Your Planet or Mine? (3 page)

At the back patio door, Grandpa crouched down. He grunted, knees creaking. “Why did you leave the house? Talk to me, Jana. Find the words.”

Peter—he came and we played. He’s magic. Oh, Grandpa, when I’m with him, it feels like I can do anything.

Anything but talk, she realized, the words knotting up in her throat. Without his glasses, Grandpa had trouble reading her lips in the dark, but she kept trying. The more she wanted to explain, the less she was able to do it until she finally gave up. Tears of frustration pressed behind her eyes.

A leaf dangled from her bangs as she bowed her head. Despite his angry expression, Grandpa removed it tenderly. “Jana, your imagination is a wonderful thing, but sometimes you have to stop to consider the consequences of your actions. I didn’t know you were out playing. I thought you were missing. And that maybe someone had hurt you.”

Jana tasted a bitter rush of guilt. She wasn’t used to being the one who misbehaved, and she wasn’t sure she liked it, either.

Grandpa took her hand and brought her back to her bedroom. He turned on the light and picked up one of the colored-pencil drawings on her desk. “Who’s this? Is he a friend of yours?”

Yes!
She nodded with enthusiasm.

His expression hardened. He thrust a pad and pencil at her. “Tell me who this boy is, who his parents are, and how you know him.”

Jana took the pencil and paper and scribbled:
Peter is magic!!!

Grandpa read what she wrote with no small amount of relief. “Ah, an imaginary friend.” Then he gave the drawings a closer look, this time with a different kind of worry. Jana knew about the different looks of worry; at one time or another, she’d seen them all directed at her. Then he sighed and put the papers down. “As much as I love your imagination, it’s my responsibility to keep you safe—and inside—at night. I won’t tell on you, but in return, I want your promise. No more going out in the middle of the night.”

And not see Peter?

He nodded.

The ache to disobey her grandfather was strong, but the desire not to disappoint him was stronger. She might not sound like the rest of the Jaspers, but she could do a lot better in acting like one. It about killed her, but she nodded.

“Good girl.” He didn’t leave her room until he was satisfied she was tucked in under the covers. “Stay.” He shook his finger at her in a warning, to which she gave an obedient nod. Then he was gone, back to bed.

“C
AVIN
,
YOUR BIOSIGNS
are even more elevated than last night,” his father observed as Cavin burst, gasping, out of the decon shower. There was the near miss with the girl’s elder, but Cavin didn’t dare reveal how close he’d come to discovery.

“You didn’t get stuck in another tree, did you?”

Cavin shook his head. He bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. “No, sir. Just exploring, sir.”

“I’m glad you have the energy, because I’m going to put it to use. The tie-downs in the cargo bay are loose. Tighten them for me. Then help me get these biospheres labeled and loaded. We’re soon to be on our way.”

Cavin’s mouth went dry. “We’re leaving?”
Not yet, Father. I’ve only just gotten to know her. She’s…she’s wonderful. I can’t stop smiling when I’m with her. I can’t stop looking at her.

“Tomorrow night.”

“But—”

“I need your help getting ready. There’s more left to do than I thought. I’ve fallen behind.”

Would he have the chance to see the girl one more time? He had to. No matter what his father said.

As he climbed down to the cargo bay, Cavin wished for a way that the alien girl could be loaded on board, too. Then just as quickly as the thought had come into his head, shame obliterated it. He didn’t want to own her. He didn’t want to control her. He wanted her to be with him only if he made her as happy as she made him.

I
T WASN’T QUITE DARK
when Jana heard the whisper of wind outside her bedroom window the next night. She moved aside the edge of the curtain and peeked outside. Peter stood at the base of the tree, glowing softly. His entire face seemed to melt in an expression of relief and happiness when he saw her. He beckoned to her urgently.
Come down.

I can’t.

Please.

Jana shook her head.

Shoving fingers through his hair, Peter paced in front of the oak tree. He seemed different. Sadder—and also as if he were in a hurry.

Something was wrong. He needed her, but she’d promised she wouldn’t leave the house. Jana had never felt so empty in all her life. Was being good supposed to feel this bad?

Grandpa said she had heart, but all she knew was that her heart was hurting right now. Hurting for Peter. She cast a longing look out the window, but Peter was gone. She uttered a squeak of dismay.

No!
She wasn’t going to let him leave thinking she didn’t care. With her knuckles pressed to her mouth and her heart kicking her ribs, Jana walked out into the hallway and pretended not to see the portraits of dead and alive Jaspers watching her defiance with disapproval. Just this once, she told them.
Just this once
.

Down the flight of stairs, out into the backyard, then she broke into a run. With none of the grace of her ballet-dancer mother, she got the toe of her flip-flop caught in a rut of sunbaked mud and went down hard on one knee.

It stung like a thousand bumblebee stings, but she picked herself up and limped back into a run. It hurt but she didn’t care. When she reached the tree, Peter was gone.

A flare of panic took her breath, but she fought to calm down. Where did he go? Would he have gone to the pond? She turned in that direction and ran.

By the time she reached him where he sat on the dock, staring out at nothing, she was breathless with fear and pain. When he heard her footsteps, he turned around.

“Squee…” The soft and special way he smiled took her by surprise with a strange cartwheeling, heart-flipping feeling. But when he saw the blood dribbling down her shin, his expression changed. He stormed toward her and took her by the hand, pulling her into a stand of oaks where the only light was that from his glow.

Peter touched his wrist cuff. On it, tiny lights began to flash. Jana’s mouth fell open as sparkles appeared at the crown of Peter’s head. The sparkles looked like fairy dust as they formed a ring around his head like a halo. But then they fell, taking his glowing outer skin with them in a shimmering wave of light until the glow-bubble hung low around his waist.

Jana gasped. Underneath the bubble-skin he was a real boy, as human as she was, as human as any of Jared’s friends.

No, she thought. Jared’s friends were
sub
human.

Peter dropped to his knees and brought his finger to her throbbing knee. Jana jerked her leg away. Her skin was raw; it would hurt.

Peter gave his head a single shake. His confidence reassured her. Holding her breath, she let him touch his fingertip—real, warm skin—to her wound.

Tiny, crawly little shocks pricked her knee and shin. It felt like the time she’d stepped on a frayed plugged-in cord that had gotten wet next to the pool. The tingles spread up her leg. Static electricity snapped. Her scalp tingled. Jana let out a delighted, surprised laugh—her hair was floating!

Then the tingling stopped. It took a few seconds to realize the pain in her knee had gone away, too. She dropped a shocked stare to her leg. Where the scrape had been, the skin was now smooth and pink. Except for the small patch of missing suntan and the streaks of blood on her shin, it was like she’d never hurt herself.

It was the proof he was magic.
The proof!

Peter stood. He pointed to his chest then with both hands he made a sweeping motion at the sky.

Questioningly, she pointed to the sky full of stars.

He nodded.
Yes. There
. The sadness on his face was sharp. He was leaving and wasn’t coming back.

Her eyes ached.
Be brave, Jana. Don’t cry
.

He touched his fingertip to her mouth, so lightly, like he’d done to her scraped knee, his gaze deep and dark. Then he held up three fingers.

Her hopes rising, she held up three fingers, too.
Three—the three wishes!

Then Peter reached for his wrist cuff. Sparkles danced around the edge of the sagging bubble-skin as the glow rose slowly. In a hurry, he walked away.

But Jana bolted after him. She had to see him one last time before the bubble sealed him completely. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she caught up to him, but Peter took care of that.

His hand slid behind her head and he pressed a warm, firm kiss to her lips. Then just as quickly he let go and threw the glowing bubble-skin over his head as he hurried away.

Wow,
Jana thought, standing there, her heart racing.
Wow.

A wave of emotion surged up inside her. All at once she was scared, mad, sad, happy—she couldn’t explain the boiling feelings inside her, only that she couldn’t hold it all in. It came bursting out of her in a rush of words: “I’ll never forget you, Peter! I never will!”

His pace slowed for a second. He’d heard her. But it was as if he were afraid to turn around, because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave. A heartbeat later, he lifted off the ground with a gust of wind and vanished.

She brought a shaking hand to her throat. What had just happened?
You spoke.
“I spoke,” she murmured, feeling the vibration of her vocal cords under her fingertips. “I spoke,” she said, louder this time. “I spoke!” She threw back her head and laughed out loud. Peter had fixed her. He’d fixed her on the inside like he had the outside. Jana whooped and pirouetted, arms flung out wide.

“Jana? Was that you yelling?” In pajamas, her sister approached.

“Listen, Evie.
Listen
. I can talk.”

Evie shrieked and grabbed her in a fierce hug. Squealing and dancing, they spun around, arms around each other. “You got the three wishes, Jana. You got them.”

“Two out of three.” Jana gasped.

Evie grabbed her by the shoulders to stop the spinning. “What do you mean two out of three? What were the other two?”

“Two was—” Jana blushed “—a first kiss. I kissed Peter!”

Evie pressed her hand over Jana’s mouth. “Now that you’re talking, you’re going to need to learn to control what comes out.” She lifted her hand. “It wasn’t a French kiss, was it?”

“What’s a French kiss?”

“Did he put his tongue in your mouth?”

“Ugh. No!”

“Good. You’re only nine.” With dread Evie asked, “What was number three?”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” Jana said in a dreamy voice. “Peter is going to marry me.”

Evie made the loudest snort. “You can’t wish that.”

“Why not?” Jana felt herself deflate.

“Granting you the three wishes set him free. If he marries you, he’s not set free. It’s like making your third wish that you want three more wishes. That’s not allowed, either.”

“But—”

“Jana. You can’t marry the genie, okay? It goes against the rules of magic.”

Never be afraid of going for it, even when someone tells you your chances of succeeding are one in a million
. “I’m going to marry him.” Jana skipped ahead of her sister, headed home.

“You won’t feel this way once you fall in love for real,” Evie shouted after her.

Jana laughed and kept skipping. She didn’t have time to argue, not now. She had plans to make, a future to look forward to, and she was going to create it from the ground up. No more being the troublemaker Jasper, the one everyone worried about. No more trips to Dr. Wong, the child psychologist, to see why she couldn’t speak. All she’d ever wanted was to be normal, to be like everyone else. Now that she had the chance, she wasn’t going to blow it.

F
ROM THAT DAY FORWARD
, Jana talked. And talked. With eloquent abandon. She talked her way through the rest of her school years, through four years at Stanford and a Rhodes scholarship to Cambridge University in England. By the time she was twenty-nine, she’d talked her way through a landslide election that ended with her taking office as the youngest state senator in California history.

As the first female Jasper to hold public office, much was said about her gift of gab and how it helped forge a real connection with her constituents. To her dismay, even more was said about her social life.

“You go through men like I go through chocolate,” Evie told Jana after the breakup of her most recent relationship. This time, it had been an actual engagement. It was the third time Jana had gone that far with any of the men she’d dated and she’d hoped the third time would be a charm, but as soon as the marriage plans began in earnest, she’d gotten cold feet. Now at thirty-two Jana was back to being California’s Most Eligible Bachelorette, a title she wore as comfortably and as enthusiastically as a purple tutu. Lately, even her family had gotten in on the matchmaking pressure. Everyone except for Grandpa, wheelchair-bound in his nineties but with a mind as sharp as ever.

Clutching a mug of coffee, Jana sat across the dining table from him as she did every Tuesday morning. Foggy daylight filtered through the French doors in the breakfast room. Bagels and cream cheese were set out on antique china that had been in the family since the 1800s.

“Jana, your personal life and your political future are intertwined.” Grandpa crossed two thick fingers and shook them at her. She supposed he thought she needed a visual. “You’re going to have to commit to someone soon, or risk being seen as a person who can’t commit to anything at all.”

Sixty years between them, but to this day, they remained the closest of friends. He’d certainly been the best political mentor around, but nothing beat getting a second opinion on men from one who’d been around for almost a century. “I don’t sleep around,” she said. “I date around.”

“To the public, to your rivals, it’s the same thing.”

“My social life is nowhere near as exciting as everyone thinks.”

“And there you have it, girl. It’s what people think that counts, not what you actually do—or not do. What you have to work on now is changing the perception that you’re a playgirl who won’t, or can’t, settle down. Marriage will do that for you. Use your stubbornness, punkin. That relentless drive. Focus on the kind of life partner you want and go for it. Don’t consider anyone who doesn’t fit your specifications, and you won’t be left with doubts. Choose wisely.”

She drained her coffee and gazed at the grinds left on the bottom of the cup. They formed a little heart. Oh, for goodness sake. She shook the cup, scattering the grinds. There, now they more closely resembled her love life: no direction, no substance. “I want magic, Grandpa. That’s what I’m looking for and can’t find. A man with the kind of magic you can taste in the very first kiss.”

Surprised, her grandfather sat back in his wheelchair.

“I want to feel like I did when I kissed my imaginary friend Peter when I was a little girl,” she blurted out, feeling her face warm.

“You kissed him?” Gripping the armrests of his wheelchair, he leaned forward. “You never told me that.”

“He was imaginary, remember?”

“Yes, but…” he blustered.

“Besides, I was nine. Kissing any male who wasn’t a family member would have been too mortifying to admit. But I tell you, Grandpa, imaginary or not, he spoiled me for anyone else.”

“Good thing you didn’t tell me this then. I’d have gone after that boy with my shotgun.”

Jana laughed. “I can picture you raging all around the ranch, firing at nothing, trying to catch something that wasn’t there.”

“Is it any different from what you’re doing right now with your love life? Trying to catch something that’s not there?”

Was that what she was doing? Was that why it never worked out? Deflated, Jana sagged back in her chair. Sometimes, her grandfather’s insight sliced right to the heart.

His blue eyes softened with love. “Don’t settle, punkin, but don’t pine for what never existed in the first place, either.”

“I won’t settle. I promise you.”
How can you say that when every man you’ve ever dated has been a compromise?

She’d never stopped searching for the magic she felt with Peter, looking for it in every male she’d kissed since, comparing each and every one of them to an imaginary figure from her childhood. How sad was that? Jana pouted at the coffee grounds strewn across the bottom of her cup.

“You’re all heart, my girl, but now it’s time to leave your heart out of it and give this manhunt some serious thought. Picking the right man will increase your odds of winning the White House.”

“That’s years away.” Nothing could convince him she wouldn’t be the president someday.

“No time like the present to prepare for the future.”

Jana checked the time. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to be at the fish farm by nine.”

Vaguely unsettled by the conversation, she picked up her attaché bag and hooked the strap over her shoulder, smoothing a hand over the skirt of her butter-yellow suit. “Well, keep your eyes open for me,” she said with forced cheer, “because I trust your taste more than Mom’s.”

Mom liked Alex Neiman, a cute restaurateur who co-owned the trendy new vodka and caviar bar Ice with cousin Viktor. Alex was making a concerted play to win Jana over, wooing her, wooing the family, but she still had to be convinced Alex wasn’t interested
because
of her family and their celebrity.

Or maybe she was just tired of men. The search for The One had certainly been futile. She wasn’t ready to give up, but then she wasn’t motivated to keep searching, either. Maybe a little vacation from the dating game would do her some good.

She came around the table and bent down to kiss her grandfather’s cheek before leaving him to his newspaper and coffee in the sprawling old ranch house that had framed their childhoods, generations apart.

A
N HOUR LATER
, Jana felt more like prey than a politician as she stood on a narrow footbridge over seething tanks of already-huge, teenage sturgeon waiting to speak. A fish burst out of the water. Its white mouth wide-open in anticipation, it aimed for her feet. Jana sidestepped away and it dropped back into the pool. Ice-cold water sliced across her shins.

She’d been on the bridge with her communications director, Steve, and the owners of the fish farm for all of five minutes, and she was the only one who was wet. Rivulets of water ran down her calves and into her shoes. Obviously canvas open-toed heels with raffia bows were the wrong fashion choice. Who knew coral-colored toenails would be a siren’s call for five thousand hormone-driven fish?

“I was told they can’t see very well,” she said out of the corner of her mouth to her communications director as they watched the circling shadows. “They find their food by sense of smell. Yet, look at them. They want us.”

“They want
you,
” Steve whispered back. “You’re the only one getting wet.”

Jana wiggled her toes. “Think it’s the nail polish?”

A sturgeon leaped out of the water. The impact of its ugly whiskery head bouncing off the bottom of the bridge made a rubbery thunk. Water sliced across Jana’s skirt and hose.
I’m on your side, little fishies. Your side
. Protecting California’s wildlife had been a priority since she’d taken office. A thankless job, if the sturgeon had anything to say about it.

The report she’d read before coming here had informed her that this particular species could reach fifteen hundred pounds and live a hundred years or more. Jana thanked her lucky stars that at three feet or so, these fish weren’t much more than hatchlings—
female
hatchlings. Still, she didn’t like the way they clustered at the edge of their tank, blowing rubber-lipped kisses at her. She whispered in Steve’s ear. “I’m afraid if I refuse their advances, they’ll settle for eating me alive.”

“Sort of like Brace Bowie,” he murmured back.

Jana swore under her breath. No,
exactly
like Brace Bowie, developer, businessman and ex-fiancé number three. The breakup was complicated by the fact Brace had sunk a lot of money into cousin Viktor’s caviar bar. She had a feeling he wanted to pull out of the investment, but felt awkward leaving Alex and Viktor hanging. Coincidentally, a week later, Brace was called in for questioning regarding the bust-up of a black market sturgeon fishing ring. A suspect arraigned on poaching charges had pointed a finger at him. He’d come out clean, but the negative publicity had hurt his business.

Jana’d had nothing to do with the investigation, but neither she nor anyone else could convince Brace, and he’d come back slinging mud at a flashy press conference accusing her of pouring millions of taxpayer dollars into building her own empire, with an army of Department of Fish and Game “enforcer-commandos” to “strong-arm” her policies. He was going make sure she lost her senate seat in the November election. For ten nightmarish weeks until the city made him take them down, he’d displayed huge signs on several of his project sites downtown calling her legislative motives into question with slogans like: Spend-Happy Jasper Wastes YOUR Tax Dollars! Vote Her Out This Fall!

“Whatever happened to taking it like a man?” she muttered to Steve. “Then again, maybe if he’d been more of a man, I might still be with him.” Add Brace to her long list of bad choices. That man-vacation was sounding better by the minute.

The owner of the fish farm walked up to the microphone to begin the festivities. “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to Senator Jana Jasper, who will lead us in our ceremonies today.”

To the sound of polite applause, Jana stepped up to the podium. “It’s opening day at Good Egg Sea Farm and that’s truly a reason to celebrate. Caspian Sea beluga sturgeon hover on the brink of extinction, wiped out by habitat degradation, commercial fishing and a black market run by the Russian Mafia. But with a little freshwater and aquaculture expertise, we’ve turned this small section of our state’s Central Valley into the caviar-farming capital of the world!”

She waited for the cheers to quiet down before continuing. “Welcome to California’s new gold rush! Black gold. And we’re not talking crude. We’re talking
gourmet!
” To more applause, she waved her hand in a sweeping motion at the huge circular tanks around her. “As Chair of
your
Natural Resources committee, I promise to champion legal enterprises like this one ceaselessly. Together we can stop the drain that illegal activities like poaching take on our wildlife budget—” A flip of a tail from an oversexed teenage sturgeon shot a spray of water that caught her across the jaw.

She continued, despite her cold-blooded hecklers. Using a tissue that Steve handed her to wipe off the drips. “Aqua-farms like Good Egg discourage poaching, smuggling and illegal importation. This keeps hard-won budget money where it belongs—funding crucial programs that help to protect California’s environment. Congratulations, Good Egg. Not only are you good for California’s taste buds, you are good for California’s future!”

As the crowd applauded heartily, one of the aqua-farm owners handed her a pair of scissors. To cheers and whistles, Jana cut through a bright purple ribbon draped across the footbridge.

As the crowd applauded, a reporter and a photographer entered the farm. They didn’t look familiar. Other than Good Egg’s staff, their families, representatives from Fish and Game, the only other observer was a reporter cloaked in a Moscow-style trench coat and hat representing a small newspaper serving the area’s Russian community. What an outfit. He looked more like a spy on undercover assignment rather than a bored part-time journalist hunting up news for a slow day. No one from the
Sacramento Sun
had bothered to show up, despite Steve’s press release. Apparently, the opening of a sturgeon farm wasn’t big news except to the local immigrant community.

Steve narrowed his eyes, signaling that he didn’t recognize the newcomers, either. She hoped it wasn’t one of the tabloids. When the Kennedys were being low-key, out of boredom the gossip rags came looking for Jaspers, who as a rule weren’t nearly as interesting. But now that she was newly single, maybe they’d wanted fodder for some lurid rumors:
Sex-starved senator participates in sturgeon orgy.

Or, better yet:
“A woman without a man is like a sturgeon without a bicycle,” claims perennially spouseless State Senator Jana Jasper
.

A splash from the holding tank hit her across the chest. Jana inhaled on a gasp as a stream of cold water found its way down her cleavage. She glared at the prehistoric-looking fish ogling her from the churning water.
No one says you can’t be turned into sushi—right here, right now.

The unfamiliar reporter smirked and whispered to the photographer. Jana’s instincts, always good, prickled. What were they up to?

She stepped away from the microphone. Welcome sunshine pushed through shreds of lingering fog and warmed the March morning. Under a fluttering banner was a buffet line from the heavens: bowls of hardboiled eggs, the whites separate from the yolks, minced onion, lemon slices, sour cream and toast to go with a rainbow of different caviars from inexpensive but tasty bright-orange salmon eggs to the much more expensive rich and nutty, creamy-tasting sturgeon roe. Jana inhaled the aroma, her mouth watering. She’d inherited her mother’s taste in fine Russian cuisine, and caviar was a favorite. It tasted best with iced vodka, but when Good Egg’s sales and marketing director offered her a flute of champagne to go with the feast, she was grateful. Every job had its perks. She took a sip.

A few flashes from the Russian newspaper’s camera, then, “A question, Senator!”

She turned around. The reporter she suspected was from a tabloid waved at her. “Jeff Golden,
Los Angeles Times,
” the man called out.