Page 17 of Rizzed Up By My Alien Neighbor
I press thumb to marker. “Thermal marker—cold to sense heat, yes.” Then I stiffen. “Not weapons.”
She stares. “So... no exploding?”
“No explosions.” My voice is heavier than I intend. I don’t want her to recoil, but this human concept of bombs is less scary, more curious.
She stands back, thinking. I can almost hear the gears turning behind her eyebrows. Then she levels a serious look at me. “You’re weird. Like weird-weird.”
I swallow. “Alien-weird?”
She smirks. “Duh.”
A long moment passes. We regard each other, warrior code versus curious child. And in that pause, my chest tightens. On Vakut, kids never got close enough to ask questions—least notthisclose. Weapons, drills, discipline. Detached protocols. But this girl isn’t an orphaned recruit. She’s just… human. Unfiltered.
“What are you…?” she says, stepping closer again. She crouches, pokes a marker. “What do they look like from underneath?”
The soil shifts beneath her touch. Brown like burned coffee grounds. She smears dirt on her fingertips, sniffs it. “Earth smells like hollow chocolate and old trees.”
I nod. Closing my eyes, I inhale deep—the scent of sun-baked clay, crushed leaves, diesel from the road over the hill. “Yes.”
She smiles at me. I realize halfway that she’s writing notes in the little notebook clutched to her chest. Bullet points:Thermal markers do not explode. Possibly weather sensors. Aliens use lower voice tone.Her lips are pursed just-so as she concentrates. It’s unsettling in a way that makes me think.
“Do you want…” I pause. “Do you want to help?”
Her head snaps up. Eyes bright. “Really?”
“Really. Until I finish mapping.” My back aches. My arm aches. Everything aches—but this? This... collaboration feels like a barometer of fate.
Her grin is so sudden and contagious I think I might have learned how to smile again. “Yes.”
I stand slowly, dusting off my hands. She watches, serious now, until I lean down and retrieve the final marker. I hand it to her.
“Try it.”
Her fingers curl around it like she’s holding a tiny baton. She smiles again—more natural. I can’t quite decipher the shade of pride in her face, but it’s there.
Not normal. Not predictable.
But… trustable enough.
She appears again before dusk, a blur of sneakers and sass darting between my yard and hers like a reconnaissance drone that’s lost respect for airspace sovereignty. I’m trying to re-calibrate one of the sensor beacons—the ones she now calls “non-lethal neighborhood mood detectors”—but my hands are shaking, and her presence doesn’t help.
“Hey!” Sammy’s voice slices through the quiet like a laser pulse. “Do you glow in the dark?”
I blink. “What?”
“It’s a valid question,” she says, beaming. She’s holding a flashlight in one hand and a peanut butter sandwich in the other. “Power’s out. Figured I’d do a scientific check.”
I grit my teeth. “I do not glow.”
“Hmm. Not even a little? Not like, alien bioluminescence or secret emergency glowy patches?”
“No.”
She lifts the flashlight, shines it directly into my face.
“Stop that.”
“I had to confirm.”
