Free Signal by Cynthia DeFelice Page B

all like you? I mean, you seem to be, you know, a normal”—I hesitate—“
Earthling.”
    She laughs. “Thanks. I think.” Then she continues. “Yeah, people there look like people here, pretty much. There are small differences, like in skin and hair and eye colors but you have to really look to notice them.”
    “Like your eyes,” I blurt out, without thinking. “So green and glittery.”
    She seems surprised, then smiles. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that people here always remark about my eyes. Anyway, we evolved along with Earth for a long time, so we have a lot in common. Our two planets were really similar until we had a big war, kind of like your First World War.”
    I nod. It’s not hard to imagine that.
    “It was awful. But what came out of it, finally, was what we call the New World. That’s the world I grew up in.”
    I’m concentrating on her words, trying to keep up.
    “Home would be like Earth, except, well, we learned from our mistakes.”
    “And we didn’t?” I ask.
    Cam shrugs. “Listen to the news.”
    I say, “Most people here
try
to be good …” I hesitate, thinking of all the terrible stuff we hear about on the news. “Don’t they?”
    Cam says, “All I know is that kids on my planet are never unwanted. They don’t have to be afraid.”
    I can hear in her voice that she’s trying not to cry, and I feel awful. I think her time on Earth must have been really terrible.
    Cam gazes directly into my eyes and says, “Kids on my planet aren’t lonely, either.”
    “What are you looking at
me
for?”
    She doesn’t answer for a minute, but just keeps looking at me. Then she whispers, “That’s one reason I thought maybe you’d come with me.”
    “What? You think
I’m
lonely?”
    She looks flustered, and hesitates before saying, “I— I was thinking about what you said about your mom dying, and how your dad and you don’t talk. And it doesn’t seem like there’s anybody else … I don’t know, I could be wrong. But don’t you just feel there’s got to be some better place out there somewhere?”
    I don’t know what to say.
    After a second, Cam adds, “I understand if you don’twant to leave here. I mean, this is the life you know. And your dad—”
    “Oh, man,” I say, interrupting, “speaking of my dad, he’s probably starting to freak. I told him I might be late, but I’ve never stayed out
this
late.” I untangle myself from the sleeping bag. “I gotta go.”
    Cam nods.
    It’s hard to leave the warmth of the tent to go into the darkness and rain. I step out and Josie rouses herself and follows. I turn back to Cam. She looks so alone and vulnerable in the tent by herself, it makes my heart twist up.
    “I
really
have to go,” I say.
    “I know.”
    “I’ll come back early and we’ll move the tent somewhere safer,” I tell her.
    “Okay.”
    “Okay. Bye, then.”
    “Owen?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Will you think about it?”
    “What?” I ask, although I know.
    “Coming with me.”
    “Oh,” I say. “Sure.” How could I
not
think about it? What kid wouldn’t want to take a ride on a spaceship? Who wouldn’t want to live on the kind of planet Cam had described? I turn to leave, but she goes on.
    “You know what’s weird, though? Now, when itlooks like I’m actually going home, I suddenly have a reason to stay.”
    She says this and looks at me, and I think maybe she’s talking about
me
, but I’m not sure, and I don’t know what to say to that, if it’s true. So I say, a little desperately, “I
really
have to go, Cam.”
    “I know.”
    I turn from the fire and at first I can’t see anything. “Hey, by the way,” I say, looking back. “What’s the name of your planet?”
    She blinks and looks surprised. After a second she says, “We just call it … Home.”
    “Oh. Okay.”
    This time I actually do leave. Sliding down the hill is pretty hairy in the dark. And once I’m riding down the trail, nothing looks familiar, and I wish I had a light on