The Connected - Exiled Part 5

"We are," Venus said, pus.h.i.+ng down the urge to ask if Cheverly would be turning the clothes into coachmen.

"Sweet! So, you three know each other?" Cheverly asked, flicking the scanner in her hand from Zaren to Venus to Vinny and back to Zaren.

"I-I-" Venus began, but stopped. She'd let Zaren handle it. "Zaren?"

Venus watched Cheverly fidget. First tucking her empty hand into a tight, front pocket and then pus.h.i.+ng some loose hair behind an ear. Finally she must've realized she still had lots of clothes to ring up. Picking up a pink s.h.i.+rt, she scanned, folded, and placed it in a pile.

Vinny put a lopsided smirk on his face and said, "Zaren and I go way back." He pounded Zaren on the shoulder. "How ya been, buddy?"

Zaren smiled. "Vinny, huh? Interesting choice."

"I like it. Dervinias sounds so . . . foreign," Cheverly said as she continued swiping tags.

Venus couldn't help but wonder under what circ.u.mstances Zaren and Dervinias would've met. He didn't act like the sort of person Zaren would be friends with. Anything was possible though. She realized she didn't know all that much about Zaren outside of his constantly shadowing her every move as her guardian.

"If you say . . ." Zaren's jaw suddenly clenched. But he quickly relaxed it and grasped Vinny's inner arm with his right hand. Vinny did the same to Zaren-the Formytian handshake. "I wasn't sure if you'd received my, ah, communication or not."

Dervinias said, "Your communication came over loud and clear."

The exchange between the two kelarians had Venus intrigued. She'd seen Zaren with his fellow Formytians before. With Dervinias, he acted different, less a.s.sured. And Dervinias-he was an enigma.

Dervinias turned to face Venus, and for some reason, she stood taller. She had nothing to prove, but her upbringing demanded that she be a princess at all times.

"h.e.l.lo, Venus." His eyes raked her over, starting with her boots, going up her thighs, past her waist and b.r.e.a.s.t.s and finally stopping on her face. "Your eyes. Such an amazing shade of blue. I don't recall ever seeing such a color."

Cheverly chimed in. "I was going to comment about them earlier, but figured they were contacts."

"They are . . . contacts," Venus said to Dervinias first. Then found Cheverly's eyes and nodded. "Do you like them?"

"Oh yeah, they're awesome," she agreed.

It took a mountain of time to ring up all their clothes. Venus used the opportunity to check out the store, with its obscene amounts of clothes hanging on the walls and on racks everywhere. The clothing store wasn't nearly exciting enough to distract her from the strange Dervinias.

Every few seconds her gaze found the two kels. They seemed deep in conversation. Maybe they did know each other. Maybe he was a Formytian, like Zaren. If so, who was he protecting? He didn't look the type or act it either. Still, she had a plethora of questions for him.

Like: What was he doing on Earth? Was he an Explorer? A Discoverer? A Metals Detector? If he were on Earth, there had to be a reason.

It also intrigued her that he knew the girl, Cheverly. And that he went to a human high school. What could he gain from doing that? What were the benefits?

All questions she'd be sure to ask him when an obvious human-Cheverly-wasn't around.

As if Dervinias had read her mind, he turned and winked.

Humph! She looked away and sighed, moving closer to the counter. A small flame flickered inside a gla.s.s container. The jar held a thick, red substance, except at the top, it appeared liquid. A fruity smell found its way up her nose, and she realized it came from whatever the flame burned. Pretty, but potent. A combination of rosithia flowers and oraney, with a hint- "It's a blend of apples, cinnamon and vanilla," Cheverly said.

Venus c.o.c.ked her head, curious, not quite certain she understood. The fire had a scent?

Cheverly added, "That's the smell of the wax-the red stuff burning. Haven't you ever seen a scented candle before?" She pointed the wand toward the gla.s.s jar.

"Ohhhhh, sure. Of course I have." Venus nodded, irritated, and trying to cover for the fact that, no, she hadn't ever seen a scented candle before. She'd taken years and years of Earth Studies. It'd been one cla.s.s her parents insisted she continuously study. But her professors hadn't ever mentioned this candle contraption. Clearing her throat, she continued, "It smells good." As if to prove it, her stomach rumbled.

Cheverly giggled. "You should try a red velvet cupcake from next door. They're divine."

"Thanks, I might." She looked at Zaren, hoping to catch his eye, but he and Dervinias were still in a heated conversation.

"Zaren?"

He turned and opened his mouth, but Dervinias interrupted. "You and Zaren are going to stay with me. I insist."

Zaren closed his mouth, his lips tightening into a thin line. But he nodded.

"Great." Venus turned back toward the pile of clothes.

"Ah, Vinny, you're so sweet." Cheverly finished ringing up their clothes and started bagging them. When she was done, Zaren handed her a plastic card to pay for everything. Afterward, he handed a few bags to Dervinias. Venus took a couple and Zaren carried the rest. "All right, I believe we have everything. Thank you, Cheverly. We appreciate your help."

"Oh, sure," she said waving a hand, her cheeks coloring. She seemed smitten with the Formytian. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe."

"Thank you," Venus added as she walked toward the entrance.

"Oh, no problem." She waved and giggled.

"Later Chev, baby!" Vinny added as he opened the door.

"Laters."

Venus followed Zaren and Dervinias out of the store.

11. Blister In The Sun.

Michael groaned. It was the bottom of the fourth quarter and, once again, he was on his back, under a pile of sweating guys. No, he wasn't having a good time. He was p.i.s.sed off-in a great way. In a way that pumped him up, and made him push harder-allowed him to think. Put life into perspective. His mind easily focused during a game. When the opposing team breathed down his neck right before he threw the football. It was a battle. And he intended to win.

On the field, it didn't matter that his girlfriend had screwed around with another guy. Or that his mother wouldn't be winning any *Mom of the Year' awards.

Out here, amongst the sweat and the turf, what mattered was that his teammates were playing like c.r.a.p. They needed to suck it up and win this effing game. His freaking life depended on it. Podunk Cheyenne, Wyoming was sucking the life out of him. He needed out. There were a couple of scouts in the bleachers tonight. Impressing them meant a full-ride scholars.h.i.+p. He wanted to go anywhere that wasn't here.

With only twenty seconds left on the clock, the South High Bisons were down six points. Come h.e.l.l or high water, they were gonna score. The barrage of red and black from the opposing team quickly untangled themselves and moved off him.

A guy from the opposing team stuck out a hand. "Have fun under there, Hawke?"

"You're such a comedian." Michael ignored the jerk's hand and stood. Then, with his hands he made a T and called time out.

After talking to Coach Gann, he brought the guys into the huddle.

"All right, I've had about enough of winding up on my a.s.s. Davids, Porter, Reagan, do your jobs and protect me. Got it!" Michael pulled on Vinny's helmet. "Smith, go long. We're getting a touchdown. End of story." Smith nodded, sporting a huge smile, showing his gold mouth guard. "35 slot cross. Let's do it." They all stuck their hands into the center and yelled. "Go Bison."

Michael got into position, hollered the play, grabbed the ball, took his five steps back and waited for Smith to get down the field. The dude had always been faster than most, but the opposing players were after him quicker than expected.

Come on; hold em back.

Okay, he's there. Michael c.o.c.ked his arm back and threw. It flew perfectly. He watched the ball arc. Catch it. C'mon, catch it. He knew it'd hit Vinny in the numbers. All Vinny had to do was wrap his hands around the ball and run in for the touchdown.

He caught it. Michael took a quick breath before Vinny turned and ran. The dude was fast.

Touchdown!

"Yes," Michael shouted, as he watched Vinny do his stupid touchdown dance. Good job, ya jacka.s.s.

12. Little Red Corvette.

After the game a bunch of the team decided to meet up at The Village Inn for a post game celebration. The place had people filled to the rafters. Once they got their spots, Michael ordered. He didn't mind that the place smelled of greasy burgers and body odor. Because more importantly, the diner also reeked of a win, and against their biggest rivals, Central High.

"Hawke, man, that was an awesome throw," Davids said, pounding Michael on the back.

"Yeah, Mikey. I'm sure the scout from U of U saw and will be calling." Phillips tossed the football at him. "Is that where you wanna go?"

He shook his head. Truthfully, he wanted to go much further away. "Not sure."

He'd played okay, certainly not his best. Michael shouldn't have let yesterday's breakup with Cheverly or the fight with his mom get to him like he did. Stealing that bottle of bourbon and going drinking-not his best pre-game show. Then he'd met that chick and her boy toy . . . What sort of weirdness had the dude been wearing anyway?

He dodged around his feelings of ending it all. It hadn't been one of his brightest moments. When he'd returned home, he tucked the gun between the mattresses. Mostly he worked hard to forget about the voice that'd shouted inside his head. The word: Coward! He'd searched for someone, so sure an actual person had said the word. But no one else was around.

Now that some time had pa.s.sed, he wondered if he'd heard the word at all. He decided he didn't care. The whole morning had been bizarre and he wanted to forget about it.

After changing clothes, Michael had sucked it up and finished out the school day, a little tipsy. By the start of the first quarter of their game that night, he'd been sober-overly so. But that was for the best. He played well and his team won their game. Go Bisons. Blah. Blah. Blah . . .

"Hey, who's that with Vinny?" Phillips punched Michael on the arm, bringing him back to the noisy diner. He looked in the direction of Phillips finger and saw-her.

Venus.

"Kinda bony, but I'd do her." Phillips always knew how to get right to the crude.

Her soft lips pressed against his had tasted like warm apple cider. Even with mud in her hair, she'd been beautiful. And her angry, blue eyes. Amazing. The way she'd stood up to him-proud and furious. Those strange boots and her lack of clothing. Her frail hands slim, but firm.

"I'd stay away. She's a total hag," Michael said to the guys.

"What, you met her already?" Davids asked. "Figures." He and the other guys were still staring though. It was hard not to.

She radiated . . . what?

Beauty? Sure.

Vitality? Definitely!

Michael struggled to find the right word.

Perfection.

Even the light seemed brighter around her silhouette, like it'd been drawn to her essence and wanted to s.h.i.+ne its brightest, for her. As he watched, the disgust inside him grew. And the fact that she knew Vinny? That only added to his need to take Vinny down. Idle threats weren't his thing. He intended to punish Vinny, but he hadn't figured out how yet. As if he'd heard Michael, Vinny looked over. Anger flashed across his face, but quickly vanished. He nodded. Michael returned it. Davids, probably thinking Vinny nodded at him, waved back.

"Hey," he hollered.

Vinny leaned over and spoke to Venus. She grinned, which irritated Michael. Then she looked over. Those eyes. He almost turned away when she smiled-at him. Okay, in his general direction. He wasn't sure, but, to him, she appeared unhappy. The smile forced. Michael understood, if that were the case.

Regardless, the smile lit her entire face and took his breath away. He sucked in, lowering his eyes to his fisted hands, the knuckles white. What's wrong with me?

"Hey, Hawke, you want some?" Phillips sat next to Michael in their booth. He held a chrome flask of liquid courage in his hands. Michael took it and lowered his head, covering his face with his letterman jacket, throwing back a giant swig.

Feel the burn.

"Dude, save some for us."

Handing it back, Michael said, "Thanks." He snuck a glance back at Venus. She'd picked up a menu and appeared to be engrossed.

A waitress named Sarah dropped off his food, giving him a s.e.xy smile. He smiled back, glad for a momentary distraction. When she left, he put a large bite of burger in his mouth. Phillips offered him another drink. He helped himself to more and then some more.

By the time his food was gone and the flask emptied, Michael had a good buzz going.

"Party at AnnaBeth's tonight," Davids said, his words slurred. "You in?"

"You know it!" No way he wanted to give up his buzz. He wondered if Venus would be going, which irked him. He knew Vinny usually never missed a party. He couldn't help but give a quick glance in her direction again. This time, to his shocked dismay, Cheverly sat in the booth, next to Venus and across from the guy who'd been wearing those weird clothes. Though they'd split up, Chev sitting with Vinny annoyed him.

Chev peeked his way, her face sad. He watched her try to smile. Michael knew that look. Chev wanted to talk. He grinned back, which p.i.s.sed him off. He'd decided he hated her. Hated Venus. Hated everyone! "I'm outta here. See you at the party." Michael paid and bolted into the windy night.

It hadn't snowed yet, but it would any day now.

As he walked to his car, he heard light footfalls following. When he turned, there stood Cheverly, her midnight hair blowing everywhere.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

"We need to talk. Can I drive?" The words came out tentative, but he knew she wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd been drinking, and Michael knew she didn't like it. Chev never partic.i.p.ated. It'd been an attribute he secretly admired about her, even though everyone else called her a prude.

"You know I won't let anyone drive Red but me." Most of the anger had fizzled out of him. Michael figured he should let Chev drive. Red was his baby. A 1968 completely restored Corvette. He adored his car-bathed her, rubbed her down, glossed her, changed her-you name it, he did it.

"Don't be a donkey-b.u.t.t. You're drunk. You want her wrecked?"

"Fine," he grumbled and tossed Chev the keys. The alcohol had smoothed the edges and he wasn't in the mood to argue.