Read The Wild One Online

Authors: Melinda Metz

The Wild One

BOOK: The Wild One


“You're here to tell me to stay away from Nikolas,” Isabel said.

“Yeah. I am. Because you're not thinking clearly,” Alex replied. “I know you don't think Valenti is any threat to you and Nikolas because you have your power, but—”

“No. We are not having this conversation. Because that's not what it's about,” Isabel said. She scooped up a handful of silverware and hurled it into the sink.

“What is it about, then?” Alex asked.

“It's about that you're jealous. You see that there is something going on between me and Nikolas, and it's driving you crazy,” Isabel answered. She jerked on the hot water and sent it splashing over the dishes.

“I admit that,” Alex told her. What was the point of denying it? It was obvious. “But what about your brother? What about Michael and Liz and Maria? They have no reason to be jealous, and they all think Nikolas is putting you in danger. No, not just you—all of us.”

Isabel snatched up one of the dishes and scrubbed it furiously “I want you to leave,” she said, without turning around to look at him.

“Fine,” Alex said. “But you have to know this is it. I go now, I'm gone. I'm not going to come running back if you change your mind.”

“I can live with that,” Isabel answered.

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This book is a work of fiction. Although the physical setting of the book is Roswell, New Mexico, the high school and its students, names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 1998 by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

First published in 1998 by Archway Paperbacks

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

For information address Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc., 33 West 17th Street, New York, NY 10011, or Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

ISBN: 0-743-43443-9
ISBN-13: 978-0-743-43443-0
eISBN-13: 978-0-743-43443-0

POCKET PULSE and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

Cover art TM and © by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation.

All Rights Reserved.

“Gimme a

“Yeeewwwwww!” Michael Guerin bellowed in a high-pitched shriek.

Gimme an

“Eeffff,” Alex Manes breathed in a husky voice, imitating Marilyn Monroe.

“Gimme an

“Ooohhhhh!” they cried at the same time.

“Gimme a
,” Max Evans muttered. But a smile lit up his face as he watched his friends, who were standing on the bench of the bleachers, imitating the cheerleaders.

A perfect, beautiful,

Stop staring at him, Liz Ortecho ordered herself, dragging her gaze away from Max. Some guys might be happy to have Liz drooling over them—half the guys at Ulysses F. Olsen High, according to Liz's best friend, Maria DeLuca. But Max was not one of those guys. Max wanted to be friends. Just friends. Was there a more horrible, painful, heart-squishing phrase than
just friends?
Liz didn't think so.

Look at Michael. Look at Alex, Liz thought. They were both worth looking at in spite of their ridiculous
behavior. Michael had jet black hair, muscles in all the right places, and a killer smile. Alex had a lean, sinewy body, deep red hair, and these bright green eyes.

Not as bright as Max's. The thought just popped into Liz's head. Her eyes wandered over to Max again. Nope, Alex's eyes were nice, very nice. But Max's eyes were breathtaking. Really light blue, with almost a touch of silver.

Sometimes Liz found it hard to believe Sheriff Valenti could look at Max and
know he was an alien. Max's eyes gave his secret away. They were unearthly. Strange and beautiful.

Lucky for all of them, Valenti never studied Max as closely as Liz did. The sheriff was a member of an organization called Project Clean Slate, and his mission was to track down all aliens living on Earth—which basically meant that he was searching all over for Max, his sister, Isabel, and Michael. They were the only survivors of the famous spaceship crash that happened in Roswell years ago.

Sheriff Valenti was the reason Max wanted to be
just friends
. As long as Valenti was looking for aliens, Max was in danger. And so was anyone who got too close to him.

It would be so much easier—okay, it would still be hard, but it would be
a little
easier—if Max didn't like her. That, maybe, she could learn to accept. But Max loved Liz. She knew he did. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her. And that's why he refused to let her get too close. He insisted it was safer for her this way.

Like she cared about being safe. Like she cared about anything but being with Max.

Liz took one last look at him, at the breath-stealing wonder of him, and forced herself to turn away. She tried to focus on the conversation going on around her.

“I'm making a list of the most superior cheese food products in Roswell. Number one is Crater Taters—I mean, potato sticks covered by bright orange cheese? Sheer genius. But then, Cosmic Crunch is pretty amazing, too,” Alex said. He gently placed one of the cheese puffs on his tongue and chewed slowly. His eyes drifted shut and a rapturous smile spread across his face.

Maria caught Liz's eye and shook her head. They both teased Alex for how intense he got when he was making up one of the lists he put on his web site. But they both thought the lists were pretty funny, too.

“That's what I like about you, Alex,” Liz told him. “You're not afraid to ask the big philosophical questions. Why does evil exist in the world? Has science disproved the existence of the soul? And the really big one—what variety of cheese puff is truly superior?”

“Hey, what about me?” Michael demanded. “I'm a philosopher, too.” He shoved a double handful of the Crater Taters into his mouth and washed them down with mouthwash.

Which had to be one of the most repulsive combinations Liz could imagine. But I'm not an alien, she reminded herself. Michael definitely didn't have human taste buds. If he did, he'd be hurling all over the bleachers right now.

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