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  HIS ONE WISH …

  “Ready or not, here I come,” Michael whispered. He launched himself at Kyle, running full out. He lowered his shoulder and rammed Kyle to the ground before rat boy even had a chance to turn around.

  Michael grabbed both of Kyle’s wrists and pinned them behind his back.

  “You just keep eating pavement until we’re finished with our little chat. You got that, Kyle?” Michael demanded. He jabbed his knee into the loser’s back, just to make his point clear.

  “I’m not Kyle,” the guy said, his words muffled against the asphalt of the parking lot.

  “What?” Michael grabbed the guy by the shoulders and flipped him over.

  He wasn’t lying. He definitely wasn’t Kyle. This guy looked more like Michael than he did like Kyle.

  For a long moment the stranger just looked at him in silence, causing Michael’s adrenaline to start pumping all over again. What did this guy want?

  “I’m your brother,” he finally said.

  Don’t miss any books in this fascinating series:

  #1 THE OUTSIDER

  #2 THE WILD ONE

  #3 THE SEEKER

  #4 THE WATCHER

  #5 THE INTRUDER

  #6 THE STOWAWAY

  #7 THE VANISHED

  #8 THE REBEL

  #9 THE DARK ONE

  #10 THE SALVATION

  Available from POCKET PULSE

  THE REBEL

  by

  MELINDA METZ

  POCKET PULSE

  New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore

  This book is a work of fiction. Although the physical setting of the book is Roswell, New Mexico, the high school and its students, names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  POCKET PULSE, published by

  Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Produced by 17th Street Productions, Inc.

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  Copyright © 2000 by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  Cover art TM and © 2000 by Twentieth Century Fox

  Film Corporation. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce

  this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information address 17th Street Productions, Inc.,

  33 West 17th Street, New York, NY 10011, or Pocket Books,

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  ISBN: 0-7434-3449-8

  eISBN-13: 978-0-743-43449-2

  POCKET PULSE and colophon are trademarks of

  Simon & Schuster Inc.

  Max Evans spread a thin layer of spicy brown mustard over his AstroNut bar, careful not to miss a spot. This would be the first time the beings of his home planet tasted the candy, and he wanted the experience to be perfect. He raised the AstroNut bar to his nose and took a long, deep sniff. The scent of the mustard made the inside of his nose tingle, and the hint of chocolate and coconut started the saliva pumping in his mouth.

  He smiled as he felt the impatience of the beings who made up the collective consciousness grow. He waited another moment until they were practically begging for it, then he took the first bite. The flavors exploded in his mouth—the salt of the somewhat stale peanuts, the overwhelming exotic sweetness of the coconut, the slight bitterness of the dark chocolate.

  Max had probably eaten more than a thousand AstroNuts in his life, but now, with the reactions of the beings of the consciousness ripping through him, it was like he was tasting the candy for the first time. And he was aware of so much more than simply flavor. Like the way the chocolate felt against his tongue, smooth and cool. And the way the nuts crunched under his teeth. And the way the mustard traced a line of heat down his throat.

  “Can I have a bite?” Maria DeLuca asked.

  It took Max a second to register the question because he was so absorbed in the response of the consciousness, he’d pretty much forgotten he was sitting in the school cafeteria with Maria, Liz Ortecho, Michael Guerin, and Max’s sister, Isabel. Every day the connection between him and the beings grew stronger, so much so that he sometimes spaced on where he was and who he was with.

  “Come on, Max. I’ll love you forever,” Maria begged. She twined one of her bouncy blond curls around her finger.

  Max grinned at her. You just had to grin at Maria when she went into full-out cute mode.

  “Hey, back off, chiquita. That’s my man you’re talking to,” Liz mock threatened, her dark brown eyes narrowing.

  “Well, tell your man to share his candy bar with your best friend,” Maria shot back.

  “Take it,” Max said, reaching across the cafeteria table and holding the AstroNut bar in front of Maria’s mouth so that she could take a bite. “I don’t want to cause a catfight,” he added with a smirk.

  Michael slapped his hands over Maria’s lips an instant before the candy brushed against them. “I’m not letting you do this,” he told her. “Clearly you’re suffering from some kind of temporary insanity. How long has it been since you allowed a preservative to enter the ‘temple that is your body,’ as you insist on calling it?”

  “Besides, it will give you zits,” Isabel added.

  “But Max doesn’t have any,” Maria protested, the words coming out muffled by Michael’s fingers.

  “Yeah, that’s because Max spends half an hour in front of the mirror every morning using his power to clear up his face,” Isabel answered. She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder.

  “Hey, some things are supposed to remain private,” Max told his sister.

  Maria wriggled out of Michael’s grasp, grabbed the candy bar from Max, and took a huge bite.

  “So, what’d you think?” Max asked her once she’d chewed and swallowed.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe we were eating the same thing,” she answered. She lowered her voice. “I mean, I know aliens have different taste buds or whatever, but I saw your face. You looked like you were about to have an or—” She stopped midsentence, and her cheeks got all pink.

  “A what?” Michael pressed, his gray eyes flashing with amusement. “Come on, Maria, a what?”

  “A … a … an original experience,” she blurted out, her cheeks going from pink to near purple.

  “Now that I’m connected to the consciousness, it’s like everything is new to me,” Max explained. “When I tasted the AstroNut, it wasn’t just me, it was all these beings who’d never had anything like it.”

  “Can’t you just block them out?” Isabel asked.

  “I used to decide when I wanted to make the connection,” Max explained. “Now it’s pretty much permanent, but I can sort of turn the volume up or down.”

  “Permanent,” Isabel repeated. She stacked her empty sweetener packets, making sure all the edges were perfectly in line, then she reached across the table, snagged Liz’s empty sugar packet, and stuck it on the top of the pile.

  She’s freaked by the idea, Max realized. Isabel always went into her clean-and-organize routine when she was upset.

  “It’s actually kind of cool,” he told her. “It’s like everything you do, you’re doing it for the first time. Their reactions feel almost like your reactions, and everything becomes much more … intense.”

  “But you can’t turn them off. You can only turn them down. Is that the deal?” Michael asked. He didn’t sound happy.

>   “Pretty much,” Max answered.

  Michael shoved his hands through his spiky black hair. “I read about this guy in Japan who agreed to stay in his apartment for one year and have his whole life broadcast on TV. He only got to have stuff he won in contests, so at first he didn’t have food, or clothes, or even toilet paper. The guy was wiping his butt with his hand, and everyone was watching him on the tube.” Michael paused for breath and jabbed his finger at Max. “You’re that guy, Max.”

  “Hey, I always use toilet paper,” Max joked.

  Michael didn’t even crack a smile. “Pretty soon I’m going to be that guy, too.”

  “Even I’m going to be that guy,” Isabel said.

  It was true, or at least it was true that Michael and Isabel would have to make their own connections to the consciousness when they went through their akinos. If they didn’t, they’d die.

  “And anyway, you’re the one who’s going to have most of the original experiences,” Michael said. “If I eat an AstroNut after my akino, the consciousness will have already tasted it through you, so—”

  “Forget the chocolate bar,” Isabel interrupted. “Max, if you’re going to insist on being in communication with the beings, at least talk about something important,” she snapped. “Have you even bothered to ask them about Alex today?”

  A wave of guilt crashed over Max. Alex Manes was one of his best friends. It hadn’t even been two weeks since Alex had gotten sucked through the wormhole and ended up on Max’s home planet.

  “I’ll do it right now,” Max answered. He took a couple of slow breaths and allowed his connection to the beings to deepen until he felt his aura begin to dissolve into the ocean of auras that formed the consciousness.

  He formed a mental picture of Alex—dark red hair, green eyes—trying to mix in a sense of Alex’s wacked sense of humor and his take-no-prisoners attitude when it came to protecting the people he cared about. Then he threw the image out into the consciousness and surfed through the auras, picking up their reactions.

  What he got back reassured him. Alex was alive, unharmed. The beings were still getting used to his presence, but they—

  Suddenly Max hit a pocket of auras that felt like molten steel. He’d been swept into this pocket before—or another one just like it. The beings here feared Alex, and their fear produced a hatred so strong that it seared Max’s skin. These beings couldn’t tolerate Alex on their planet. They wanted to kill him.

  The living fire shot into Max’s nose and throat and ears. When the three streams met—an explosion detonated inside him. He could almost feel his organs roasting.

  He couldn’t survive this. His body was going to combust. His—

  A hand shook Max’s shoulder hard, and he shoved himself away from the consciousness—as far away as the connection allowed. His eyes refocused on the cafeteria, and he saw Liz staring at him, her lips tight with concern.

  “Are you all right?” she demanded, loosening her grip. “You looked like you were having a nightmare or something.”

  Max shoved his blond hair off his forehead. He stared down at the skin of his hands and arms. Completely undamaged. Not even a tinge of redness. “I’m okay.”

  “And Alex?” Michael asked.

  “He’s okay, too,” Max reassured them. There was nothing the others could do to stop the beings if they moved against Alex. Max promised himself to keep his connection to the consciousness as tight as possible. That way he’d feel if something started to go down, and he could try to intervene … somehow. “Most of the beings have accepted Alex’s presence.”

  “But is our home planet a democracy?” Isabel muttered.

  “We can’t risk it. We’ve got to work up another plan to get Alex back,” Liz said.

  “A plan? Gee, what a great idea,” Michael shot back sarcastically. “Let’s recap for the viewers who tuned in late. The only power source strong enough to give us a shot at getting Alex back is the Stone of Midnight. Elsevan DuPris, alien psychopath and the killer of my true parents and Isabel and Max’s and Adam’s, has the Stone.”

  Isabel took the pepper shaker off her stack of empty packets. She reshuffled them—sweetener packet, sweetener packet, sugar packet, sweetener packet—then put the shaker back in place.

  Michael kept talking. Max wished he would shut up, but he knew Michael well enough to be sure that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Oh yeah, and we have no idea where DuPris is,” Michael ranted, his eyes locked on Liz, who was meeting his gaze straight on, “and since he can take on the appearance of anyone he wants, he could be sitting at the next table, getting ready to assassinate us all, and we wouldn’t have a clue. He could also be in Africa or on some other planet.”

  “He could even be in Canada,” Maria joked. She glanced from Max to Liz to Isabel to Michael, clearly hoping one of them would laugh. Max tried and gave something that sounded more like a cough.

  “And oh yeah,” Michael rushed on. “DuPris also has the ship, so we can’t even attempt to try and figure out how to use it to go after Alex.” Neither he nor Liz blinked, both seeming determined to win their battle of the stares. “All caught up now?”

  “Yeah, Michael. Thanks,” Liz answered. “I don’t know what we’d do if I didn’t have you around to explain things. You’re so much smarter than everyone else.”

  “Don’t fight, you guys,” Maria begged. She wrapped her fingers around Michael’s arm, then reached across the table and grabbed Liz’s hand. “If you do, I’ll have to come up with more lame jokes. Even worse than the Canada attempt.”

  Max was glad Maria had jumped in. Sometimes he got sick of always being the peacemaker of the group.

  “Sorry, Liz. I just—,” Michael began.

  “I know. Bygones,” Liz answered, her brown eyes turning warm again.

  “Can’t you explain to the beings that it’s not Alex’s fault that he’s there?” Isabel asked.

  “I have. A bunch of times,” Max told her.

  “Well, do it again!” Isabel exclaimed. She swept her little pile of wrappers and the pepper shaker onto the floor.

  She was obviously way more upset than Max had realized. “Okay, okay,” he said.

  He closed his eyes and felt his consciousness, his individuality, get loose and slippery. He let himself slide back into the ocean of beings.

  There was something different. The ocean felt cooler, and each time Max’s aura touched one of the others, a tingling sensation skittered through him.

  It’s power, he realized. Power building. A lot of power.

  He sent out a wave of confusion and waited for one of the beings to send back an explanation. It didn’t come.

  The tingling grew to an electric sizzle. The auras around him grew brighter, glowing with an oily phosphorescence. Max’s own aura turned from emerald to luminous acid green.

  What is—

  Before Max could complete the thought, a blast of supercharged power blew him out of the ocean. He hurtled away from the other auras, his being vibrating with the shock until it felt like he would fly apart, heading off in every direction.

  He felt his molecules shudder and begin to separate. His vision dimmed. His heart fluttered in his chest. What … what … what—

  His mind wasn’t functioning properly. The molecules of his brain were too far apart. He couldn’t … couldn’t …

  “Max, come back! Come back!” Liz cried.

  He felt something cool and wet on his face. He jerked open his eyes and saw Maria leaning across the table, wiping a wet napkin over his forehead.

  “Now what happened?” Michael demanded. He was gripping the edge of the cafeteria table with both hands, his fingers almost white with the strain.

  Max took the napkin from Maria and scrubbed his face hard. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “There was a massive explosion of power in the consciousness, and I got basically thrown free.”

  “Is Alex all right?” Isabel exclaimed. “Did whatever, did it hurt him
? Did it kill—”

  “I don’t know,” Max repeated. He felt like some of his neurons were tangled or something. He could feel faint tendrils of shock and grief and pain from the beings, but nothing more.

  “So, um, who wants to go with me to my little brother’s basketball game after school?” Maria piped up. She gave a short jerk to the left with her chin, and Max saw Kyle Valenti striding up to them.

  Kyle Valenti. Son of the late Sheriff Valenti, the man Max and the others had thought was their most dangerous enemy. Until they met DuPris. The very much still alive DuPris.

  “So who wants to go?” Maria repeated, her voice edged with a manic cheerfulness.

  “I’ll go,” Michael said. His tone was casual, but Max could see the tension in Michael’s body. “Where is it?”

  “At the Y,” Maria answered. She picked up a baby carrot and stuck the whole thing in her mouth. It looked like she’d suddenly forgotten how to chew. Or like she’d forgotten that’s even what you did after you put food in your mouth.

  Kyle sat down next to Liz without saying a word. He slammed a stack of photos on the table.

  Isabel fanned out the photos, and Max ran his eyes across them. He saw Isabel, Michael, Maria, Alex, Liz, and himself. In various combinations. In various locations. They’d been taken over a period of months, Max realized. Someone had been tracking him and his friends.

  Max struggled to keep his face expressionless. He didn’t want Kyle to have the satisfaction of any kind of reaction.

  “My father took these,” Kyle announced, saying each word slowly and deliberately. “He had you under observation. I want to know why. And I want to know where he is. And I want to know now.”

  For one wild moment Max thought about telling Kyle the truth. It’s not like he’d believe it. Max tried to imagine it: See, Kyle, your dad was an agent with an organization called Project Clean Slate, whose mission was to track down aliens on earth, experiment on them, and possibly exterminate them. Somebody in Clean Slate, though not your dad, since he wasn’t old enough, found one alien in an incubation pod left on earth after the Roswell Incident—you know, where that spaceship crashed out in the desert in the forties.