing he was different, that his differences made him unwanted, he'd been sent to a new foster home. One where he learned that calling attention to himself could bring adverse--and painful--consequences. When he finally met the other two aliens again, and they'd realized just what they were, it only gave him one more reason to hide.

So, if not bred to it, he had at least been conditioned to seek anonymity. And maybe it wasn't surprising that he was having a hard time dealing with suddenly becoming the focus of everyone's attention.

He spun around as someone clapped him on the back, turning to catch a wide grin on the face of the guy who'd just interrupted his brooding. "Way to go, Guerin!" the guy said. Michael blinked. He had fervently hoped that enough time had passed for somebody else to capture the school's interest. Surely in forty-four hours someone had broken up with their boyfriend, or been arrested, or gotten drunk and done something incredibly and publicly stupid. Anything to draw focus away from him. The furor over his actions at Tuesday's rehearsal should have died down by now; the school's attention span was not all that long.

But it looked like he was out of luck, because the attention he was getting wasn't dying down. If anything, it was growing. With a scowl, Michael ducked into a bathroom to hide out. At least there he'd be spared from facing half of the school.

The two seniors who were using the bathroom as their own private smoking lounge glanced up as he entered. They evidently knew who he was, too. "So, you and DeLuca. I'm impressed," the taller of the two said. What the hell? How had this guy coupled their names together? He had been so careful to keep away from her. And even before their little blowout with Mrs. DeLuca on Saturday, they hadn't been exactly public friends; to the casual eye they probably seemed more like forced acquaintances due to Max and Liz's more public friendship. As his mind raced, he carefully kept his face impassive.

The shorter guy--was his name Kevin?--dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it out beneath a $125 sneaker. "Never would've thought she was such a little sparkplug. She always seemed kind of flaky to me. She a good lay, Guerin?"

Michael froze. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "What?" he said very softly.

Kevin was too busy looking in the mirror to notice the trouble he was in. "Maria DeLuca. You're doing her, aren't you?" The words were barely out of his mouth before Michael reacted.

To the alien, it seemed as if time had slowed down and was meandering forward at a lazy pace as he reached out, pinning the senior to the wall with one forearm across his beefy throat. To the two humans, it was only a split second, and Kevin was choking, pulling at the arm that held him firmly in place. Shaking with anger, Michael could barely hear the other guy yelling in the background. Finally the words made it through his rage. "Let go! He can't breathe!" he heard, and went completely still. Forcing himself to relax his arm, he leaned forward, ignoring the gasp as the boy began to suck in air, wheezing.

"Never talk about her that way again. Got it?" Michael growled. Kevin nodded, his hands protectively shielding his throat, and Michael turned abruptly and strode out of the bathroom.

He could hardly believe what he'd just done. He could've killed that guy, and not with his powers either. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd gotten so angry with Melanie yesterday, and then this...He felt like a powder keg waiting to blow. He had lost what little control he felt he had over himself, all over a few words. He felt his stomach recoil. He was no better than Hank.

Stalking down the halls, he didn't see the looks or hear the chatter of the students around him. He didn't hear Liz calling his name, concerned at the bleak look on his face. He broke into a run and tore around the corner, suddenly needing to be away from there, to escape from...everything. Instead, he ran headlong into Kyle Valenti.

"Watch it!" the athlete cried out as he was knocked aside, somehow managing to keep on his feet. He took a look at Michael's tense expression and made a quick decision. "Come on," he ordered. Turning, he started down the hallway towards the parking lot. Michael's need to escape overpowered his disinclination to follow. He was silent as the two got into Kyle's car and pulled out of the parking lot. "Man, you looked like you really needed to bail," commented Kyle with an inquiring look.

Lost in his misery, Michael didn't answer. This was the second time this week he'd gotten into Valenti's car, the second time that the Sheriff's son had taken it upon himself to help him out. "Why?" he finally muttered.

Kyle knew what he was asking. "You looked trapped," he said honestly. "Like you needed to get away from everything before you exploded. I've been there." He pulled up to a stop sign. "Where to?"

Not feeling up to any discussion, Michael muttered, "Doesn't matter. You can just let me off here."

"Nah. Might as well have that talk you promised me."

Michael tensed, and briefly considered jumping from the car. But he didn't. He just sat there as Kyle pulled out onto the highway, watching the scenery blur past them in a seemingly unending motion. A few miles down the road, Kyle stopped the car at a roadside picnic area. "Neutral territory," he commented, getting out of the car. Hesitating, Michael climbed out of the convertible and moved to a nearby picnic table. Kyle unceremoniously plopped down on top of it. "So what was it?" the human asked. "Things getting too much for you?"

Valenti had no idea. "Yeah," Michael admitted with a grunt.

"Don't like people staring, huh?" Kyle grinned.

Michael's response was short and to the point. "No."

"I guess Maria should have thought about that before she pulled her little lunch-time stunt, then," Kyle added dryly. Michael looked at him with a blank expression. "You weren't in the cafeteria for lunch?" the athlete asked. Michael shook his head, and Kyle continued, "And no one's told you about Maria?"

"No. What about her?" Michael muttered, unsuccessfully trying to look like he didn't care.

Kyle leaned back and described the events leading up to Maria's table-top tirade earlier that afternoon. He watched with amusement as a number of expressions passed across Michael's face. He wasn't used to seeing the alien with anything but a stony, blank look.

For his part, Michael was too busy struggling with mixed emotions to worry about what he looked like. His first reaction was sheer panic. She should have known better. They couldn't do anything to draw attention--it was dangerous, not just for him, but for Max and Isabel, and now for a whole slew of humans too. The original three, and now the two Valentis. If there really were enemy aliens on Earth, coming after them, every little bit of extra attention only added to the danger that their group would be found out. Maria wasn't stupid--she should have known better.

Besides, whatever they'd had was over anyway. She should have known that, too, rather than run her mouth off about something that wasn't anybody else's business and didn't even exist any more. He had cut his feelings off, so why the hell couldn't she?

Okay, so maybe he hadn't. But that didn't matter. It couldn't. Just like it couldn't matter that Maria...loved him. Even if she had told the whole school so, announced it to everyone that he...that he was worthy of being loved. Michael ran a hand across his face, barely noticing the soreness around his eye. He let his mind hold onto it for one heart-stopping moment: Maria loved him. She'd told him that before, and he guessed that the others knew, but...she'd told everyone. She'd just come out and said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was...immense. And terrifying.

He had to admit that part of him was kind of...happy...about it, even though he couldn't let anything come of it. No matter how much he wanted to. And another part of him was...well, proud, he guessed. It was just like her to stand up for herself the way she had with that Pamela chick, all full of fire and spunk and passion and mouthiness. He liked that about her. Hell, he loved that about her. She wouldn't let him get away with any crap, and it looked like she wasn't about to let anyone else get away with it, either. Certainly not a whiny pain in the ass like Pamela, who seemed to hate her for no reason.

Wait. Pamela hated her.

She was a girl, and she hated Maria. She could've sent the notes. Sure, her name didn't begin with an M, but still...it was a possibility. Worth checking out.

Looking up, Michael suddenly remembered that he was sitting with Kyle Valenti, who wanted to talk. Well, the Sheriff's son was out of luck on this one. "I need to get back," he said gruffly.

Kyle gave him an questioning glance. "You work through everything already?"

"What?"

"It's obvious you've got a lot on your mind, that's all."

"So what if I do?"

"Nothing, nothing. So, you cool about Maria?"

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"

"Hey, back off. Just asking, that's all. I just never pictured the two of you together."

"We're not. It...it's complicated."

"Why, what's the problem?" Kyle asked. "She made it pretty clear how she feels. You either feel the same way she does or you don't."

"Who are you--Dr. Laura?" Michael snapped.

Kyle kept pressing him. "So do you?"

Michael's voice was low as he responded, "I can't."

"Why not?" scoffed Kyle. "Do aliens lack the emotion gene? I've seen Max look at Liz, and, much as I dislike the guy, you'll never convince me that he doesn't care about her. So why can't you?"

Disconcerted, Michael looked at him. "You know what I am. How can you ask that?"

Studying him, Kyle asked point blank, "Are you talking about you being an alien or something else? 'Cause I don't think Maria particularly cares about any of that."

"Well, she should," Michael snapped.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Michael answered tensely. He ran a hand through his hair. "I hate this. We're done talking about it."

"Okay," said Kyle. "Your call, sport." He sat for a moment in silence, then asked, "So can we talk about what happened last spring?"

Michael shrugged.

"Look, you've got to admit there was some pretty weird shit going down. My grandfather, who ruined his whole life chasing after imaginary aliens, was actually right the whole time. Add in FBI infiltration and the guy Liz dumped me for turning out not to be human...I just want to know what it all means."

Shaking his head, Michael mocked, "You and me both."

"So why are you here?"

"We don't know for sure." Michael looked at him suspiciously. "Why aren't you freaking out about this? Why aren't you scared of us?"

"I had the whole summer to deal with it. And almost dying changes the way you look at things," Kyle said simply. He paused. "My dad told me about what you did." Michael didn't respond, just looked off into the distance. "That FBI guy--Pierce--he would have killed Dad if you hadn't stopped him. I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes. I can't, I guess. I'm guessing it wasn't exactly fun. But my dad would be dead if it weren't for you. So as far as I'm concerned, I owe you. Big."

Michael ignored this, merely commenting, "Your dad's...a good guy. I didn't know they could be."

"Who? Humans?"

"No, adults."

"I know what you mean." Kyle grinned. "Come on. If we hurry, we can make sixth period."

For the first time, it was Maria and not Michael who dreaded the approaching History class. Not the class itself though; she dreaded his reaction when he saw her. Liz had been right; he would surely have heard about her declaration by now, even if it wasn't his habit to actually talk to people. And she didn't know what his reaction would be.

He certainly wouldn't be happy about it. The question was, would he go back to his usual stonewall self and act like she wasn't even there, or would he look at her with anger or even hate in his eyes? It would probably be one or the other; she couldn't realistically imagine any other behavior from him. Well, she did have a horrible image in her head of him laughing cruelly at her, but she wasn't too worried about it really happening. He wouldn't hurt her that way; it wasn't his style. So she was left with flaming rage or an impenetrable stone wall. Some choice.

Maybe she should just avoid the whole thing. Steal a page from Michael's book and cut class. Hang out in the bathroom or something. Of course, inevitably her mother would find out--she always did--and Maria would be in even more hot water. And since she wouldn't be able to avoid Michael forever, maybe she should just suck it up and get it over with. Oh well. Maybe he'd choose angry. If he yelled at her, at least he'd be speaking to her, right?

She could do this.

Determined now, Maria darted into the girls' bathroom to check out her makeup. At least she would go to the scaffold looking good. She smoothed out her hair and added a fresh coat of berry-flavored lip gloss, then had just enough time to breathe in some cedar oil before she was late to class.

She raced down the hallway, only slowing to a stop as she neared the classroom. She took a deep breath, inwardly coaching herself to remain calm. She could pull this off. She was an expert at faking things, right? Clutching her bookbag firmly in one hand, she strolled nonchalantly into the classroom and took her seat as the bell rang. She didn't dare turn her head to look at Michael, not yet. Maybe he wouldn't be there anyway. Maybe he had been so angry that he'd cut class so he wouldn't have to look at her. Maybe--

Oh, get a grip, she told herself. As Mrs. Lyons began to lecture, Maria leaned down to root in her bookbag for a pen and then casually glanced up to the side in the direction of Michael's desk.

Where Michael was sitting. And watching her.

Okay, so he wasn't ignoring her, which actually made a refreshing change from the last few days. He must be gearing up for the anger option, then. She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to his, trying to prepare herself for the daggers that would be shooting in her direction. Aliens couldn't throw out deadly lasers from their eyes, could they? She had to stop being so ridiculous--and stop watching old sci-fi movies, for that matter. Much as she would like to, she knew she couldn't pull her cedar oil out again, not in the middle of class. Even if she really, really needed to calm down. And even if there was no way Michael was going to help her calm down this time...

Bracing herself, she finally met his eyes, and was somewhat taken aback to realize there was no anger in them. Instead there was...Actually, she didn't recognize what there was. An expression in his brown eyes that was unreadable. He raised one eyebrow slightly, and color flooded her face. He had obviously heard. Was it going to be anger or stone wall? Maria didn't realize she was holding her breath until he gave the slightest, the smallest nod.

Oh god. He wasn't acting angry, and he had actually acknowledged her existence. If she'd been standing, her knees might have buckled in shock. She was...confused. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he had to go and act...confusing.

The sound of Mrs. Lyons saying her name brought her back to reality. She tore her eyes from Michael's and glanced at the teacher, who was waiting impatiently for her to respond. "Sorry," Maria blurted, and attempted to pay more attention as the class went on. But inside, she was feeling strangely happy. Maybe she wasn't so dead after all.

The moment the bell rang, Michael, who'd been watching the second hand on the wall clock make interminably slow sweeps from minute to minute, booked. He didn't want to deal with Maria or with the way she made him feel. Or with the fact that he'd spent most of the last period watching her. He'd just shove that aside, with all the other crap he was avoiding, and deal with it later. Right now he was itching to find Pamela and ask her some very pointed questions.

He knew where she'd be heading, too. He was well aware that Maria's play would open in a week. Pamela would be on her way to the auditorium, and he would be there waiting when she arrived.

His only problem would be keeping away from Maria. And avoiding Melanie; he didn't need a rehash of yesterday's fiasco.

Alex. Alex would be there. He might be able to help if Michael let him in on what was going on instead of using him as an errand boy, like he had the day before. If Michael could catch him before rehearsal started. All he had to do was get there first, enlist Alex, avoid Maria, and interrogate Pamela. All without letting his anger get the best of him like it had earlier. Hey. No problem.

Right.

He fidgeted anxiously with his silver rings as he lurked in the hallway between the auditorium and the band room, ignoring the ever-present stares he was getting from passing students. At least he wasn't the cause of it this time--that one could be chalked up to Maria DeLuca.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a small blonde figure that stopped abruptly at the other end of the hallway, hesitated and then walked directly towards him. He glanced over. Great. It was Melanie. Hadn't he put the fear of god into her yesterday, whether inadvertently or on purpose? Why would she approach him now? She stopped directly in front of him and looked up into his cold brown eyes.

"I need to talk to you," she said, getting right to the point. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't give her any more encouragement than that. His eyes narrowed as she continued, "It's about the notes."

"What about them?" he barked, his voice harsh.

"Not now. I have to get to rehearsal. Meet me here afterwards?" she said hopefully. "Please?"

Michael studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Fine." She nodded back and headed towards the auditorium doors. He watched her, a frown on his face. So she did know something about the notes. But it wasn't her hand he'd seen in the vision, he was sure of it. Unless his visions, like the rest of his powers, couldn't be trusted. Swallowing, he considered. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, that was for sure. So maybe he should just wait and see what Melanie had to say before he went off on Pamela. Maybe he should just keep a rein on things for once. Do something like Max would.

With resolution, he pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and headed towards the doors through which Melanie had disappeared. He would just keep an eye on her--and Pamela--and Maria--during rehearsal. And then afterwards, he'd see what was what.

He was about to push on the auditorium doors when one swung open of its own accord. Or rather of Alex's accord. The bass player stood there, startled, then greeted him. "Hey, Michael."

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?" The question was rude but Michael could tell the intent wasn't.

"Came to watch rehearsal. Gotta make sure Valenti knows what to do with the puppets," he explained briefly.

Michael didn't think Alex believed him, but the human didn't comment. Instead, he glanced nervously back into the auditorium. "Ummm...Michael, I need to talk to you."

"Why?" Michael said without emotion.

Shooting another glance back over his shoulder, Alex admitted, "It's about Maria."

Michael decided to let him off the hook. "About what happened at lunch time?"

"Yes," Alex responded in relief. He looked curiously at Michael. "Who told you about it?"

"Valenti."

"Kyle Valenti?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know you two...talked," said Alex in surprise.

"We usually don't."

"Uh-huh." Alex studied the alien, who avoided his eyes. "Look, about Maria--"

Michael spoke in a low tone. "It's okay."

"But she--" Alex protested.

"Just forget it, okay?"

Alex was unconvinced. "You're all right with it, then? You're not angry?"

Michael ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I'm not sure what I am. But there are other things to deal with here."

His brow wrinkled, Alex asked, "What's going on?"

Michael debated with himself for a moment before speaking. "Can you meet me after rehearsal? There are some things I want your input on."

"Sure," the bass player immediately agreed, then asked again, "What's up?"

"I had an idea on the stalker thing. And Melanie wants to talk about the notes. She knows something, Alex. And I think it would be better if you were there, in case I...I just think it would be better if you were there too. That's all."

"No problem," Alex said affably. "So, you hanging around for rehearsal then?"

Michael shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah."

Smiling, Alex joked, "No darting beneath falling scenery this time, okay?"

The alien rolled his eyes, but answered him. "You got it."

A few hours later, Michael sat silently in the back of the auditorium, his mind on the upcoming meeting with Melanie. He was anxious to hear what she had to say, but not so anxious that he hadn't paid close attention to what was going on onstage. He was just keeping an eye on everyone. At least that was the excuse he gave himself. He had to admit that so far things seemed to be going pretty well, other than the occasional pauses when Ms. Bedinger wanted to change some detail or other. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, even Valenti. And Maria was...good. Very good. Although he'd carefully looked away when she and Mark had kissed after one duet. There was no way he was going to watch that, no matter how good she was in her role. It hurt.

It was almost enough to make him wish he was the one up on that stage with her, lame-ass play or no. Even though he couldn't act, and he certainly couldn't sing. But he was almost willing to try. He grunted. Jealousy was a peculiarly human thing. He had to get over it, and fast. Because this...sucked.

Onstage, the giant plant was singing to Maria. Valenti's football cronies stood backstage, moving the levers that controlled the plant's branch-like arms as it tried to pull the girl closer so it could eat her. Kind of ironic, really. In the play an alien was hurting her; offstage the same thing happened. Not that he hurt her physically, or wanted her dead like the stage alien did, but somehow he always seemed to hurt her, even when he didn't want to. And in spite of all of that, she loved him. Again his mind reeled with the thought. He hurt her and she loved him. Face it, she was certifiable. He ran a hand over his face. Completely certifiable.

His attention was brought back to the stage as Maria started giggling madly. He couldn't see her, though. A frown crossed his brow. Where was she? Without warning the plant flew open and there she was, laughing her head off. "Sorry," she burst out between giggles. "I got stuck in here and couldn't get out."

Valenti's voice arose from the depths of the plant puppet. "Interesting. Dennis seemed to manage it without any problems, and he's a lot bigger that you, DeLuca."

"Well, he isn't wearing a chiffon negligee and marabou mules, either," she shot back with a grin. Michael couldn't help it. He felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards in the tiniest smile of amusement. She was just so...alive. And happy. He hadn't seen her like this since before Tess had arrived in town and the whole Destiny mess cropped up. This play thing, lame-ass as it might be, was good for her. She didn't look half bad either, he thought as he studied her in the white floaty thing that she wore as part of her costume. Kind of ethereal or something. And at the same time, definitely sexy...

No. He wasn't going there. He couldn't afford to let his mind wallow in that thought. He had things to see to.

He was relieved as she tried the plant escape again, more successfully this time. Mark did something or other that Michael didn't pay any attention to, there was one more big song, and then the play was over. He sat impatiently as Ms. Bedinger gave some notes and made a speech about focus or hard work or something; Michael wasn't exactly paying attention to that either. The instant rehearsal was over and Alex had his bass packed up, Michael was urging him out into the hallway to the appointed meeting place. He paced tensely as he waited for Melanie to show up and say whatever it was she had to say. And then there she was, but she wasn't alone. That prick Mark was with her.

CHAPTER 48

Alex didn't even have to look to know how tense Michael had become. Although the alien's face remained stoic, Alex knew him well enough by now to tell that he was not happy with Mark's presence. His hands were curved inwards, just a step away from clenched, and his chin was set stubbornly. Thankfully he didn't say anything; he just crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Melanie to speak.

Unfortunately, the actor spoke first. "I see you brought in the cavalry," he commented with a nod in Alex's direction. "Too scared to talk to a girl by yourself, Guerin?"

Great. Looked like Mark wasn't too happy with Michael either. But Michael didn't so much as blink in response to the senior's goading. Alex let out a mental cheer and remained where he was. The only one who reacted was Melanie, who looked up with a frown on her face. "Oh, come on, Mark. Be nice." She lifted her eyes to Michael. "Thank you for meeting me. I need to talk to you about the notes."

Raising one eyebrow, Michael waited impatiently for her to continue.

She hesitated. "Maria and Alex wouldn't tell me anything yesterday, but...the notes you showed me, the ones you thought I wrote...someone's been leaving them for Maria?" At Michael's brief nod, she shook her head. "I didn't lie yesterday. I hadn't seen them before. But..." She paused. "I recognized the handwriting. I think Pamela Harris wrote them. And...and it's my fault."

"Why?" Michael ground out.

Melanie flushed. "We were both kind of mad when Maria came out of nowhere and got the lead in Little Shop," she began. "I mean, we've worked our way up from chorus roles over the last three years, and Pamela...well, she really thought that it was her year."

Scowling, Michael burst out, "So Maria got to be harassed and threatened all over a part in a stupid play?"

"I told you. He just doesn't get it," Mark put in.

"Well, why don't you explain it to me then?" challenged Michael, taking an angry step towards the actor. "Tell me how you can justify what's been done to her."

This wasn't getting them anywhere. Alex stepped between them. "Okay, guys, let's take it down a notch and let Melanie finish, all right?"

His mouth in a thin line, Michael resumed his former position, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

"It's not just the play," Melanie admitted. "See, Pamela used to go out with Mark, but they broke up over the summer. Well, he broke up with her. But since then, she's acted like they were still together, when he was really seeing..." Her voice trailed off.

"You," said Michael bluntly.

She looked startled, but nodded. "Yes. And I didn't want to tell her, because, well, she's my friend, and you shouldn't go poaching your friend's exes, but, well, Mark and I get along really well, and it just...happened."

Michael studied her for a moment. "And Maria got dragged into this because..." he said leadingly.

"Because Pamela saw Mark with another girl, but she was too far away to tell it was me, and when she told me about it, I..."

Michael's voice was cold. "You told her it was Maria."

"Yes," Melanie whispered.

"And Pamela started her little hate campaign."

"Yes. But I didn't know that until yesterday. If I had, I would have told her it was me. Honestly." Michael didn't look convinced.

Remembering Maria's fall down the stairs, Alex spoke up. "You know Pamela the best. Would she act on any of the threats? You know, try and get revenge?"

Melanie shook her head rapidly. "Oh, no. She talks big but she doesn't really act on things, you know?"

Alex exchanged a look with Michael, and the alien said slowly, "So why didn't you tell me all this yesterday?"

"Because you scared the shit out of her, you jackass!" Mark shouted.

Melanie nodded, more calmly than her erstwhile boyfriend. "You did. You can be kind of...intimidating, you know? But then this afternoon, when I heard that you and Maria were together, it all made a lot more sense."

"When you heard what?" Michael said softly, a hard look in his eyes.

"When I heard about the two of you," she faltered. "Everyone's talking about it. And then I understood why you were so angry when you thought I wrote the notes."

"We're not together." Michael ground out.

"But--"

Alex cut her off. "Look, this is about what happened at lunch today, isn't it? You know how the West Roswell gossip mill can get things blown out of proportion. Mark was there. He can tell you what really happened." He wasn't too happy about leaving Maria hanging up to dry, her feelings exposed, but he wasn't sure how much longer Michael was going to be able to handle this particular topic of conversation.

Melanie just looked confused. "So you two aren't seeing each other?" she asked Michael.

Between gritted teeth, he forced out, "No."

"Well, maybe you should be," said Mark.

Michael rounded on him. "What? You were the one telling me to stay away from her, all for the sake of your precious play!" Alex looked at Mark, startled. No wonder Michael disliked him.

With a shrug, Mark explained, "Well, maybe I was wrong. She's so fixated on you, maybe your staying away would be more of a distraction than your hanging around."

"She is not fixated!" Michael hissed.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Mark drawled. "But go ahead. Get back together. It might be for the best."

Alex winced. Not the best way to handle an angry, able-to-blow-you-up-with-his-mind alien. Of course, Mark didn't know that was who he was ordering around. One move of Michael's hand, and the actor could be toast.

And then Michael did shoot out his right hand. Alex watched in shock; he had just been kidding about blowing Mark up. But all the alien did was grab Mark by the shirt front, pulling him closer so he could shout in his face. "I didn't stay away from her because of what you said, and I'm not listening to you now, either! I don't give a damn for your stupid play, hear me?"

"Michael," Alex said in warning.

The alien paid him no heed. "Maria is not someone to be manipulated in order to get a good performance out of her. She has feelings. She deserves better than that!" He shoved the senior away, releasing his shirt. Mark stumbled backward for a few steps, but finally caught his balance.

"Mark?" Melanie whispered. "Did you really do that? Try and tell people what to do, and how to feel?"

"Yeah, so what?" he answered, straightening his collar. "You want the play to be good, don't you?"

She looked up at him, a crease between her eyebrows. "You know what?" she finally said. "You should go back to Pamela. I think you two deserve each other." With that, she staunchly turned her back on him.

"Come on, Mel," he began, but was cut off by one word.

"Go," she ordered. He stood there for a moment, not quailing under the glares from Michael and Alex. Then, with a shrug, he went.

Alex turned and looked at the two people still standing with him in the hall. He didn't miss the fact that, even with Mark gone, Michael fairly bristled with anger. Better get rid of Melanie first, then deal with Michael. That seemed like the best option. But before he could speak, Michael turned abruptly to the girl. "Do you know Pamela's class schedule?"

"Yes," she answered, startled.

"What's her last class of the day?"

"Spanish. Why?"

Michael turned to Alex, ignoring her question. "Which staircase did Maria fall down?"

"I'm not sure," Alex answered. "I could ask her. Or Liz or Max would know."

Melanie interrupted. "Wait a minute. Maria fell down some stairs? And why did you need to know Pame--Oh my god. You think she had something to do with it?" she gasped. "No way. I told you, she wouldn't act on anything. The notes I can believe, but that she would...No. No way. When did it happen?"

Michael looked to Alex for the answer. "It was a Tuesday," the teen answered. He racked his brain. "Tuesday a couple of weeks ago."

Melanie closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think. Then she crouched on the floor and started rummaging through her backpack. A moment later she triumphantly pulled out a student planner and stood. "Was this the Tuesday before Halloween?" she asked in an urgent tone, flipping through the pages of the planner. Alex nodded.

"Then Pamela couldn't have had anything to do with Maria's fall," she said. "That day was the trip to the state capitol in Santa Fe. It was for Government class; all the seniors went. We barely got back in time for rehearsal that afternoon. We went straight from the bus the auditorium." She looked up at Michael. "Are you sure she didn't just fall?"

Michael looked away, not answering. Seeing the tense set of the alien's shoulders, Alex went back to his original plan: get rid of Melanie and then deal with Michael. "Thanks for telling us about the notes, Melanie," he said. "We'll tell Maria about them." He hesitated, then continued, "We will need to confront Pamela, you know."

She nodded, speaking quietly. "I know. Ummm...I think I'm going to head home now. See you at rehearsal tomorrow, Alex. Goodbye, Michael."

Alex watched her walk down the hallway. After a moment, Michael spoke without looking in his direction. "You can tell Maria about the notes but you can't tell her about Mark," he said hoarsely.

"What?" asked Alex, turning towards him.

"The play is the best thing in her life right now. And she likes him. She thinks he's a friend. We can't ruin it for her by telling her how he...used her."

Alex objected. There had been too many secrets already. "She has the right to know."

Michael's eyes met his. "She's having a good time with it. Don't take that away from her, Alex. She deserves it."

Alex studied him, then decided. "I won't tell her before the show closes. If you'll promise to tell her afterwards."

Michael ran a hand across his face. "I can't. You know that!"

"Why not?" Alex questioned reasonably.

"I just can't, Alex. Don't make me give you a promise I know I can't keep."

There was a pause as Alex closed his eyes before speaking. "All right. I'll tell her. And I'll wait until the play is over."

"Good." With a shake of his head, Michael began to pace up and down the hallway. Alex watched as he struggled with whatever was going on in his head, figuring that the alien would tell him when he was ready to. Finally, Michael spoke. "Tell Maria and the others about the notes. You'll have to figure out how you want to approach Pamela." He grimaced. "I'm sure Maria will have some ideas."

Alex looked at him in surprise. "What? You're the one who's been so gung ho on identifying the stalker, and now you're going to wash your hands of it all? I figured you'd want to approach Pamela yourself."

"I can't, Alex! Do you have any idea how pissed off I am right now? I could barely keep a lid on things long enough not to decimate that jerk. Why do you think I wanted you here in the first place? I can't control this. Hell, I could very easily snap and take you out right now."

Alex looked at him calmly. "You're not going to do that."

Running both hands through his hair, Michael squeezed his eyes shut. "No, I'm not. But I could, so easily." His mouth tightened. "Just tell them, all right? I gotta...I gotta get out of here."

Alex watched in concern as Michael stalked down the hall towards the door, barely stopping long enough to punch out a locker on his way. With a shake of his head, Alex headed back into the empty auditorium to get his bass and amp, mentally rehearsing the upcoming discussion he needed to have with the others.

The next day didn't go quite as planned.

For Alex, who'd figured he'd have to keep a watchful eye on Michael, the day was a pleasant surprise. Michael wasn't exactly communicative, but he wasn't bursting with wrath either. He seemed to have gotten over the anger of the previous night. Either that, or he was controlling it by drawing inwards. Anyway, Alex didn't think he had to worry about Michael suddenly going on a rampage and taking out Mark Blumenthal.

For Michael, who had gone to school with a renewed determination to avoid Maria, the day was, in a weird way, kind of a letdown. He could hardly avoid her when she was avoiding him first. When she didn't look at him, he could stare freely at her. When she didn't speak, he could still hear her voice in his memory, saying his name. Somehow the fact that she was making it easy on him to ignore her made it even harder instead.

And for Maria, who was herself pretty pissed off, the day was an ordeal of waiting. Waiting until after rehearsal, when she could face off with the simpering moron known as Pamela Harris and put her straight for the last time.

Alex had called and told her what had happened, and they'd all gathered at lunch so they could discuss the situation more fully. Well, all but Michael, of course. God forbid that he should actually be a part of their discussion. She shook her head. No, she was being too hard on him. From what Alex had said, he was going through yet another trauma--anger issues this time--and while she would be there to support him if she could, he wouldn't let her.

So she'd done the only other thing she could think of. She'd left him alone. It seemed to be what he wanted, so she'd done it. Part of her was almost grateful to Pamela for starting the whole note thing in the first place; at least it gave Maria something to think about other than Michael Guerin. She actually kind of looked forward to the confrontation that was coming.

Of course, that didn't work out quite as she'd expected, either.

The main obstacle was a dark-haired woman who showed up shortly before rehearsal was over and took a seat in the house, waiting for them to finish. Noticing Pamela give a little wave to the woman, Maria sidled up to Melanie as the cast gathered for notes. "Who's that?" she whispered.

"Pamela's mother," Melanie explained. "She came to pick her up. They're driving to T or C for her grandmother's seventieth birthday this weekend."

"They're leaving from here?" Maria asked. Melanie nodded, and Maria let out a sigh. So much for the big confrontation. And it wasn't going to happen over the weekend either; it was going to have to wait until Monday. Glancing over at Alex she shook her head, trying to clue him in on the change in plans. She'd gotten all geared up for it, and now, nothing. Darn it, why was Liz the one with all the patience? Why couldn't it be a DeLuca family trait instead? This was going to drive her nuts, if everything else in her life didn't do it first.

The moment Ms. Bedinger was done giving notes, Maria headed directly for the orchestra pit. "It's not going to happen today," she told Alex in a whisper. "That woman over there? It's Pamela's mother. She came to pick her up, and they're going to be gone all weekend. We're going to have to wait until Monday."

Alex nodded in understanding. "You okay?"

"I'll have to be, won't I?" was Maria's rejoinder. She sighed. "Oh well, let me get out of this costume and I'll come help you lug your stuff," she offered.

Once in the room that was serving as the girl's dressing room, it didn't take her long to slip out of the negligee and nightgown and into the jeans and sweater she'd worn to school that day. She was thankful that at this point all they were working with was costumes, and not makeup and hair, or she'd be there forever trying to get all the goop off her face. She didn't say anything to the other three girls who were also changing. She was tempted for a while to give in to her impulses and confront Pamela right then and there in the dressing room, but she knew better than to start something she wouldn't have time to finish. This was between the two of them; she didn't need Mrs. Harris becoming involved. After all, she hadn't told her own mother about the notes, so why would she tell Pamela's?

She would just have to wait for Monday, that's all, when she'd have a chance to face Pamela on her own. Actually, she was a little surprised that Michael didn't want in on the confrontation. He'd certainly been acting belligerent enough, according to Alex. But then again, also according to Alex, he was having trouble controlling his anger. So it was actually pretty smart to leave it to her. She was proud that he believed she could handle it. She knew she could, but it was nice to have Michael's support too, even if it was indirect and unspoken.

Picking up her bag, she slung it over her shoulder so she could carry Alex's bass case, leaving him free to tote the amp. He was taking them both home rather than leaving them in the band room over the weekend. She waited for him to finish packing up, and tried to ignore Pamela's re-entrance into the house. The girl had taken longer to get ready, evidently choosing to primp for her trip. Maria gritted her teeth. All she had to do was to refrain from temptation. She needed to wait until Monday. She could do that, couldn't she?

"You ready, honey?" she overheard Mrs. Harris ask her daughter. Maria made no special effort to avoid hearing the conversation. After all, she wasn't eavesdropping when they were speaking out loud in public with people around them, right? Not that she cared what Pamela Harris had to say, anyway. Still, she watched out of the corner of her eye and half listened to the girl as she answered her mother. Maria's ears pricked up, though, when Pamela asked her mother how she'd liked the show.

"I didn't see much," Mrs. Harris answered. "It seems to be going well. I'm a little confused, though, about the plant puppets. They weren't what I expected. I thought the school was renting them from the theatrical supply company that your cousin Barry works for. Wasn't he able to cut them a good enough deal?"

Maria took careful note of Pamela's reaction; the senior glanced around her nervously before responding. "I guess not. Let's go, okay?"

After the two Harrises left, Maria turned to Alex. "Did you hear that?" she demanded.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, didn't it seem a little odd to you that Pamela's related to the guy who was going to supply the plants? Do you think the deal really fell through, or do you think she tried to sabotage the show?"

"Melanie told us that Pamela wasn't really big on action, just talk," Alex reminded her.

"I know, but don't you think it's odd?" Maria repeated. "Looks like I have another question for dear old Pamela. Is it Monday yet?"

"This is ridiculous," Maria grumbled as she joined Liz at the counter of the Crashdown. "I mean, every time we seem to make some progress, something gets in the way." Liz looked at her sympathetically as Maria continued, "T or C, Melanie said. Pamela's spending the weekend in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, of all places! I tell you, Liz, when she gets back she'd better tell me the truth, or I'll give her some consequences to deal with!"

Liz couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. Maria looked at her sheepishly. "I know. I'm just blowing off some steam, that's all."

"Yeah, that's the impression I got," Liz teased. She looked up as the front door opened and Max, Isabel and Alex entered. "So look who's come to pay a call."

"Did you set this up, Liz?" Maria asked.

"I did. Since you can't come to us, I thought we'd come to you. Of course, my parents are fully aware of your grounding, so if anyone asks, they just came in for a late supper."

"You are devious, chica!" Maria said with a grin. "I never knew you had it in you."

"Well, being friends with Czechoslovakians will do that to you. They're sitting in your section. Don't you think you should go take their order?" Liz asked, gently pushing the blonde towards the booth where the three sat.

"Hey, guys," Maria greeted them with a smile. "Got nothing better to do with your Friday night than hang out at the old Crashdown, huh?"

"I thought we should talk about an idea Max and I had," said Isabel, getting straight to the point. "Liz suggested the place, since you're not really mobile."

"What's going on?" said Maria, handing them menus.

Max pretended to peruse the menu as he spoke. "I'm assuming you've heard about Pamela Harris's alibi for the day you broke your ankle, right?" Maria nodded. "Since we ruled her out, we thought that maybe one of us could connect with you and get a vision of what really happened. See if someone really did push you, or if..."

"If I was just being clumsy," Maria finished for him. "It could have been that. I don't know. It all happened so fast," she admitted. "So, which one of you is going to play psychic?"

"I will," said Isabel. "I've already connected with you several times, so maybe it will make it easier."

"And we've either got to do it here, or wait until school on Monday, since we can't see you at your place," Max put in.

"I know. Rub it in, why don't you?" said Maria, but her smile made it very clear she was teasing. "I've got a break in a little while. We can do it then."

"Do what?" asked Liz as she crossed over to the booth and slid in beside Alex.

"Isabel's going to try and read me to see if my broken ankle was an accident or not," Maria answered. "We're going to try it on my break."

Liz thought this over. "Where are you going to do it? The back room's too open, and you can't go upstairs. My parents are up there."

"Well, you know what they say," Alex joked. "Women always go to the bathroom in pairs."

Maria laughed, but said, "Okay. Bathroom it is. Now, since I'm not on my break yet, what can I get you?" She took their orders and headed back over to the counter to give them to José. After that, the Friday night crowd kept her pretty busy, but she finally was able to nod to Isabel and head to the bathroom. The alien followed her in, locking the door behind them.

"Are you ready?" Isabel asked.

"What exactly do I have to do?"

"Just try and concentrate on what happened the day you fell. I'll connect and see if I can get a flash of it. We don't usually control what we pick up, but it's worth a try."

Maria obediently closed her eyes, trying to recapture the feeling of falling down the stairs. She was only partially aware of Isabel holding her hand. She hoped that this would be easier than the last time one of the aliens connected with her, when Michael had opened up to her and shown her some of his life. For a moment, she thought about Michael, wondering what he was doing, but then ruthlessly pulled her mind back to the subject at hand. She had to think about her accident. Stairs, falling, that sort of thing.

She opened her eyes as Isabel spoke her name softly. "Did it work?" she asked the taller girl, who was looking at her with an odd expression in her eyes.

"It worked," Isabel answered, sounding pleased. "Let's go back out there and I'll tell everyone about it."

Maria followed Isabel to the table, anxious to hear what the alien had seen. Liz joined them.

"Well, it was an accident," Isabel said bluntly. "No one pushed you."

Maria shook her head. "I don't know whether to be relieved that no one pushed me, or depressed that I was that big of a klutz," she commented.

"Be happy," Liz said. "Your problem is reduced to nasty notes. We don't have to worry about your health any more."

"And no more all-night stakeouts for Michael," Alex added.

"He hasn't been doing them anyway," said Maria. "He's too busy avoiding me, remember?"

Max smiled at her. "I think it's more that he's avoiding your mother, Maria. But at least he's getting more sleep now. I think he looks much more rested, don't you, Iz?" She didn't answer, staring at the table in front of her, lost in thought. Her brother repeated her name, and she looked up. "Where were you?" he teased.

She frowned, and then looked over at Maria. "I didn't just see the accident when we connected. I saw something else."

"What?" Maria asked with some trepidation.

"I saw you and Michael in the desert. And I saw...Pierce. His body, anyway."

Maria nodded, enlightened. "You saw part of the dream Michael and I had last week. Didn't he tell you about it?"

"We never asked him," Max admitted.

"It was pretty freaky," Maria told them. "Pierce's body was buried in the sand, and Michael healed him and he turned into this bright light. I'm thinking that part of the dream came from Michael, not me."

"Maybe his subconscious is trying to deal with Pierce's death," Alex suggested. "That's been weighing pretty heavily on his mind, hasn't it?"

Maria nodded. "I just hope he can come to terms with what happened. Because it's tearing him up inside."

Max Evans was sound asleep early Sunday morning when the pounding started. He pulled the covers over his head, trying to ignore it, but it didn't go away. Finally with a sigh, he climbed out of bed and headed for the window. Unlatching it and shoving it open, he turned away and headed back for bed without bothering to look outside. He didn't have to; who else would be banging on his window at this hour? "What is it, Michael?" he mumbled. "It's six in the morning."

"I know," his friend said unrepentantly. "I need to talk to you."

This in itself was enough to bring Max fully awake and to a sitting position. "What's up?"

Michael didn't meet his eyes. "I'm going away."

"What?" Max burst out. "You can't, Michael. Running won't fix things. We need you here and--"

Michael cut him off. "Cool your jets, Maxwell. I'm not leaving for good. I just need to get away for a little while. I..." He swallowed, then continued slowly as if searching for words, "I feel like I'm losing control of things. I need to get myself back together. Figure out some stuff."

"Why can't you do that here? Let us help you. We all want to."

"That's just the problem! I need to sort some things out and I can't do it while I'm worrying about hurting someone."

"You mean Maria?" Max asked gently.

"No," Michael denied, then shook his head. "Well, yes, but not just her. Are you forgetting I almost blew you up a couple of weeks ago? And I could barely control my temper around Alex the other night." His voice dropped. "And the other day...I nearly...I almost killed this guy I hardly even know."

"You used your powers on him?" Max asked in disbelief.

"No. Just my hands. But I almost killed him anyway." Michael ran a hand over his eyes and then stared at it a moment before letting his arm drop. He finally met Max's glance, his face bleak. "I need to get away for a while. Get things under control somewhere where I can't hurt anyone. I don't have so many friends that I can afford to lose any of them."

"What about Maria?"

Tensing, Michael looked away. "What about her?"

"You're giving up on protecting her?" Max asked with raised eyebrows.

Michael looked at him in surprise. "I figured Alex would've told you about that."

"He did. But tell me anyway. I want to hear what you think."

"We're pretty sure Pamela Harris wrote the notes, the chick from Maria's play. It's nothing Czechoslovakian, just a stupid human thing. It was petty, but it's not dangerous."

"What about the feeling you got from the sketch, that Maria was in danger?"

"I guess I was wrong, then. Just another patented Michael Guerin screw-up," Michael retorted. "Look Maxwell, I'm sure Maria and Alex have things under control. She can handle it. And even if she couldn't, I'm not of any use here until I can control myself." His eyes begged for understanding from his friend.

"Where will you go?" a voice said from behind them. Michael turned, startled, to see a pajama-clad Isabel standing tensely in the doorway. "Once again your pounding woke me up," she explained. "You need to start using your powers on the locks again, Michael. So where are you going?" she asked again, her voice taut.

"Not far," he assured her. "I thought I'd hole up in the pod cave for a little while."

She relaxed somewhat, knowing that he wasn't going to be out of reach. "How long?"

"I don't know. Coupla days? A week maybe? However long it takes, I guess."

"You'll need supplies," she commented, her mind working busily.

"That's why I'm here." He turned to Max. "I wanted to know if I could borrow your sleeping bag."

"Of course you can," Max assured him with a slight smile. "You've used it more than I ever have anyway."

Michael shrugged, not particularly wanting to think about all the nights he'd spent using Max's room as an escape from Hank's place.

"You'll need food and water," Isabel pointed out.

"I've got that all covered."

Max studied him. "When are you going?" he asked.

"I gotta work today. That's why I'm here so early. Thought I'd head out there this afternoon, after I get off."

"We'll drive you."

"You don't need to."

"We'll drive you," Max repeated firmly.

Michael nodded again, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Gotta go," he finally said, and headed back toward the window. Isabel followed him, slowly closing the window behind him, before turning and sitting beside her brother.

"I wish we could do something," she said softly. "It isn't fair. He's gotten the short end of the stick with the whole human side of things all his life, and now the alien side keeps causing problems...Why can't things just work out for him once in a while, Max? Why can't he be happy? I hate this. I hate to see him hurting."

Max put an arm around his sister. "I know, Izzy. I know."

CHAPTER 49

"Okay, where is he?" Maria demanded as she sat down at the cafeteria table where the Evans siblings, Alex and Liz were sitting. "He wasn't in English this morning, and I haven't felt him around. So is he cutting school or what?"

Max and Isabel exchanged a wary glance, which did not get past Maria. "Come on, guys. You know I have to rely on you for news about Michael these days, since he's not willing to let me be a part of his life. I have to live vicariously through the rest of you. So indulge me. What's he up to?"

"I'd say a little over six feet," quipped Alex. Isabel gave one of her patented eye rolls and Liz chuckled. Maria, however, didn't give in.

"Come on. Where is he?" she demanded.

"He's taking a little break, Maria," Max answered, his tone serious.

"A break? From what? School? Roswell? His Czechoslovakian status? What?"

"All of that, actually. He needed to get away for a while."

Maria frowned. "Is he okay?"

"We hope so," Isabel put in. "But you know Michael. Sometimes he can be pretty hard to read."

Maria nodded, understanding that completely. "So you know where he is?"

"Yes," she answered. "Max and I took him there." Isabel waited for Maria to demand Michael's location, bracing herself to refuse to tell. Michael was adamant about needing to be alone. It had only been through constant badgering on the trip to the pod cave that he'd allowed her to force her cell phone on him so he could call when he was ready to come back to civilization. He'd finally accepted it, more to shut her up than anything else. She suspected it would remain turned off until he was ready to return.

Maria surprised her, though. All she said was "Okay then." At least until she caught Isabel's startled look; then she explained, "I know he's been avoiding me, and I'm not going to force myself on him when he's trying to deal with other things. You two know where he is, and I trust you with him." A thought occurred to her and a speculative look crossed her face. "Besides, if I really wanted to know, I could probably track him down with my Michael-radar anyway. It might take me a while, but I'll bet I could do it."

She gave Isabel a rueful smile. "Don't worry, I'm not going to. He wants to be alone right now. For once, he should get what he wants." With a sigh, she added, "I won't tell you I don't hate it, though."

Liz reached across the table and squeezed her hand as Max spoke slowly. "I don't know that it's what he really wants, Maria," he said, "but I think it's what he needs. Just give him some time, okay?"

She nodded, and then deliberately changed the subject. "So, who wants to come watch me take Pamela Harris down a couple of pegs this afternoon?" she asked cheerfully. "I've been gearing up for it all weekend. It should be quite a show."

"Can't turn down the possibility of a good cat fight," Alex joked. "I'd take bets, but for some strange reason, no one wants to wager against Hurricane DeLuca here."

With a glare of mock reproof, Maria shot back, "Gee, Alex, I sure appreciate your confidence in me. I think." She raised an eyebrow. "I could leave Pamela to you, if you'd rather."

Alex grinned. "What? And miss out on the bout of the century? No way. I'll just keep my ringside seat, thanks."

"What exactly are you planning to do, Maria?" Liz asked.

Maria pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, I do happen to have this giant Acme anvil that I never got to use on a certain ornery Czechoslovakian," she mused, then laughed. "Just kidding. Actually, I'm just going to talk to her. Set her straight on a few things, ask a few questions...see if we can behave reasonably for once."

Isabel smiled and drew a few familiar looking pieces of notebook paper from her purse. "You might want these, to back you up," she said, handing over the sketch and notes. "Michael gave them back. He thought they might be helpful."

So he hadn't forgotten her completely. A feeling of happiness warmed Maria, but she didn't comment on it. She merely accepted the papers, saying with a grin, "They might. And if they don't work, I can always go back to the anvil, can't I?"

Anvil noticeably absent, Maria rushed down the hall towards the girls' dressing room. Her intention was to get in costume and on stage quickly, avoiding the temptation to confront Pamela before rehearsal began. She was determined not to let the witch spoil the rehearsal for her; there would be plenty of time to deal with her afterwards. Setting down her bookbag, she slipped out of her shoes and padded over to the costume rack for the formfitting midnight blue dress that she wore at the beginning of the show.

Except it wasn't there.

With a frown, she sorted through the garments on the rack. Part of her wasn't at all surprised to find that none of her costumes were there. She could buy one being missing; maybe Megan had taken it to fix a hem or something. But all of them? She knew in her gut that there was a reason for this, and the reason's name was Pamela Harris.

Okay. This was the final straw. It was bad enough for the spiteful witch to single-handedly harass her, but the costumes weren't even her property. Some came from the school's costume closet, and one was rented. Pam Harris was going to be sorry for this. But first, Maria had to find the costumes, before Pamela and her snotty entourage arrived at the dressing room.

Gritting her teeth, she searched through the small room, with no luck. Her mind churned. She knew she'd hung them up on the rack after Friday's rehearsal. And Pamela was gone all weekend, so she couldn't have absconded with them then, especially with no Czechoslovakian superpowers to enable her to undo the locks on the school doors. So it had to have been today, sometime during class or at lunch.

Trying to decide where to look next, Maria moved slowly into the hallway. Pamela wouldn't have thrown the costumes away; it was too likely someone would see them in the trash and think it was odd. Too easy to be found out that way. No, they had to be somewhere where no one would find them at all, or where they wouldn't be given a second thought if they were seen. Maria frowned again.

"What's wrong?" came a voice from behind, startling her. She turned to see Isabel Evans standing, looking at her curiously. The alien must be on her way out to the parking lot, Maria thought irrelevantly. Quickly she explained the missing costumes, adding, "I've got to find them. Fast. Rehearsal will start soon, and I need to be there, in costume, when it does. I will not let Pamela Harris get the best of me."

"I'll help you look," Isabel immediately offered. "Any ideas where?"

"Someplace where no one would notice them if they saw them," Maria said, picking back up where her thoughts had left off. "Somewhere nearby. She wouldn't have been able to go very far without being seen, otherwise."

"The best place to hide clothes is with other clothes. You know, hide them in plain sight," Isabel ventured.

"Like in the costume storage room," said Maria as the idea struck her. "There's a ton of stuff in there. What are a few more costumes stuck in the middle?"

Together, they headed backstage to the small room, jam-packed with garments of every color and description. "I'm surprised Megan was able to find anything in here," Maria commented. "This place is a mess."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Isabel asked. Maria described the costumes, and together they started going through the racks. Maria had hastily scrambled through three racks' worth of garments and was trying to push her way past a fourth rack next to the wall to see if anything was jammed in behind it when Isabel spoke.

"Does the negligee have marabou trim on it?"

Poking her head out from behind a rack of assorted coats and dresses, Maria looked over at Isabel. The alien had crossed back to the doorway and was standing, peering behind the open door. "Because if so, I think I found them."

Maria quickly disentangled herself from a 1980's-style prom dress that had evidently been recycled as a period ball gown and joined Isabel. Her heart sank as she took in the pile of clothing that was jammed behind the door. Slowly she bent down and sorted through it; it was all there, down to the leopard-print high heels she wore in the beginning of Act II. The shoes had fared okay, but the dresses and negligee were wadded up into a ball, heavily creased. Even the yellow rain slicker looked wrinkled--a real feat, since it was made of vinyl.

"Fantastic," she muttered, holding up one of the abused dresses. "Pamela has finally managed to make me look bad."

"Not if we don't let her," Isabel said firmly. "Which one do you wear first?" Maria pointed out the blue dress. Shutting the door, Isabel ordered, "Put it on so we can see how bad it is. There's not a lot of time before rehearsal, right?" Maria looked at her for a moment, taking in the glint of challenge in her eyes, then quickly scrambled out of her clothes and into the dress. After pulling up the zipper, Isabel told her to hold still, and slowly ran her hand over the worst of the wrinkles. In moments, the front of the dress looked pristine.

"Boy, who needs an iron with you around?" Maria joked, gazing down at herself. "Okay, I am now officially jealous of you and your powers."

"Would you really want everything that comes with them?" Isabel asked in a dry tone, working on the back of the dress. "Because I can't tell you how many times I've wished I were a normal human. I wouldn't give up Max or Michael for anything, but sometimes I can't help imagining what my life would be like if things were different."

"Yeah. I know what you mean," Maria said softly. "The grass is always greener on the other person's planet, right?"

Isabel smiled. "Something like that. Now, which shoes go with this?" Maria grabbed them and pulled them on. "You go ahead--you don't have much time. I'll get the rest of these fixed up and sneak them back into the dressing room once Pamela is on stage," Isabel offered.

"Thanks!" Maria cried, turning around and giving the startled alien a quick hug. "You're a great friend, Isabel." She did a little happy dance. "Oh, this is just going to kill her," Maria breathed. "I can't wait to see her face when I walk in wearing this!"

Grinning at her antics, Isabel pushed her towards the door. "Go on, get out there already."

Maria headed across the backstage area, intent on getting to the stage before Pamela saw the direction she was coming from. Heading around the flats that served as the flower shop walls, now fixed firmly in place, she found the rest of the cast standing on the stage. The three doo-wop girls were pulled aside in their own little group, their backs to her. They didn't notice her approaching.

"It's really irresponsible of her," she heard Pamela say over the sounds of the combo warming up. "Rehearsal is supposed to start in a few minutes, and no one's seen her. By the time she gets ready, we'll be running late, and Ms. Bedinger absolutely hates that. Poor Maria," she said in a falsely sympathetic tone. "She is really going to be in for it. Well, that's what you get when you cast someone totally inexperienced. If I had the lead--"

Maria interrupted her. "But you don't, do you?" she said calmly. Pamela turned to look at her. Maria did not miss the shock in Pamela's eyes as the girl took in Maria's Czechoslovakian-pressed dress, nor the way her mouth fell open. A sense of glee filled Maria, and she decided to hell with waiting. "But if you have a problem with that, you can always leave another note in my locker. That's about your speed, isn't it?"

Pamela took two steps towards her and spoke angrily, not bothering to deny it. "Took you long enough to figure it out. I always knew you were stupid."

Shaking her head, Maria let out a laugh. "See, that's where you're wrong. Now, leaving me hate mail because your ex-boyfriend is seeing a completely different person, that's dumb. It completely boggles the mind."

Pamela looked at her in disbelief. "A different person? Your stupid lies get lamer every time you tell one, DeLuca. I saw you and Mark together. You can't get out of that."

By now, the two had the attention of not only the entire cast, but also the combo and a few assorted stagehands.

"Well, obviously you're either on hallucinogens, or you need to get yourself a pair of very thick glasses, 'cause you sure didn't see me," Maria retorted. "You don't have to believe me, although I've only told you the truth. But maybe you'll believe your friend here," she continued, reaching out and pulling Melanie into the 'conversation'. "Don't you have something to tell her?" she pointedly asked the other blonde.

Melanie met her eyes, then nodded resignedly and turned towards Pamela. "It wasn't Maria," she stated baldly. "Mark was dating me."

The cast and crew turned interested eyes towards the tall brunette, avid to see her reaction. It didn't disappoint.

"You what?" she screeched. "You're the one who told me it was her!"

"Gee, why would that be? Do you think she was trying to cover up something?" Maria asked no one in particular.

"You heard me," Melanie returned, paying no heed to Maria. "But frankly, you can have him. He's a jerk." Surprised, Maria shot a glance over at Mark, who didn't look very pleased at this statement. She decided it was time to take control of the situation again, and stepped between Pamela and Melanie, who had started yelling at each other. Well, Pamela was yelling and Melanie was answering back.

"So what exactly was the purpose of the little party favors you left me, Pamela?" Maria demanded. "To get me to stop seeing a guy I never even dated in the first place? Really smart there. To get me to quit the play? Just to be vindictive? What? And why the heck did you want me to go to the park that Friday, anyway? What was I supposed to do, play in the sandbox?"

"You were supposed to think Mark stood you up!" Pamela snapped. "So you'd get angry with him. And if you caught a cold and couldn't sing, so much the better."

"Very, very lame. You know, the next time you go to the trouble of all these elaborate--but totally ineffective--schemes, you might want to verify your facts first! Why couldn't you just ask me if I was seeing Mark? For god's sake, you are totally crazed!"

"Like I could believe anything you said," Pamela shot back.

"Gee, I don't know, Pam, I'm not the one who's been lying to you, now am I?" Maria mocked, staring up at her. "Maybe you should talk to your so-called best friend and ex-boyfriend about that. And while we're having this little talk," she continued, warming up now, "maybe you'd like to explain your cousin Barry, who just happens to work for the company that was supposed to be supplying the plant puppets. Did they really double book, or is there something else you should be admitting?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mark, who'd been watching in angry silence, stiffen. "What did you do, Pamela?" he demanded, turning to the brunette.

Pamela either didn't notice how furious he was, or was herself too pissed off to care, because she didn't pay any attention to him, remaining focused on Maria. "Why do you even care? We've got plants, haven't we? The show is going on!" she yelled.

"I care because my friend ended up having to put in hours and hours of time he didn't have to make sure we could do this show!"

"Oh yes, your supposed boyfriend, that grungy loser Michael Guerin," Pamela sneered.

"Yes, my very good friend Michael Guerin, who, along with my other friends, helped figure you out, by the way!" Maria took one deadly step towards the senior, and opened her mouth to slay. "And speaking of my friends," she continued cooly, "You'd better hope that nothing ever happens to me, not so much as a broken fingernail. Because those friends of mine have got the written proof that you threatened me. And they won't hesitate to take you down."

Ms. Bedinger, who entered the auditorium through a side door, forestalled Pamela's furious reaction. "Good, you're all ready," the teacher said. "Everyone in places for the top of the show, please. We've got a lot of work to do this afternoon."

Maria didn't move, glaring coldly up at Pamela. It was easy not to back down; she just pretended she was Michael's stone wall and refused to budge. Pamela, with no stubborn alien to emulate, was only able to stare back for a few moments before she tore her eyes away and headed off stage. Maria allowed a triumphant grin to cover her face and winked down at Alex in the orchestra pit as she walked off to the wings, ready to make her Act I entrance.

The rehearsal went fairly smoothly; that is, if you ignored the angry vibes shooting off Pamela Harris at Maria, at Melanie, at Mark...well, at just about everyone. It was not a pretty sight. Maria did a fairly good job of ignoring her, though, concentrating instead on becoming Audrey, and things moved on like they should.

At least until the end of the second scene in Act II, when barely held tempers started to fray. It all began in the middle of 'The Meek Shall Inherit' as Debbie, Pamela and Melanie rushed back on stage after a fiendishly fast costume change into long glamour gowns and beehive-styled wigs. Melanie, not completely fastened into her high-heeled sandal, tripped and skidded forward into Pamela, sending her staggering and knocking her wig forward to cover her face. She jerked it back out of her eyes and glared at Melanie, although she continued to sing, but it was obvious she wasn't happy. The laughter from Dennis Cooper, who'd headed out into the house to watch the rest of the play after his character was killed off, didn't help either. As the song ended, Pamela shoved Melanie out of her way and stalked off stage.

Shortly afterwards, the last scene began, and Maria stood in the wings, pulling on the yellow rain slicker. She had to push past a squabbling Pamela and Melanie to get to the stage, but went doggedly on, ignoring the whispered insults flying back and forth between the two girls. She concentrated on her scene with Mark, trying not to get thrown by the glares he kept sending into the wings as the offstage fight got noticeably louder. For the first time, he actually stumbled over a few lines, and Maria could see his shoulders stiffening with tension. It was with a great sense of relief that she finally got to exit. With Megan's help, she made a fast change into the nightgown, negligee and mules for her final scene as Mark said a few more lines to the plant and stalked off, obviously not at all pleased.

Wafting her way back on stage, Maria began to sing, and was soon caught up in her scene with the plant. Ignoring the offstage argument, which had escalated to include Mark as well as the two girls, she allowed herself to be lured towards the puppet, and then pretended to fight its branches as it pulled her into its open maw and chomped down. "Help!" she cried out.

No help came.

She pretended to struggle with the plant a little more, and called out again. "Help!"

No Seymour rushed in to save her from the deadly plant. Where was Mark? She struggled with the plant for a few more moments, but there was only so much she could do. She tried to decide whether or not to give up and climb all the way into the plant, allowing her character to die and skipping the tender scene with Mark and the 'Somewhere That's Green' reprise. After a moment of reflection--and being a modern sort of woman--she decided to hell with Mark. If Seymour wasn't going to come to her rescue, she'd save herself. Lifting up the top lip of the plant puppet, she pulled herself free and stood up. Still no Mark on stage.

A very unamused Ms. Bedinger called from out in the house. "Hold it right there, Maria. Mark? Where are you? You've missed an entrance."

"What's going on? Why are we stopping?" Kyle hissed from somewhere inside the giant plant.

Leaning over the puppet, Maria responded, "Mark's too busy fighting with Pamela and Melanie to make his entrance." From the wings, there was the sound of an open palm hitting skin, and she shook her head. "Somehow I don't think we're going to be finishing this scene for a while."

The plant began to wiggle and contort, and Maria watched in some amusement as Kyle climbed out the back. "Well, I'm not staying in the plant then. It's too cramped. Couldn't Guerin build it a little bigger?" he complained, moving to stand next to her.

"Why? A little claustrophobic, are we?" Maria teased him.

Before he had a chance to answer, there was a blur of motion off in the wings. Maria stepped to the side just fast enough to miss being knocked over by Pamela and Melanie, who were so engrossed in their shoving match that they didn't notice they were now on stage.

After that, things happened so quickly that Maria was never quite sure how it all played out.

Kyle, attempting to get between the two girls to stop them, ducked as Pamela's fist shot out. Her arm swung over his head and cold-cocked her former best friend, who went staggering backwards. Mark, coming back on stage with a red mark on his cheek where he'd been slapped, was just in time to be run into by Melanie. Knocked off his balance, he barely avoided falling off the edge of the stage into the orchestra pit.

By this time, Kyle was holding Pamela by the shoulders, trying to get her to calm down. Debbie raced on stage and threw the contents of a very full water bottle at the hysterical senior, giving Pamela and Kyle both a faceful of water. With a shriek, Pamela pulled out of Kyle's hold and barged towards Debbie, who bolted.

Unfortunately, she got a little too close to Mark, who was still teetering on the edge of the stage, and he fell into the orchestra pit, taking her with him, both narrowly missing the drum set on the way down.

Kyle, who'd started after Pamela, slipped in the puddle of water that Debbie had inadvertently created and landed hard on his knees. Reaching out, he did manage to grab Pamela and swing her around, but she got her foot caught in the hem of her gown and stumbled. Maria watched with wide eyes as Pamela fell, ever so gracefully in slow motion, into the waiting mouth of the plant puppet. Without the support of a puppeteer inside, the plant trembled, and the top lid jiggled for a few brief seconds before plunging down to trap the senior beneath it.

There was silence in the auditorium. Slowly, Maria looked around and realized she was the only one on stage still standing.

A moment later, a cacophony of raised voices filled the auditorium. As Ms. Bedinger tried to regain order, Maria helped Kyle to his feet and then strolled over to the plant. She idly noted the excellence of Michael's handiwork as she lifted the top lip. Pamela was lying in an awkward, but unhurt, heap inside. Trying to bite back the laughter that threatened to erupt, Maria studied her.

"You know, Pam? You should try gardening. Vegetation looks really good on you." And with that, she let the plant close gently down once more.

"...I mean, I thought Alex was absolutely going to lose it!" Maria chuckled, thinking back to the rehearsal the previous afternoon. "It was like watching the Three Stooges or something."

Alex looked around the cafeteria table at the others before turning back to Maria. "What would that make you? Shemp?" he jokes, his eyes dancing. Then, as if to ward her off her mock indignation, he grabbed her hand and lifted it high into the air. "Ladies and gentleman," he announced. "The winnah and still champeen, Maria DeLuca!" And Maria's face shone rosy from happy embarrassment as her four friends burst into a spontaneous round of applause.

CHAPTER 50

Michael leaned against the wall of the pod cave and rested his forearms on his bent knees. With a heartfelt sigh, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, weary to the bone.

Two days. He'd been here two days, and he hadn't accomplished anything. He'd just wasted his time.

Well, that and attempted to demolish the cave wall.

He'd spent most of Sunday night raging against his situation, his helplessness, his stupid human weakness. Letting his fury consume him. But the only result had been a pair of bruised and bloody fists, torn from hours of pounding against the wall of the cave.

At least in his rage he'd found the presence of mind to avoid the pods, not wanting to disturb one of their few tangible souvenirs of their former lives.

He'd finally fallen asleep, too exhausted to fight any more, only to wake several hours later and repeat the cycle. Less violently this time, because his hands were beginning to swell, although he didn't think he'd broken anything.

Now he sat there, battered and totally devoid of energy. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt a sense of clarity. He was able to look without bias at himself and his situation. And he didn't particularly like what he saw.

He had spent the last six months reacting blindly to things. Not thinking, just raging away at the perceived unfairness of his life. He'd thrust everyone away, fighting with Max, withdrawing from Isabel, closing himself off from the few humans who'd actually, surprisingly, become his friends.

And why? Because he couldn't--or didn't want to--deal with what he'd done. Sure, he'd pretended to push it aside, and maybe that worked for a little while, but he couldn't hide from it any longer.

He'd killed a man. He'd taken a life out of fear and hate and anger. He'd lost control--if he'd ever had it--and Pierce was dead.

He could never take that back. He could never go back and change it.

He could never make up for it, either.

But he couldn't allow it to burden his soul any more.

He could never undo his actions, but one moment didn't have to define the rest of his life, either. He could still do something of value. Something meaningful. Be a part of something bigger than himself.

And he could help Max and Isabel by doing it.

So no matter what he felt or wished or regretted or wanted, he had to let go of his guilt. It was a luxury he couldn't afford.

Somehow he had to forgive himself.

Once again a sudden noise woke Max from a deep sleep. This time it wasn't a pounding on the window, though. It was the shrill ringing of the phone.

Managing to reach a hand out and grab the receiver before the noise could wake his parents, Max blearily eyed his clock radio. It was 2:43. "What is it, Michael? Some of us have school in the morning, you know," he said in a grumpy tone.

The voice that spoke gave him shivers, so much that for a moment he didn't take in what it was saying. It was very familiar--and it wasn't Michael. It took him back to his captivity and torture in the white room.

Pierce.

No, not Pierce. Michael had killed him and effectively rid Max of that particular nightmare. Well, the living one anyway. No one could do anything about the bad dreams he still occasionally got. Michael wasn't the only one with trouble sleeping.

But Pierce was gone, and the shapeshifter Nasedo had taken the agent's place as head of the FBI Special Unit. Max hadn't heard one word from him since he'd left for Washington. "Nasedo?" he said sharply.

The shapeshifter's oh-so-cheerful voice belied the seriousness of his question. "Where's Michael?" he repeated.

"Away. Why?" asked Max, sitting up.

Nasedo didn't answer, merely barking out, "Do you have any idea what he's been up to?"

"Well, yes, pretty much," Max replied, asking again, "Why?"

"He's drawing too much attention to you all. I can't protect you from this distance. You need to keep a better rein on him."

Max bristled. "I'm his friend, not his keeper. Michael can take care of himself, make his own decisions."

"You're the leader. He's your second. You command, he obeys." Nasedo's statement was implacable.

Max got a sudden mental image of his headstrong friend meekly obeying his every order. It was ludicrous. "You obviously don't know Michael. Or me, for that matter," he said with a grin.

"Regardless, the attention he's calling to himself is dangerous."

Max frowned. "How do you know what's going on, anyway?" he asked suspiciously. "I thought you were in D.C. taking care of the Special Unit."

Nasedo sounded amused, in a cold, uncaring sort of way. "And it's part of my job to keep tabs on areas of suspected alien activity. I've kept up Pierce's subscription to the Roswell Journal. And when your hotheaded second got into the paper, and Tess verified--"

"Tess?" Max interrupted.

"Tess verified the incident, and said he's been the talk of the school. Not exactly a low profile. Do I need to remind you that attention can be dangerous?"

"No, you don't need to remind me. And believe me, Michael doesn't like the attention any more than you do. He's been going through some things, that's all."

There was a tense silence on the other end of the line. "What things?"

There was no way Max was going to sit there and tell Nasedo everything that was going on in Michael's life. His friend had been definite that he didn't trust the shapeshifter, and didn't want him involved. Max would respect that wish. So he merely said, "It doesn't matter. We've got it under control."

Nasedo's voice was insistent. "Power problems? Strange dreams?" He paused for a few minutes. "Has he been acting unlike himself?" He seemed to take Max's silence for confirmation. "You have no idea what you're dealing with," he said, his tone sharp. "Listen to me, Max. It's imperative you keep him under control. Do not under any circumstances allow him to use his powers, not even the tiniest little bit."

"What's going on?" demanded Max.

"I can't just take off without compromising my position with the Special Unit," the shapeshifter continued ruthlessly. "But I'll get some things cleared up and be there within a couple of weeks. Until then, keep a rein on your second, or the consequences could be catastrophic." The warning was quite clear. "And don't tell him about this conversation. The less he knows, the better."

And then all Max heard was a dial tone on the other end of the line. He stared at the receiver in his hand. What was going on?

With a frustrated grunt, Michael relaxed his right hand, feeling the pull on his swollen knuckles lessen. In the light of the Coleman lantern Max had dug out from the recesses of the Evanses' garage, he stared down at the small pebble he'd been clutching. It was just a rock. A tiny thing. Nothing to it. Izzy could change one of them when she was eight. Hell, he could do it back then, at least occasionally. So why couldn't he now?

Dropping the small stone, he ran both hands over his tired face. If he was going to be of any use to Max, he had to get better at this power stuff. He had never had great control over it, but he'd been able to do some things. He'd changed his fingerprints, like Nasedo had shown him, during their rescue of Max, hadn't he? And then the visions; and just a couple of weeks ago he'd connected with Maria even if he hadn't been able to control what she'd seen. At the very least, he'd always been able to blow things up, even if he didn't mean to. So why couldn't he change one stupid little rock?

The chilly air surrounded him, wrapping him in its cold embrace. He idly considered going outside to look for something with which to make a fire, but a total bone-weary reluctance to move kept him from it. Instead, he reached out for the sleeping bag that was laid out next to him. Unzipping it, he wrapped it around his shoulders like a blanket. He shook his head at his own stupidity. It figured he'd decide he needed to hang out in a cave in the middle of November. He couldn't hole up someplace comfortable, not him. And desert or no desert, it was cold.

Holding the sleeping bag closed around him, he reached the other hand out and groped along the cave floor for another rock. Finding one, he picked it up and studied it in the dim light. It might've been the one from before. Maybe not. It was just a rock, after all.

Idly rolling it in his hand, he let his mind wander.

Cold or not, he actually felt more comfortable in this place than anywhere else he could remember. Whether it was due to the alien pods hanging nearby or to its seclusion, he didn't know. But it was a place in which he didn't have to hide what he was from anyone. He could be alien and it didn't matter. After all, the only people who'd ever seen it were aliens, too. They wouldn't care that he was.

No, wait. Liz Parker had seen it. She'd been there when they got the so-called message from home, that horrible day last spring where everything had gone all wrong. Well, wronger. Was that even a word?

He could still remember Liz's face after she'd heard about the aliens' destiny--not to couple together, but to save their home planet. She'd left so that Max could do what he needed to in order to save an entire race. Never mind that it broke her heart to do it, and Max's too. Michael wasn't blind, even though he liked to pretend to himself he was. It was easier to keep separate. But he could see what Max and Liz meant to each other. Liz had left. It was maybe the bravest thing he'd ever seen.

A small voice deep inside wasn't going to let this go so easily. Liz had given up Max, even though she loved him. So how was that different from Michael giving up Maria, even though he'd loved her?

Because he had loved her. He wasn't sure how anyone could have become so important to him. Especially an overactive, hyper pixie of a blonde girl who somehow was able to make him feel things he didn't want to feel. Things he hadn't even known he was capable of feeling.

He shook his head. It was different for him, though. Max and Liz--they deserved each other. Barring Max's extra-terrestrial origins, they maybe even were meant for each other. True love, soul mates, whatever, if you wanted to get all sappy about things. They were both such glaringly good people, in an upstanding, honorable, heroic kind of way. Liz had let Max go because it was the right thing to do.

Michael had shoved Maria away because he was scared.

Scared of hurting her, scared of himself, scared of the things she made him feel, scared that he didn't know how to or couldn't handle those things...All of that and more. Their whole 'relationship', if you could call it that, was a bizarre dance, with him being pulled to her, then running away, then being dragged back to her in spite of his fears and intentions.

Because no matter what, he couldn't escape her, not entirely. She always seemed to be stuck somewhere in the back recesses of his thoughts, ready to leap out the instant he wasn't paying attention. He wouldn't mind if it didn't make it that much harder to stay away from her. Which he had to do, and not just because her mother wanted him to, although that was part of it. He'd never paid that much heed to grownups before, though, except to try and avoid Hank's drunken rages, so why get all hung up on what one grownup thought? Was it just because she was Maria's mother? Mrs. DeLuca was important to Maria, a vital part of her existence. They weren't well off, but they had each other. They were family.

And Michael was starting to understand just what that really meant. He'd always wanted a real home, a real family, without really knowing what it was. He'd been envious of Max and Isabel for their life with the Evanses--who wouldn't when compared to the squalor of life with Hank?--but he'd never really believed in it. Now, the two DeLucas--he could almost see the bond between them. Even when Mrs. DeLuca had been furious with the both of them, he could see how much she loved her daughter.

It was a far cry from the easy acceptance Mr. & Mrs. Evans gave to Max and Izzy. Everything was a little too perfect in that particular household. Well, other than the two teenagers being aliens. And even if Isabel thought otherwise, Michael couldn't help believing that things would be different if the Evanses knew the truth about their children. No matter how jealous Michael might have been of his two fellow aliens' situation--and he had to admit he was, if only to himself--it had never seemed quite real. It was too dreamlike, too good to be true.

But Maria's small family--now that was real. Real, and vibrant, and vital. Maybe even more so because the two were all each other had. Even with the hard things he knew they had gone through, they still went on, fighting and struggling and needing each other.

Not that different from how he felt about Maria. Well, he knew he didn't feel the exact same way about her as her mother did, that was for sure. But he needed her just as much as Mrs. DeLuca did. He just didn't have the luxury of acting on it any more.

It was funny--the weird kind of funny--how quickly she'd set roots in him. They'd gone to school together for years. He supposed they'd probably had classes together, and she'd probably waited on him some of the many times Max had dragged him into the Crashdown, but he'd never really noticed her. He wasn't even sure now if he'd known her name. She was just one in a sea of faces, too dangerous to know much about. He was too busy hiding from the world to stop and see her as anything other than that.

And then came the day when Liz had been shot, and the world had taken a sudden left turn onto a whole new road. He'd found friends that accepted him, regardless of what he was or how he acted, and he'd discovered that he was far more human than he'd ever imagined.

And through it all, Maria was there beating on his stupid self-made stone wall and tearing it apart piece by piece. He'd tried to mend it, sure, but it was never the same, like she was some sort of acid that ate away at its underlying structure, exposing the parts of him he'd kept hidden even from himself.

Stupid analogy, Guerin. But still, she had worn him down, and he was weak. If it weren't for Mrs. DeLuca, he wasn't sure his resolve would be able to hold out any longer. He'd probably go running again, but towards her this time.

As much as he wanted to do the right thing, he was weak. And the tiny part of him, buried down deep, that had almost accepted the human part of himself was threatening to overwhelm the supposedly much more established alien side.

Part of him wouldn't even mind.

He could give in to his feelings and try to act human. Allow himself to feel for Maria again--not that he'd really ever stopped--and try to make something of his life here on this planet. He could be with her, hold her, kiss her, listen to her babble about nothing in particular, watch her breathe in one of those stupid oils she always carried around...He could lose himself in her, and feel like he actually belonged. Forget his origins, his search for home, never try to use his powers, whatever.

Except then instead of being an outcast who nonetheless had a purpose, a part to play in something bigger than himself, he'd just be a loser with nothing. No reason that he'd ever existed in the first place.

And he was terrified of that too.

His eyes closed, he continued to roll the pebble in his hand, his fingers running over its smooth surface, trying to block out his fear.

Wait a minute.

Smooth?

It was a rough pebble, oddly shaped by nature. Or it had been. Now it felt round, and smooth, and familiar. Kind of like...the metal walls in the room he'd imprisoned himself inside in his own head.

His eyes flew open and he stared down at the thing in his hand. It didn't look like metal, but it didn't look like a rock, either. It was clear, with a slight bluish tint to it. Color aside, it kind of reminded him of the alien balance stones River Dog had given them.

He'd changed it. But how?

Reaching out, Michael carefully set the blue crystalline sphere on the floor in front of him and searched until his hand found another small desert rock. Holding it loosely in his hand, he closed his eyes, willing it to change.

Nothing.

What was going on? One minute, he had some sort of rudimentary control over his powers and the next, it was gone? How had he managed to change one when he couldn't repeat it? He grimaced, his mind churning with the need to make some sense out of this. What was different the time it had worked? He'd just been sitting there, with the sleeping bag around him--could temperature affect his powers? He'd let his thoughts drift, and...

He froze with a sudden realization. The other difference between his failed attempts and his successful one was Maria. Thoughts of Maria invading his head, and suddenly he could tap into whatever it was that allowed him to use his powers instead of struggling with them. It had been so easy, he hadn't even realized he'd done it.

Looking back, this wasn't the first time, either. Way back last year on their trip to Marathon, he hadn't been able to get a vision from the key until she'd stood next to him and told him to try again. And when he did, it had worked. More recently, he'd been able to heal Pierce's body, and Maria was nearby. Sure, it was only in a dream, but it had to mean something, didn't it? She could feel when he was around, and he'd dragged her into his mental prison and then, the other night, into his dream...Was it possible for a person to be the missing key to controlling his powers?

When you looked on the surface of things, it seemed stupid. An extra-terrestrial needing a human to be able to use his powers? And out of the billions of people on the planet, the human he needed just happened to be the girl he...well, happened to be Maria? He shook his head. He was too much of a skeptic to buy into that. The coincidence was too strong. Max and Liz fated to meet each other--sure, okay. But Michael Guerin fated to meet Maria DeLuca? No, it had to be blind luck that she was the one who could help him focus.

Except that usually his luck tended to be of the more negative kind.

Well, one way to put paid to this whole idea. He'd just think about Maria, and when nothing happened to the stone in his hand, he'd know he was just being stupid.

So he closed his eyes again and summoned up an image of her in his mind. The one he chose was a recent memory, with her standing, laughing, on the West Roswell High stage in some filmy white thing, looking joyous and alive and real. He'd wanted to be up there with her, to allow some of her happiness to reflect onto him. He could picture her so clearly, she could almost have been in the pod chamber, standing right there in front of him.

Except of course she couldn't. He was avoiding her. Running away in fear--big surprise there. Maybe thinking about Maria wasn't such a good idea after all. It just tore him up inside, and since it couldn't really have any effect on his powers...

He opened his eyes and stared down at the smooth blue sphere in his hand. Oops. Maybe it could.

CHAPTER 51

By the time dawn came there were half a dozen round crystalline rocks, in varying shades of blue, lined up on the ground in front of Michael. The excitement of actually being able to manipulate the stupid things had kept him awake, but now he sat back, tired but actually reasonably content. Picking up one last stone, he idly tossed it up and down, the repetitive movement soothing in its regularity.

It had worked. Six times. He'd actually manipulated matter six times, without blowing anything up. Once could have been a fluke, but six times? And all he'd had to do was to think of Maria. He had actually figured this out, by himself. He'd tried to think logically, had come up with a hypothesis, and had done trials to test it out. And his hypothesis had been proven. He smirked. He usually tended to go more on instinct and gut feeling, reacting to things. But no, he'd reasoned it out and set up a procedure to test it, just like any research scientist geek. Liz Parker would be proud. He could just picture her, standing in some lab and droning on about the results of his 'experiment', while a glassy-eyed Max stood by.

And in an instant, a seventh blue rock was in his hand. He blinked down at it, confused. He hadn't even been thinking about Maria--he'd been thinking about Liz.

Maybe his hypothesis wasn't so brilliant after all.

Scrambling to his feet, Michael scanned the cave for more rocks. Grabbing one, he closed his eyes and concentrated on Liz again. The result was another blue crystal. A second stone and thoughts of Max: blue crystal. Thoughts of Vice Principal Sutter, hockey and the Crashdown's Men in Blackberry pie. One blue crystal after another, tumbling transformed from his hand.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't a tie to Maria. It didn't seem tied to anything, actually. He was doing this by himself. And if he was, then he should be able to manage it any time, right? Right. Yet another rock was clutched in his hand, and he closed his eyes, this time concentrating on the rock itself, willing it to change. He tried to drum up the feeling he'd gotten when he'd healed Pierce in his dream. There he'd been manipulating human cells and this was mineral, but manipulation was manipulation, right?

Evidently not. He opened his eyes to see an irregular, gray, normal-looking rock in his palm. Shit. The only time it didn't work was when he actively tried to change one. Then nothing.

Had he lost it? He frantically dropped to his knees, picking up one of the bluish crystals. Maybe he could change it back. Moments later, he dropped it, and it rolled to join the others, unchanged. Reaching over to the sleeping bag, he placed a hand on it and attempted to change its color, not bothering to consider whether Max would really want a bright green sleeping bag. It didn't matter anyway, because it stayed a nice, boring navy blue.

His mood deflated, he stood, staring at his useless hands. Great. He could use his powers, but only when he wasn't trying to use them. And when he was successful, what could he do, anyway? Make blue rocks. Really useful talent, Guerin.

He crouched down, gathering up the stones. He'd have to stash them somewhere in the cave. He couldn't leave them outside where they might be found, and he didn't want another reminder about what a useless screw-up he was. He wanted them out of his sight.

He had his hands full of them, trying to decide where to put them, when it happened. In his hands, the pile of stones began to glow.

Stumbling back in shock, Michael tripped over the discarded sleeping bag and dropped the rocks. The light inside them went out immediately. He lay for a moment where he'd fallen; then, pushing himself to his feet, he reached out and gathered them again. It was only a moment before the light reappeared. He watched it grow, casting a mellow light that dappled the walls of the pod chamber. The stones remained as cool in his hands as the light they produced. It was calming, somehow. It seemed very natural, very right.

And then he looked over at the wall beside him, and saw it. A set of pale handprints, chest high, shining against the rock wall. He slowly approached, and the prints brightened as the light drew near. There were four of them, lined up against the wall: two larger, one medium and one smaller. One of the larger ones seemed slightly separated from the others. He dumped all the stones into his left hand, holding the pile against his chest so he wouldn't drop any of them, and reached out his right hand to cover the solitary print. His hand fit it perfectly.

Not taking his eyes off of the print, he bent and placed the stones on the ground underneath it. The moment they left his hand, the light died. He crossed to the Coleman lantern, and carried it back over, scrutinizing every last inch of the wall. Nothing. No visible handprints. They'd vanished, as if they were never really there in the first place.

Letting out a deep breath, Michael once again gathered the stones and watched them glow. The handprints reappeared, washed in the bluish light. He studied them for several very long moments before crossing over to the duffel bag he'd brought with him and rooting through it for Isabel's cell phone.

Max had a pullover sweater halfway on when the telephone rang. Unceremoniously thrusting his head through the neck hole, he crossed to the phone, pulling the sweater down as he went. Picking up the receiver, he said calmly, "Hello?" Inside, he didn't feel particularly calm, though. The last time he'd answered the phone, just last night, it had been Nasedo with a very cryptic and unsettling message.

On the other end, Michael spoke quickly. "Max. There's something you need to see."

"What's going on, Michael? Are you okay?" Max asked, concerned.

He could almost hear the excitement in his friend's voice. "Yeah. I'm fine. But some...weird stuff has happened."

"Weird? How weird? In what way?"

There was a pause on the other end, and then Michael said slowly, "I think I want you to see it for yourself, Maxwell."

"Max! Hurry up, we'll be late for school!" Isabel's voice came from the doorway.

"Is that Izzy?" Michael asked, at the same time Isabel noticed Max was on the phone, and demanded, "Is that Michael?"

"Yes, and yes," Max answered both of them.

Isabel's tone was eager. "Is he ready to come back?"

"Hold on, Michael," Max said, then turned to his sister. "I don't know, but something's up. He wants me to see what's going on." He spoke into the phone once more. "Michael? Are you still at the pod chamber?"

"Yeah."

"Do you need me to come right now? Because if not, I should go to school. I've got a test in fourth period."

Michael's voice was low when he responded. "Don't worry about it then. After school is okay. I'm not going anywhere."

Max winced, noting the disappearance of Michael's former excitement. He hadn't been trying to put the other alien off, he'd just been asking, trying to get a sense of what was happening. He knew where his priorities were, but maybe his friend didn't. Time to make it perfectly clear. "No, Michael. You are more important than a test," he stated firmly.

There was silence on the other end as Michael took that in, then, "It's all right, Max. Really," he assured him. "I think I'll try and catch a nap until you get here. I didn't sleep well last night."

"Nightmares again?" Max asked, worried.

"No. Haven't had one for a while. Not since..." Michael sounded odd. "Not since Maria was over." He paused. "I just had a lot to do. Kept me up. You'll see when you get here."

"I'll be there right after school, then."

Isabel interrupted loudly. "I'm coming, too."

"Isabel says--"

"I heard her," Michael responded in a dry tone. "But let's just keep it down to the two of you, Maxwell. There are some things we need to talk about, just the three of us."

Michael was waiting for them at the pod chamber's entrance when they arrived. He squinted into the bright light, eyes adjusting after several days mostly spent in the dim recesses of the pod chamber. Isabel held her breath as she entered, but let it out as she took in the rolled-up sleeping bag and packed duffel. He must be coming back then.

Michael actually looked a little nervous, standing there, waiting for them to broach the subject. But all he said was, "Close the door behind you."

"What's going on, Michael?" Max asked, trying to show his concern and support through his tone of voice.

Isabel didn't stand on ceremony. Crossing to her spiky-haired almost-brother, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. "We missed you, you idiot," she complained. "It seemed like forever."

"Hey," Michael objected. "Cut it out, Izzy. Do you wanna see this or not?"

Just to annoy him, she squeezed him even harder before stepping away. He didn't really seem to mind, though. Behind them, Max had finished closing off the cave, and the two siblings looked expectantly at their friend. Michael ran a nervous hand through his hair and tried to figure out where to start.

Oh, to hell with it. "I made these," he said bluntly, picking up two of the blue crystals and tossing one to each of the others. "Out of rocks." Then he waited for their reaction.

"You were able to use your powers?" Isabel exclaimed with a wide smile. "That's great!" Michael didn't bother to answer her, instead staring at Max, who was intently studying the stone he held.

"Look at them, Isabel," her brother said, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the small crystal. "Don't they look...familiar somehow?"

Isabel drew her attention away from Michael and glanced down at the stone she held. Her face wrinkled as she tried to remember where she'd seen one of them before. "Yes...yes, they do," she admitted. "What are they, Michael?"

"I don't know," he answered gruffly. "But watch." Turning down the Coleman lantern, he stooped to gather up a handful of similar stones from a pile on the chamber floor. Isabel gave a little gasp as they began to glow in Michael's hand, sending out a pale bluish light. She and Max exchanged glances, then looked back at the glowing stones.

"There's more," Michael said. Crossing to the side of the cave, he held his hands up and shone the light on the cave wall. The handprints immediately came into view. "Look," he added unnecessarily, since the other aliens were already fixed on the prints. "This one fits my hand," he explained, placing his palm against the glowing mark. Almost without volition, Max and Isabel each reached up and fitted their hands against a print. They matched perfectly.

The three aliens looked at each other in silence for a few moments, before stepping back from the cave wall. "What do you think it means?" Isabel asked in a hushed tone.

"I don't know," Michael responded. "But didn't you notice? There's a fourth handprint." He held the stones back up to illuminate the wall once more, and they all stared at the fourth, smaller print.

"Tess," Isabel breathed.

Max and Michael locked gazes. "So what should we do?" Michael asked.

"I don't know. But let's not rush into anything, Michael. There's a lot to think about here."

"Believe me, I know that," Michael answered with a snort. "I don't trust Tess Harding any more than you do. Not after last spring."

"We've got a lot to talk about, Michael. We could talk on the way back to town, if you're ready to go back."

Michael shrugged. "Yeah. I think I am. It's almost like I needed to come out here, and now that I found the prints, I'm done, you know?"

"Good!" Isabel exclaimed. "Grab your stuff then, and let's get out of here. You need some real food, Michael. And a shower," she teased, darting out of his way with a laugh. Heading towards the door, she waved her hand over the silver palm print on the wall to open it, and strode through.

Grabbing the sleeping bag and duffel, Max and Michael followed her to the chamber entrance. "I'm glad you're coming back, too, Michael," Max told his friend quietly. "Because there's something I need to talk to you about. I got a phone call last night..."

"What, Maxwell?"

Max shook his head. "In the Jeep. Isabel needs to hear this, too. It's important."

Michael nodded and began to follow Max out the entrance. Stopping abruptly, he set down the duffel and crossed back to the pile of blue stones, grabbing a handful and tucking them into his pocket. Then he headed back after his friend. Time to go back to the real world and face some things. Figure out whatever these handprints meant, listen to whatever Max had to say, go back to school, see if he still had a job after leaving town for three and a half days...and, oh, yeah. Gear himself up to deal with Maria.

Amy DeLuca was in the middle of fixing a solitary dinner the next evening when the knock came. Crossing to the kitchen door, she raised her eyebrows in involuntary surprise at the tall figure standing there. Her jaw clenched. "She's not here," she said coldly through the glass door.

"I didn't think she would be," Michael responded in a low voice. "I figured she'd be at school, getting ready for the play." He glanced uneasily away, then forced himself to meet her gaze squarely. "I came to see you."

Her forehead wrinkled with suspicion, Amy opened the door just wide enough to peer between it and the jamb. "You're not going to change my mind about letting her see you," she warned.

He shook his head. "That's not why I'm here," he told her quietly. His face remained stoic, but was that a hint of emotion in his eyes? No, she wouldn't let herself soften. Her daughter was too important, and this boy was bad news. Forget whatever momentary heroic actions he'd taken recently. Who knew what sort of trouble he could drag an unprotesting Maria into? Pregnancy, jail...or worse?

"What, then?" she snapped.

He visibly steeled himself, then blurted, "I'm staying away from her, okay? I haven't even said hello to her since--" His voice cut off, and he swallowed.

This confirmed what Maria had told her last week. Amy's eyes narrowed. There was definitely emotion in his eyes, and pain, although he obviously was trying his hardest to hide them.

"You wanted me to stay away, and I'm doing that," he forced out. "I just--" He broke off again, pausing, then rushed on, "Would you give this to her?"

For the first time, Amy noticed the paper clutched in his hand. It was rolled into a tube and fastened with a rubber band. She stared blankly at it.

"It's not a secret message or anything," he said defensively. "It's just something I kind of promised her." His chin out, he stood defiantly, daring her to doubt he'd keep his word. And somehow, she had to believe he would.

This visit, whatever it was, was obviously difficult for him, and yet here he was, facing up to a woman who couldn't possibly be his favorite person right now. Well, that was putting it mildly. He was a teenager, with all the emotional storms that brought; if he had really felt something for her daughter, he probably hated Amy now. But he was here anyway, to keep some sort of promise. And if he kept this promise, mightn't he also keep the one to stay away from Maria?

Without realizing it, she relaxed a little and allowed the door to swing open a bit more.

"I know you don't trust me, but...You can look at it. See for yourself," he offered, thrusting the paper tube through the half-open door and into her hands before taking a quick step back and jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. He started to go, and then turned back abruptly.

"Mrs. DeLuca?"

She looked up from the rolled-up paper she held, lifting her eyes to study his face.

He spoke intently. "If you decide to give it to her, do it in person, okay? Don't just leave it for her to find. She doesn't like that." His eyes, strangely vulnerable, met hers, and he blurted out one more word. "Please." Then he turned and moved swiftly towards the street and out of sight.

Amy stood motionless until the beeping of her timer brought her out of her abstraction. Hurriedly placing the paper on the counter, she set about rescuing the piece of chicken she'd been reheating before the oven charred it out of recognition. Setting the pan on top of the stove, she dropped the potholder and turned to look at Michael's little gift.

To be honest, she was torn. He'd hurt Maria on more than one occasion, most recently by totally ignoring her. Amy blocked out the little voice that reminded her that it was exactly what she had wanted, and concentrated on working up a full head of righteous indignation. She was furious with this...delinquent. She certainly didn't feel the need to do him any favors.

So why then did she keep seeing the flash of pain in his eyes when he spoke about Maria?

And what was that odd comment at the end, about Maria not liking things left for her to find?

Amy shook her head. She should just tear this...whatever it was...up and get rid of it. Her daughter need never know about it. Maria would get over the boy in time, and it would be easier if she didn't have any more little reminders of him.

But even as her brain was deciding one thing, her hands were acting on another. They carefully removed the rubber band, rolling it down the tube, and set it on the counter. They unrolled the heavy white paper and held it open, so she could fully take in what she was seeing.

Her heart thumped in her chest as she studied the sketch. It was a portrait of her daughter, her eyes shining and her mouth curved into laughter. She was wearing the silly alien antennae that she always grumbled about having to wear as part of her Crashdown uniform. And at the bottom of the page, hidden in the cross-hatching of a penciled-in shadow from Maria's collar, Amy could just make out two tiny initials: MG.

She blinked. That...that delinquent was capable of this? Maria looked so...real. So vibrant. So exactly like herself. And this boy--no, Amy, get used to using his name--this Michael, Michael Guerin, had drawn it? How could he be this talented, this...sensitive? With the life he'd had, where had he learned to create something so beautiful?

Another door, another knock. Pushing himself off the couch he'd been sitting on, lost in thought, Michael headed for the door. He didn't bother glancing at the clock, but he knew it was late. His visitor was probably Max, getting even for all the times Michael had burst in at odd hours.

So he was visibly startled when, instead of Max, he found Maria DeLuca at his door. After a moment of shock, his face hardened, and he began to swing the door shut in her face.

Maria put out a hand to keep it open. "Don't. It's okay. My mother knows I'm here." He looked suspiciously at her, and the corners of her mouth curved upward. "Really," she assured him. "Actually, she drove me. She's waiting in the car. So the only thing that could possibly keep us from talking is you," she challenged.

He looked at her for a moment, obviously trying to think this through, before holding the door open for her. "You wanna come in?" he asked hoarsely.

"I can't," she responded, then smiled ruefully. "I got her to unbend far enough to let me come, but I'm not allowed inside your apartment. Believe me, considering the fact that I'm still grounded, this is pretty good." A moment of silence as she tried to figure out how to broach the subject of why she was there, and he just looked at her, and she finally opened her mouth and said, "You were at the play tonight. For opening night."

His only response was a shrug.

"Hey, I can feel you, remember? I could feel you out in the audience, and I knew when you left as soon as it was over. I know you don't want to be anywhere near me now, so..." She missed the slight darkening of his eyes, and continued, "Thank you for coming. It really meant a lot to me."

"I had to make sure the plants worked out okay," he managed.

"Oh. Right." She ran her fingers nervously over the hem of her jacket. "Well, I also wanted to give you this," she said, fishing in her pocket and pulling out a folded piece of notebook paper. "I said I'd keep it until you drew me another one, remember?"

Michael didn't have to look at it to know it was the substitute sketch of her he'd drawn so many weeks ago. He held it tightly, paying no heed to the wrinkles he was putting into it. In front of him, Maria was still talking about the new drawing. So Mrs. DeLuca had given it to her after all. He hadn't been sure she would.

"...and it's beautiful, Michael. You made me look so beautiful. You obviously used a lot of artistic license there, but--"

He interrupted her. "It looks exactly like you," he stated baldly.

This floored her for a full eight seconds. Did Michael just say, in his own roundabout way, that he thought she was beautiful? He'd never said that before. Well, she'd figured that he found her somewhat attractive, because of all the making out they'd done last year, but he'd never actually said it before. Of course, he wasn't particularly verbal, either...

She shook her head as a more likely reason for his comment occurred to her. "Of course, you would say that," she snorted. "Have to defend your skill as an artist, right?"

Michael didn't answer, and she hastened on, "Well, anyway, I think it's beautiful. Thank you, Michael."

He kept his response down to a curt nod.

Wow, this was going great, wasn't it? She shuffled nervously from foot to foot. All she had to do was say it, get it out there and over with, and then she could go. That wouldn't be so bad, right?

Michael unwittingly gave her the impetus to speak. "Is that all? Because I was kinda in the middle of something," he said, ignoring the fact that the something he'd been in the middle of was sitting on his couch and staring at the wall.

"Actually, no. It wasn't," Maria said, taking a deep breath. "I told my mom all about it," she said.

"WHAT?" he roared, reaching out and grabbing her by the shoulders. "What did you--"

"No, no, it's okay, Michael. I didn't tell her about..." She looked around the empty hallway but decided to be circumspect. "I didn't tell her where you're from. I would never do that, I promise. After the last year, you should know that by now."

Some of the tension drained from him, and he let go of her. "I do. It's just..." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "What did you tell her, then?"

Maria bit her lip. "Well, she had a lot of questions about the drawing, and about why you didn't want her to just leave it for me--way to cause suspicion there, by the way, Michael--and I ended up telling her all about Melanie and the notes and why I was really at your place that night. How you were trying to figure out who was sending them, and that you were protecting me."

"You did." It wasn't a question, but she nodded.

"Yeah. And after a long lecture about how I shouldn't have kept it a secret from her in the first place--which I couldn't exactly argue about, since she has no idea of the real reason I had to--she decided that..." Maria took another deep breath and rushed on, "maybe you weren't so bad and it was okay to talk to you."

No reaction from Michael.

"So of course I wanted to talk to you right away, but I knew you'd hang up the phone if I called, and I thought maybe I'd have better luck in person, and she agreed I could come but she was going to drive me because it's after midnight on a school night, and no daughter of hers was going to roam the town by herself at this hour..." She heard herself babbling and forcibly cut herself off.

"Anyway, I don't think she particularly likes you, but she's willing to give you a chance. So there's nothing keeping us apart except you." She swallowed. "I'm sure you've heard about my little announcement at lunch last week, so it shouldn't be a surprise that I still love you. So I guess whatever happens next is up to you. And if you want to keep ignoring me, there's not a lot I can do about it. But I hope...Can we at least be friends?"

Maria looked up at his expressionless face. It had never seemed so hard to read as it did then, as she waited, heart pounding, for his response. She could practically see the little alien gizmos in his brain working, as he tried to come up with the words to express whatever was on his mind.

But when he finally spoke, it had nothing to do with her question. "So is your middle name really Ursula?"

What? Of all the responses she had imagined, this was certainly not one of them. Her face wrinkled up with confusion, but she answered him. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. It's horrible, I know, but it was my great-grandmother's name."

"That would make your initials M-U-D," he said flatly.

Chalk up a bonus point for Mr. Brilliance. "Yeah. So?"

And then for the first time that evening, a hint of expression crossed his face. One lip began to twitch upwards, and then Michael Guerin actually laughed. Oh sure, it was a just a small chuckle, but still...He looked away, shaking his head. "No wonder it never worked," he muttered.

"What never worked?" she asked, hoping he would continue talking to her instead of shutting her out.

He did, but his eyes avoided hers as he explained, "Last year, before we...when I was trying to stay away from you, remember? I used to think about mud to take my mind off of you."

She smiled then, remembering the UFO convention, and how he'd blurted out the word after she'd kissed him in the wrestling ring. "Mud, huh?"

"Yeah." He turned and met her gaze squarely, giving her a crooked smile. "Never worked, though."

"It didn't?" she squeaked.

"Nope." His half-smile grew into a full-fledged smirk. "All that time, I thought I was thinking about mud, and I was still just thinking about MUD. You." He looked down at her, studying her carefully as if she had become someone brand new.

A rosy glow spread across her cheeks, and she suddenly felt very self-conscious. She had gotten so used to him avoiding her that now it seemed very odd to be under his scrutiny. Good, but odd. Reluctantly she tore her eyes away from his. "So, ummm..." she mumbled. "I'd better go before Mom comes after me." She hesitated. "About before...about our friendship...well, just think about it, okay? You can let me know."

She started to back away, ready to bolt down the hall. Michael didn't let her. His hand shot out and took her by the shoulder. "I don't need to think about it," he told her. "I can't be friends with you."

She dropped her eyes down away from his face, focusing on his chest but not seeing it. She swallowed, and managed to get out one word. "Oh."

"I wish I could. It would be safer. But it's too hard. I can't do it," he said fiercely, running a hand through his hair.

She knew all about hard. But she'd thought it was better than never seeing him at all. She guessed she was wrong. Still not looking up at him, she nodded her head quickly. "Okay," she said in a small voice. "G..Goodbye then, Michael." Against her will, tears started to well up in her eyes and she moved away from him, not wanting him to see her cry.

"No--don't--" he began, then realized. "Dammit," he said under his breath. He took a few steps and caught up with her, then gently pulled her back to his doorway. "Stay here," he ordered, propping her up against the doorjamb and holding her in place. "I wasn't finished, lamebrain."

His final word had the desired effect. Her eyes, no longer threatening tears, shot up to meet his. "Lamebrain?" she burst out. "This coming from you, Michael Guerin? That's kind of ironic, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I know," he said calmly. "But you're still gonna listen to me, got it?" When he was certain she wasn't going to move, he released her shoulders. "I get the feeling you think I'm trying to bail on you again. That I don't...Hell, this is hard." He looked away from her, and continued in a low voice, "I guess I can't blame you for thinking that, after everything I've done. But I didn't mean..." Another pause, then he rushed on, "Look. Staying away from you? Not an option any more. I don't want that. I want..." He trailed off, trying to find the words that would explain it, that would make her understand.

Somehow Maria found her voice. "What do you want, Michael?" she asked in a low tone.

He gave up on his search for the right words. "You," he said baldly. She was silent, and his eyes flickered towards hers, trying to catch her reaction. "I want you, Maria," he repeated. "But there's too much getting in the way of that, and I just don't know how it could work."

"We could just go on being together in private. You know, be Eraser Room buddies or whatever," she offered, her cheeks reddening. "I'll take what I can get," she admitted, almost hating herself for being so needy.

He shook his head. "No. You deserve more. And I...I think I do too."

"Where does that leave us then?" she asked. "Not apart, not friends, not together...We're nowhere."

"I didn't say we couldn't be together," he objected. "Just not in a horndog kinda way." He registered what he'd said and corrected himself quickly. "Or not just in that way, I mean. I want more than that."

"What?" she asked softly.

Michael searched his thoughts, trying to put what he was feeling into words. "I want to be friends," he decided.

"But you said we couldn't--"

"Not just friends," he admitted. "'Cause I want that, but I want the other, too."

"You do?" she breathed.

"Yeah." He seemed almost hesitant. "If that's okay with you."

She smiled then, a wide, genuine, delighted smile. "Well, of course it is! What do you think I've been waiting around for, you big dope?"

"A stubborn, screwed-up loser from another planet?" he responded with a smirk.

"A pig-headed, complex loner from another planet," she corrected firmly. He shook his head and reached out to touch her cheek, very softly. His face grew serious.

"There's still a lot I have to work out," he said. "I still have all the questions that come from being who I am. It's not gonna be easy," he warned. "I mean, no matter how I feel about you, I'm still me. I still suck at dealing with a lot of this...human stuff."

"It doesn't matter," she assured him. "I mean, yes, you drive me crazy sometimes, but it's okay. It's part of what makes you you. A challenge," she added, her eyes sparkling. "And besides, you're not the only one with faults, you know."

"Oh yeah?" he drawled.

"I'm not perfect either. I can get a little too dramatic at times, and I'm not a brain in school like Liz, and I can be irresponsible sometimes, and everyone knows I'm kind of flaky, and have I mentioned that when I get uncomfortable I tend to babble?"

Smirking, Michael covered her mouth with a large hand. "No, really?" he deadpanned. "It's a good thing that I'm around then. 'Cause I know just how to calm you down."

Maria smiled up at him, putting her arms around his neck and holding on tightly. "Good, because with the whole Czechoslovakian situation, I may need a whole lot of calming down."

He looked back down at her, his eyes growing very dark, before muttering, "I may need some myself."

Michael watched in amusement as Maria skipped down the stairs leading towards the front door of his apartment building. Once again, their kissing had been interrupted, this time by the blaring of the Jetta's horn. Maria had dragged her lips from his, saying, "Oops. Gotta go." When he had shown absolutely no inclination to release her, she'd wriggled out of his arms. "I can't take any more chances on making my mom angry again," she'd reminded him. "I am not going to blow this." With a quick peck on the lips, she'd whispered, "I love you, Spaceboy," before darting towards the stairs.

And all he'd been able to manage was a hastily blurted, "Ditto."

She'd laughed delightedly, calling back, "I know!"

Now Michael watched as her shining blonde head disappeared; then he slowly headed back inside his apartment. Throwing himself down on his couch, he relaxed, in a much better mood than he'd been in earlier. So what if they still had their enemies to fight, and Nasedo was trying to keep secrets from him--the shapeshifter should have realized that Max would have told him all about his mysterious phone call. And so what if there was a new mystery, about shining blue crystals and hidden handprints? Michael felt better than he had in a very long time. Like maybe, just maybe, he could handle whatever happened next.

Oh, yeah. Things were definitely looking up.

EPILOGUE

Michael woke with a start, panting in the dark room. His mind raced, trying to remember the details of the nightmare he'd been swept up in. All he could get was a sense of panic and confusion, then pain. He wasn't sure if the feelings had been his or someone else's.

The only thing he could remember clearly was a sound, a word, in a familiar voice. It still rang in his ears.

Killer.

Only this time, it didn't sound like an accusation.

This time, it sounded like a warning.

THE END