I meet Sarah in the parking lot after the last bell on the Friday of our first week in Helena. She waits for me at my truck. It’s kind of gray outside, and she’s got on a plaid sweater that makes her eyes look like they’re practically glowing blue. She looks gorgeous.
She always does.
Sarah Hart was—is—the love of my life. Even after she dropped cheerleading and came back to school as some kind of emo hipster who suddenly didn’t want to be dating the star QB. Even after she dumped me and started sorta dating an alien.
I smile at her as I approach, all teeth. It’s a reflex. I can’t help it. She smiles too but not as wide as I’d like.
Even with the “You are Mark James” mantra in my head all day, sometimes I don’t feel like me at all. Instead of being the cool, put-together guy I’ve always been, I start worrying about intergalactic war and if Mogs are watching me have breakfast. But even when I start to wonder if I should be building a bomb shelter out in the middle of the woods or something, part of me wants to stay planted in the world I knew before there was definite proof of aliens on Earth, where I’m just a dude who’s trying to win back his ex-girlfriend.
If this whole ordeal has had any bright side, it’s that I see a lot more of Sarah than I did before. I like to think that me saving John’s life impressed her, maybe even showed her that there’s more to me than she thought. Someday when this is all said and done, Sarah is going to come to her senses and realize that even if John is a good alien, he’s still freaking E.T. And I’ll be waiting, even if it means fighting off space invaders to keep her safe and show her I’m better than he is.
The waiting totally blows.
“You’re begging to get jumped, aren’t you?” she says as I get closer.
At first I’m confused, but then I realize she’s nodding at my chest, where my name is embroidered in gold over the heart on my Paradise High varsity letter jacket.
“What, this?” I ask, flexing a little and puffing out my chest. “I’m just repping our school. Trying to bring a little bit of Paradise to hell. That way we all feel like we’re at home.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You’re provoking them.”
“They’re the least of my problems these days.”
“Whatever,” she says. “Your truck still smells like orange soda.”
Once we’re in my truck, Sarah leans her head against the passenger window and exhales a long breath, as if she’s been holding it in all day. She looks tired. Beautiful but tired.
“I got a new name in bio today,” she says, her eyes closed.
“Oh yeah?”
“‘Sarah Bleeding Heart.’ I was trying to explain that John wasn’t a terrorist who was going to try to blow up the White House. Like, literally, someone said that they heard he was going to blow up the White House.”
“Now who’s the one asking for it?”
She opens her eyes just enough to glare at me.
“I feel like all I do now is defend him, but everyone else refuses to listen. And every time I try to say something about how they don’t know the whole story, I lose a friend. Did you know that Emily thinks he kidnapped Sam? And I can’t even tell her that it’s not true. All I can say is that John wouldn’t do that, and then she looks at me like I’m part of some big plot to destroy America or something. Or worse, some lovesick loser who’s in denial.”
“Well, you’ve still got me,” I say reassuringly. “And I try to defend John whenever I can. Though I don’t think I’ve been very good at it. All the guys on the team think he was able to kick our asses after the hayride because he was trained as a special agent from Russia or something.”
“Thanks, Mark,” Sarah says. “I know I can count on you. It’s just . . .”
She opens her eyes and looks out the window as we speed past a few empty fields, never finishing her sentence.
“Just what?” I ask, even though I know what’s coming. I can feel the blood in my veins start to pump a little faster.
“Nothing.”
“What, Sarah?” I ask.
“I just wish John was here.” She gives me a sad smile. “To defend himself.”
Of course, what she really means is that she wishes John was here because she misses him. That it’s killing her not to know where he is or what he’s doing. For a moment, I feel like my old self again as my hands tighten around the steering wheel. I want to find John Smith and punch him square in the jaw, then keep hitting him until my knuckles bleed. I want to go straight into a rant about how if he really loved her, he wouldn’t have left her here to get picked on and laughed at. He would have manned up. Even if he did leave to find other aliens like him to save our planet. If I were in his shoes, I’d have figured out a way to keep Sarah and the world safe. And happy.
I can’t believe these are the types of conversations I have with myself on a daily basis now.
Being super pissed at John just makes me sound like the Mark that Sarah broke up with. So instead of talking shit about him, I swallow my anger and change the subject.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s happened lately. How the FBI and stuff have been handling it. My dad says that it’s kind of weird how they’re keeping the local law enforcement in the dark. I mean, he’s the sheriff and they aren’t telling him anything about what’s going on.”