Page 30 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

12

Seeker

Jen stops walking, centered in a spill of golden light from one of the con’s aerial illuminations.

“Okay, you’ve said things that sound flirty before, and I really need to…just ask. Are you doing that on purpose?”

“Doing what?” Flirty, what does that mean?

I quickly sort through what I’ve learned from watching their local entertainments. I believe it’s when someone shows signs that they’d be receptive to a romantic overture. Jen thinks I’m attempting to initiate courtship with intent to mate? The idea should be laughable, but then I remember the purity of how I feel when she’s nearby, how she keeps the loneliness at bay. And the way I thought she shone, before.

Perhaps it’s not entirely incorrect. If I lived here. If I planned to stay. But I don’t know how to respond because I don’t intend to be here long enough for my answer to matter, even if I don’t know how to leave. I’m still weighing the idea of infiltrating the upcoming launch to loot their tech, but the logistics are daunting. I’m not a seasoned rebel; the rules I’ve broken never pertained to sneaking or thievery.

“I like you,” I finally reply.

Though I’m not an expert in human emotions, I note how her face changes, mouth tilting downward. “That covers a lot of ground.”

I can offer her this much reassurance; honesty costs me nothing. “I enjoy spending time with you. But I won’t be here long. If I would be, then—”

“You are flirting.” Her expression shifts again, brightening. Seeming delighted, she raises her head so the waning sunset makes her eyes sparkle. “You’re saying that you’re into me, but you’ll be traveling soon, right? And you can’t get into a long-distance relationship.”

That’s the perfect excuse. She has no notion just how long-distance that relationship would be. “Exactly.”

“But you’re open to a con fling?”

I have no inkling what that entails and I can’t open my phone to search the term. Before I can reply, she unlocks the car and gets in. I join her, feeling more confused than I’ve been since coming to maturity. But if Jen’s offering it, this “con fling” probably isn’t bad.

So I shut my door and then reply. “That is accurate.”

She laughs. “Only you would react so nonchalantly to this.” But she doesn’t sound as if that’s a bad thing. “We can see how things go. I’m enjoying our banter an awful lot, and I want to make sure we’re on the same page about it.”

To extrapolate from context, she wants to continue with the understanding that it cannot lead to a permanent association. So long as that remains true, I can enjoy these moments with her. And not analyze each word that we exchange. I can continue saying true things without being alarmed over how she will receive them.

“We are,” I say then.

“Awesome! I was so afraid that I had a crush on you all by myself.”

She wasn’t certain that it was reciprocal?

I thought I had been painfully obvious in my partiality, my preference for her company. Not that I don’t find the others agreeable enough. But they’re not Jennette. She is the one who consistently reaches me even when my sadness has become too much to carry, when my isolation is too much for one being to bear.

She drives with casual cheer, singing along to music I do not know. I remember sharing my birthsong with her and the way she made me feel afterward. She is the best part of being stranded on 97-B and I wish—

No. There is no point in wishing for impossible things.

We arrive at the restaurant a little while later, and since we paused to chat, the others have gotten a table already. They have two chairs reserved for us and Tad is already ordering food. The dining establishment is spacious, but they have attempted to mitigate this but arranging odd articles around, like a stuffed mammal dressed in clothing and rectangular artifacts all over the walls. Amber light spills from tinted coverings, perhaps an attempt to embody their bold yellow sun.

“Over here!” Poppy bounces to her feet, signaling wildly, as if we could miss her.

“I got us an appetizer platter,” Tad says. “Cheese sticks, wings, and potato skins.”

“Can we not have the whole potato?” I ask.

Jen laughs as she sits down. “You never miss a beat, do you?”

I wasn’t joking. For all I know, there’s some reason they only eat the skin. But instead of persisting with the inquiry, I pretend I’ve succeeded at witty repartee and bask in their amusement as something I intentionally achieved.

Jaz draws Ravik’s attention when she compliments them on their musical style from karaoke earlier. “I had no idea you were so gifted,” she says.