Page 22 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

Jeneticist: We haven’t heard from Seeker yet. Are you abstaining?

Seeker: No, I was trying to decide. And I think it’s the song my mother wrote, celebrating the occasion of my birth.

Jeneticist: I’d love to hear it.

Seeker: Perhaps one day.

SquidHead: This has been great, but I’m starving.

Stargazer: Me too! Talk to y’all later.

JazzyPlum: Take care!

9

Jennette

Ugh.

Colin McFarland might have played one of the sexiest aliens ever on Nebula Odyssey, but I’m sick of the man. He’s monopolized the panel, talking over scientists who have interesting information that pertains to the fictional aliens being discussed. I love that sort of thing, people with technical expertise offering it to paths of possibility, showing others how something like this could come to pass, like a dome city on a greenhouse planet or a city in the clouds populated by bird people.

I’ve been incredibly conscious of Seeker beside me. And something about his proximity resonates as…unusual. It’s not the fact that I have a crush on him, either. But he’s not warm. Not in the way I expect. And it goes along with the surprising stillness of his expression. I don’t understand why my brain is obsessing over little inconsistencies with someone I like so much.

When the talk finally concludes, I navigate to the front of the room, intending to compliment the biologist who offered some truly fascinating and memorable theories regarding potential paths for evolution. She might get a kick out of Tad’s game, actually. But before I can say a word, Colin McFarland strides around the table with a huge smile.

“You must be here for me,” he declares.

“What?” Why does he think that?

I try to signal Dr. Patel but she’s already packing up her belongings. She doesn’t realize that I came to tell her that her portion of the presentation was one of the most technically impressive and creative takes on the potential for alien life that I’ve ever seen.

“No, I—”

“Don’t be shy, honey. Normally, I charge twenty bucks for photos, but I’ll let you take a selfie with me for free. Come here.” He wraps a meaty arm around my shoulders, dragging me against his side.

Wow. Colin smells. Not in a good way, either. It’s a fermented cocktail of booze and old sweat, with just a whisper of baby wipes, as if he made a half-hearted attempt to swipe his pits before he showed up. He practices a few smiles before setting on a particular shit-eating grin and tilts his head toward mine.

Please, someone save me.

I should elbow him in the side and get him to let go of me, but I freeze up in tense situations, and I loathe being stared at. If I make an issue of this, Colin’s fans will come for me on social media. I can imagine the vitriol now. As a weirdo in high school who only had a few close friends, I have powerful, paralyzing memories of how it feels to be hated online. I endured some social media attacks and ostracism, and I’m not eager to revisit that portion of the program.

Reluctantly, I get my phone out. Dr. Patel is gone, off to her next panel or an ice-cold lemonade. I’m so disappointed that I could cry.

Suddenly Seeker is next to me. “Are you all right?”

Colin answers for me. “She’s great. Getting some one-on-one time with her idol, right? How many people will get this lucky today?” He drops his voice. “Play your cards right and you could get my spare room key too. How’s that sound?”

My right hand curls into a fist. I can’t bring myself to tell Colin off, banshee-shrieking at top volume, but I don’t want this photo. Not even slightly. I hold out a hand to Seeker, though I’m not even sure what I’m trying to do. He pulls me away from Colin and I let out a breath. His support makes me a little braver. Just enough.

I take a breath and protest. “That’s enough. Don’t be gross.”

People who love Nebula Odyssey would be so disappointed to learn how disgusting McFarland is, quite unlike the smooth-talking alien charmer, Darak Sai. Without waiting for a reply, I march out of the building while the rest of the group hurries after me. I feel a little shaky because I hate conflict, but sometimes speaking up is necessary.

Jaz reaches me first. “Are you okay? That looked—”

“Did he just sexually harass you?” Poppy demands.

I hesitate. “A little bit?”