The Outsider by Melinda Metz Read Free Book Online Page B

undamaged.
    The sound of a bunch of sheep baaing interrupted Michael’s thoughts. He stood still and listened. Was someone out there? Someone who had spooked the sheep?
    The sheep quieted down again. Now all Michael could hear was the sound of his own breathing and the tiny scratch, scratch, scratch of a blue belly lizard’s claws as it darted across a rock. Guess it was nothing, he decided.
    He pulled a plastic bottle out of his backpack and took a swig of the grape soda laced with hot sauce. He knew it would make humans gag, but he figured his taste buds worked differently because he could drink it all day. He hiked forward.
    When he was a kid, every time they came out to the desert, he’d been positive they would find the ship. He thought he would just hop in and fly himself and Michael and Isabel home. He was sure that somehow he’d just know exactly how all the controls worked.
    Then when he was a couple of years older, he saw that old Superman movie on TV. There was a scene where Superman found a crystal that showed a hologram of his dead father, and he got to have all these conversations with him.
    For a long time Michael hoped he’d find something like that crystal. Something that would show him his father’s face, at least.
    But he grew up. And he never found anything to tell him who he really was. Now all Michael wanted was a clue, a hint. Anything that would lead him to the next place to look. Anything to keep him hoping.
    He walked on and on, studying every rock, every crevice. He hadn’t even found a gum wrapper when he heard Max’s shrill whistle, the signal that it was time to head back.
    Max was already in the driver’s seat when Michael climbed back up to the top of the arroyo. Michael didn’t ask him if he’d found anything. He already knew the answer.
    â€œDrop me off at the cave on the way back, okay?” Michael asked as he swung into the Jeep. “I think I’m going to sack out there.”
    Max nodded and turned the Jeep toward town. The cave was about twenty miles outside Roswell, much closer to town than to the crash site.
    Michael had spent more time in the cave than he had in any of his foster homes. It was a special place — the first place he had seen when he broke free of his incubation pod. He’d been about seven years old — at least he looked about the same as a seven-year-old human child, although he must have been incubating for about forty years.
    He’d wanted to stay in the cave forever. The desert outside seemed too big and bright to him. He felt safer in the dim light with the solid limestone walls all around him.
    Michael had spent days huddled next to the unopened pod — it was the one Max and Isabel shared, but he didn’t know that then — pressing himself against its warm surface. The tiny rustling sounds he heard inside it kept him company.
    Finally thirst and hunger drove him into the desert. A local rancher found him drinking from the same stream the guy’s sheep used. The man took him into town, and Michael was placed in the orphanage. From there he went to his very first foster home.
    It took him only a week to learn English. Less than that for math. The social services people had figured he was at a fifth-grade level when they started him at Roswell Elementary. They never could figure out why he didn’t remember his parents or where he came from.
    Michael still remembered the day Max brought in a piece of amethyst to show the class. He had said he liked it because it was the same color as the ring of light around their teacher, Mr. Tollifson. All the other kids laughed. Mr. Tollifson said it was nice that Max had such a good imagination.
    And Michael had the amazing, joy-inducing realization that he wasn’t alone anymore. Someone else could see what he saw.
    â€œMr. Cuddihy isn’t going to be happy if the Hugheses complain that you’ve been staying out all night again,”