No Aliens Allowed

- Eight -

I took my car to the crash site, singing along to Imagine Dragons as I subconsciously took turns down the road. That's how often I'd been there. It was like our own hideout, a place where we didn't have to remember what lies we'd said to whom and where we'd left off in a conversation with another and if this person was onto us or not. We could strip away the facades and masks and laugh (or, I would laugh, because Allen didn't really get any jokes) and it was like he wasn't an alien. 

He was typing away at the only working computer left at the station while I took advantage of the ship's awesome wifi and scrolled through my Instagram feed. Catelin had posted a couple selfies we'd taken at the ice cream shop, Eason had put up some hipster photos of the hike he and Jackson had gone on and Cade with the normal spam of gym selfies and football workouts. And then there was Penn with his sloppy photos of whatever that got a lot of likes because he was hot. 

"Allen," I said. 

"Yes?" He asked, looking up over the top of the computer. 

"Do you want to go to a party on Friday at the bell tower?" 

"You asked me this last week," Allen said, exasperated. 

"Come on," I said. "Please?" 

"What, so I can partake in the consuming of alcohol at an illegal age, dance with girls I don't even know, hang out with males that smell like weed and then come home and vomit in your mother's gorgeous flowers? And after all the dinners she was so graciously prepared and allocated?" 

I blinked at him, not knowing what to say. "Um, you could've just said no." 

"No," Allen said. "There, are you satisfied?" 

I blinked again. "Jesus, you're sassy today. And I'm sorry I brought it up. I won't again." To be honest with you, Allen could get a little intense. His eyes would turn more purple, and he would get fired up and speak with big words and would get closer and closer and then wrap up his argument and add a bow and then would look smug and step back. 

Most of the time, I couldn't say anything afterwards, the witty comeback swiped from my mouth. Nobody except Allen could do that. But it was okay most of the time, because he did it to other people and got them to leave him alone. I didn't know why I was worried about him in the first place -- Allen could take care of himself. 

Allen surveyed my face, and, upon seeing my disappointment, half-grimaced. “I’m sorry, Kali. I did not intend to come off as snarky or insensitive. I understand that my... cacology wasn’t exactly forgiving.”

“So are you saying that you didn’t mean to be rude or sassy?”

“To be frank.”

“You could’ve just said that in the first place.”

“Perhaps. I tend to have better outcomes with those I converse with if I use an extended vocabulary, instead of saying something along the lines of man, I’m so sorry. I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Did you just quote me?” I asked skeptically.

“Stop changing the topic,” Allen said, gently veering me back on course. “And yes, I did.”

“Well, at least give me credit,” I persisted.

“Next time, Kalea. I promise.”

Most of the time, I hated when people called me by my full name. But Allen made it sound...different. Smoother, and less formal than when my mother yelled it.

Pretty much the story of Allen in general. He changed everything I’d known or assumed about space. Hell, he even changed how  I saw my own world, and he was the alien!