The Call of the Others

Chapter 3

Joe tired of his flashcards and flung them on his bed. He started pacing around his room. He hated Cassandra, he told himself at one end of his room. But what if she was right about other aliens? Shouldn’t he help them? he asked himself at the opposite end of the room. That was probably just a bunch of BS, he concluded, at his window now. Everything she said was preposterous. Simply preposterous. All that crap about his friends, his relationship. . . Lies, all of it! But still. . . He thought at his desk, touching up a train that Lucy knocked off a shelf and broke yesterday. There might be some truth to her words. But Cary was right. It wasn’t his responsibility. But wasn’t it his obligation. . . ?

Joe returned to his flashcards. English vocabulary wasn’t this difficult. Before long, though, he thought about what Cassandra had said about Alice. That was stupid, what she said, about their relationship having no foundation. They got along fine! He liked her because. . . Because. . . Well, at first, it was because she was blonde. And popular. And pretty. From a distance, anyway. And blonde. And now he liked her because she was nice. No, nice wasn’t the word. Nice was the default word when you said when you didn’t know what to say. And he did know what to say, he did. Alice was kind. She was nice to him. And she liked him because. . .

Crap. Now here was problem.

Then Joe realized he was supposed to be studying his vocabulary.

“Just SCREW IT ALL!” he yelled, throwing his note cards against the wall.

“Powerful language,” a female voice laughed from his window. It was Alice.

“Oh, hi,” he said, wishing he hadn’t worn his Star Wars pajamas. In front of his girlfriend.

“What’s wrong?” she said, climbing into his room.

“Cassandra.”

“That bitch!” Alice said as if on command.

“Yes, that pretty much covers it.”

“What about her?”

“Well, what if she’s right?”

“About what? About us?!” Alice asked, horrified.

“No! No, no, not at all! About other aliens. What if they’re out there?”

“So?”

“So shouldn’t we help them?”

“Why should we?” Alice asked, lying on his bed.

“Why shouldn’t we?! It’s the right thing to do! Aren’t we supposed to try and help them? Why should one get to leave, but not the others?”

“What are you going to do? Drive in front of a train?! End up dead like Mr. Woodward?! [I think that’s his name. . .] Please try to remember that the last time we got involved in this business I ALMOST DIED!” Alice stood up, yelling for the whole neighborhood to hear.

“I’m sorry,” Joe said, covering his eyes shamefully. “I didn’t realize you were—”

“Whatever,” Alice said, sitting on the bed again. “I’m sorry too. Sometimes I just forget how nice you are.”

Joe sat next to her on the bed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just,” Alice said, searching for the word, “You’re just really compassionate. It’s not a bad thing—not at all. It’s one of the things I like best about you.”

With that she rested her head on his shoulder. Reason 1: I’m compassionate, Joe thought, creating a mental list of reasons Alice liked him to prove Cassandra wrong. For a moment they sat there like that. Then Joe said, “It’s all crap, those things she says. About us, other extraterrestrial creatures. . .”

Alice nodded. Then after a pause, she said, “I should probably get back home.”

“Okay,” Joe said, walking over to the window with her. “See you tomorrow.”

Alice smiled and waved goodbye, then left Joe standing with as many questions as he had before.

He shut the window after his girlfriend.

“So I’m compassionate,” he said to his notecards, smiling. It sounded nice. Heck, it sounded awesome! He, Joe Lamb, was compassionate. “Fickle” did not seem to think it was as special as he did. “Affiliated” didn’t appreciate it either As he progressed through his flashcards, he realized that none of his cards were quite as excited as he was. He didn’t care. He was compassionate!!!

Inspired by a sudden surge of romance, Joe took a blank flashcard and wrote “ALICE” in thick block letters. On the back, he wrote, “Kind. Caring. Mint.” He nodded approval at this and took another one. “JOE” he wrote. On the back, he wrote, smiling, “COMPASSIONATE.”

“Dude,” Charles said on his walkie-talkie after he was told. “Don’t let this go to your head.”

“Who says it’s going to my head?”