Page 90 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

“There are orchestras here,” Jaz replies. “Earth gave me a chance to be something other than what was expected of me.”

Seeker says, “I had the opposite problem. I lack an essential spark, and I don’t dream of crafting some immense work of immortal beauty. I’m happiest when I’m tinkering or inventing something new.”

“That is creativity as well,” Ravik says. “Perhaps not the type that is appreciated on your homeworld, but I think you do yourself a disservice with that assessment.”

I can tell by Seeker’s silence that he’d rather not continue in this vein, so I address Jaz. “What instruments do you play?”

“Anything with strings. Guitar, cello, violin, banjo, viola, sitar… I could go on.”

“What about the harp?” Tad seems fascinated now that he’s over his initial shock.

Jaz appears to consider for a moment. “It’s rather an obscure instrument. I’ve never tried, but I doubt it would take me long to pick it up.”

“Thank you,” Poppy says suddenly.

“For what?” Seeker asks.

“For trusting us. Tad and I had been feeling…left out. I don’t know if Jen did, but we definitely had the sense we were missing out. Now that we know, we can be watchful. We’ll do our best to keep you all safe.”

“Even me?” Wonders never cease—is Ravik cracking a joke?

Poppy grins. “Yeah, fun sponge. Even you.”

32

Seeker

“I don’t have an instrument with me,” Jaz says. “Or I’d play for you.”

Tad shuffles a bit before saying, “Um. Not to put you on the spot or anything, but I borrowed this camper from my brother. And he dabbles with the guitar, mostly campfire sing-alongs like this one.”

“Go get it,” Poppy urges.

He waits for Jaz’s affirmation, then retrieves his sibling’s instrument. From the moment she touches it, the rest of us are riveted. Her long, graceful fingers dance over the strings, and she attunes to it swiftly, making it sing beneath her touch.

“Given everything we shared tonight, I know what song I’ll start with,” she says.

“Which one?” Poppy asks.

I don’t recognize the opening notes, but Jen breathes, “‘Stand by Me.’”

Jaz plays with complete immersion, deepest focus. This is why she left her homeworld: because she can create this sort of mesmeric beauty with a touch. I’m swept along, riding the waves of mellow sound. And as the last chord fades, hanging in the air like a promise, I realize 97-B has never felt more like home.

Silence hovers between us, a gentle pause before she starts playing again. The campsite fills with a new melody, likely an original composition. Her performance is not just music; it’s a revelation, a life-changing sequence of harmonies and dissonances that speak of her journey through the cosmos. The notes are delicate yet powerful, melancholy chords blending with hopeful trills, painting a portrait of longing amidst the vastness of the starry sky. Jaz’s song is the voice of every star I’ve sped past, every world I glimpsed from afar but never touched. It’s the silent roar of the universe, contained within the gentle strum of her skilled fingers.

This is what Oona wants from me—what I’ve failed to manifest. If not music, then this feeling that Jaz creates so effortlessly. I ran from the prospect of failure because it was worse when I stayed—when I showed them a creation that I’d poured my entire being into, only to be told everything isn’t enough. The first time I left the creche, it was because I couldn’t bear to be told, ever so gently, that I ought to try again.

Just once, I want to be enough, precisely as I am.

“Holy shit,” Poppy says for the second time that night.

I feel unmoored, adrift in wonder, and Jen has tears in her eyes. But I know it doesn’t always mean sadness. For humans, tears can spring from any strong emotion.

“Eloquent as ever,” Ravik’s voice holds a different note as well.

“I seriously can’t even articulate how incredible that was,” Tad finally murmurs. “I’ve paid hundreds of dollars for concerts that didn’t give me goose bumps.”

Jaz sets aside the guitar. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. It’s healing for me. Pure joy.”