Flame (Fireborn) (6 page)

"We have a new
student joining your class today," he begins with a small smile.
He gestures to the people at the door. It's then I notice what appear
to be two secret servicemen, the assistant principal, and two other
official looking men. As if on cue, the two security men part and our
first alien student walks in.

Rhys.

Again, the dreamy sighs
I first heard when they landed are reenacted within milliseconds of
his arrival. It somehow sounds just as loud as before even though
only ten female students are in the room. Dr. Bingham seems a little
embarrassed by the sighs. His neck gets red, but he keeps his eyes on
us. Having the hots for an alien is still a novel idea for many
people on earth. I'm not even sure if it's physically possible to
do
anything about it.

Rhys's eyes seemed to
glow less in the light. In front of us, they just look abnormally
bright. If you scan past him briefly, you might not even notice it.
But it'd be impossible to pass over him quickly. His physical beauty
is too seductive to ignore, and even though I'm far away, I blush.
Biologically we're supposed to notice differences like disfigurement
or deformity, but the human eye notices something else too; it
notices perfection. Morning sunlight reveals a face that is perfectly
symmetrical. This is something no camera can capture; you have to
experience it to understand.

He's dressed in dark
jeans and a plain forest green shirt that contrasts the olive tones
in his skin. The clothes are simple and clean, but he wears them like
they've been made for him.

"This is Rhys, er,
Doe," Dr. Bingham continues. "Rhys Doe," he repeats
more forcefully. I nod in understanding. Like John Doe. Maybe aliens
don't have last names. I'm suddenly curious if I'm right.

"He will be here
for the rest of the semester with us. Please do your best to follow
the guidelines we sent home earlier this month," Dr. Bingham
reminds us. The "guidelines" he's referring to was a letter
of information detailing what we could discuss with our new
"planetary exchange students." The list included human
culture, language, foods, music, fashion, and media. It asked
students to defer from asking "deep, personal questions"
that could threaten national or Saguinox security.

"Welcome,"
Mr. Bernard greets in a forcefully cheerful voice. It's obvious he
has no idea how to handle the new events unfolding in the world, like
having an alien student, but he's willing to make the most of it.
Maybe that's why the national government chose Minnesota. Minnesota
nice extended to extraterrestrial creatures, too.

"Well, um, take a
seat." He gestures to the rows of empty chairs. His white hair
looks whiter next to Rhys' ebony colored head. "We were just
watching a very famous story called 'Romeo and Juliet'. It's, er, a
human story about love." Then he looks at Dr. Bingham as if he's
suddenly realized something. "Does he need an inter-?"Again,
Mr. Bernard stops, not wanting to embarrass his new student.

Immediately, Rhys
replies, "I don't need an interpreter. I am still learning your
language, but I have been studying it and your culture for many
years. If I need help, I know how to ask," Rhys replies. His
voice is smooth, syrupy, and holds a hint of an accent I can't place.
Well, duh,
I abruptly think to myself.
His accents from
outer space!

"Oh, great. Good,"
Mr. Bernard sounds relieved. "Well, welcome again, and take a
seat."

"If you need
anything, let us know," Dr. Bingham tells Rhys. "They,"
he gestures to the security, "will stay and-"

"That won't be
necessary," Rhys gives him a polite smile. "I'm sure they
have other things to do that will be more… beneficial. I think I
can take care of myself." His voice is low, but every person
including me, strains to hear his conversation. Maybe he notices
because his voice gets softer, and I can't hear anything from the
back. An older gentleman from the group at the entrance steps forward
to protest, but Rhys raises a commanding hand, and he stops.

That's when I notice
the air of authority around Rhys.

I straighten, observing
his stance, and the control in his body. He reminds me of an uncoiled
snake, low and disguised, but hiding something lethal. Rhys' head is
bent, but I notice his eyes scan his surroundings even as he listens
to Dr. Bingham. Our principal nods a few times as Rhys talks, then
looks up.

"All right then,"
he says in an irritated voice, stepping back from a conversation I
have no doubt Rhys dominated. "Have a good Monday." With
those parting words, Dr. Bingham leads the small group of people
away. When the door shuts there is an uncomfortable silence as we try
to absorb Rhys presence. The room feels too small, the air too tight
to hold a force like him. When he moves, we shrink back, not from
fear but from awe.

Someone clears her
throat. "Mr. Bernard?" Arianna raises her hand shyly. "Rhys
can sit by me if he wants," she offers. Mr. Bernard agrees,
happy for a course of action.

"Yes, why don't you do that,
Rhys?" He looks at Daniel. "Turn it on again. We'll be able
to finish today." Daniel presses the button and within a second
the Capulets are back on screen. This time everyone is awake. It has
everything to do with Rhys. Every person is aware of the smooth gait
of his body as he moves closer to Arianna. His movements are a
combination of fluid motions that are unnatural to observe. Rhys
smiles at Arianna, and any girl who sees it grins back, never mind
that it wasn't meant for them. He slides into the seat next to her
like it's something he's done before. The excited tension in the air
is so thick I can taste it in my throat. Insecure stares from the
boys. Secrets glances and giddy body language from the girls. It's
all mixing together like a heady aphrodisiac.

Come, Montague; for thou art early up,

To see thy son and heir more early down.

Empty desks surround me, but Rhys is
closest, sitting two rows ahead and to the right. I try to focus, but
my eyes wander to him, noticing the width of his shoulders, and the
way the material of his shirt stretches to accommodate his large
frame. His eyelashes are so thick I see the black color from where I
sit. I can’t stop devouring him with my eyes. When I realize I'm
acting like a creepy stalker, my hands literally force my head to
turn back to the screen. The prince is finishing the final scene.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings;

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;

I feel a tingling on the side of my
face, as if someone is staring. That's unusual. The seconds tick by,
and the feeling remains. Restlessness unfurls in my belly. I turn my
head.

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:

Glowing eyes meet my
mine head on. I gasp.

Rhys is looking at me.

His stare lingers for a second more,
then his eyelashes flutter down. The moment is broken, and it passes,
as if it'd never happened at all. But I know it was real. I can't
contain the sudden pounding in my heart.

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

I'm not invisible.

He's seen me.

When I leave Mr.
Bernard's class the hallway is crowded. School staff monitors traffic
flow in full force. A teacher is standing every few feet calling out
students, giving reminders, and trying as hard as the students not to
stare at the reporters, bodyguards and government officials that have
suddenly descended on Morrison High School.

Snap, snap, snap.

Everywhere I look
people are taking pictures. Some carry small cameras, and others are
pulling out their camera phones snapping pictures of things like the
chair Rhys had sat on and the pencil he'd left behind. Earlier a
bodyguard had come to get him five minutes before the dismissal bell
rang. We all pretended we hadn't noticed him leaving, but the second
he shut the door I heard a collective sigh like nervous tension being
released.

I walk to my locker to
exchange a book. Everywhere people are whispering and it sounds like
the chirping of birds. I hear Rhys's name, but I also hear another
name. Lenora. She's the other alien at our school. I overhear some
pompous jock joke overly loud about what other "parts" of
her might "glow".

I roll my eyes in
disgust.
Really?

Opening my locker, I
search for my calculus book.

Snap, snap, snap.

Are those sounds going
to be the only sounds I hear all day?

Snap, snap, snap.

Apparently so.

"Uhm." A
throat is cleared.

Snap, snap, snap.

Seriously, that
clicking's going to haunt me in my sleep!

"Please excuse
me." The voice has a strange accent to it.

I freeze.

"Please excuse me.
Would you mind helping me with my locker?" His voice is formal
and polite.

For a second I tell
myself Rhys isn't talking to me. How had he even seen me? When no one
answers him, I turn around.

Rhys is standing less
than a foot away. His broad shoulders fill my vision, but not enough
that I don't notice the half circle crowd that's suddenly gathered
around us. People are pretending not to stare, but I can feel their
curiosity.
Why is he talking to her?

It takes a few seconds,
but I manage an answer. "Sure. What do you need help with?"

He gestures to the
combination lock on the locker near mine. "I have the correct
numbers. I keep turning it, but nothing's happening."

"It can be kind of
a nuisance."

"New sense?"
He pronounces it slowly.

"Like annoying."

He smiles. "Yes,
it is."

He hands me a crumpled
piece of paper, and I take it. Our hands brush against each other. I
notice his skin is rough and hard. Leathery. Unable to stop myself, I
take a peek. His palms have calluses.

He notices my stare and
says, "We had a rough landing coming through your atmosphere."
I'd heard about that. Each move they've made since contacting Earth
four months earlier has been recorded and analyzed by every media
outlet in the world. Even the late night talk shows have joined in-
putting their own spin on stories, of course.

What do smart
blondes and UFO's have in common? You always hear about them but
never see them! Well folks, it looks like we'll be seeing our first
smart blonde today…

What do you call an
overweight Saguinox? An extra cholesterol!

When Jay Leno got wind
of their problems with landing, he'd said:
what do you call a
spaceship with a faulty air conditioning unit? Come on, what do you
think? A frying saucer!

It wasn't a faulty air
conditioner, but facts don't matter in entertainment.

"I did hear about
that. Apparently debris from your deflector got into the engine and
caught fire?"

He looks amused. "Our
deflector was fine. It's a lot less complicated than that. We
miscalculated the heat levels in the mesosphere, and one of our main
engines burned."

"Oh."

Snap.

We try to ignore it.

Turning my back to the
crowd, I clasp his lock, preparing to show him what to do. "Turn
it three times to the right then you stop at twenty three. Turn to
the left… and right again, stopping at nine."
Click!
It
opens. "You try it."

He walks closer until
his chest touches my shoulder. He puts his arms around and over my
body as if hiding me from the startled gazes of my peers. This close
I can smell his clean, musky scent. It smells like a combination of
mint, linen and wood. He fumbles with the lock, turning it the way I
demonstrated. I look ahead, my heart beating faster.

"It's not
working." He sounds a little embarrassed.

I take a peek at the
throng of people behind us. It's grown larger.

Rhys's bodyguard tries
to look inconspicuous, but it's hard to hide a six and half foot
frame. His body's a tall street light among smaller lampposts. His
eyes scan the group surrounding us, but remains where he is.

"Maybe you'll just
have to help me everyday," Rhys half jokes.

My breath catches in my
throat.

He sees something on my
face. Suddenly there's a mischievous glint in his eye. "Don't
look so scared. I'm not planning on
probing
you."

Whatever awkwardness is
between us breaks. I laugh. Letterman had done his top ten alien pick
up lines last week and number one was:
wanna get probed?

"Someone must've
shot you with a phaser set on 'stunning'," I quip back,
remembering number ten on the list.

"Are you a carbon
based model?"
Number eight.

Putting my hand over my
heart, I say, "Of all the planets in all the solar systems in
all the galaxies, you had to walk into mine…"

"How about a close
encounter with the pantless kind?"

Holding back a laugh I
say, "I know you're an alien because you've just abducted my
heart."

His eyes sparkle.

Am I flirting? It's
never happened before.

I can't stop smiling.
"Do you understand everything you're saying?"

"Not quite
everything," he admits, with a little laugh. "But according
to the T.V. audience that list was very funny."

Snap.

He moves closer to me
until he's all I see, hear or smell.

"We don't have
things like that back on Sangine," he continues. "We don't
laugh a lot."

It's a strange thing to
say. I want to respond, but I can't. I see Rhys's eyes with clarity.
At first they appear only golden, but on closer inspection they hold
odd shades of green and some grays too. The colors seem to shimmer
together, intermixing in some spots, and standing boldly in others.
Somehow when it all came together, it creates a single golden cloud
in each eye. Right now the clouds are shining, beckoning.