Dinosaur Boy Saves Mars by Cory Putman Oakes

hallway until we were shoved unceremoniously into a small room. Which, from the smell of things, was used to hold cleaning supplies.
    Our guards shut the door behind them and left us there. We stood blinking in the dim light, trying to clear the residual echo of the flashbulbs out of our eyes.
    Once we could see again, we all stared at Sylvie.
    She was examining her right thumbnail, carefully not looking at any of us.
    I cleared my throat.
    â€œUm, any chance you’re going to tell us what that was all about?”
    Sylvie narrowed her eyes at her thumb.
    â€œWhat what was all about?” she asked innocently.
    â€œSylvie!” I exclaimed.
    â€œOK, OK.” She stared harder at her thumb and then took a big deep breath.
    â€œI guess you could say…” she started. “I mean, you wouldn’t be totally wrong if you thought… I guess I’m a little bit…famous.”
    â€œFamous?” Elliot echoed her.
    â€œKinda,” she said quietly.
    â€œWait, you guys don’t know?” Venetio piped in. And for the first time, I glared at him. I wasn’t sure I liked this Plutonian knowing something about my friend that I didn’t.
    â€œWhat’s ‘twenty-two’?” my grandfather asked with raised eyebrows.
    â€œThat was my jersey number,” she told him.
    â€œJersey?” I asked, and then it all came together in my head at once. “Soccer! It was you, wasn’t it?”
    Sylvie just stared at me.
    â€œIn the ’14 Finals,” I explained. “You were the one who took a dive—er, I mean—got fouled. Weren’t you?”
    â€œSylvie? Play soccer?” Elliot asked, laughing. “No way. I don’t believe it.”
    I understood his skepticism. The Sylvie we knew hated sports. And exercise. And sunlight. But that was the only thing I could think of that made sense.
    Sylvie let out a deep sigh.
    â€œOK, fine. I was on the team. And I did play in the ’14 Finals. But I wasn’t the one who got fouled.”
    â€œShe wasn’t,” Venetio cut in. “It was Tycho Brawn who took the dive.”
    â€œBut you played soccer?” Elliot exclaimed, still stuck on what he plainly considered to be the most important detail.
    â€œYes,” Sylvie said simply. “I played soccer. And I was awesome, OK? But I don’t play anymore.”
    I felt like my brain was doing somersaults inside my skull. Even before we had found out she was a Martian (well, half-Martian), Elliot and I had always known that Sylvie was a bit…odd. And that she probably had secrets. But this…
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell us?” I demanded.
    She shrugged. “You never asked.”
    â€œThat’s not something you wait to be asked!” I exclaimed, suddenly really frustrated. “Friends are supposed to tell their other friends important stuff like this!”
    â€œWell, I didn’t know that rule until now.” Sylvie sniffed and looked sulkily at the floor.
    Venetio turned to my grandfather.
    â€œYou didn’t know who she was either, sir?” he asked incredulously.
    â€œPlease stop calling me ‘sir.’ And I don’t follow soccer,” my grandfather said. Then he turned back to Sylvie. “I do wish you had said something, young lady. I’m afraid this is going to complicate the incognito plan.”
    â€œSorry,” said Sylvie, not sounding sorry at all. “But nobody would have even known I was back if not for the big-mouthed Plutonian over there.”
    Everyone’s gaze shifted over to Venetio, who raised his hands defensively.
    â€œAdmit it,” Sylvie said angrily. “You told.”
    She fixed the Plutonian with a look that I had seen her mother use on uncooperative restaurant staff. It had the same effect on Venetio that it had had on the servers. He began to squirm uncomfortably and looked appealingly at my grandfather.
    â€œI only told my mom! I