Five shakes his head. “No thanks.” He starts to close his door, then stops. “You know, I don’t really think you and your dad are Mogadorian spies or whatever. At dinner I was just playing, uh, devil’s advocate, I guess.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“I mean, if I was a Mogadorian recruiting spies I’d pick humans that seemed a little tougher, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” I reply, crossing my arms. “You really don’t know when to stop talking during an apology, do you?”

“Ugh, I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” Five replies, knuckling his forehead. “I’ve got really crappy social awareness. Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

“Uh . . .”

Five smiles. “I’m joking, Sam. Of course they’ve noticed. I know I’m a freaking jerk. Like you said, I just can’t shut up sometimes.”

“If they’ve gotten used to Nine, they can get used to you,” I offer.

“Yeah. That’s, uh, heartening, I guess.” Five sighs. “Good night, Sam. Don’t hatch any evil plans in the Lecture Hall.”

Five shuts his door. I stand in the hallway, listening to him rustling around in his room. He’s a little off-putting, sure, but I can definitely understand why he’d be feeling anxious around the other Garde. I feel the same way.

I’m surprised to find the lights in the Lecture Hall already on. Sarah’s there, standing in the firing-range portion. She’s wearing a tank top and sweatpants. She’s also holding a crossbow, which might be one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. I watch her get ready to fire off an arrow.

“Can I take your picture for the yearbook?” I ask. My voice echoes in the vast space.

Sarah jumps. The arrow she was about to fire goes whizzing wide of the paper Mog hanging at the opposite end of the room. She turns around with a grin, brandishing the crossbow and gritting her teeth menacingly. I snap a picture with an imaginary camera.

“The kids in Paradise won’t believe that one,” I say. “But you’re a shoo-in for the Most Likely to Maim award.”

Sarah laughs. “God, we’re a long way from yearbook meetings, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Sarah sets the crossbow down and surprises me with a hug.

“What was that for?”

“It looked like you could use one,” she replies, shrugging. “Also, don’t tell the others I said this, but it’s so nice to have another human around.”

I realize that Sarah is pretty much the only other teenager on Earth who knows what it’s like to be friends with a bunch of aliens fighting an intergalactic war. We’ve never really talked about it, but we’ve shared a ton of the same whacked-out experiences.

“We should have like a two-person support group,” I suggest.