If this whole ordeal has had any bright side, it’s that I see a lot more of Sarah than I did before. I like to think that me saving John’s life impressed her, maybe even showed her that there’s more to me than she thought. Someday when this is all said and done, Sarah is going to come to her senses and realize that even if John is a good alien, he’s still freaking E.T. And I’ll be waiting, even if it means fighting off space invaders to keep her safe and show her I’m better than he is.

The waiting totally blows.

“You’re begging to get jumped, aren’t you?” she says as I get closer.

At first I’m confused, but then I realize she’s nodding at my chest, where my name is embroidered in gold over the heart on my Paradise High varsity letter jacket.

“What, this?” I ask, flexing a little and puffing out my chest. “I’m just repping our school. Trying to bring a little bit of Paradise to hell. That way we all feel like we’re at home.”

She rolls her eyes.

“You’re provoking them.”

“They’re the least of my problems these days.”

“Whatever,” she says. “Your truck still smells like orange soda.”

Once we’re in my truck, Sarah leans her head against the passenger window and exhales a long breath, as if she’s been holding it in all day. She looks tired. Beautiful but tired.

“I got a new name in bio today,” she says, her eyes closed.

“Oh yeah?”

“‘Sarah Bleeding Heart.’ I was trying to explain that John wasn’t a terrorist who was going to try to blow up the White House. Like, literally, someone said that they heard he was going to blow up the White House.”

“Now who’s the one asking for it?”

She opens her eyes just enough to glare at me.

“I feel like all I do now is defend him, but everyone else refuses to listen. And every time I try to say something about how they don’t know the whole story, I lose a friend. Did you know that Emily thinks he kidnapped Sam? And I can’t even tell her that it’s not true. All I can say is that John wouldn’t do that, and then she looks at me like I’m part of some big plot to destroy America or something. Or worse, some lovesick loser who’s in denial.”

“Well, you’ve still got me,” I say reassuringly. “And I try to defend John whenever I can. Though I don’t think I’ve been very good at it. All the guys on the team think he was able to kick our asses after the hayride because he was trained as a special agent from Russia or something.”