A Friend from the Stars

The morning after their narrow escape from the woods, the only thing stronger than Elara’s fear was her certainty: they’d stumbled into something vast and secret, their quiet town now heavy with possibilities.

The metallic object—cold, almost humming—sat on Elara’s desk, glowing faintly beneath a paperweight. Riley lounged nearby, fingers drumming on her phone, both of them wordless, jittery. Sun cut through the curtains in shafts. Even from inside, Elara couldn’t stop imagining eyes in the trees—or that strange man, hunting what they’d found.

Her phone vibrated. Riley jumped. “It’s just Ma checking if I want pancakes.”

Neither of them had touched breakfast. They wolfed down granola and milk, then slung their backpacks low, bundled the alien device in a pillowcase, and trudged toward the edge of Granger’s field.

No words passed between them until pines swallowed the world again.

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They hurried down the narrow game trail, thickets still damp with dew. Elara led, senses pricked for any crunch of footsteps. Halfway to the clearing, she stopped—soundless but for woodpeckers and a far-off train.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” she whispered.

Riley tugged the brim of her cap. “If he’s looking for what we have, maybe he already knows where it is.”

Elara’s hand went unconsciously to the pillowcase.

They crept on, hearts ticking louder with each step.

The clearing waited, sun-dappled and empty—at first. Then, near where the strange footprints had pressed the dirt, something shifted—a flicker of blue-green shimmer, almost invisible in the sun.

Riley squinted, nerves sharp. “Did you see—?”

Before she could finish, a shape began to materialize—like glass clouding into form. From the air itself, something emerged: small and fragile, with an iridescent sheen to its skin that reminded Elara of butterfly wings. Not tall, barely as big as a child, but shockingly not human.

Limbs just a bit too long, skin smooth as moss, eyes enormous and black-lidded. The head was slightly elongated, waves of lavender and teal shifting beneath the surface. Elara’s mouth went dry.

For a second, no one moved. Then the being flinched, recoiling, arms drawn defensively across her chest. She—because the shape suggested a she—was trembling, as if holding herself together under unbearable strain.

Elara felt the air grow thick. Instinct screamed run, but curiosity pinned her. She made herself speak, slow and soft. “We… won’t hurt you.”

The alien’s lips parted. The sound that followed wasn’t speech, exactly—just a shimmer of harmonics, like whale song echoing in a tunnel. But there was something else: a pressure against Elara’s thoughts, gentle and searching, like a light touch on her mind.

In her head bloomed a feeling—not words, but meaning: scared-alone-lost-help.

Riley’s hand found Elara’s sleeve, knuckles white. “You’re… Are you in trouble?” Riley gasped, almost as if the question had been pulled from her.

The being nodded, voice chiming, sorrowful. Her hands hovered in the air, fingers forming shapes that seemed almost like sign language. One moment, she tapped her heart; the next, she flicked a finger toward the sky.

Elara took a rattling breath. “We… heard your signal. On the radio. Was that you?”

The shimmer quieted. Very gently, the being reached out—not touching, but inviting. Elara held out the pillowcase, sliding the metallic object into the grass.

The alien’s eyes widened. She lifted the device with trembling hands. There was a noise—a tiny whirr—and both girls felt a flush of gratitude.

Riley voiced what Elara couldn’t. “You need this? What for?”

A fierce hope flared across the being’s face. She pressed the object to her chest, then mimed a crash, hand spinning wildly, her other hand forming a rough circle—like a planet, or the world.

Again, meaning rippled through Elara’s mind: crash-landed-damaged-can’t-fix-need-help. She pointed skyward, then at the device, then at herself, lips moving uncertainly. At last she managed: “Yiri. My name.”

Elara’s voice shook. “I’m Elara. This is Riley.”

Yiri offered a wavering, hopeful smile—small, but real. “Yiri,” she echoed, the word stilted and musical.

Elara’s mind tumbled with questions—how, why, what now—but Yiri’s next motion was desperate. She motioned deeper into the woods, then pointed to the device again, shaking her head. Clearly, it wasn’t enough.

Riley understood. “You need more pieces,” she murmured, nodding.

Yiri moved her hands swiftly: counting off on three fingers, then pressing a hand to her wrist to mimic a watch—time running out. Behind her, she gestured to the trees, drawing a quick shape in the air: a rectangle, then she lowered her head in fear. The girls didn’t need translation.

“He’s after you too,” Elara breathed. She didn’t say the word: government, but they both saw Mr. Fenwick’s shadow in the glade, stalking closer.

Riley bit her lip, resolve hardening. “We can help. We know these woods better than anyone.”

Yiri’s luminous eyes filled with relief and worry, war with hope. She mimed secrecy: finger to lips, then a hand covering the glowing object. Elara nodded, tucking the device into her jacket.

A stiff wind soughed through the pines. Birdsong startled—a sudden hush. Elara’s chest tightened. “We need to move. If they’re searching, staying here’s too risky.”

Careful as a breeze, Yiri drifted to the tree line, melting momentarily into the trunk’s shadow. She beckoned. Elara and Riley followed, boots crunching, hearts ricocheting. The world shrank to a conspiracy of three.

As they pushed deeper, Yiri paused, struggling to stay solid. She was weakening, or maybe scared. Elara impulsively reached out—a touch, so gentle. Yiri trembled, then straightened, brave for their sake.

They skirted patches of dappled sunlight, Yiri occasionally pausing to trace unreadable glyphs on bark or feel the vibrations in the moss. Suddenly she dropped to one knee, hand brushing the ground—listening, Elara realized, for something lost.

A new pressure entered Elara’s mind, softer—warmth, trust, worry for home.

Riley crouched, voice hushed. “What’s out there? What’s your planet?”

Yiri closed her eyes. In the earth with her fingertip she drew a cluster of seven stars, then beneath them, a little swirl. Then she tapped her chest again. Home—distance—loss.

For a long moment, the three sat in a circle there, every fear and promise tangled up in silence. At last, Yiri opened her fingers, showing them a patchwork of silvery leaves, beads of liquid light, and a single sliver of crystal: all parts that meant nothing to Elara or Riley, but were precious to Yiri.

“We’ll find what you need,” Elara promised. “But we have to be fast. That man—he’s looking, and if he finds you—”

Yiri looked at each of them in turn, then nodded gravely. She pressed the metallic device into Elara’s hands once more, and for a second, the device glowed, brighter than before.

Elara swallowed, adrenaline and something like awe flushing through her. “You’re not alone now,” she said, feeling that truth settle over her heart. “We have you. We’ll help.”

In the hush of that clearing, with a friend from the stars among them, summer in Everwood had rewritten its rules. The world was bigger and scarier and more wondrous than either girl had dared imagine.

They rose as one, following Yiri’s cautious lead into the deep, green dark—each step a promise, each breath a secret, as the race against discovery began.