“Got it.” Garrett bounced to his feet—a movement Xander deeply envied.
He returned a moment later and tossed a large padded envelope onto the bed. “For you.”
Xander ripped it open and extracted a pair of flannel pajama pants printed all over with cartoon aliens. On the greeting card, Spielberg’s ET flashed a peace sign. He read the inscription aloud. “Get well soon, junior space man.” It was signed “a fan,” with an Oregon address.
“Huh. Cute.” A few weeks ago, in the thick of his anti-alien tirade, he’d have tossed this gift in the trash. No, make that the shredder. But there was no way to interpret this offering as hostile—unless it was impregnated with itching powder.
He ran a hand inside the legs. No itch, just soft cloth. He gave the garment a sniff. It had that sharp new-clothing smell.
“Seems a legit gift. I thought those UFO people all hated my guts.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Garrett tilted his chin at Xander’s phone, lying face-up on the bed. “Check the FriendBook group.”
Xander pulled up the app. At the top of the feed, there was a new post by someone called TC Native. Their avatar: a silver-skinned alien from some 1950s sci-fi movie.
Stop the hate, friends.
I grew up in Trappers Cove. I love this town—its people, its funky vibe, its history. I knew Gus Anagnos well, and I loved him too. Visits to Souvenir Planet were the highlights of my childhood.
But friends, Gus was a flawed human being, just like the rest of us. Since losing his wife, a truly great lady, he spiraled into grief and obsession, and he neglected the building that housed his business.
He left that business to his nephew, someone he loved and trusted to take Souvenir Planet to new heights, not to freeze it in the past.
Gus is gone, folks, and hating on the new owner won’t bring him back.
Delaying the demolition of Souvenir Planet almost cost Gus’s nephew his life.
Think about that.
If you loved Gus, support his legacy, whatever form that takes.
I know I will.
As Xander read, the likes and hearts ticked upward into the high triple digits.
“Check out the comments,” Garrett urged him.
Some posters disagreed, a few vociferously, but most seconded TC Native’s comments.
One reply in particular, from someone called BeanMeUpScotty, drew almost as many likes as the original post:
If you’re worried about the cosmic vortex in Trappers Cove, do y’all really think a race intelligent enough for interstellar travel is gonna be deterred because a cruddy old building fell down? Use your brains, people!
He raised wide eyes to his new friend. “Did Hannah post this?”
Garrett rubbed his freckled nose. “I can neither confirm nor deny the identity of TC Native, but she—er,theyspeak for a lot of us.” He gathered up the paper wrappers littering Xander’s bedspread. “Anyway, I’ve known Hannah for a long time, and I can tell you, she’s not the type to give up easily. The question is, my wounded Greek friend, are you?”
With that, he unfolded his long limbs, pushed to his feet, and stretched. “Cute place you’ve got here, but in your shoes, I’d be looking for something bigger. Cheryl Rossi’s a good place to start—if you plan to stick around.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anhourlater,raisedfemale voices outside jerked Xander’s attention from the ridiculousness he and Garrett were constructing.
“Shit, she’s back. Get my crutches.”
With his friend’s help, he hobbled to the door and held up a finger. Clear and loud as a church bell, Hannah bellowed, “What part of No don’t you understand?”
“Our viewers have a right to know—”
