The message appeared on your arm the morning of your first day of eighth grade in blue messy handwriting; one word. You had stared at it unblinking, reading the word in handwriting that was not your own three times over before the letters started to fade from blue to grey to gone. You scrambled for a pen finding one inside your desk drawer.
“Hey,” you wrote back, cautious as you watched the words sink into your arm and waited with your bottom lip between your teeth and your heart beating wildly in your chest.
It only took a few seconds before your arm started stinging, like someone had gripped it tightly with both hands each going a different way and twisted. You sat slowly down in the desk chair and watched as words, more than one this time, appeared blue on your arm.
“Are you an alien?” it read in slanted hand.
“What?” you questioned out loud as you looked at it. The words had hardly disappeared before you replied.