The Song of Sqia'lon Seven

Chapter 1

It's not every day that you wake up to try and save the world from Armageddon. Unless your name is Cathal, or Cal as his friends know him by, and you are an alien from Planet Eachtrannach.

Cathal stood tall before the other players on the team. They laughed with him as he tossed his dirty jersey into the laundry bin. The locker room reeked of dirty socks and musky undershirts. Pity the laundress today; their undergarments bore grave evidence of the blood, sweat and tears sacrificed for the good of their school's game record.

"Did you see the new girl at registration today, Cal?" Mack asked while tying his sneaker on the locker room bench.

Cal grabbed the Gatorade off his locker shelf and chugged it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he finished. The bottle now empty, Cal screwed the lid back on and shot it across the room towards the trashcan. "And he scores!" he cheered as the bottle landed safely inside the barrel.

"Yo, I saw her, Mack," Garrett interjected. "Dude, she's smokin'. All the dogs gonna be sniffin' at that skirt this year. Imma be that girl's number one stan if you don't jump on that, Cal."

"Who you guys talking about?" Peter asked. "The brunette Ms. Lang was registering this morning?"

"Yeah," Mack replied. "I think so. She does have brown hair, but it's laced with these wild, white-blond streaks. They look badass."

Cal rolled his eyes.

"What?" Garrett chastised, noticing Cal's disinterest. "You don't believe us? Seriously, for reals, this girl is hot. All long legs, Gucci bag, and high heels that accentuate that sweet little ass of hers. You gotta see her. Emph! Perfect!" Garrett brought his hands up to his lips and kissed them into the air.

"She sounds high-maintenance to me. Probably does the whole weekly mani-pedi thing, too." Cal answered, straddling the bench to sit down. "Girls like that are too much. Always taking selfies and posting them on Facebook. Looking pretty for the camera and starin' at themselves in the mirror. A guy will have better luck talking to a wall than expecting anything coherent from a girl like that. Thank you, ah, no thank you."

When Cal finished his rant he looked over and noticed Garrett and Mack taking selfies of their bare, ripped chests to post on Snapchat.

"Cripes," he cursed, tossing a used jock strap their way. "You two are worse than a bunch of cheerleaders on parade."

"Whoa! Fuck, gross," Garrett shrieked like a soprano. "Not cool, bro."

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Where do you come up with this shit, Cal? You got issues. No wonder you never get laid."

Cal grabbed Mack's towel from the locker room floor and whipped it at Peter, snapping him on his boxers. "Screw you, Pete, what do you know?"

"What the fuck, Cal? Damn, that shit stung," Peter hissed at him, throwing a dirty sock at Cal while pulling up his jeans. "I know this, you ain't had a girl in like forever. What's up with that? You got a piece stashed away somewhere we don't know about?"

"Piece?" Cal asked insulted. "Yo, this is why you never get laid, Peter. When you gonna grow up and starting treating women like they deserve? Calling them pieces ain't gonna get you anyone."

Smirking, Peter zipped up his gym bag and tossed it over his shoulder. "Whatever, man. I'm just trying to take care of my business on a day-to-day basis. I ain't got time for any long term commitments, if you know what I mean." Peter moved passed Mack and Garrett and exited the locker room. Garrett shook his head after him.

Meanwhile, Cal finished putting his own bag together and turned to leave as well. "Hey, Cal," Mack called out to him. When Cal turned around, Mack tossed him his cell. "Check her out, man. I got a picture of her on my phone. I heard she's in your health class this afternoon. Man, she's gorgeous. Her name is Aoife Lon. Just one look and you'll see what I mean. Trill."