Title: The Short-Term Fix
Author:  Yettaren
Category: CC, Michael POV, mildly AU, Season One
Rating: R (mostly for language, some sexual situations)
Summary: So rereading the early Roswell High books got be thinking: what if the show had taken a different route with Michael? Making him an emancipated minor served the purposes of giving the gang a meeting spot and making Michael’s life less stressful, but we only ever saw him in one foster home. As much as I loved “Independence Day”, it seemed to me like emancipation was a bit of a cop-out. So with that in mind, here’s the tail end of Season One with slightly different circumstances.
Disclaimer: Some dialogue is lifted from aired episodes of Roswell, and is not owned by me. I also don’t own Michael, Max, Maria, Isabel, Liz, Alex, Tess, Kyle, Sheriff Valenti, Hank, Amy, Philip, Diane, Jeff, Nancy, or Ed Harding. As for the rest, enjoy.


HOME SEVEN.

Chapter One

Kid, you ready? The voice that echoes in my head sounds like Hank’s, giving one last grunting order. I wonder if I’ll be able to shake it or not. After all, five years is a long time to be in one place. For me.

I’m ready as I’ll ever be. I take one last look around the room, and try to see if I have any nostalgia at all. The built-up grime on the whitewash, the peeling paint, the holes that the mice scurried in and out of. Nope, no nostalgia at all.

It was a good place to be. It kept me at Forrester Middle, and then West Roswell High with Max and Isabel. Hank was a shit, but he kept his nose out of my business. And what else could you ask for when you’re an alien in a human town, alone and dependent on stupid foster families to keep you fed and legal? He didn’t ask questions.

And I have to remember that. It’s when they start asking questions that I end up screwed over. Mr. Velasquez, my brand spanking new caseworker waiting outside, I hope he understands that. My last caseworker did, I think it’s why he left me alone with Hank for so long. And he knew Hank was a shit. But I didn’t care, so he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much of anything the last year or two, I think that’s why he’s selling used cars now.

Mr. Velasquez, he’s young. He just got his masters degree in social work. He’s an idealist.

I fucking hate idealists.

I think he knows I hate him. He seems kind of scared of me.

He must have read my file.

I have a reputation. I’m not the worst foster kid in the Chaves County system. There’s a kid who’s back at the orphanage for the tenth time, Billy Miller, who deliberately sets fires and kills squirrels and stuff. He’s fourteen and is a freshman at West Roswell. I don’t really know him, I just know of him. I know we’re both in the system. I’m scared of him, too. He’s the kind of kid who if he ever knew what I was, he’d probably dissect me himself. And have fun doing it.

I heave the duffel bag over my shoulder and head out of the room without a glance back. I hope I get my own room at the new place. It comes in handy for late-night excursions, which have come more and more often lately.

My mind flashes briefly to her room, being in her bed, surrounded by her and her girly things. Her vials of oils, her perfumes, her butterflies, her birdcage. Her soft lips, her soft thighs. I want more of that. In fact, I want it now. I wonder for just a moment if Mr. Velasquez would drive me to her house… he’s on a schedule, though, and he’s ready to go. It’ll have to wait. Waiting is supposed to make it that much sweeter, but the waiting part is hard.

“You sure you have everything?” he asks. I glance down at him and nod. He’s really short. I wonder if that’s part of why he’s scared of me. He thinks I could pick him up and throw him. I probably could.

Without another word, little Mr. Velasquez turns and heads for his car. I wonder if he’s wondering what happened to Hank. Why a guy who’s lived in Roswell for years would suddenly pick up and pack out, leaving his foster kid behind. What kind of kid would drive somebody out like that. I think that’s the big question.

Hey. I stayed in one place for five years. More than five years. Five years and two months. And seven days. My new record.

And my standing record. In another year, four months and twenty-two days, I “officially” turn eighteen. And then I’m out.

We talked about me getting out. Isabel and I. Her dad’s a lawyer, she says he can get kids out on their own. It’s tempting, the thought that I could live alone and not have anybody bothering me. Just be able to do what I wanted, when I wanted. But that means going to the court. It’s like I told Isabel, we can’t do that. I spend enough time in a courtroom as it is. No questions. Just keep going through the system, that’s me. Until I can finally get out.

I’m out of here.

I almost ran away. I did run away. I was almost there when I decided to come back. It’s the hardest decision I ever made in my life, but this is where I need to be for now. We talked about getting me out, but I can’t. I just can’t go through with court right now. Better to go through with another year of foster care. It’s just another year. Four months. And twenty-two days.

Part 2

The drive to my new “situation” is a long one. In fact, once we pass the Lift-Off gas station, I start to worry. We’re not in the West Roswell High school district any more. Mr. Velasquez didn’t say anything about changing schools. I can’t change schools. Not that I’m a big fan of West Roswell as an institution, but I need Max and Isabel. And Maria. I’m already on edge.

But then I realize that despite crossing district lines, this neighborhood is only about half a mile from the DeLuca house. That could be a good thing. A really good thing.

Mr. Velasquez’s old sedan pulls up in front of a one-story house. A house. One that can’t pick up and leave on its own four wheels. This is a nice change.

I’m trying to be optimistic. I’m really trying. I suck at it.

It’s light blue, with dark blue windowpanes and flower beds outside each window. Planted with pansies. Maria will love it. I’ll have to bring her here soon. I could never bring her to the trailer park. I can’t believe I’m already thinking about what Maria will think. How can she do this to me? How does she have this hold on my mind?

“The Butlers are good people, Michael,” Mr. Velasquez tells me as he turns the car off. “I’ve done several interviews with them. Their hearts are in the right place, and they really want to help you.”

Good, then they can leave me alone. Unfortunately, I know that’s not the kind of help he means. They’re fresh. Not burned out on the system, like Hank.

This could be trouble.

“For the love of god, would you say something?” Mr. Velasquez bellows at me, and I jump, my head bumping against the roof of his little sedan.

Okay, maybe he’s not such an idealist.

“Whatever,” I say, not sure what else he wants me to say. I hear him sigh, but ignore it. I leap out of the car and go around to the trunk, which he’s already popped, to grab my duffel bag.

He leads me up to the front door. It’s a tiny little porch, with a hummingbird feeder dangling tantalizingly from the eaves. Mr. Velasquez rings the doorbell, and Fur Elise sounds in a high-pitched tone from the inside of the house. I know that’s going to get real old, real fast. My friends are definitely using the window. But then, they usually do.

The man who answers the door is tall and beefy with balding close-cropped hair. Taller than me. He could take me in a fair fight. I immediately try to stop from thinking like that. But after years of Hank, it’s my mindset. I can’t help it. I hate it. I hate myself for thinking like that already. I hate myself.

“Toby,” my small and already disillusioned caseworker greets him, “I want you to meet Michael Guerin.”

Toby Butler, I presume. He opens the screen door and lets us in.

The middle of the house is one great room. There’s a dining room to my right, a table covered by a lace tablecloth, a chandelier, and more china than I want to see in one place. To my left is the living room – no, there’s two living rooms. All in the same room. The one beside me is the formal one, coffee table books, and beyond that is the casual one. TV and magazines. Armchairs. I spot a kitchen table around the divider from us, and figure the kitchen is just past the dining room. It’s all very static. Very clean. Very old. Very different from Hank’s place.

“Michael, it’s so nice to meet you finally,” Toby says, pumping my hand. He has a firm grip. “Veronica, Michael’s here,” he calls. He turns back to me. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Michael.”

“Yeah?” I ask, trying not to press too much. “Any of it good?”

Toby smiles, and it’s a smile that instantly sends a case of the creeps down my spine. “Some,” he says. “I hear you have a wonderful artistic talent.”

That damn art show at school keeps turning up. You put one piece in one exhibit at school, and suddenly it’s all over your file. I think about trying to explain that it was a fluke, but that would lead to more questions that I don’t want to even think about right now. “Yeah, I guess I like painting.” I really don’t.

“Maybe we can set you up with some art supplies, how would that be?” a woman asks. It would suck. Veronica Butler, small, plain, proper, comes around the corner from the kitchen. She matches the house perfectly. I don’t know how else to describe it.

“Why don’t we all have a seat and get to know each other?” Mr. Velasquez asks.

“Sure, sure, that’d be wonderful,” Toby says enthusiastically, and I realize that he could easily throw Mr. Velasquez, too, if it came down to it. I wonder if that’s a good thing.

I end up in an armchair on my own, with the Butlers on the couch and Mr. Velasquez in the armchair beside me. I feel like I’m on display. It’s been so long since I’ve been introduced to a new place. I briefly remember my last introduction. Hank seemed cool at first, too. So much for first impressions. Right.

“Michael,” Mr. Velasquez began, “I want you to know that we’ve had to pull some strings for you.”

Yeah, thanks.

“You may have noticed that we’re not in your school district anymore. Now, I know this all happened suddenly, but I went out of my way to submit the paperwork to keep you zoned in for your old school.”

I feel a wave of relief. Facing high school as the only… alien… would have been even worse than facing high school as one of three.

“Michael, with your recent troubles, this is going to call for some extra work on your part. I know you’ve been arrested twice in the last few months.”

“Both times were a mistake,” I blurt out.

Veronica raises a thin eyebrow at me.

I lower my voice. Sound casual, idiot. “I was getting some stuff from the UFO Museum for my friend, who works there. I lost the keys, so I had to break in. And then Hank went missing, but that wasn’t my… fault.” Both flat lies. I did break into the UFO Museum, even if Max covered for me, and Hank disappearing was my fault.

He left because of me.

“I know, Michael,” Mr. Velasquez says, “but still, it’s time for you to turn around.”

“We’re here to help you,” Toby adds.

Gee whiz, that’s great, thanks, guys.

“Your grades are slipping,” Mr. Velasquez says, “and your school attendance record while at your last home was, and there’s no better way to put it, abysmal. If West Roswell means so much to you, you have to earn it.”

I do not like where this is going. I do not.

“You have two months to bring your average up to a B,” Mr. Velasquez says. “Anything in the B range. A B-minus is fine. Just something above a D-plus.”

“It’s passing,” I mumble.

“If you do not have a B average in two months,” Mr. Velasquez continues, “you can look forward to matriculating at Goddard High.”

Goddard! “I’ll work on it,” I sigh.

“We’re here to help, Michael,” Toby says. “Veronica teaches middle school math, she can tutor you in mathematics. And I work in government, so I can help you
with your social studies.”

I try not to react one bit when Toby says he works for the government. My senses are attuned to this kind of thing by now. Not a glimmer of reaction crosses my face. “What do you do?” I ask him, sounding bored.

Toby grins at me for the first time. “Top-secret. You understand.”

I think my jaw drops a little, but that’s okay. Any normal kid would react like that.

“Oh, Toby, don’t be so dramatic,” Veronica says. “Michael, he does paperwork.”

I just bet he does.

“We’re here for you,” Toby repeats.

“There are two other children in this home,” Mr. Velasquez continues on. “Annie and Nate. Nate is fifteen, Annie is twelve. They should be home from school soon.”

“They both go to Goddard,” Toby confirms.

“I believe you’ll be sharing a room with Nate?” Mr. Velasquez asks, and Veronica nods.

I don’t see any need to hide my disapproval. Dammit. This is going to be hard. Sneaking out with a roommate. Not easy.

“We have rules,” Toby adds. “We have to know where you are at all times.” I feel a sinking feeling deep down. “You have a curfew of six o’ clock on school nights, ten o’ clock on weekends.”

“Ten!” I burst out.

“We’ll see if your behavior shapes up,” Toby says. “You will have chores to perform at home.” Yeah, that I’m used to. Hank pretty much used me as his personal slave. Whatever.

Veronica is reading the despair on my face. “It’s not all torture, some of it’s dandy, Michael,” she says. “We try to plan one family activity every Sunday.”

She has to be kidding me. First of all, dandy? And second, a fun Sunday for me is breakfast at the Evans house, watching cartoons with Max, lunch at the Crashdown, hanging out shooting the breeze all afternoon, a movie at the movie theater. That’s a fun Sunday. Spending time with these people is not high on my priority list.

Somehow, I can already tell this situation won’t last long. I don’t see any need to break it to these nice folks just yet, though.

“After church,” Veronica adds, completing her earlier thought. I try not to cringe like I want to. Church. Goddammit, they’re going to drag me to church?

“Michael,” Mr. Velasquez says in a stern voice that makes me look up at him like a guilty puppy. Has he been reading my mind? “I want to be honest with you for a moment and remind you that this is very much a last chance for you. It’s hard to find good homes willing to take in teenagers. Your next stop very well may be the orphanage again if this doesn’t work out.”

His voice sounds threatening. Like I’m that scared of the orphanage. I was there once, when I was nine, for a few weeks. It wasn’t too bad. I bet if I was there again I could break out pretty easily. No matter how many times they caught me, how bad could it be?

The fact that I’m already contemplating how to break out of the orphanage does scare me. I guess. Just a little.

“Maybe we can go over a few things while Michael unpacks?” Mr. Velasquez asks. Veronica rises stiffly from the couch.

“Your room is just through here,” she says. She leads me to the alcove between the two living rooms. “The bathroom is here,” she says, pointing straight ahead. “Annie’s room is right there.” She points to the room facing the front of the house. The door is closed, but it’s decorated with a sign reading “BOYS NOT ALLOWED”. Nice and welcoming. “And you and Nate sleep over here.”

I have to smile at the sign on the door: “GIRLS NOT ALLOWED”. I wonder how much that rule is enforced.

My smile drops when I see how small the room is. Two single beds, each covered in a blue comforter, with a dresser between them. A closet, two desks. There’s shelves going around the top of the room, covered in model airplanes and boats and Lego designs. A New York Yankees poster over what must be Nate’s bed.

“This is Nate and Annie,” Veronica says, reaching to the dresser for a photo. I try not to act interested, but I am. And I’m also not totally surprised to see from the picture that Annie is disabled. She has Down Syndrome. I’m glad I get to react to that now, and not when I meet her. For a moment I feel bad, then I remember that as far as social services is concerned, I’m as much of a special needs kid as she is. Probably more so, at least she’s cute. Little. And then I don’t feel so bad. I wonder if Nate has any disabilities that don’t show up in the picture, but he looks like a normal, handsome, blond, football-player type. No, baseball. Yankees poster.

“Your bed will be this one,” she says, pointing to the one with the blank wall. “You can use the top two drawers of the dresser, and half the closet. Nate cleaned it out for you this morning. If you have any questions, let us know.”

She leaves, and I close the door behind her. Alone. Finally.

Very much… alone.


Part 3

They seem so normal. With the exception of the fact that Toby could very well be involved in the hunt to discover what I really am, they seem like a nice, normal foster family. I haven’t been in a normal household in a long time.

And of course, I can’t be a part of it. I have more important things to worry about.

I’m glad to see that there’s two windows, each facing a different way, and even a door. I investigate. The door opens onto a screened porch, which opens into a fenced yard. But on the other side of the porch… it looks like it’s Toby and Veronica’s room. The windows it is. Then again, if the screen door isn’t too creaky… but I have plenty of practice getting in and out of windows. I can handle it.

I collapse onto the bed. Stiff mattress. It’s okay, I can handle that, too. The mattress at Hank’s place was old and used, but it got to be comfortable after awhile. The only weird part was whenever I would hit a growth spurt and have to make a new indentation in the mattress.

I glance over at the windows. They have screens… I’ll have to navigate that. Everything in this damned house is screened. I could just try to melt the screen and reform it, but not with a roommate. Cause that’s the other thing. No more casually going to my room to practice my powers. Now I’ll have to watch out for this Nate kid. I’m getting better at using them, but that’s not going to improve much.

There’s a telephone on the desk. I sit up at this new revelation. This is a good thing.

I hop out of the bed and walk over to the desk. Then I remind myself that school just let out. Nobody’s home yet. But Max and Isabel share a cell phone. Fingers trembling, I punch in the number. After three rings, Izzy answers.

“Hello?”

“Isabel?”

“Michael!” she says. “Where are you? Are you at your new home yet?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m here,” I say. “356 Summerwalk Circle. The phone number is…” I glance at the desk. “555-0092.”

“Hold on, hold on,” she says, and I hear her scrambling. “Okay. How is it?” she asks anxiously. Leave it to Isabel to worry.

“Seems fine,” I say. I want to mention Toby and his job, but there’s just no guarantee it’s safe. I don’t know yet how far sound carries in this house. “More rules. Two other kids.”

“I’m sorry,” Isabel says, and she’s genuine. “Summerwalk? Isn’t that in the Floral Hills subdivision?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m in Floral Hills.”

“That’s Goddard,” she says, again anxiously.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “My caseworker set it all up. I’m still going to West Roswell.” No need to mention the grades clause. I can see it now, Isabel taking on my GPA as her personal project. I don’t enjoy being any project of Isabel’s. “Hey, do you have the jeep right now?”

“I’m in the jeep right now,” she says. I hadn’t noticed.

“You’re driving and talking?”

“Yes.”

“Then how did you write… never mind.” We’ll compare alien notes later. I have a feeling that’s the answer I’m looking for. Good old Isabel. “Is Max with you?”

“No, no, he stayed late to work on a bio lab.” With Liz. I hear the disgust in Isabel’s tone. “I’m picking him up in an hour and a half and we’re going to dash to the mall and pick up a couple of things. Want to come?”

“I don’t know,” I say. I glance up at the door. Isabel and the mall is never a good combination… but at least it would get me out. Maybe it’s good to start establishing just how independent I am from the whole family thing. “Okay. Pick me up at five?”

I hear a knock on the door. “Hold on. Come in?”

Toby is standing there, looking down at me. “Making plans already?”

I cover the mouthpiece. “I need to go help my friends with an errand.”

“No,” Toby says.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I hear Isabel moaning in my ear. I try to tune her out. But I’m thinking the same thing.

“I need to get the homework from them,” I say. “I missed school today with the move and all.”

“Can they bring it over here and drop it off?”

Can you go shove it? “Drive all the way to Floral Hills just to drop off the history assignment?” Isabel asks. “Michael, you should know that we don’t have any history homework.” And god knows it’s the only class I have with her. Actually, everybody I know is pretty much in history class. “Would you do it if we did?”

“What about the English homework?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Ask Maria, she’s in your class. Oh, god,” Isabel says, suddenly realizing. “You are turning into a pig.”

“What?” I ask helplessly. “What did I say?”

“Nothing,” Isabel sighs. “You’re hopeless. Listen, we’ll be there for support. Give me two hours. I’ll round up the troops. We’re setting you free, soldier.”

“Hold off, captain. Not today.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause. “Take care, Michael.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it. Be careful, take care of yourself. Don’t piss anybody off. Yet. Okay?”

“Okay, okay. Jeez, Isabel.”

“Bye.”

I hang up the phone with a sigh and swing the chair around. Toby is taking a seat on Nate’s carefully made bed. He glances around the room and takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Isabel?” he asks. He cocks his head at me. “Girlfriend?”

“No,” I mumble. “Just a friend.”

“Michael,” he says. “I know your friends have good reputations. But if that’s not enough to keep you out of trouble, maybe you need friends who are more supportive of you.”

Now, this hits a nerve. “My friends,” I say, feeling my jaw clench out of habit, “are supportive of me.”

“Maybe so,” he says, “but they do need to know what’s best for you. And right now, cavorting around Roswell doesn’t seem to be what’s best for you.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “We just want to know where you are. We expect you to check in. And we expect honesty. I don’t know what you’ve learned in your other homes, but Butlers are honest.”

“I’m not a Butler,” I say automatically. “I’m a Guerin.” The only one.

Toby detects my hostility straight off. “While you are under this roof, you are a Butler,” he says. “You are a member of this family now, Michael, and you will act like one. Act like an adult, and be treated like an adult. Act like a child, and you will be treated like a child.”

“Do adults have to check in and be home by six?” I ask.

“Yes,” Toby says, “they do.”

There’s no point in arguing with him. “Okay,” I say. I’m afraid to ask what time children have to check in.

The phone rings, and Toby moves to answer it. “Hello?” A strange look crosses his face. “It’s for you,” he says, and hands me the phone.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Michael! Thank god you’re there.”

It’s Maria. Isabel must have called her right away. That was fast.

“Yeah, look, I’m busy right now. Can you call later?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” she says, and I can hear the hurt in her. Shit. This is so out of control. What’s even worse is how happy I am to hear hers. Mud be damned.

“What was the English homework?” I blurt out.

“You’re going to do the English homework?” Maria asks skeptically.

“I don’t know. I guess.” What else am I going to do locked up in this house?

“Okay… you’re supposed to have read up through Act III of a Midsummer Night’s Dream by tomorrow and be prepared with two discussion questions.”

“I don’t even understand Act I,” I say.

“I have Cliffs Notes,” Maria says brightly.

Maria truly is a goddess. Chalk up yet another reason I can’t resist this girl. “Can you bring them over?” I ask, and then stop. I look up at Toby. He’s sitting on Nate’s bed, still watching me intensely. “It’s a friend from school. Can she come over and study?”

“Who is it?” Toby demands. “It’s a girl?”

“Yes,” I say slowly. Did he not hear right before? “Her name’s Maria DeLuca. She doesn’t have an arrest record.”

“A what?” Maria squeals. I heave a sigh.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Toby asks, intrigued.

“Yeah, Michael,” Maria mimics through the telephone. “Is she your girlfriend? Huh? Huh?”

For the love of god. “Sort of?” I say.

There’s a pause on Maria’s end. “Well, I guess that’s an improvement,” she says slowly.

“Maria, please,” I say. “Not now.”

“Well, look, spaceboy, I can’t come over. I have to work the dinner shift, and have a major, major test in geometry tomorrow that I have got to cram for. I’ll meet you for breakfast at the CrashDown, though. We can go over it then.”

“I don’t know if I can get there,” I say. “Can you pick me up?”

“Pick you up?” Toby asks.

I hear her sighing into the phone.

“For school tomorrow,” I explain to him. “She lives near her and she has a car.”

“Veronica was going to drive you.”

“Maria will save her the trouble,” I protest. “And we have to study together for English, but she can’t do it tonight. We were gonna meet in the morning to do it.”

Toby thinks about it. “We’ll try it,” he says, as though he’s granting me a huge favor.

“Look, I have to go,” Maria says. “If I’m late again, Mr. Parker’s gonna kill me. Bye.” With that, the line goes dead.

“Bye to you, too,” I say lovingly to the dial tone, before hanging up the phone.

“’Sort of’?” Toby asks.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah. Sort of.” I run a finger through my hair.

Toby nods slowly. “I see.”

I remain standing by the phone. I kind of like towering above him for the moment. Toby’s a big guy. Toby works for the government. Top-secret. What the hell does a top-secret government employee do in Roswell, New Mexico, anyway? I can’t be too sure, but as a bona fide alien specimen, I have to admit I’m less than enthused about the prospects.

“Maria DeLuca, she’s in your grade at West Roswell?”

Good lord, I’m being interrogated. What if this guy is an alien researcher? What if he does have a clue about me? Wouldn’t he want to know everything he possibly could?

Then again, what if he’s a new foster parent just fishing for a little info?

I’ve got to figure this out soon. Otherwise I’m gonna go insane.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “Look, we’re not really dating. We’re just… sort of… close.”

Close. Three nights ago I spent the night curled up in her bed. Granted, her mother chased me out with a newspaper the next morning, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s the one safe, sure thing to happen to me over the past week from hell.

“Aha,” Toby says. “Listen, Veronica and I were thinking we could all go out for dinner as a family. Once Annie and Nate finish their homework.”

“Oh,” is all I can say. “Okay. I guess.”

“Because, Michael,” Toby continues, sternly. “The Butlers are a family. I know you’re not used to that, but we do things as a family unit. And as long as you live here, you are a part of that family unit.”

The feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach is getting bigger. A family unit. A nosy, invasive, obnoxious family unit.

This is definitely not good for my situation. Definitely, definitely not good.

I already miss Hank.

Part 4

Toby leaves me alone to unpack, not that it takes long. I have clothes, I have books. I have a few school supplies. I have the healing stones. I glance around the room, wondering where I can hide them, and finally stash them on a ledge underneath the bed. Surely no one will find them there. I unfurl my rumpled Metallica poster, and lay it on the bed while I search for tape. I find it in the form of scotch tape in the desk. How weird is it to be in a house with real paint on the walls again? Whatever, I’m using the scotch tape. Within moments, Metallica is staring back at the Yankees.

There’s a kickass stereo sitting beside the desk. I check out the CD rack and see absolutely nothing worth noting. I hope they’re Veronica and Toby’s CD’s, and not Nate’s, cause if this kid listens to country music... we are going to have issues pretty quickly. Anyway, I intend to make good use of this equipment, and I do, momentarily.

The door bursts open, and the blond kid from the photo comes barreling through. He heaves a Jansport bookbag onto the bed, crosses his arms, and stares at me from across the room.

“You’re Michael?”

“Yeah,” I say, studying him back. “You’re Nate.”

For a moment, we size each other up. He’s a fairly preppy-looking kid. I can’t believe he’s in foster care. Maybe he’s not, nobody ever said he was a foster and not adopted or a real kid or something. No, his coloring is much lighter than Toby’s or Veronica’s. Maybe he’s adopted, though. I wonder how he’s sizing me up.

It’s times like this that I actually kind of like having a secret to keep. A part of me that nobody can guess from looking at me. I’m not the person he’s sizing me up as. I know that, and he never will.

“Welcome,” Nate says, though his voice doesn’t really sound like it. Oh, yeah, this situation is already gangbusters.

“Thanks,” I reply, also not meaning it.

He glances from the stereo to the wall and back again. I keep my eyes fixed on him, waiting silently.

“I gotta do my homework,” he says. His voice is icy. “Could you turn the music off?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, and switch it off. “Good luck with that homework.” I stride out of the bedroom, to investigate what’s become of Mr. Velasquez.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table, just packing up his briefcase. “Michael, do you want a snack?” Veronica asks me.

I’m really not hungry. This feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach is kind of taking the place of any need for food right now. “That’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I’m getting some crackers out for Annie, anyway.”

I turn back around to the living room. I had completely missed the fact that the Rosie O’Donnell show is on and Annie, a stumpy preteen with long dark hair, has taken up residence on the sofa.

“Hi, Annie,” I say carefully.

“Yeah, hi Michael,” she replies, about as interested as Nate.

There’s nothing else to do, and my own room is going to be boring as hell, so I sink into the sofa beside her.

“You like Rosie?” she asks.

“No.”

“That’s okay,” Annie says, rolling her eyes. “You’re not getting the remote, though. I get the TV.” Her voice is kind of hoarse, like she’s pushing it from the back of her throat. But the message is clear.

“Don’t you have homework to do?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.

“Did it on the bus. I just had two worksheets.”

Toby approaches from the kitchen. “No homework, Annie?” he asks, having overheard the tail end of that.

“It was easy,” Annie protests.

“They’re not challenging you enough?”

“Come on, Toby,” Annie says. “Just because I can do my homework fast.”

I have to admit this is kind of interesting to see. I don’t know much about Down Syndrome, but Annie seems a lot sharper than I would have expected. I kind of expected some cheery dumb girl. Annie seems, well, neither. Not dumb, and definitely not cheery.

“Maybe you and I should go over your worksheets together.”

“Check them if you want,” Annie says. “They’re in my bookbag. I’m watching Rosie with Michael.”

“Yeah, um, we’re watching Rosie,” I chime in, suddenly feeling motivated.

Toby sighs. “Okay, you two bond. Annie, I’ll let you know if there’s a problem with your worksheets.”

“There isn’t,” Annie whispers to me as Toby heads to her bedroom. I actually have to grin. I almost like this kid. Almost.

We watch the rest of Rosie and then some People’s Court until Nate’s finished his homework, Mr. Velasquez is gone, and Annie’s stomach starts to rumble.

“If we’re going out for food, I want hamburgers,” Annie says. "Let's go to the Crashdown." And my heart lurches.

I’m not sure whether to jump for joy or hide in dread. But I sure as hell am not going to say anything. Like reveal the fact that Maria works there. And is working the dinner shift. Oh, no. I keep my mouth shut as my mind races.

Toby emerges from the bedroom and makes a face. “I can’t stand that place,” he says. “So tacky.”

Annie, however, is bouncing in her seat. “Please?” she asks. “We never go to the Crashdown.” They never do. I would have seen them there. I’m there all the time. I wonder if they know that.

Nate, too, emerges from his room. “Yeah, please? That place is cool.”

Cool, he says. And I’m supposed to be the one from outer space?

“Nobody wants pizza?” Toby asks.

“Crashdown! Crashdown!” Annie chants.

“Well,” Toby says, “given that this dinner is in honor of Michael, maybe we should let him decide.”

Four pairs of eyes fall on me. I briefly ponder refusing, given that I’m not so sure I want Maria waiting on this family on my very first night here, but then that thought causes an image of her face to pop back into my mind, and the question is answered.

“Crashdown sounds good to me,” I say casually.

“Yeah!” Annie shrieks, jumping up in the air. Which is how, less than half an hour later, I find myself slouching into the Crashdown in the company of the Butler family.

The dinner rush is on, so the place is pretty packed. I glance around for Maria’s antennae, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Probably she’s in the back. Liz Parker hustles up to greet us. “Table for five?” she asks, counting bodies without even processing. I see the exact moment when she recognizes me and does a double-take. But she’s not sure whether to say anything or not. I shake my head subtly, and she leads us to a table near
the back. As I slip by her into the table, she shoots me a little smile. I stare back at her.

She passes menus around the table, laying mine down with a slow, pointed movement. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order,” she says, and busts into the back room as quickly as she’s capable of moving. It’s a few moments later that Maria comes charging out, antennae bobbing. She surveys the crowded scene, plainly ignores a woman gesturing for her attention, and storms to our table.

“Michael, hi,” she says as she crashes to a halt. Not subtle at all.

“Hey,” I say, suddenly not sure if this was a good idea. I glance at the Butlers. “Um, this is my friend Maria? This is, uh, Toby and Veronica Butler. Annie and Nate."

I glance over at Nate. And sure enough, he’s checking her out. Almost drooling. Bastard. We’re gonna have a talk later.

Then again, who wouldn’t check Maria out?

“Maria DeLuca?” Toby asks pointedly.

“Yes,” Maria says. I see her quickly connect that he’s the one I was talking to earlier when we were on the phone. “So, uh, Michael, if you’re here, how about if I just give you those Cliff Notes now?”

“That’d be great,” I say.

“Well, they’re in the back. Oh, want to come with me for a sec?” She points casually towards the break room.

Do I? I try to act casual. “Yeah, sure.” I glance at the Butlers. “I’ll be right back.”

“What if the waitress comes back?” Veronica asks. “Do you know what you want?”

“Yeah, well actually, I’m your waitress now,” Maria says with a nod. “I’ll get your order when we get back.”

Relieved, I follow her into the break room. I take a quick look around to make sure it’s empty before I grab her arm and roughly pull her toward me, planting my lips on hers. Yeah. That feels good. I needed that. After a brief hesitation, she kisses back, melting into me. Her hands take hold of my arms, pulling me close against her. She can’t resist. Good, so we’re officially back to the kissing thing. Or maybe that’s bad. I don’t know anymore. I officially give up. For now.

She tilts her head up to look at me as we break the kiss. “Mmm, that was nice. How are they?”

“Well, besides the fact that Nate’s a jerk-off, the rules are from hell and Toby’s a secret government agent, not too bad.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not. He won’t say what he does, other than it’s ‘top-secret’.”

“Like..?” Maria points up.

“Who knows? I don’t like it.”

“I don’t, either,” Maria says. “Have you told Max?”

“I haven’t seen Max yet.”

“He’s right out there,” Maria points out, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. I hadn’t even noticed. Amazing how well Max blends in. I somehow can’t seem to get the hang of that trick myself. He must have ditched Isabel for the mall after all. “Stalking Liz as usual. Any idea how you got matched with them as a foster home?”

I shrug. “Well, Valenti was involved, but I don’t know how much. I could ask
my caseworker.”

“But…?” Maria hears the doubt in my mind.

“But… I don’t want to stir anything up, you know?”

“Well, if he’s what you think he is, and Valenti had a say in it, something might already be stirred up.”

“Yes, I realize that.” Who is this girl to tell me things about my personal life? I’m the one who’s been dealing with it for ten years…

“Sor-ry,” she says, clearly not. I was a little too harsh.

“It’s just, the timing couldn’t be worse,” I say. “I mean, Nasedo’s out there, and Valenti’s gonna figure us out any day now. God, I should have just…”

“No,” she says firmly. “No, you shouldn’t have,” Maria says, finally pulling away. Then she has a second thought and leans back in, kissing again. I don’t mind her sudden burst of assertiveness, or the pure pleasure I’m getting from exploring her mouth, her lips, her tongue… I hear a low moan coming from somewhere in the room, and I realize it’s coming from Maria. I’m doing this to her. The thought causes my arms to snake around and pull her closer to me. “Go talk to Max, okay?”

“I don’t know if the jailer will let me.”

“Oh, jeez,” Maria says, pulling back a little studying my face. Hands still roaming. This is good. “It’s that bad?”

“I don’t want Max meeting these guys just yet. Would you, you know, drop him a line or something for me?”

Maria heaves a sigh. “The things I do for you people.”

I shoot her half a grin, it’s about all I can manage right now, plop one last affectionate kiss on her, and turn around to start back for the Butlers’ table. She’s already out the door, right ahead of me, when I remember.

“Shit! Maria, the Cliff Notes!” I yell at her, forgetting that half the restaurant, including the Butlers, can hear me. Maria, amused, doubles back, roots through her locker while I wait at the door, and finally produces them for me. Only now I’m ready to beat my head into the wall. Dammit.

I slide back into the booth, yellow-and-black striped packet in hand. Veronica is looking at me disapprovingly.

Nate nudges me. “Forgot the Cliff Notes?” he asks. I shoot him what I hope is a frightening stare, and it seems to work – he glances away, embarrassed.

Veronica opens her mouth, as if she’s going to say something about my language, or maybe my ulterior motive, but then she makes eye contact with me and closes her mouth. I glance away, scouring the restaurant for Max, and there he is – over at the front of the restaurant. I walked right by him. He’s looking back at me, hard, as Maria whispers something in his ear.

“So, Michael,” Toby says. “Come here often?”

Would they call me on it if I say no? “Yeah, I’m around here a lot.”

“I heard there was a shooting incident here back in September,” he says. “You hear anything about that?”

Yeah, I do. I saw the whole thing happen, and watched my best friend stupidly go up to the victim and heal her in front of a huge crowd of people, sparking a frenzy of controversy and risking our lives. “Naw,” I say. “I wasn’t here. Nobody was hurt, though.” Just as I say this, Liz breezes by our table, totally alive, with two baskets of fries, and I try my hardest not to shoot her any looks at all. No giveaways. I’m too worried that Toby is fishing here.

“It’s just that Roswell is so peaceful,” Veronica says. “For there to be gunfire, and downtown in a crowded restaurant… it just makes me nervous.”

I’m willing to bet that a lot of things make Veronica Butler nervous. Just a thought.

Maria finally approaches our table, order book in hand and pen poised. “You folks know what you want?”

As they all pipe forward with their orders, I turn around again and catch Max’s eye this time. He cocks an eyebrow at me, pointing to the Butlers. I roll my eyes, and he smiles a little bit.

“Hello? Sp- Guerin?” Maria asks. I turn around again. “What are you having?” I can’t believe she almost called me Spaceboy in front of Toby. We’re gonna have to have a long talk. Maybe with some tonguing involved. I can’t believe I’m still thinking like this. “Never mind, I’ll just get you a Will Smith burger.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I say.

Maria nods, bites her lip to keep from saying anything else inappropriate, or at least I hope, and turns to the kitchen to go put our order in.

“Hey, Michael, do you believe in aliens?” Annie asks hopefully.

I start to say no, but then catch her excited glance. “Maybe,” I say. “What do you think?”

“I think they’re out there,” she says in a low tone. Now I’m the one biting my lip.

“There’s no scientific evidence,” Nate says, condescending. Just his tone of voice
pisses me off.

“Oh yeah, sherlock?” I say, turning to him. “So what do you think happened in 1947?”

“Weather balloon,” he says matter-of-factly. Yeah, he would.

“Yeah? And Toby, what do you think?” I ask him.

He stares at me, and with one look my fears are heightened. “There’s no such thing as aliens,” he says.

“Kind of an unpopular thing to say in this joint,” I say.

“This place is such a tourist trap,” Veronica notes disapprovingly, looking around. “Your poor girlfriend, Michael, having to wear those ridiculous costumes.”

“They’re not my… she’s not my girlfriend,” I say.

“Only ‘sort of’, right, Michael?” Toby prods.

This is stupid. “Never mind.”

“Does she believe in aliens?” Annie pops up, pointing to Maria who’s rushing back through with two trays of food.

She sure does now. “I guess.”

“So, Nate,” Veronica says, raising her voice. I guess she senses the tension. Forget the fact that she caused most of it. “How was school today?”

As Nate launches into a reluctant monologue about Algebra II, I glance back at Max again. He’s working on a milkshake and has homework spread out over his booth. He catches me looking again and shakes his head at me sadly. I scratch my nose deliberately with my middle finger, which cracks him up. Yeah, he gets it. Max isn’t as innocent as I sometimes try to convince myself he is. I have to grin back.

I should be sitting over there with him, not here with these freaks. Well, three freaks and Annie, who seems like the only good apple in the bunch. I should be sitting with Max, whispering in low tones about alien conspiracies, bitching about Isabel, and flirting with the waitresses. Downing Tabasco sauce and cherry coke. Instead, Max is alone for the dinner rush, while I’m somewhere nearing the third circle of Hell.

Maria arrives shortly with our food, giving me a sly wink as she sets the burger and coke in front of me. I reach for the burger, and it’s halfway to my mouth before Nate slaps it down.

“We have to say grace,” he hisses.

Say grace? I’m in a family that says grace?

God help me.

I realize a moment later, however, that perhaps there is a God. As I finally do bite into the burger, following grace, I’m struck by an overwhelmingly delicious taste. It’s spicy and strong. Horseradish. And Tabasco. And a hint of sweet onion. I immediately reach for the coke, only to discover that it, too has been spiked with Tabasco.

I glance over at Maria, who’s chatting with Liz at the waitress station. As though she can sense me looking, she turns around and winks yet again. I flash her a grateful smile. I’ll have to make up for that later. I’ll think of a way.

I’m not alone in this. I’m alone, but my friends are here.

As far as first dinners with new foster families go, this one seems to be just dandy.

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