“That’s not what it feels like.”
He sighs. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake with you, keeping you so isolated. If that’s the case, I’m sorry. I guess I forgot what it’s like to be young.”
Sandor rubs his beard, searching for words.
“I’ve had some, uh, friends since we’ve been on Earth.”
“Friends.” I snort. “Is that what those girls are?”
“Whatever,” Sandor says with a nervous cough before elbowing me. “The humans can be a welcome distraction, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I don’t need a distraction,” I say sarcastically and kick the drone. “I have video games. And toy robots.”
“That’s not the point,” Sandor continues. “Distraction, that’s the wrong word. They can be a reminder too. A reminder that what we’re doing, why we’re here and fighting, that it’s worth something. We can have lives, Nine. When we win this war—and we will win—you can be Stanley, for real. Or someone else, even. You can be whoever you want.”
My eyes sweep across the city. Out there, somewhere, are the Mogadorians. Even if the one from the lakefront was the only one in Chicago, there are others. Hunting me.
“You can’t escape what you are, but you also should know what you could be. Why you’re fighting.”
Also out there, probably doing homework in her parents’ apartment, is Maddy. I’d much rather think about her than the Mogs.
“Call her,” Sandor says. “Be Stanley, even if it’s only for a little while.”
I glance over at him. I can see how hard he’s trying to reach me. I want to believe that he’s right.
“Thanks, Sandor.”
He pats me hard on the back. “Just don’t screw it up.”
Later, I sit on my bed with the door closed, holding the phone. This time I don’t bother rehearsing—not after how badly that went for me last time. I just take a few deep breaths and dial Maddy’s number.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hi,” I say, trying out the words. “It’s Stanley.”
There’s a sigh of relief on the other end. Maybe she’s been thinking about this moment too, hoping I would call.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call,” she says. I can almost hear the smile in her voice and I instantly feel better.
Chapter Twelve
Maddy picks the planetarium for what Sandor has annoyingly started to call our “first date.”
I try to downplay it to him, explaining to him that Maddy and I are just hanging out, but he can tell how excited I am and that only encourages his teasing. The couple days before the date are filled with equal parts training and unsolicited girl advice.
“Tell her how pretty she looks.”
I stop a heavy bag from careening into me with my telekinesis.
“Ask her questions about herself.”
I duck under a swarm of projectiles.
“Make sure you look interested in what she’s saying, even if you’re not.”
I pivot around a drone, hitting it with a backhand swipe of my pipe-staff.
“Are you listening to me?”
I wipe sweat from my face and glare at Sandor. “Not really.”
“Good.” He claps his hands, powering down the Lecture Hall. “Then you’re ready.”
Maddy’s waiting for me outside the planetarium. Her smile is small and nervous as I approach. She’s wearing a light sweater and jeans, which makes me glad I didn’t take Sandor’s advice to dress up like we were going to the opera or something, opting instead for my usual hooded sweatshirt and jeans.
“I hope you don’t think this is nerdy,” she says as we buy tickets.
“No, not at all.”
Nerdy isn’t the word I’d choose. Ironic, maybe? I can’t explain to her how quaint I find the humans’ understanding of the known cosmos. I wonder if other aliens in hiding have had first dates at the planetarium. I doubt it.
“My dad used to take me to the planetarium all the time when I was a kid. I got pretty into it.”
As we take our seats in the domed auditorium and wait for the show to start, she tells me more about her family. Her father is some kind of renowned astronomer, her mother a professor of philosophy. They moved to Chicago so her mother could take a position at the university, but they still travel frequently, since her dad’s in high demand on the space-nerd lecture circuit. Maddy sounds sad when she talks about them, like they’re never around. Our situations are so different, yet somehow I feel like I know exactly where she’s coming from.
“I miss them,” she says, then waves her hands apologetically. “I mean, they’re not gone forever, but it’s like I hardly see them since we moved here.”
“Isn’t that weird? Being on your own?”
She shrugs. “It can be cool. No one to yell at me for staying up late on a school night.” She shoots me a playful glance. “Or to wonder why I’m bringing strange boys to the planetarium.”
I laugh, but I also wonder if she really thinks I’m strange. I hope not. I think I’m doing a pretty good job being regular Stanley.
“Ugh, I’m going on and on. I just unloaded all that on you and I don’t know anything about you.”
I’m disappointed that she’s done talking. Contrary to what Sandor thought, I didn’t have to feign interest. But now comes the part where I have to lie to her.
“What do you want to know?”
Maddy thinks this over. Around us, other people are taking seats. I notice that our shoulders are touching, sharing an armrest.
“Let’s start with where you go to school?”
I flash an embarrassed smile. “I’m homeschooled.”
She gives me a look that makes me think I might as well have told her I’m an alien from the planet Lorien. I remember the weird looks that the Mikes gave me at the rec center, like I was some kind of creepy shut-in. I could’ve come up with a cover story, I guess, but it feels better to tell her the truth.
“Huh,” she says, her eyebrow arched jokingly, “and here you seemed so normal.”
“It’s really not that weird,” I tell her. “My uncle, he, uh, keeps things interesting. Actually, maybe it is sort of weird, come to think of it. My uncle’s not exactly what you’d call normal.”
“So you live with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are your parents?”
I should have a convincing lie ready for that question. Sandor and I used to drill backstory when we were on the road, but it’s been a long time. Sandor would tell people that I was his nephew, and that he was taking me on a trip to show me the world, or so that my parents could have a second honeymoon, or that my parents would be joining us eventually. Sometimes he got closer to the truth, telling sympathetic diner waitresses that he was raising me after both my parents had died in an accident. That usually resulted in a bigger than normal slice of dessert. I want the Stanley that Maddy gets to know to be as close to the real me as possible.
“They died when I was young,” I tell her. “I never really knew them.”
“Oh,” she replies, clearly not sure what to say next.
Thankfully, the lights dim before the conversation gets any more depressing. We recline into our seats as the Milky Way comes alive above us.
A tinny recording begins describing the origin of the cosmos and running down the roster of planets in relation to Earth. I’m not listening. Lounging in the near darkness with Maddy is pretty much all my brain is capable of processing. I want to remember these details. Her hair smells like vanilla, or coconut, or some other girly thing. Whatever it is, it’s great. I concentrate on the space on the arm rest where our shoulders meet, imagining that her every shift in position is some coded message for me.
I glance over at her. Maddy notices and gives me a quick smile, her face bathed in whites and pale blues of the light presentation overhead. I’d spend the rest of this boring lecture staring at her if that wouldn’t make think I was a freak. Instead, I tune out the planetarium soundtrack and listen to her. Her breathing is slow and steady, but using my enhanced hearing I can tell her heart is pounding.
Or wait. Maybe that’s my heart.
I close my eyes and spend the rest of the show like that. Afterward, the planetarium stays dimmed, the stars still on display. The rest of the people begin filing out while we stay in our seats. Eventually it’s just the two of us and the stars.
Maddy leans close to me and begins to whisper, even though we’re alone. She tells me about constellations that weren’t covered in the recording, guiding my eyes from Orion’s Belt to Aquarius. She laughs softly and corrects me when I mistake the tail of Pisces for one of Pegasus’s legs. I already know everything that she’s telling me, but it’s all so much more interesting with her narrating.
At some point, without even realizing I’m doing it, I take her hand.
It’s only for a moment. Her hand is warm and a little damp from sweat. She quickly slips away and stands up.
“I’m sorry,” I start, realizing I overdid it, “I mean—I didn’t mean . . .”
“It’s okay,” she says, shaking her head, looking flustered but not mad or weirded out. “Come on. You can walk me home.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sandor isn’t in the penthouse when I get home, which gives me a couple hours of alone time to endlessly replay in my head what I’ve started thinking of as the hand-holding incident. I don’t think I even put this much thought into suckering in that Mog. Did I misread Maddy’s interest? When Sandor comes home with a soggy bag of takeout, he doesn’t even ask me about my date. Instead, he wants to talk about his day prowling the city.
“I drove all over the city with this thing,” he says, holding up his heavy-duty version of my iMog. “Nothing. Not a single blip. If that Mog had any friends looking for him, they’ve moved on. I think we’re in the clear.”
“That’s great,” I reply distractedly.
“To hiding in plain sight,” he toasts, raising a freshly mixed drink.
Over burgers, Sandor finally gets around to asking about Maddy. I tell him everything, not leaving out a single detail, even trying to recreate Maddy’s body language for him. For the first time since we’ve been in Chicago, I feel like I could really use my Cêpan’s guidance.
“Huh,” he says when I finish.
“‘Huh.’ That’s it?”
He shrugs. “Women are mysterious creatures.” As he says this, he gives me a strange look, half smirking and half apprehensive, like I’m some kind of weird animal he’s afraid will bite him.
“What?” I ask.
“I just can’t remember the last time you talked this much. It’s nice.”
I wave him away. “You’re no help.”
Just then, my back pocket vibrates.
Immediately, my heart is in my throat. My iMog is signaling a warning. I practically tear the device out of my pocket, staring down at the screen.
