“Then why are you eating like you’re starved?”
The girl broke the last piece of her burger and tossed half to the begging puppy, probably to prove she wasn’t starving. The dog gulped it down as fast as the girl had. When the alien offered the last morsel in her hand, the puppy slunk forward, nabbed it from her fingers, and retreated as it ate. “Did you see that?” the girl said. “He took it from my hand.”
“I saw.” What Jo also saw was a kid who might be in real trouble. “Are those pajamas you’re wearing?”
The girl glanced down at her thin pants. “I guess that’s what humans call them.”
Jo sliced another piece of meat off her chicken breast. “What’s your name?”
The girl was on her knees, trying to creep closer to the puppy. “I don’t have an Earth name.”
“What’s your alien name?”
“Hard to say . . .”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s kind of like Earpood-na-ahsroo .”
“Ear poo . . . ?”
“No, Earpood -na-ahsroo.”
“Okay, Earpood, I want you to tell me the truth about why you’re here.”
She gave up on the timid dog and stood. “Can I open the marshmallows?”
“Eat the broccoli first.”
She looked at the plate she’d left on her chair. “That green stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“We don’t eat green stuff on my planet.”
“You said you’re supposed to try new things.”
The girl pushed the three broccoli florets in her mouth in quick succession. While she chewed at the lumps in her cheeks, she ripped open the marshmallow bag.
“How old are you?” Jo asked.
The girl swallowed the last of the broccoli with effort. “My age wouldn’t make sense to a human.”
“How old is the body you took?”
She poked a marshmallow onto the end of her stick. “I don’t know.”
“I’m seriously going to have to call the police,” Jo said.
“Why?”
“You know why. You’re what, nine . . . ten? You can’t be out alone at night. Someone’s not treating you right.”
“If you call the police, I’ll just run away.”
“Why? They can help you.”
“I don’t want to live with mean strangers.”
“I was joking when I said that. I’m sure they’ll find nice people.”
The girl smashed a third marshmallow onto her stick. “Do you think Little Bear would like marshmallows?”
“Who’s Little Bear?”
“I’ve named the puppy that—for Ursa Minor, the constellation next to mine. Don’t you think he looks like a baby bear?”
“Don’t feed him marshmallows. Sugar isn’t what he needs.” Jo pulled the last pieces of meat off her chicken breast and tossed them to the dog, too distracted to finish her food. As the meat disappeared into the mutt’s gullet, she gave him the remaining vegetables from her two skewers.
“You’re nice,” the girl said.
“I’m stupid. I’ll never get rid of him now.”
“Whoa!” The girl brought flaming marshmallows to her face and blew at the fire.
“Let it cool off first,” Jo said.
She didn’t wait, stretching the hot white goo to her mouth. The marshmallows vanished in short order, and the girl roasted another batch as Jo carried supplies into the kitchen. While she quickly washed dishes, she decided on a new strategy. Bad Cop clearly wasn’t working. She’d have to gain the girl’s trust to get anything out of her.
She found the girl seated cross-legged on the ground, Little Bear happily licking melted marshmallow off her hand. “I’d never have believed that dog would eat from a human hand,” she said.
“Even though it’s a human hand, he knows I’m from Hetrayeh.”
“How does that help?”
“We have special powers. We can make good things happen.”
Poor kid. Wishful thinking about her grim circumstances, no doubt. “Can I use your stick?”
“For marshmallows?”
“No, to beat you off my property.”
The girl smiled, a deep dimple indenting her left cheek. Jo punctured two marshmallows with the stick and hovered them over the fire. The girl returned to her lawn chair, the wild dog lying at her feet as if she’d miraculously tamed it. When the marshmallows were perfectly brown on all sides and sufficiently cooled, Jo ate them straight off the stick.
“I didn’t know grown-ups ate marshmallows,” the girl said.
“It’s a secret earthling children don’t know.”
“What’s your name?” the girl asked.
“Joanna Teale. But most people call me Jo.”
“Do you live here all alone?”
“Just for the summer. I’m renting the house.”
“Why?”
“If you live down this road—which I’m sure you do—you know why.”
“I don’t live down the road. Tell me.”
Jo resisted an urge to contest the lie, remembering she was the Good Cop. “This house and seventy acres around it are owned by a science professor named Dr. Kinney. He lets professors use it for teaching and graduate students use it while they’re doing their research.”
“Why doesn’t he want to live in it?”
Jo rested the marshmallow stick against the fire-pit rocks. “He bought it when he was in his forties. He and his wife used it as a vacation house, and he did aquatic insect research down in the creek, but they stopped coming here six years ago.”