"No there isn't." Replied Howard.

"There is, Howard. There's ink all over your lips and chin." Said Lauren, before laughing again. Howard looked down at the biro he had been chewing on earlier, and which was now sitting on the desk in front of him; there was a small puddle of ink next to the nib, which possibly corroborated Lauren and Sally’s statements. Howard rubbed his fingers across his lower face. He looked at his fingertips, which were now smeared blue.

"Damn. I need to go and wash my face." Said Howard, standing up. He began to walk towards the lecture hall door, to the merriment of his fellow students. Just as he reached the exit, Howard's tutor, Mister Rossiter, entered the hall, almost crashing into the small, wiry teenager.

"And where do you think you're going?" Asked the tutor, a tall, elderly man with unfashionably long grey hair, and a pronounced stoop.

"To the washroom, Mister Rossiter. I've got ink on my face." Advised Howard, which warranted a long, hard stare from his tutor.

"So you have." Mister Rossiter confirmed, smirking a little at his student. "Go on then, hurry, go and wash it off." He went on, waving towards the door. Howard nodded, and left the lecture hall, angered by the jeering from the other students as he made his departure.

Howard Trenton stared at his reflection in the washroom mirror. His face was now clean from the ink that had caused such feelings of joy in Lauren Derby and Sally Wood. Howard was eighteen years of age, and just about to turn nineteen, but the sombre, deadpan expression that he often wore, especially when around those who were unfamiliar to him, made the young adult look much older. Smiling wasn't really in Howard's nature; it never had been. He didn't do ‘fun’ very much. This was not to say that Howard was depressive, or negative in his outlook. Far from it. Howard liked to think of himself as an optimist, and he was reasonably happy with his lot in life. Granted, he did feel a bit directionless at times, but Howard was aware that many others of his age shared that same sense of drifting around a vast, deep ocean in a boat without a rudder.

Although many of those who had encountered Howard over the years considered him somewhat strange, distant, perhaps even possessing an air of arrogance, pretty much all of them agreed that he was, if nothing else, reliable and dependable. There were others, a handful of people, who got to know Howard Trenton well, and who discovered another side to him. These people, who were, admittedly, few and far between, found a surprisingly caring, sensitive, and affable individual underneath Howard’s outwardly distant and impassive exterior. Unlike some other young men living in Coldsleet who were also considered to be ‘a bit odd’, Howard Trenton had never been short of female admirers. Sometimes Howard was aware of such adoration, and it excited him. On other occasions, he was completely indifferent to it. On yet other occasions, Howard was capable of becoming completely fixated with a member of the opposite sex. Most of the time, that fixation would fizzle out, usually due to Howard’s attentions being diverted elsewhere. But not always…

Howard continued to gaze at himself in the washroom mirror. Then he did a strange thing. The young man reached out with his hand, towards his reflection. Howard traced the shape of his reflected face with a finger, whilst wearing a fixed, blank expression. He pulled his finger away from the mirror, and tilted his head slightly to one side, in curiosity.

"What are you?" He asked, speaking to the reflection. “Just what are you, Howard Trenton?” He repeated. “Because sometimes, I think that I know the answer but then… on days like this… I really haven’t got a clue.” There was no reply from the reflection. Or from himself, come to that. He had no answer. Howard stared at himself in the mirror for a few more moments, then he shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the washroom, his question unanswered, back towards the lecture hall and the delights of Mister Rossiter’s science lesson.

Mister Rossiter had a question for his students.

“Has there ever been any direct evidence that suggests life exists outside of our Earth?” He wanted to know. Leroy Swinton, one of the more knowledgable students in the classroom, put his hand in the air. “Yes, Leroy?”

“There has, sir.” Advised Leroy.

“Really, Leroy? Really?” Asked Mister Rossiter, somewhat incredulous at Leroy’s answer. “Then perhaps you’d like to enlighten the rest of the class?” He suggested. Leroy nodded.

“Certainly sir. There was a Martian meteorite…”

“Ah, you mean ALH84001.” Interrupted the tutor.

“Yes, that was the one. They, erm…” said Leroy, stumbling slightly with his words.

“Go on, go on.” Urged Mister Rossiter.

“They erm, found fossilised life…” before Leroy could say any more, Mister Rossiter put his hand up in the air, gesturing for the student to stop talking.

“They did NOT find fossilised life, Leroy. What was discovered in ALH84001 was microscopic chain structures that some suggested could be fossilised forms of bacteria. The case has not been proven either way, and therefore, Leroy, you are wrong to suggest that this is direct evidence of life existing outside of our Earth.” Advised the lecturer.

“Yes sir, but…”

“No ‘buts’, Leroy. ALH84001 is not definitive proof of extraterrestrial life.” Said Mister Rossiter, cutting his student short.

Sally Wood had her hand in the air.

“Yes, Sally?” Asked Mister Rossiter.

“There was a signal, sir… a radio signal, received from space. They called it the ‘wow signal’, because…”

“Stop right there, Sally. Stop right there.” Said the lecturer. He looked around at the rest of the class. “Now, has anybody else heard of this so-called ‘wow signal’?” He wanted to know. Half of the students in the hall put their hands up. “And would any of you care to tell me why the signal is NOT direct evidence of extraterrestrial life?” Asked the tutor.

“Because it could have come from Earth.” Replied a buck-toothed student called Joe Lake.

“Or it may have been a signal originating from a natural source… maybe a pulsar?” Suggested another student, Diane Morrow, who had a striking mane of bright ginger hair. Mister Rossiter smiled.

“Exactly. There are other possible explanations concerning the ‘wow signal’ that would suggest that it didn’t emanate from little green men with a big radio transm…”

“Don’t use that term.” Shouted an angry voice from the corner of the lecture hall. “I hate it when people use that term.” Everybody turned around and looked at the protester; it was Howard Trenton.

Mister Rossiter walked over to where Howard Trenton was sitting.

“What seems to be the problem, Howard?” He asked, noticing that the young student was trembling slightly with agitation.

“It’s your use of that phrase, sir… ‘little green men’… I find it… offensive.” Replied Howard.

“Oh, and may I ask why?” The tutor wanted to know. Howard let out a long sigh before replying.

“Because it’s the same old crap, sir. The same old crap. Every time I watch a news article about the possibility of extraterrestrial life, which is something that I find really interesting, they end up mentioning those three little words… ‘little green men’… usually to a back-drop of the sodding ‘X-Files’ theme tune, or some cheap and crappy variation of it… it makes the whole subject look silly and trivial, when it’s not. It annoys me, sir. It really bloody annoys me.” Howard informed Mister Rossiter.

“Well, it’s good to hear that you feel so passionately about…”

“Don’t patronise me, sir.” Snapped Howard, his voice raised, angry.

“Howard, I’m not…”

“You stand here, in front of this class, trying to teach a subject that you actually know bugger all about. It’s annoying.” Interrupted Howard.