Izo was laying in his bed and picking his nose, enjoying the peace and quiet while he still could. Tonight was the night of the big party and he already knew the Senator would be down soon to assail the distraught and hapless Earthling with his worst nightmare of torture and madness: introducing him to more Malforians.
From what Izo had gathered from eavesdropping over the last few weeks, Mort’s house parties were enough to make Gatsby blush. Izo, already exhausted from avoiding Mort’s other Avarian guests and staff (who didn’t like him for some reason), wanted nothing more than to hide in his room for the rest of the night and let the sounds of decadent chaos lull him to sleep from a safe and unmolested distance.
But, as it had been made clear by Ari and Mort, hiding in your room forever was not appropriate behavior for a future professional athlete—particularly one staying with a Senator.
Izo scratched his arm, sat up, and decided to mess with his latest drawing. He’d been working on a new image of Earth and was struggling to remember where to put South America’s eastern shoreline. Pulling his pile of pictures onto his lap, he began by making a line with his finger from the tip of Florida. That was a good place to start, right? But as he dipped down and started to put his pen to paper, he frowned and decided to check it against his other pictures of Earth first.
Izo carefully flipped through his pile of loose pictures. Brightly colored and alarmingly thin, he’d seen them wrapped around a shipment of Ari’s home-delivered clothes one day while hiding in her room. Snatching them immediately, he realized with no amount of excitement that it was the closest thing to paper he’d seen since arriving on the planet. Best of all, he wouldn’t owe Mort anything extra by taking them.
Ari, the ever-gracious host, seemed unsurprised when he’d asked her if he could keep them. Beaming sweetly, she’d simply shrugged and asked if there was any other trash around her room that he wanted. He’d told her no. But he’d let her know if he saw something.
The pile of pictures was a giant mess, but he’d protected them like his last sip of water in a desert. After all, these pages were the only thing in the nearest three galaxies (or more?) that he could actually read. They held all his most important musings, memories, and knowledge he knew would be useful later: Earth’s position in the solar system; the shape of the Milky Way; a list of places he’d go with Hanako as soon as he got home.
Flipping through the pages, he let his eyes drift over some of his other drawings. Still confident he’d be going home soon, he’d taken time since getting the pile of papers to sketch out some of the more interesting people he’d met: the hot male store clerk who’d zapped him for grabbing his arm; the floating octopus guy with his dozens of limbs; the sweet Malforian from the club who’d come to his rescue (at least at first) and punched his butthole of a friend.
Izo paused on a particularly suggestive drawing. Looking around the room nervously, he settled in a little lower before gazing down at it again. It was his only nude picture, and the drawing he’d spent the most time on too. Surrounded by swirling shapes and flowers, in the center was a careful depiction of the mean Anolitun female he’d run into at Mort’s club. Izo gulped while remembering back. Truth was, of all the attractive species he’d met (and there’d been a few), Anolituns had by far made the strongest impression on him. And who could blame him? It was as if every member of their species had been personally modeled after Scarlett Johansson.
On Earth, his attraction to certain people had always hit differently depending on their characteristics. With more toned and athletic partners, the desire was often raw and sexual, a heated animal magnetism drawn out by the urge to compete, spar, and conquer (or be conquered). With softer, more demure partners, the sexual attraction was more romantic, almost mystical, an overwhelming rush of woozy-eyed devotion, like the moment after his big date with Jasmine where goes Aladdin swooping through the clouds with a big, dumb grin on his face. The Anolitun from the club, despite their short interaction, had somehow managed to tick both these boxes for him.
Izo brushed a thumb over the drawing. It was his only piece of “porn,” and a pretty tame one at that. But he would have protected it with his life.
He sighed and eventually moved on to the next page. There it was, the thing he’d been looking for this whole time: Earth. His home planet. His Kansas. His wherever the hell Odysseus was from.
Lately, he dreamed about going home almost every night, about speaking with Hanako, and explaining everything to her in hushed tones until, like a person holding their breath in a pool, he was forced back up to the surface world. In these dreams he could almost feel IA waiting nearby to drag him back into reality again, where the sky was too green and all the doors were too tall. Night after night it was the same dream: her confused face, and him trying to tell her everything as fast as he could.
He always stumbled over that explanation. It was a weird thing to summarize, this event that had separated them so soundly. He never quite found the words, but it didn’t matter. By the end of the dream, she understood what he was trying to say: that he had to go when he woke up, but he was coming back. Then they’d be a family, just like he always promised.
Izo cringed at the wording of that thought. It was no small thing that everyone on IA still believed he was engaged to her. It’d been a smart lie for Deneus to tell the Senator, stalling and averting Mort’s advances until the contracts were signed and money exchanged. But after Tearn, Yula, and Glongkyle disappeared with said money and the only known navigation system containing Earth’s coordinates—it had left Izo in the awkward position of being the only person on the planet that knew he wasn’t actually an engaged virgin. Like, at all.
Then again, it might have been better than the alternative. The Senator, overbearing predator of Avarians he was, had proven surprisingly respectful of Izo’s “honor” while letting him stay in his house. Izo had to give it to Deneus—that one perfect lie had bought more time and space than he ever could have predicted. He wished he could let Deneus know he appreciated it, even if he didn’t appreciate how he’d disappeared at the same time as everyone else.
Izo grunted. Regardless, it had been a smart call to lie about Hanako, but it also kind of sucked that everyone on the planet thought he was engaged to his little sister.
Or rather, soon to be little sister, assuming he could get back to Earth in time.
Izo made a face and tried to do the math in his head. He knew he’d spent three months on Glongkyle’s ship and roughly one month on IA so far. Hanako had been twelve when he’d left Earth, but she’d had a birthday coming up, so she’d probably be thirteen by now. That gave him roughly five years to find a way back to Earth, get a place, and adopt her before she aged out of the system like he had.
Izo thought harder. The adoption process took at least a year. He’d need to find not only a place to live, but a job and a car too. Factoring all that in, he probably had…three years to find his homeworld again. Izo nodded. Yeah, that was plenty of time.
Izo glanced over at his window. Outside, the Malforian sky had faded into blue-green dusk and the stars were shining dimly, as remote and mysterious as the myriad worlds that obeyed and followed them like little cosmic ducklings. He wondered if maybe hot-headed and solitary Hanako wasn’t staring at the same set of stars from the opposite direction. He liked to imagine she was. In that way, Earth wasn’t so impossibly lost, like a single diamond misplaced on a shimmering beach. No, Earth wasn’t lost—it was on the other side of a couple of stars which weren’t even that close together. He would get home again.
It was like Hanako had told him years before: Izo was a superhero. And superheroes always found their way home. He just didn’t know where his way home was yet.
A knock sounded at the door.
Izo looked up sharply. “Yes?”
The Senator entered. A shiver ran down Izo’s spine at the ease with which the Malforian strolled into the youth’s room. Silver hair down, he was dressed in black pants, a thin white shirt, and a red alien cape that clasped over one shoulder and draped across his chest. He stood at the edge of Izo’s bed, towering over the youth’s back. He gazed at the pile of papers curiously. “What are you drawing?”
Izo stifled a cough. He hated the sense of dread and vulnerability that always filled him when he was around the Senator, but he hated the idea of showing it even more. “What do you want?”
“Don’t do that—don’t pretend,” said Mort. “You know exactly what I want.”
Izo twisted around to search the Senator’s face. It was as intense and inscrutable as a vampire’s. The youth slowly rotated off his stomach to sit on his bottom with his legs crossed underneath. He pulled his papers into his lap. “Which would be?”
The Senator stared. His cold black eyes focused like laser-accurate weapons on the object of his attention. Then he broke out in a silly smile. He plopped down on the bed. “Come to the party.”
Izo floated off the bed. “No thanks.”
“Why not?” The Senator leaned back onto one elbow. “Give me one good reason.”
“Because I don’t want to. Because your friends are creepy. Because you’re creepy. Because you and your friends are creepier when you’re around each other.”
Mort flicked his gaze around the room. “You still don’t have anything to wear, do you?”
“That—” Izo paused. It was true. Besides his designer hoodie which he wore virtually every day without fail, he had nothing except the alien pajamas he’d been given to meander around the house in while recovering. “That has nothing to do with it,” Izo finished.
“I told you to buy some clothes when you went out with Ari. What did you think that jaunt was for?”
Izo shook his head. “Keep your money and your friends to yourself.”
“This room is depressing. You can’t tell there’s a person living here.” Mort peered around the empty space. “Is anything in this room yours besides that shirt?”
Izo didn’t have to look. There wasn’t anything else. “Makes it easy to pack.”
The Senator sighed. He focused on Izo again, squinting at the stack of papers in his hands. “What is that?”
Izo pulled the papers closer. “Nothing. Don’t look at it.”
The Senator gave him a pointed look and stood. One large, six-fingered hand reached to grab Izo’s shoulder. The Earthling floated to one side to avoid him. “I understand that Gravity Sprites are solitary creatures. You need time alone, and I’m usually happy to oblige.”
Izo gritted his teeth. This was a recent development, using his genetics as an excuse for his behavior. Though it did sometimes work in Izo’s favor, it never failed to feel dehumanizing, like being turned into an animal whose temperament and personality were being cataloged for its companionship rating. Could his distrust of alien strangers have anything to do with the group of extraterrestrials that abducted and abandoned him? No, there must be something up with his genes.
“But you can’t hide in your room forever,” the Senator continued. “There are some very important, very busy people who took precious time out of their week to come and meet with you. The least you could do is give them an hour.”
Izo nodded in agreement. “Pass.”
“I know it seems like a lot, but I need you to try and be social. I’m a very public figure. If you’re going to be a part of my life, your privacy flies out the window.” His lips cracked into a wide grin. “Do you see what I did there?”
Izo knit his brow.
“No?” Mort waited. He searched Izo’s face. “I said privacy ‘flies out the window.’”
“Oh. Because I’m Avarian. Hilarious. Mira, I know we’ve been over this, but let’s review.” Izo clapped his hands. “You and I? We’re not a thing. We’re never going to be a thing. I am not a part of your life, public or private. I’m crashing here for the time being because it beats living under an alien bridge.” Izo titled his head. “I mean…I’m assuming.”
The Senator’s expression had grown annoyed and flat. “How generous of you.”
“I’m not saying I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I do. But I’m also not going to any of your weird parties so you can show me off. Sorry, but that’s just not my jam. So, have a good night,” Izo said, gesturing toward the exit. “And please shut the door on your way out.”
Mort looked over his shoulder at the door. He squinted at it and looked back at Izo. “I think you mean my door.”
“Of course,” Izo agreed naturally. He gestured again. “Please shut your door on your way out.”
The Senator bobbed his head a few times in begrudging resignation. He lifted his shoulders in defeat. “You’re right. I can’t make you go.”
Izo narrowed his eyes at the answer. He didn’t trust it.
“You are an independent creature, free to do whatever he wants,” the Senator continued. “Sure, I took you in, fed you, clothed you, nursed you back to health, and sheltered you all out of the kindness of my heart—”
“But that doesn’t mean I owe you anything in return,” Izo finished.
The Senator peered down at the smaller being. Izo matched his gaze. Neither budged an inch. A heavy cloud filled with the silence of a thousand unsaid things floated between them. Finally, the Senator smiled and dropped his gaze. “Of course.”
Izo squinted warily. “Okay… good.”
“If you don’t mind, I did want to clear up one thing before going though.”
“What is it?”
The Senator’s eye flashed with mischievous energy. “I was wondering if you’d really stopped to consider…THIS!”
Mort snatched Izo’s pile of papers.
Izo shouted and flew to get them back, but it was too late—the massive creature had folded them into his chest with both his giant arms. Izo darted up and tried to pull Mort’s arms apart, but the Senator tucked his head and rolled like a log across Izo’s bed before finally landing in an awkward heap on the ground.
Izo followed, dropping hard kicks and elbows into the Senator’s sides and arms, all while Mort made the slowest and clumsiest escape possible. Try as the Earthling might, it was no use. No matter how fast or hard the Avarian threw himself at the beast—some movements faster than the eye could see—it was like beating at a boulder with a straw.
Izo grunted in frustration as the Senator made it out the door. “Puta madre!”
“Language!” Mort scolded. Izo grinned smugly. Ever since Tearn had disappeared, he knew no one on the planet could understand his Spanish and that the Senator hated it. Pointing a finger at Izo, Mort gave him a warning look. “If you ever want to see these again, you’ll be downstairs at the party within the hour.”
“I’m not going to that stupid party.”
“Fine. Then I’ll destroy these.”
Izo crossed his arms. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Mort gave the Gravity Sprite a sad smile. “Izo,” he tutted with cloying sympathy. And he was right—they both knew he would.
Izo stole a concerned look at the papers. They held countless hours of work and careful recall that he might never fully remember again. They were easily the most important thing on the planet to him. He was on the cusp of genuinely begging for them back but bit his lip at the last moment. The big jerk wouldn’t give in, and he’d just enjoy Izo’s pleading the whole time. Changing tactics, the Earthling motioned around his room with exaggerated humor. “You said it yourself. I have nothing to wear!”
“So go borrow something from Ari. Everyone else does.” The Senator began striding backward down the hallway in large, confident steps. “Remember, you have one hour. Otherwise they’re gone forever.”
Izo watched the Senator leave with clenched fists, cursing his tiny body and trying to think of some way out of this. He was thinking so hard, in fact, he didn’t notice the others who’d gathered in the hallway behind him.
“By the gods, did we actually spot Mort’s infamous pet virgin?” said Zusy, voice as calm and self-assured as a snake’s.
“I was starting to think he was a myth,” came a second, less recognizable voice from behind. “Do you think we’ll get a prize for spotting it in the wild?”
“Don’t be silly,” answered Zusy.
Izo turned to the Cristovalian dancer sauntering up the hallway. Zusy was seven feet tall, grey-skinned, and willowy. She looked like a cross between a Malforian and a super model. According to Ari, Cristovalians were the oldest and closest cousins to IA’s ruling species.
She grinned at her new friend, a random Anolitun with a mean smirk. “Everyone knows you have to hold down a virgin to get its prize.”
Izo gritted his teeth. Behind her, a whole group of floating foes gathered in the hallway. Mixed-gender and mixed-species, Mort’s orchestra of assorted Avarian houseguests never failed to make his day worse. Over the past month, it had been amazing how any combination of them—and Mort went through a lot of Avarians—could always somehow find it in their hearts to band together and torture him specifically. Had they held a meeting? Did they have a newsletter? It honestly boggled the mind. He tried being friendly. He tried to ignore them. Eventually, he’d even tried punching one or two. Nothing worked. Their undying hatred of him was like a freaking religion.
Zusy, the only regular besides Ari who had been in the house longer than Izo, was the worst. She was as calculating and mean as she was drop-dead gorgeous. The first day they’d met, Izo had caught himself nervously asking her about living in the house. Sensing his weakness, the dancer had zeroed in on tormenting him endlessly ever since. The other Avarians, never ones to miss out on a dog pile apparently, had gleefully joined in.
Zipping around the giant female and the others, Izo snapped himself into Ari’s room at the other end of the hall. Door perpetually open, Ari gasped when Izo appeared suddenly beside her.
“Shit!” She yelled, dropping a laser-enabled make-up brush. “What the hell do you want?”
“The others are being mean to me again.”
Rolling her half-finished eyes, Ari turned in her chair and shouted into the hallway. “What the hell? Don’t you have anything better to do than pick on some goofy, homeless boy?”
“Why are you protecting him? He’s an ungrateful, whiny brat,” Zusy complained. “He’s only here because he needs a place to stay. He doesn’t even like the Senator. Goodness knows he’s said so himself a hundred times. He’s taking advantage of Mort, Ari. He’s a leech and everyone knows it.”
“So? Isn’t that Mort’s problem? If he wants to house twenty ungrateful bitches, what business is that of yours?” Ari turned to continue coloring her eyes. “It’s his house, Zusy.”
“Exactly. It is his house. And everyone staying here should be appreciative.” She narrowed her eyes at Ari. “Or do you not agree?”
Ari’s eyes found Zusy’s in the mirror. She put her tongue in her cheek. “Don’t you start. You think I don’t know you’re only accusing Izo of exactly what you don’t want people accusing you of?” Ari tipped her head and smiled slowly. It somehow reminded Izo of Seemi for a moment. “Please. You’re not as subtle or smart as you think you are, Zusy.”
The blood rose to Zusy’s cheeks. She crossed her long, slender arms. “I’m not trying to be smart, Ari. I think anyone with even a hint of genuine devotion would be hurt seeing Mort exploited like this. But maybe that’s just me.” Zusy shrugged. “Maybe I’m just more sensitive and loyal than most Avarians.”
“Bitch, no you didn’t.” Ari threw down her makeup brush.
Oh shit, thought Izo. This just got real.
Zusy held out her hands innocently. She looked around at the other Avarians. “What? What did I say?”
But they didn’t get the chance to answer her because before anyone could move, Ari had sailed into the air, and attached herself to the towering Avarian to begin hitting her point blank on the head. “Don’t you ever accuse me of being disloyal! I was supporting Mort and his career before you ever left your fleabag planet. I am his first, his second, and his LAST resort. You do not question me! I will set your life on fire and pose for pictures in the ashes.”
Zusy screamed and tried to pry Ari away as Izo laughed and cheered the Aurelian on. After two final kicks, Ari relented and let the big, grey Avarian go.
The Cristovalian shot to the door, angry tears streaking down her cheeks as she grabbed and hung off the frame. “Why are you defending him?!”
“Why are you attacking him? Oh wait, I know why: because you think it improves your station.” Racing to the door, Ari shrieked at the Cristovalian, who quickly fled. “You’re not a hero, Zusy! You’re just another asshole getting off on exclusion.”
“Yeah! ¡Chupa mi ano!” yelled Izo, following Ari to scream out the door also.
“Izo, language!” said Ari over her shoulder.
“Right. Sorry.” Izo agreed before turning back. “Eat my ass!”
With a disapproving glare, she flicked her fingers at the others still gathered outside her room. And it worked. Like an annoyed command from the universe’s cutest fairy-godmother, the others dispersed instantly.
Izo tipped his head against the inside of Ari’s door in relief. “Thank god we’re friends now.”
Ari sneered. “We’re not friends. My friends are rich.” Then, floating back to her giant vanity, she picked up a brush to finish her face. “You just happen to be a little less annoying than the rest of them.”
Izo shrugged. He padded across Ari’s massive corner room to her seating area. Painted in a soft blue, it was unquestionably the best room in the hall. Two stories tall and fixed with wall-to-wall gold-framed windows on two sides, it featured a lofted sitting area with no attached staircase, a living area trimmed in gold, and a complete dining area with an oversized table and seating for eight in creamy whites and blues. With every piece of furniture fitted on braided strings of precious metal and tufts of creamy cushion, it’d originally struck Izo as an elven studio-loft.
The Earthling flopped down on her couch before looking back at her. She was wearing the tiniest white dress Izo had ever seen. It looked like she’d pulled a white lily from the ground and stepped into its petals. Working on the bottom line of her lip, she was posed daintily above a seat barely bigger than Izo’s hand. Here was another funny thing about Ari he’d recently realized: the Aurelian never fully rested her weight on anything. Whether eating, walking, or getting ready, she was constantly hovering.
Her big eyes flicked higher in the mirror as she sensed his attention. “What?”
Izo was still staring at the dress. His stomach clenched with unease. “I need to borrow something to wear to the party,” he said.
“I thought you didn’t want to go?”
Izo pursed his lips. “Mort made me an offer I couldn’t refuse—returning my own stuff.”
Ari made a uniquely Aurelian growling noise. Half-adorable rumble, half-terrifying growl, Izo had never been able to replicate it. “This is why I told you to get your own stuff. Who’s going to pay me back if you rip or lose something?”
“No tengo feria. I’m broke, you know that.”
“Not my problem. Ask Mort for another line of credit and fucking buy something this time.”
“You know I don’t want to do that.” Izo rolled off the couch and onto his knees. “Please, Ari? I just need one outfit for an hour.”
Ari considered the kneeling youth in her mirror. Her mouth flicked to one side in a sharp and cheeky grin. Izo felt a chill run up his spine. “Fine, but you’re doing a live shopping event with me right before the tour.”
“Deal.” Izo had no idea what he was agreeing to, but he was desperate. “Whatever you want.”
Ari laughed with malicious glee. “Ari Nation is going to love you!”
“Ari Nation?” Izo blanched. “What’s Ari Nation?”
“Nothing you need to worry about today.” Finishing her lips, she threw down her brush, which magically floated back into its holder, before flicking her head at her closet’s entrance. “Let’s go find you an outfit.”
Izo gulped and followed. She led him into her master bathroom and attached closet. Three stories tall, it was almost more sanctuary than wardrobe. Zipping into the middle of the first floor’s ceiling, they hurried to the second story where Ari’s wide array of fashion was housed.
“How long do we have?” asked Ari as she floated in front of her clothes.
“He gave me an hour to get ready.”
Ari groaned and moved faster. “That’s barely enough time to do anything! Izo, you’ll be a complete disaster in front of everyone!”
Izo gazed around at the armada of small, sparkly outfits. He sighed. “That is pretty on-brand for me.”