For maybe the first time ever (with the exception of the time Cody had broken his nose falling off the porch back in the trailer park; she hadn't been paying attention to anything else then, either), Max's focus wasn't on the myriad of people she more or less considered friends behind her. She hardly even noticed when Clay showed up, which was a big deal, because they hadn't seen each other in days, and she missed him. 

But right now, there was a dying alien in front of them, having crashed after the apparent attack of some hostile species, saying their [i]planet[/i] was about to be invaded. For a moment, Max couldn't move. Her bloody sweatshirt rested on her knees, and her hazel eyes were wide with fear and confusion. She kept hearing words and phrases -- invaders, Z-Space, blade ship, [i]Yeerks[/i] -- but none of it was coming together with any sort of clarity in her head. She could only think, over and over and over again, he's [i]dying[/i]. And there was nothing she could do about it. 

"We...we can help you," Max said, completely ignoring the centaur-alien's final request, because it wasn't going to [i]be[/i] his final request if she had anything to do about it. There were five of them here, and they weren't stupid. Whether what the alien said was true or not -- whether he was even an alien at all -- none of that mattered. What mattered was that he was really, actually hurt, and it was 2014! People didn't just [i]bleed[/i] to death anymore, not this close to a hospital, where fully three of their parents worked. 

Desperate, she whirled to look at Clay, smiling briefly for having seen him for the first time in a few days. 

"Clay, you have to call someone, okay?" She dug in her pocket and pulled out her cellphone, either ignoring or else completely oblivious to their earlier attempts to dial out. "My mom. She'll know what to do." 

Some part of Max's mind, the tiny rational part that was more often overwhelmed by excitement or just hyperactivity, knew she was being stupid. Nierefiem was dying. There was nothing she could do for him. But Max had always been the type to think first with her heart, and then, much later, with her head. She could remember watching her grandmother dying, that feeling of helplessness seizing through her like ice spreading through her veins. 

She refused to let it happen again. 

"You don't have to give us a gift," she insisted gently, trying to sound less afraid than she felt. "You...you can help us, okay? You just have to hang on a little bit longer. Help is coming. You'll be okay."