A limo came tearing up the road just as the light turned red and screeched to a stop.

Saria ventured towards it curiously, and somewhat stupidly. She had never really seen a limo before, except in a few pictures. You might say she didn’t get out much. Other than the limo the back alley street she was walking was deserted.

You can always scream. The question is, will anyone help you? Her friend’s warning sounded in her head. Saria shrugged her shoulders in response to the unspoken chastisement.

Then a figure popped out of the limo. Even thought the light turned green, the limo didn’t move.

Saria suddenly got a very, very bad feeling. The figure exuded threats and deceit and most of all, evil.

She tried to run, but it was too late. The blank streets not only blocked her advancement, but aided her pursuer. The person was quicker and stronger and caught up to her easily. He – by now she was sure of that – grabbed her roughly and dragged her into a corner, where dope packets littered the floor and a Dumpster was the predominant structure.

Saria couldn’t scream. Her vocal cords were frozen. The man pried off her clothes and hissed in her ear, "I wonder if it is true that this is enjoyable. But of course, no one could ever dare lie to me. Who would dare to lie to the great Visser Three?"

Worlds of pain lay afterwards.

Then, later, when the ordeal was "over", she screamed. She screamed until her commonsense told her to shut up. She yanked her clothing back on and tried to forget the pain and the fear and the degradation and the mental torture. But the memories continued to assault her.

A few weeks later, when Saria finally summoned the courage to speak to her mother, her mother told her some news also. They were moving. To a small house in a quiet, insignificant suburban neighborhood. They had finally saved enough money. So they moved. But even in that sleepy town, she could never forget.

"Class, today we will be studying the fascinating amoeba. Not really an animal, nevertheless, it is unique in its-" Mr. Fenten, the biology teacher, droned on and on. I was slowly but surely falling asleep. I mean, it’s bad enough being an Animorph. It’s worse being a sleepy Animorph in a desperately boring class.

The sound of the door opening interested me enough so that I opened one eye and turned my head to the door.

What I saw made me sit up straight.

The principal, Mrs. Williams, stood there with her hand placed on the shoulder of a girl my age. She had brown hair that fell to half of her back. Her skin was olive, as characterized so many Hispanics.

But her eyes nearly brought tears to mine. They reminded me so much of my mother. They were the same color and were framed the same way. Not only that, but they had a look in them reminiscent of the look Jake’s eyes had, all the Animorphs, but Jake most of all...Of course, I couldn’t really see her that well. Maybe I was dreaming.

I took a look at the board, where a drawing of the "fascinating amoeba" dominated the blackboard. No, this was reality. Why would I dream up amoebas?

"Ah, Mr. Fenten, you have a new student today. Her name is Saria Medina, ah, she just transferred here from Douglas Housing Projects. Would anyone here, ah, like to show her around her, ah, first week here?"

My hand shot up like quicksilver –

Along with the hands of the remaining male population of the class. I obviously wasn’t the only one who had noticed her.

Then Saria spoke. "I can find my own way around." Her voice was monotone and expressionless.

"Well, ah, that’s all good and well," Mrs. Williams said cautiously, "but I think it would be better if someone showed you the school, ah, for now. How about, ah...Marco?" She pointed to me.

I couldn’t help but grin. For some reason, the school had stuck me in an Honors Science class, so a lot of the people here were real study-sticklers and get-good-grades-or-else kind of people. Mrs. Williams had practically, ah, memorized my vital statistics, seeing as I frequented her office so often. I was probably the only person in the class whose name she knew.

The seat next to me was occupied by a boy named Albert. I quickly whispered to him, "Move to the seat behind you and you get 20 bucks tomorrow."

He exclaimed (quietly, of course) "OK!!" and moved. Typical dumb gesture. I nearly rolled my eyes, but resisted the urge. Mr. Fenten, being, how can I say this delicately, half-blind and deaf, said nothing. Mrs. Williams eyed me suspiciously.

"Saria, how about you sit next to Marco?" Mr. Fenten suggested. Just as I planned.

Come on, you know me. What are the odds that I’m just going to sit around while a beautiful girl sits next to some geek?

Exactly.

Saria walked over and arranged her stuff neatly. I watched her. For a second our eyes met.

A chill ran up and down my spine.

Okay, she had Jake’s eyes. She looked as if she had had bad, bad things happen to her and she had somehow survived it. Her eyes were worn out, yet wary and alert and suspicious. They had a seemingly vacant stare that would sweep you slowly, then return. They were ragged, but remained always that steadfast, mystic brown. Her eyes were so expressive I felt that I was invading her privacy and looked away.

After she finished, the bell rang. She didn’t say a word, but packed some stuff back up. She took out a book that the school was reading for Lit class. Then she finally asked me a question.

"You’re Marco, right?"

"The one and only," I said, posing like Hulk Hogan. She didn’t smile.

"Where’s room 208?"

"Literature? Aren’t you a lucky girl. I’m in Lit 208 also. Just come with me."

She handed me her binder and book. "Carry this. I’m exhausted," she commanded. I did. They weren’t all that heavy.

I met her eyes again, and this time, I saw a flicker of a smile.

I shoved my books into my bookbag after the last period bell rang. That Marco boy. He was filling my thoughts.

Why, I don’t know. He obviously had an ego problem...

I thought about it and analyzed it, and decided that was his sole fault.

I mean, he had cheered me up. Substantially. He was nice and obliging. He was really funny, filling me up on everything that was going on in the school. He always seemed disappointed when I didn’t laugh.

I remember how when I entered the class, my first reaction was, That kid looks like he just had a coronary. Then Marco had practically jumped out of his seat waving his hand for Mrs, ah, Williams. He was also, maybe, kind of cute.

But he wasn’t a child. I could feel that. His entire demeanor was different. I can tell a lot of things, when I first meet a person. He had something to hide. He had something to prove. He had something to fight for, and he was in a very bad situation.

I didn’t quite know what the situation was. But the situation must have changed him. Energetic, funny, slightly sardonic, kind, nice, cute Marco was no little boy. He was a weary adult in a child’s guise.

This I could tell. Like I said, I can tell a lot of things. I don’t know how, or why. It kind of just happens.

I liked him already. A lot. But I wasn’t ready to trust anyone, especially not a male. The details of _______ (you fill in the words – I refuse to even write it) still haunted me night and day. They always would. They made me scared of everything. They threatened any wobble of the strict regularity of my routine. I didn’t want to do anything now. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even respond.

It was like I was in a coma, only I could move and be self-aware. But I couldn’t really talk. Just sometimes. The doctor called it a symptom of "post-____ traumatic syndrome." He called my hesitance to move more than necessary a symptom, too. As a matter of fact, if I had suddenly taken up bungee-jumping, I think he would have called that a symptom too.

Marco came up. It was great that we had the same schedule. I did need to get used to this school. "So, do you know the way out? Or are you going to follow that insane rush of people called ‘Dismissal’?"

I shrugged.

"Ah. Well. May I walk a lady out?" He bowed exaggeratedly.

I nodded without being capable of smiling, like I wanted to. But I had to remember – I had to keep my distance. I still didn’t know him. Marco. I only had my little intuitive flashes to guide me, even though they were so far, positive. But I didn’t trust those either.

"Did you see her? Didn’t you see her?" Marco demanded. "How could you not have seen her? She was there! She was radiant! She was beautiful! She was a goddess-in-training! She was different! Come on, you are in most of my classes and she is in all of my classes! How could you have missed –"

I cut Marco off by holding my hand up so that the palm faced him. "Marco. Who the heck are you talking about?" I said calmly.

"Saria Medina. Saria. Do you remember?" he asked, frustrated.

"Oh! Her! Yeah, I remember her. I remember you goggling over her as if she had three heads. I remember her persistent silent efforts to thwart you. I remember wondering, Gee, what happened to Marco?" I teased.

"She happened to me, that’s what. I swear, I am going to get her to go out with me or something no matter freaking what," he ranted, mostly to himself.

"Uh, Marco, you seem to be forgetting one fact – you are repellent of the other gender. Girls run away from you, not towards you," I pointed out. Then what he had said hit me. "So, wait a sec. You want to go out with her. As in, you want to go steady with her. Kind of like you did with Marian."

"Well, in between saving the world from evil little alien globs of chewed gum and coming up with punchlines for Rachel, hell yeah!" he cried.

"How do we know she’s not a Controller?" I asked suspiciously.

"Oh, don’t you dare," Marco groaned. "If you watch her the way you kept tabs on Marian, I’m going to – I’ll – I’ll do something so cruel I didn’t think of it yet. Yeah," he threatened.

"Give me a break, Marco. I’ll only do it because I love you," I said, batting my lashes and looking at him innocently.

"Yeah, that’s you, Tinky-Winky," he muttered.

"She’s not a Controller," he added.

"How do you know?" I asked, and crossed my arms. This I had to hear.

"I – don’t know. I just know she’s not. She’s like – you know those sappy poems about girls in those Chicken Soup books? She’s like the girl they’re always describing. I know that she can’t be a Controller," Marco said firmly.

"Yeah," I said. "Do you really think so? Remember, anyone can be a Controller."

"Anyone. But not Saria," he replied.

"Saria. Isn’t that the name of one of the characters in the Zelda series?" I mused.

"Do I really ca-" He stopped in mid-sentence. "Hey, yeah! Cool!" he exclaimed.

"Anyway. Saria. Is. Hot. End of story. She’ll succumb to my charms...one day...but she doesn’t seem to like me, amazingly enough," he finished sadly.

"Isn’t that the story of your life?"

"Funny. Hugely funny."

"I thought so too," I said, and high-fived myself (a very amazing technological and physical feat).

[1 week later]

Yes. I was definently going to do it. I was going to ask Saria out.

Oh geez. I mean, how pathetic was I? I had been telling that to myself for a week now. Not only that, but I have things to worry about that are far greater than whether some girl will go out with me. As in, Yeerks, and...yeah, that was basically it. Yeerks, that was my life. Kill all Yeerks from A to B.

But Saria wasn’t just some girl to me.

After another day of classes, I asked her to walk with me again. "Where do you live?" I inquired.

She nodded to some place with her chin, then looked down at the books that threatened to overflow her arms, then at me. The request was clear.

"Oh goodness," I mumbled to myself. I still can’t believe that I actually took all of the books myself.

I shifted them to one arm. "Anyway, I was wondering – uh, why don’t you talk?"

She stopped, then she looked back at me. She gestured to a low cement boundary, like the kind that surrounds some grassy areas, then sat down on it herself.

I sat next to her, glad to relieve my arms of the burden of her stuff.

"I do talk. Sometimes. A lot of times, I can’t," she said. She said! It was the first time I had heard her talk, other than the time she had told me to carry her books on her first day. This time I was able to study her voice. It was...musical. That’s the one way to describe it, and I can’t elaborate on that. Use your imagination, you budding psychologist you.

"It’s just that – like, stuff happened to me. I mean, I know it happens, but I can’t understand why it happened to me."

So remindful of my own thoughts, sometimes.

I picked up her books with one arm (so that time when I had rescued the old man had ended up with muscle gain!) and pulled her arm up with the other. She looked surprised, but got up and walked with me.

I was going to listen to her story at my house. My dad was at work, and there no annoying Miss Gossip runner-up could hear. I had the feeling that Saria was gonna spill to me.

We walked in silence until we reached my house, then I opened the door. She gestured for her books back and I shook my head no. "Come," I said, and beckoned inside.

Saria completely changed. She backed up in fear and her eyes grew wide. "No, no!" she whispered fearfully. "Look, don’t be scared. I know my house is messy, but is it really that bad? I’m not going to do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about," I said with a hint of what I like to call, "DUH."

"I can’t, I truly can’t," she whispered. Why was she whispering? I don’t know.

"Sorry, but you won’t get your books back," I said.

She shook, but she stepped up to my doorstep where I was and made a weak attempt to take the books. I shook my head no and stepped inside a little more. She looked at me with tears threatening to mist her beautiful eyes.

I couldn’t take it. "Don’t cry, please," I said hurriedly. "I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I made you cry." I handed her the books. "You can go home. I won’t keep you."

She stood there, uncertain for a minute. Then a tear fell. Her forehead wrinkled, like she didn’t want that to happen. She didn’t wipe it either. Instead, she stepped into my house. I stepped in after her.

Chapter 5 ~ Saria

I couldn’t believe I was going to trust this boy I had only known for a week, with a secret I had been carrying since what seemed like forever, but was only about a month. But I felt that I could trust him, and I felt that I wanted to.

He patted a space next to him on the couch. "Sit," he said. Then, "Wait." Tears had been falling down my face, even though I didn’t want to cry and didn’t need to. He wiped them softly. "There." The uncharacteristic gesture set my heart throbbing with an alien feeling.

I felt unusual, but I sat down. Now my fear from the outside seemed just really, really dumb.

"Well, you know I come from the projects," I began. He nodded.

"It was really late, and me being so smart, I was out..." As my story unfolded, I could see his eyes grow wide with disbelieving recognition.

"He said he was Visser Three."

The house was suddenly very quiet. I could hear his heart beat at a wild pace. "Don’t say that," he whispered frantically. Then he returned to a normal voice volume. "Have you told anyone that name?" he asked.

"No."

"Don’t ever, ever, say that name in the hearing of another person."

"Well, why not?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

He sighed. "Am I insane?" he asked himself. Then he answered. "Yes, I am." He saw me surveying him skeptically. "Oh, God, Saria, don’t look at me like that!"

"How am I looking at you?"

"Just – like that. Yeah. Hey, cut that out!"

I think he was just babbling. I think.

Then he sobered, and told me the strangest thing in the world. He told me who and what Visser Three is. He told me of the Animorphs. He told me of the Yeerks, and the Andalites, and the Chee. He poured out his stories of endless decisions, of futile battle, of fear, of endless paranoia and insomnia, of the struggle to pretend, of the need to tell, of the feeling of a slow explosion...

"I feel like sometimes, there’s a little bomb inside of me. And each new day is another minute added to the time bomb. And one day the minutes will be over and I’ll explode. KA-BOOM," he said without humor. He seemed lost for a moment. I touched his head gingerly and he shook himself out of his funk. "Oh, yeah," he said. Then he glanced at the window.

"Oh shit!" he cursed. "My dad’s home. You gotta go. If he finds you, I’m dead."

I turned to go, gathering my books. Then he said quietly, but with force, "Don’t tell a single soul. You were never here. And come to Cassie ______’s barn, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center, at 5:00 tomorrow. Just ask directions from any highwayman."

Right after Saria left, my dad came. "Hey, what’s up, little man?" he grinned, tousling my now-shoulder-length-again hair. "Nothing," I replied.

"How was work?"

"Eh, OK."

And that was it. My dad went off to the bathroom to freshen up for dinner. I yelled, "I’m going to Jake’s house. Be back in a flash!"

"Okay, but hurry up. I’m making pasta!"

I shuddered and ran out. Already, the sky was beginning to turn purple velvet. Soon it would dissolve into night. Jake’s house was pretty close to mine, so I only had to run a few blocks or so. I turned in (the door was locked punctually at 9:00 and it wasn’t 9:00 yet) and slammed into Tom.

"Hey, watch out, Marco!" Tom glared at me. Then he softened. "Oh, by the way, did your dad ever attend the Sharing meeting?"

I felt like jumping him and choking the life out of him. I struggled to keep nonchalance in my voice and responded, "No, he got transferred to a different project."

"Oh," he said, disappointed. And what, Yeerk? Like I’m going to let you take my dad. No way. I’d burn in Hell before I let that happen. Deal with it. "Are you coming anytime?" he continued, with revived interest. "We have tons of stuff going on. We have barbe-"

"Yeah, I know, Tom. You’ve told me a million times, Tom. I’ve practically memorized the Sharing’s agenda, Tom. And may I say, shut up, Tom. Where’s Jake, Tom," I said calmly. This time I wanted to laugh. The look on Tom’s face was too much!

Feeling (slightly) appeased, I turned away and saw Jake, en route to the bathroom. "Hey, Jake," I said.

"Marco? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"And I could say, Duh, I live here."

"Oh. Yeah. That too."

"Well, what do you want?" he asked.

"A color," I replied. "No, actually, it’s very important. Do you know any place where, uh, your brother won’t eavesdrop?"

"Come with me."

Jake led me outside to his backyard. Then he stood up straight and crossed his arms. "Speak," he commanded.

"The sky is blue," I said, in an equally commanding tone.

Jake relaxed a bit and dropped his arms, rolling his eyes like he had a million times before.

"I told her."

Jake snapped to attention. "What??" he said incredulously.

"I told Saria everything."