Battlefield (10 page)

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Within an hour, the four were all at Ikea.

“Alan, stop playing with the buttons. You gotta leave them closed,” JD said and pulled the man's hands away from the red shirt Orlando had provided for him. It was a little small across his chest, but it worked well enough. Alan was obviously uncomfortable though.

“Your home is so warm. How can you wear clothing like this constantly, and then more on top?” Alan mumbled.

“It's cooler outside than it is in here,” JD said. He watched the alien stare with wide eyes as the group rode up the escalator towards the viewing room. “You okay?”

“Yes, your technology is intriguing. What is this store for?” he said as he peered over the handrailing at the floor below them.

“Things for your house,” Orlando said from behind. He returned his attention to Cadence as they took notes on what they would need to buy. “For now we can put one of the air mattresses there for him, but I was thinking we could turn our HQ into not only an informational base, but also a place where we can crash and not have people asking questions. I don't know about you, but if I came home with so much as a scratch on me, I would get grilled.”

“Grilled? Why would you be grilled? I did not think that cannibalism was a highly favored practice here.” Alan asked.

Orlando shot JD a glare and then went back to talking to Cadence, now lowering his voice so neither of the other two could eavesdrop.

JD sighed. “'Being grilled' is another slang term we use sometimes. You guys have slang where you're from, right? Words you use that have more than one meaning, or can be used in different contexts that don't apply to the actual definition?” Alan nodded. “Okay, good. If something sounds weird like that again, it's probably just slang.”

“Yes, of course.” Alan blushed, and for the first time JD could actually tell it was possible. Alan's skin tone was not quite as red as it normally was. It was actually a soft tan with only a slight red tint to it. “You are staring?”

“You look so normal. The red thing you do, is that like, your war paint?” JD asked.

“For simplicity's sake, yes.”

“Cool, so from what I'm getting, we're going to be making some kind of an apartment for you.”

“All of us,” Orlando said before returning to his conversation with Cadence.

“Whatever. So do you have a specific kind of decor you're going for?” JD rolled his eyes.

“That's what we're discussing,” Cadence chimed in. “We're trying to figure out what we need now, and what we will need eventually.”

“We've decided on a microwave, a refrigerator, and some basic furniture,” Orlando added.

JD sighed. “Thanks for including us.” He glanced over at Alan, but the alien didn't seem to care. He was far too busy inspecting the different styles of shelves and tables on display. Cadence smiled at him, and that lifted his spirits some, but he wasn't liking the precedence being set in the group.

“We mostly need you to help lift with your big manly arms. We can all sit down and discuss colors and patterns when we get back if you really want to be that involved.” She was buttering him up. He wasn't sure how much he liked it.

“And I don't know why you would. Hey, Alan, you wanna see something nifty?” Orlando said and moved on ahead so he could look at the appliances. Alan followed, and Cadence motioned for JD to sit with her on one of the couches.

“I didn't mean to leave you out. Test these out with me?”

He took a seat next to her, and even dared to be close. “My butt is an expert couch finder.”

“I've noticed this before in the past, not that I'm thinking about your butt. I've been trying to think of how to deal with this.”

“Deal with what?” He glanced her way. What was 'this'? Was 'this' them, and the ever-present attraction they had for one another that he was sure was so obvious, or was 'this' business? He watched her, trying to get a read on what exactly she was hinting at, but came up dry. Ever since Cadence gained her newfound ability of knowledge, she was becoming increasingly harder to figure out. She didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve as much as she used to, and it disappointed him. He had always liked that best about her.

She met his eyes and shrugged. “You. I've been trying to think of how to deal with you, and how you sort of lack a—.” She shifted in her seat. She didn't finish the sentence and instead only looked at him. “I know it's not something that's easy on you. I want you to know you're important in this whole thing, important to me.”

“Aw, shucks, Cadence. Call it Orlando rubbing off on me, but is there a reason you're giving me this ego boosting speech?” JD smirked.

“I know you've always wanted it.”

“Like you said, I'm a late bloomer. I'm sure we'll find plenty to keep me busy with until I flourish, so to speak.”

“How do you feel about educating Alan since he's kind of clueless?”

“I think I can do that. You were right by the way; Orlando doesn't get anything.”

“Right. You know he would have too much fun messing with Alan's head.”

“It's pretty tempting. I'm not gonna lie.”

She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I don't want things to change. Maybe that's your job?”

Cadence did her best to hide it, but he could tell she was scared. Her body was so tense, and he was positive that if they hadn't been in public, she would have broken down under his gaze. She was trusting him with a task, to be her rock, and he was more than okay with doing everything he could.

That was when Orlando coughed loudly from in front of them. JD stared up at him with a large dopey grin.

Orlando rolled his eyes. “I've picked out a microwave and mini-fridge for now. Something tells me you two still have a bit of testing to do for the couch.”

 

Most of Orlando's free time was spent in what was now being called ‘The Apartment'. Sometimes, it was HQ, and on occasion JD was still known to call it the bat cave. The Apartment was a much more safe term to use though. If he was talking about it on the phone with one of the others, he could mention it without Lyssa giving him a strange look if she happened to be nearby. She was getting nosey because he had friends. A term he used loosely, but it was slowly becoming a much more solid reality. He could at least say he was friends with Cadence. Alan was still irritating, but tolerable. The more the man learned of their culture, the more he seemed to adapt to it and not stick out like a sore thumb. JD was JD.

They were now at week three since Alan fell from the sky. They'd been working on The Apartment for one of those. The top floor, or what was commonly called the attic, was cleaned of all spiders and dust bunnies. Things were constantly being moved around and stored up there. The bathrooms were the next rooms to be cleaned out, and all the amenities were functioning properly again. JD insisted on making sure the Jacuzzi bath worked and proceeded to test it every time he came over—with his swim trunks on, thankfully. Now everything was dusted and vacuumed. All that was left to do was assemble the furniture, install the rest of the appliances and equipment, and paint.

Orlando was doing most of the painting. Every day after school, or at odd hours of the night, he'd sneak over and do a wall or two. It was therapeutic for him. So much so, in fact, that he briefly considered taking it up as a hobby until he realized he wasn't artistic. What he did like was the constant, solid movement of the paintbrush going up and down, and the way it felt on his skin. There was a sense of accomplishment involved as well, and it gave him a chance to collect his thoughts.

He was pretty sure Tait had asked him out earlier today.

He'd been heading to lunch, talking about some sort of assignment with another student. He wasn't the best with names, but he was pretty sure her name was Kayle. She was a nice enough girl, but so shy he found himself waiting for her to spit out whatever it was she was trying to say far too often.

“Well, I don't know if you'd—well, maybe we could—and there's coffee at—” Kayle stammered as she got into the line for the hot lunch of the day. Orlando followed her to be polite, but he wasn't particularly in the mood for fish sticks and tater-tots. He'd stay until the line was no longer out the door.

He tapped his chin while he listened to her. “Are you saying you want to get together to work on this?”

She nodded.

“I suppose if you need that much help, I can donate an hour of my sleep time to come in early and meet you in the library.” He gave her a weak smile, and couldn't help but be mildly amused at the way she started to stumble her way through an apology. It shouldn't have been funny, but he couldn't help but think that the fact he was intimidating was hilarious.

That was when Tait had joined them in the line. She looked at Orlando, then Kayle, and then back at Orlando and raised an eyebrow.

His attention immediately went to her. “We're doing this thing called having a conversation. It's where two people stand and talk to each other.” Kayle hunched up and rubbed at her arms.

“I wanted to talk to you, and I was trying to decide if it would be okay if I interrupted, or if you were talking about something important. I didn't want to be rude,” Tait said with a shrug.

“Staring is pretty rude.” He started to fidget, and he didn't understand why. Being a hypocrite, he also stared at her. But if she didn't wear those short, tight shirts that just barely covered her midriff, and those jeans that hugged her curves so well, he'd probably have an easier time at keeping his eyes elsewhere.

“I just got here. I wasn't staring.”

“Fine, a small detail I guess. Anyway, you weren't interrupting anything important, unless you think that marketing is the end-all-be-all of the universe.”

“Not really.” She paused. “Two weeks is the Sadie Hawkins dance.”

“In my khaki pants?”

“Nothing better.”

“Oh, oh, oh.” He couldn't help it. The opportunity for the song reference was too easy to take.

She giggled and blushed. He glanced over at Kayle, who was now busy blending in with the rest of the world by standing and playing with her cellphone.

Tait ran a hand through her hair. “So the girls ask the guys.”

“Surprised...” And he was if this conversation was going in the direction he thought it was. Speechless was another, and he stared at her with his mouth hung open.

“You are?” She continued to play with her hair. “Well, it was just an idea.”

“I'm confused. Is this your roundabout way of asking me to go with you?” he said, finally getting his brain rebooted to the point where he could reply somewhat normally.

“Peyton thought—”

“Oh, I would think you'd have at least ten other guys on your list before me to take.” She could probably get any guy she wanted to go with her. Everyone liked her, it seemed.

“I don't make lists of boys. What I was going to say is Peyton thought it'd be fun if we doubled with him and his girlfriend, maybe get a third. I figured I'd ask you because despite your inability to make nice, you're actually pretty cool. You're new. I thought it could be fun, and I thought you might leap at the chance to get out of your house for a change since you won't be grounded.”

There were a lot of things passing through his mind as to how to respond to that. Of all the witty things he did think up, he couldn't bring himself to say any of them. Instead, he opted for something simpler.

“I'll think about it.”

“If you don't want to go—”

“I didn't say that. I just said I'll think about it.”

“Gotta work it into your busy schedule?” she asked, heavy with sarcasm.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. “If you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly Mr. Social Butterfly. You got me out to a football game, two actually. I want to think about it. Is that okay? Or do you need me to say yes now because you don't want me to crush your precious girly ego?”

“I can wait, but only if you're really going to think about it.”

“I am.” He briefly met her eyes with his own, and then left the lunch line. That was the last thing he said to her for the rest of the day.

And he did have a lot to think about. Logically speaking, he wasn't sure if he could save the world and go on a date. They may have only been in the training stages, as Alan liked to put it, but it was made clear that a lot was expected of them in terms of how much assistance they would be giving.

Orlando wasn't sure if Alan understood that in America, the youth were expected to devote their lives to school and staying out of trouble. Normal teenagers had curfew, homework, tests, jobs, families, and other relationships. He didn't want to be normal, but even he had a lot of those same things to deal with, too. Just thinking about it all made him feel overwhelmed, and he was never one to do anything halfway.

He finished painting the wall and started to clean up, using his telekinesis to help out. It was good practice for him. He was getting better at multitasking and being able to focus on using his ability as well as thinking about other things. Surveying his work, he nodded in approval as he listened to the brushes being rinsed off in the sink. He had done more than enough for the day. Lyssa would be expecting him for dinner soon, and he wanted to be somewhat presentable for her. He took a shower in The Apartment, before putting on the clothes he had worn to school earlier.

“Orly?” His sister was calling for him via the intercom. Upon exiting the secret corridor, he found the nearest speaker and pressed the call button.

“Yes?”

“Where are you? I've been calling you for the past ten minutes.”

“Downstairs, I'll be right up. I was showering.”

“Downstairs?”

“Yes.”

“There's a shower down there?”

“Yes.” He wasn't sure about that one, but he doubted she'd check. There was space for guestrooms, so it was a plausible idea.

“Why were you downstairs doing that?”

He sighed. “Mine is busted. Do you want me to come up there, or should we just talk through a button? You could have just called me or texted me or something. I do have a cellphone.”

“Come up. I'm in the kitchen.”

He found a door leading to a hidden passageway going directly to the closet next to the kitchen. When he walked out, he noticed her staring at him.

“What? It's fun. I do have fun sometimes,” he said.

“Boys are weird,” she mumbled. “Sit down, I made pasta. We need to talk.”

Orlando took a bowl of the spaghetti and meatballs, a slice of garlic bread, and a large glass of milk to his place at the table. “All right, talk to me.”

“Why is there a bill for roughly five thousand dollars to Ikea on the credit card? Not to mention another bill for Home Depot that's about three hundred?” she asked him so casually that it was hard to tell if she was furious, or if she didn't care. He was preparing himself for the former.

“I'm making a man cave,” he said before taking a bite. He wondered how he learned how to be such a good liar when he and she had never kept secrets before. Then again, he didn't see it as a lie. Was omission still considered lying?

“I decided to make my own space, so when I have friends over we can stay out of your way. There's kitchen space and everything. They're coming by to deliver the appliances and install them while you're at work. I promise they'll be gone by the time you get done. I know how you feel about the big mess,” he continued.

That was at least most of the truth. He knew she would ask to see it, so he ordered double the appliances, and double the furniture. He waited to see how she would react.

“What's wrong with our kitchen? What's wrong with our living room?” she asked.

He sighed. “I was thinking about you dating. I want you to feel like you can bring your,” he swallowed, “boyfriend over here and not have to worry about me invading on you two. Besides, it's a guy thing. We need our own territory, and the living room is full of girl.”

“You'd be okay if I brought Jon over?” The smile she gave him made it all worthwhile. The guy made her genuinely happy, and Orlando would have to suck it up and meet him eventually. He might as well make things easier.

“So long as you keep it to places where I can conveniently walk in every so often and not find you two in the throes of passion. Because I do not need to see that. There would not be enough brain bleach in the world to make it better.” He took a drink.

“We're nowhere near there. We aren't even boyfriend/girlfriend yet. You're sidetracking me from being mad at you.”

“So, you are mad? All right, I should have asked first if it was okay.”

“Yes, you should have. That's a lot of money. Are you remodeling down there or something?”

“Kind of?”

She set her fork down with a lot of force, and it made a loud, dull, clanking noise, and it was the only sound resonating in the room for a minute or two. A minute or two that felt a lot like five.

“I will show you when I'm done, and you'll see how cool it is. It's going to be worth it.”

“And I'm guessing you're going to need some cool electronic stuff for your man cave?”

“Of course.”

She sighed and stirred at her spaghetti. “I'm guessing a new TV or two, some video game thing?”

“TVs, probably, maybe a surround sound system, some lighting effects, maybe a couple of computers so we can have effective LAN parties.” He smiled, trying to be encouraging and maybe even get her excited about the idea. “I don't know yet if I'm going to get another gaming system or two. Probably, so we can have some hardcore multiplayer games going on. I'm not moving the one in my room though. I like being able to play my games while in bed.”

“That's a lot of money.”

“It'll be worth it. For both of us.”

“I still wish you would have asked, so we could discuss the budget before you started going and doing whatever you wanted. I mean, I know we have unlimited funding, but that doesn't mean you can do anything you want.”

“When have I ever gone off and spent a ton of money like this before? I hardly ever go and buy anything for myself, save for a new game every couple of months. I could be buying a new car, or girls, or meth. Or fly myself over to China or some other country every other weekend with ten of my friends.”

“You don't have ten friends.”

“I could now, or a girlfriend.”

“You have a girlfriend?” Lyssa's jaw dropped.

“We're in negotiations still.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “The point is, this is the first time I've been irresponsible with our money, and I'm investing in something that isn't completely asinine. Dad would be all for it.”

Again, it was quiet for a long time. He could almost see the gears turning in her head as she thought.

“I won't punish you, but if you ever do this again, I'm going to take all your cards away and cut them up. Then I'll make you get a job as a busboy or a barista or something, so that the only fun money you'll see again comes in the form of a tip. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“And I'm limiting your electronics budget to two thousand.”

“That's barely enough for a decent TV. Give me ten thousand and we can call it an early birthday present from Mom and Dad.”

“You just had a birthday.”

“Fine, make it a late one. All they got me were clothes that don't fit me and an empty promise that they'll come back home soon so we can ‘do something fun'. This is me doing something fun. Please?” He stared at her from across the table with wide hopeful eyes.