How to Marry an Alien by Magan Vernon Page B

print out from the
bottom of the pile and held up The Graduate movie poster to
see it in all its glory. I was always a sucker for Dustin Hoffman
and The Graduate was my favorite, even more than Tootsie or Rain Man . Finally, I found something to
put on my wall to balance Lucy's tie-dyed tapestries.
    "You know, I think we might have some other
older movie posters on this rack over here."
    I looked up to see a very tall man with a
long white beard, wearing a trapper hat, complete with furry ear
flaps.
    The only people I knew who wore winter items
in the summer, especially in Arizona were aliens and oh
crap …
    The man's smile grew at least twice its
original size. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be the Bianchi girl,
would you?"
    How the heck did every alien seem to know who
I was? Did I have some giant statue erected of me at Circe or a
premium spot in some alien tabloid?
    "Yeah, that would be me, Alex Bianchi." I
forced a smile.
    "I thought I'd never see the day!" He clapped
his big, furry hands together. "A real celebrity right here at my
poster stand. Proji told me you'd be here, but I never believe her.
She's always telling stories."
    I had no idea who Proji was, nor did I really
care. I just wanted to get my poster and get the heck out of
there.
    "Yeah, well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I
really have to get to class. How much is the poster?" I reached
into my messenger bag for my wallet.
    "Oh, no charge for you. I wouldn't dare
charge a princess."
    I snapped my head up and looked from my left
to my right, hoping no one had heard him. Was that really something
he should be talking about in public?
    "Um, are you sure? Really I'm just a normal
girl and I can pay for my own poster," I said, pulling out a
ten-dollar bill.
    "Your money is no good here." He held his
hands out in front of him, his palms facing out at me. "The higher
ups would ring my neck if I charged you for anything."
    "Okay, then." I slipped the money back in my
wallet and rolled up the poster. "Thank you very much, sir." I
would have argued more, but I was late for class and really I
couldn't refuse a free poster.
    "Oh, please, the pleasure is all mine." He
slid his hands into the pocket of his large hoodie. How no one else
found it weird that the guy was wearing full on winter clothes in
the middle of the summer in the desert was beyond me.
    I waved and then ran into the building as
fast as I could. I got into my seat just before the professor
started class. Thank God.
    "Okay, before we get back to working on your
outlines, I am going to pass around this sheet of paper." Professor
Johnson held up a plain piece of notebook. "And I want all of you
to write your name, your speech day, and what your speech will be
about."
    Crap . I still didn't have my speech
topic. Stupid Riley had foiled me again. Maybe her niceness was all
just an act. I told her plenty of times that I had to get back to
my homework, but she kept me down there in the dining hall. I knew
it was too good to be true.
    I was the first one to get the sheet of
paper. I couldn't leave it blank and everyone was waiting for me
before we got into groups with two new people to discuss our
outlines. I looked down at my rolled up poster and scribbled down
the only thing I could think of before passing it to the next
person and heading over to the new critique group I was working
with.
    Dang these kids were smart. Mila, with her
bright green eyes and wavy hair, was going to speak about the
dangers of plastic toys for infants. Marcos, with his long brown
hair and almond-colored eyes, was going to give a speech about
Mexican drug wars. And me? The girl with the thick glasses and
giant ring from her alien boyfriend, well she was going to be
speaking about Dustin Hoffman's early movie career and how it
shaped his future roles.
     
***
     
    Lucy wasn't home when I got there, and it was
probably a good thing. I had one more day to cram together an
outline and practice a speech before the next morning. I