How I Stole Johnny Depp's Alien Girlfriend Page 7

  “Like, you don’t need to tell everyone you’re from another planet and that your father was turned into ashes with a laser beam.”

  “But I am from another planet, and my father was disintegrated, though there was no laser beam. It was an antimatter field.”

  Sigh.

  “Make up a story. Be creative.”

  “Creative?” She shrugs, reaching for more chips.

  “Don’t you have movies, fairy tales, books on Vahalal?”

  “Yes, we have books, of course, but reading or producing what you Earthlings call fairy tales is a sin. We stick to science, war strategy, and Zookology.” She takes the whole bag from me. So far, she’s very happy with Earthling junk food.

  “So you never lie?”

  “No.” Chips.

  “Have you ever tried?”

  “I told you. It is a sin.” Chips.

  “Could you say…um…‘My name is Maria, and I come from…Sweden’?”

  She stops chewing. “Why would I say that?”

  “I don’t know. Just give it a try, okay?”

  “My-name-is-Maria-and-I-come-from-Sweden.”

  No. It sounded totally wrong.

  “Maybe you should put more heart into it. Like, if I asked you, How old are you, Maria?”

  “I am three hundred twenty-five years old. That is, three hundred twenty-five on Vahalal, the planet I come from.” Chips.

  “Forget it.”

  “That was nine hundred fifty-two euros easily earned.”

  Malou’s all happy with herself as she gets back into the car. She winks at me. “Johnny will be at a party in Le Marais tonight. An art gallery opening or something. And now I’m invited by this totally reliable guy and I’ll be bringing you, Spacegirl. I can say you’re my new girlfriend or something.”

  “Wait a minute. What about me?” I ask.

  “What about you, Tadpole?”

  “You’re getting me in, too, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry. It’s not a kids’ party. No sponge cake. No clown. No balloons. And no you.”

  Ha! “Zelda, tell her!”

  “Tell me what?” Malou asks.

  “That you need me!”

  Malou gives her a look, like, “I’m sorry, Zelda. They’re cute, but they’re very naive at his age.”

  “I don’t believe this!” I say.

  “Believe it. I’ll drive you home. Zelda’s coming to my place. I’ll find her something less Lady Gaga to wear. She meets Johnny Depp tonight. We meet in front of your bank on Monday. Ciao, Tadpole.”

  10

  EXPIRATION: 33 HOURS

  We’re living in a cruel world. No, let me rephrase that. We’re living in a cruel universe.

  “This is not a good plan. I have a bad feeling about it,” I say, refusing to get out of the car.

  “Out!” Malou shouts, throwing a handful of chips at me.

  I extricate myself hesitantly, brushing away crumbs. We’re double-parked right in front of my building. I have this feeling that Zelda could never survive without me. Or I could never survive without Zelda. I’m not sure which anymore. Whatever it is, I refuse to close the door on her, and I want to throw myself on my knees right here on the pavement, grab her, and beg her to take me with them.

  “What about the Pudin thing? You said we were supposed to be like this.” I knot my hands together to show how tight we’re supposed to be. “Aren’t we, like, breaking one of those really important Vahalalian rules that can’t be broken or else the universe melts?”

  She nods like she gets my point and turns to Malou. “Are you absolutely sure I cannot take my Pudin along?”

  “No, you cannot take your pudding to this kind of party. They won’t let him in.” Malou leans over Zelda to take hold of the door handle. “It’s your choice. Him”—she nods toward me—“or Johnny boy.”

  Zelda shakes her head. “You’ve been a very good Pudin. I will never forget you, Earthling.”

  Slam! Malou closes the door, and the universe melts. “Love you, Tadpole!” she screams gaily through the open window. “See you on Monday. Have that cash ready for me. Thanks for flying Air Malou, and have a lovely day!” She laughs and drives away.

  The car veers off at the crossroad. Zelda waves hesitantly. I want to wave back, but it’s too late. She’s gone for good. So fast. Poof. Vanished from my life.

  I enter my building and decide to climb the stairs. I can’t stand the idea of finding myself locked inside the elevator.

  My heart is broken. David Gershwin, killed by a Vahalalian. Zelda. For Chrissake! I close my eyes. Even thinking her name is painful.

  Who’s going to sing to me now?

  I reach our floor. I don’t want to go in. Malou’s right. It’s so cold inside this apartment, and I don’t mean the temperature. It’s cold. And small. And empty. And I’m trapped in there for years and years to come, breathing their cigarette smoke and listening to them yelling at each other until their voices break.

  I unlock the door and walk in.

  “David.”

  “Dad!”

  He’s standing in the corridor, a cup of coffee in his hand. Past him, I see Mom sitting on the sofa. She’s uncharacteristically quiet. Two of the uniformed policemen assigned to bring Zelda back to Cornouaille stand up silently. I don’t like the way they’re staring at me. Like they’ve all been waiting for me.

  “Where is she, David?” Dad asks.

  “I…”

  “David? Did you…?” Mom’s voice is shaking, like something really horrible has happened. “Did you really give this crazy girl my black coat?”

  I hear them calling my name and running after me in the staircase.

  I didn’t wait. I didn’t explain. I didn’t say “Hello” or “I’m sorry for the coat,” or “Don’t kill me, Mother.” I followed my instincts and ran, ran, ran, as if my life depended on it.

  I rush out of the building and choose not to go through the park. I turn at the Théâtre de l’Odéon. I’m not much of a runner (it’s a size thing), but hell, I know each corner of each street of this labyrinth known as the Quartier Latin. One right: rue de Condé. One left: rue Saint-Sulpice. One right: rue des Canettes. One left. And down the subway ramp at Saint-Sulpice station. I jump over the turnstile and catch a train right before the doors close.

  Look at me! I’m a gangster, a hustler, the master of FREAKING lobsters. I AM THE MAN!

  Phew.

  Wait a second…

  I’m totally cooked.

  “Velkome to zee Penthouse,” Malou says, opening the door of her studio-apartment-revolting-little-cupboard-of-a-place. She’s not even surprised to see me. “We thought you’d come here.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You should watch more TV, Frog. Considering.”

  Her place is exactly the way I remembered, like a miniaturized dump site. She has no furniture. Everything lies directly on the floor—trash, clothes, magazines, the mattress Zelda’s sitting on.

  “Here. Come. Have a seat beside your girlfriend.” Malou pushes me down on the mattress. Zelda is hugging her knees tight against her chest, completely avoiding looking at me.

  “Hello,” I say hesitantly.

  “You’re making my mission IMPOSSIBLE!” she barks back.

  “I…” I shake my head in disbelief. I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. I point toward the door. “For your information, I just escaped from the police. They were running after me. A whole bunch of them. And I was, like…” I show them with my hand: zoom zing boom! “I wish you could have seen me—I was WILD!”

  “Wild’s the word, huh, Zeldie?” Malou teases Zelda with a good push on her shoulder. “Let me show you something that might be of interest.” She sits between us and opens her laptop. “It’s all over the place. It’s like you’re this total YouTube sensation.”

  She clicks the YouTube video to full screen. “Ta-da.”

  I recognize the Notre Dame bridge. It’s a stupid cell phone video. The pictur
e pans from the cathedral to…Zelda. Then to me. Zelda leans over me. And…OMIGOD!

  She’s FRENCH KISSING me! And there are already 199,995 views and 52 comments!

  Damn you, YouTube!

  “Aaaaah, love. I feel all gooey just sitting between you guys.” Malou laughs.

  “This has nothing to do with the concept of love.” Zelda sinks deeper behind her knees. “Love is a sin. I was sampling his DNA. It was an experiment in gustative biochemistry.”

  “Yeah, I’d say you were sampling him real bad, sister. Look at that tongue going! It’s like you’re trying to eat him.”

  The kiss just won’t stop. I didn’t remember that she’d had her hands in my hair and held me so tight. It doesn’t look like an “experiment in gustative biochemistry” at all. It looks like two lovers passionately making out over the Seine. And my heart is going to explode if someone doesn’t stop that video soon.

  It finally freezes at the point where Zelda’s lips part from mine. My eyes are shut. I look lost. She stares at me, smiling, looking truly happy. How could I have missed that back there on the bridge?

  The screen goes black.

  “Replay?” Malou asks. She laughs again.

  Malou’s going out to borrow some props from a friend, like a wig and a new coat that could fit Zelda’s long frame. “I’m sure you two need some privacy, anyway,” Malou says, winking at me again. “Feel free to sample more. This apartment is an emancipated zone.”

  She turns back just before leaving her studio. “You know, that smooch on the bridge explains a lot. She was all cranky after we dumped you.”

  We’re alone again. We haven’t moved an inch since we watched the video.

  “I think we should abort tonight’s outing and work on a new strategy,” I say hesitantly.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  And then suddenly, Zelda periscopes up from behind her knees. “I wasn’t cranky at all. This Malou creature is a very unreliable specimen. Travelers dispose of their Pudins frequently. You mean absolutely nothing to me.”

  She periscopes back down while a ball of pain grows like an acid sponge in my stomach.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  More freaking silence.

  It’s my turn to be cranky. “What’s wrong with you, Zelda?!” I’m just one tiny notch short of yelling.

  “Nothing is wrong with me.”

  “Don’t you ever feel anything?”

  She looks at me blankly. “No, I do not.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Someone who doesn’t feel anything doesn’t smile the way she did after we kissed.

  “Fine,” she confesses. “I feel rage sometimes—I want to beat up and kill things. But that is a sin, too.”

  She means feeling rage is a sin. Beating up and killing things is absolutely fine.

  “And besides rage?”

  She frowns. “Besides rage, what?”

  “Any other emotions?”

  “Of course not. Emotions are poison.”

  “When we kissed”—I point toward Malou’s laptop—“you looked like…you were feeling a…like, serious bunch of emotions. You did!” And 199,995 YouTube viewers are my witnesses.

  “No, I didn’t! I…”

  “You what?”

  “I don’t like this conversation at all,” she says coldly and—SLAM!

  The conversation is over anyway, since Malou bursts back into her studio and goes, “Omigod! We’re totally in trouble.” She rushes to the only window to check the street below. “I’m being followed!”

  11

  EXPIRATION: 31 HOURS

  Malou is right. By the time we stumble out of her studio, we can hear people running up the seven floors.

  Zelda looks up to the skylight and decides in a flash. “To the roof!”

  Malou: “No, there’s nothing on the roof!”

  Me: “Think about what Mom’s going to do to us!”

  Malou (after a short pause): “To the roof!”

  Zelda is already climbing the ladder. She glances back at us. “Faster, Earthlings!”

  I climb up the ladder second, Malou behind me. I pop my head outside. Malou’s absolutely right. There’s nothing up here—just a collection of slopes leading to certain death. But there’s no stopping Zelda. She’s already gliding toward the next building.

  Malou and I walk carefully step by step, hugging each other and cursing profusely. Zelda is doing the gazelle thing again, hopping and flying from one roof to the next as if she has wings, calling back to us and complaining about the unbearable slowness of all Earthlings.

  “Hey! Kids! Stop!”

  We turn back. The bald policeman from Cornouaille pops his head through the skylight. “You’re going to kill yourselves!”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  Step, step. Oops. Step, step. Sliiiide. Omigod!

  “How did they find us? Did you tell them Zelda was with me?” Malou asks.

  “No, I didn’t tell them anything.”

  Step, step. Oops.

  “Do you have a cell phone? Something they could track?”

  “No. No cell phone.” I gave up my cell phone ages ago. No one ever called, which just reminded me how unpopular I am.

  Sliiiiide.

  “Stop talking,” I beg her. “You’re going to kill us.”

  “Kids! Come back,” the bald man calls after us as he climbs onto the roof. “We’re here to help you.”

  “Where did you phone me from this morning?”

  “From home.”

  “Frog! What were you thinking?”

  Step, ste…sliiiide. Aaaah!

  I grab Malou’s sleeve right before she falls ten floors down. When she’s done screaming, she offers this piece of advice: “Next time you’re hiding a fugitive in your bedroom closet, use a pay phone!”

  The good news: We’re still alive.

  The bad news: Malou looks like she just swallowed a live bug, and we’re trapped.

  “I can’t do it!” she shouts.

  I understand. It’s a killer. It’s a gap between two buildings. Zelda jumped over it like it was nothing; I just made it and nearly fell. Malou’s still on the other side, refusing to move, even though the bald man chasing us is closing the distance fast. I don’t blame Malou. When you look down, all you can see is a guaranteed splash headfirst onto the cobblestones of a tiny, dark courtyard.

  “Think of the money!” I shout. “Jump!”

  “Keep your money! Leave me alone!”

  “I will get her,” Zelda says, getting ready for another gazelle hop.

  Too late for that. Malou’s cooked. The bald man slides down the last tiny piece of roof behind her and grabs her by the top layer of her clothes.

  “Don’t you move, now,” he says, his voice shaking.

  Zelda sighs. “Damn Earthlings.” Then she…she…what?

  She disappeared from my side. I mean…she was there. And then—POOF, MAGIC!—she’s gone. Then—POW!—she reappears beside Malou and the guy.

  “You must be kidding me,” the man says, right before she smashes the broken Starck vase in his face. He drops onto the roof like a wet mop.

  Malou wanted space kung fu, and space kung fu she got. And now she’s screaming bloody murder as Zelda grabs her around the waist and forces her to jump over the gap with her.

  They land at my feet and Malou collapses like a package of soft spaghetti. I squat in front of her. “Are you…?” I shrug. I’m sort of at a loss for words since Zelda did her magic trick.

  “Your girlfriend”—Malou nods toward Zelda—“she’s not normal.”

  “Was that…?” I forget what she called that thing.

  “Space Splash!” Zelda confirms proudly. “I am no longer Space Flopped.” She’s nearly smiling, like, Come on, Earthlings, bring it on now!

  We’re hiding inside a pirate’s boat on a small playground near Canal Saint-Martin, a few blocks from Malou’s place. She hasn’t completely recovered yet. She’s
eyeing Zelda sideways, waiting for something else weird to happen, like an alien bursting out of her chest or something.

  “Did you kill him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You disappeared,” Malou whispers. “Like, you can be invisible and stuff.”

  “It’s called Space Splashing,” I explain, like I’m a freaking Vahalalian expert now.

  Malou slaps her forehead. “Omigod! She’s really from outer space, isn’t she, Frog?”

  I shrug. Apparently so.

  “This is sooo totally great. A real Spacegirl! Get out of here!” She opens her arms and gives Zelda a big, friendly hug. “I’ve always dreamed that something like this would happen to me.”

  Zelda pushes her away. “Physical contact is not required by protocol, Earthling.”

  “Ha. Listen to her talk ET. ‘Physical contact is not required by protocol.’ I love it.” Suddenly, Malou loses some of that smile. “Wait a second, guys. Why would an extraterrestrial want to meet someone like Johnny Depp?”

  “Zelda, please,” I beg, “you do not need to explain this to her.”

  “A planet of girls!” Malou screams after Zelda’s done explaining absolutely everything about her mission. “I’d be totally into that.”

  “Can you be quieter?” I ask, since we’re now walking down the street, completely exposed, on our way to retrieve Malou’s car before any good citizens spot us.

  “I love the Tower of Tor thingy. I’d love to lock up some of my ex-boyfriends. The scumbags!”

  She fishes her car keys out of her back pocket.

  “No more men, no more trouble, huh? It’s so totally obvious! You girls up there have it all figured out.” She nods toward the street corner. “I’m parked just around here.”

  Dead right. The second we turn the corner, we see her smashed-up car and four uniformed policemen inspecting it. One of them immediately points at us.

  “I think this is our cue to RUN!” I shout, and—zooof—we take off.

  Malou takes the lead. Not a great idea, if you ask me. “This way. No, that way. No! Sorry, this other way. Oh God. Faster, Frog!” One thing everyone should know about Malou: She runs away from the police like she lives—going in all directions at the same time and never choosing one path and sticking to it.