Zax and Pip exchanged one of their telepathic glances that made their antennae wiggle in sync. It was either adorable or deeply unsettling – I still hadn't decided which.

"Well," Zax began diplomatically, "most of your queenly duties can be handled remotely. Think of it like... what's that Earth thing you do? Working from home?"

"Except with more interdimensional conference calls," Pip added helpfully. "And occasionally you'll need to arbitrate disputes between cosmic entities."

I nearly choked on the coffee I'd been drinking. "I'm sorry, what? I can barely arbitrate disputes between my study group members over who brings snacks!"

"Oh, cosmic entities are much easier to handle than human group projects," Zax assured me. "They're less passive-aggressive and more... direct with their grievances."

"Direct how?"

"Well, last week two light beings got into an argument over whose constellation looked more aesthetic, and they just had a dance-off in the Andromeda galaxy."

I blinked. "A dance-off?"

"Yes! Much more civilized than your Earth's habit of subtweeting about each other."

They had a point there. I was still recovering from the Great Twitter Drama of last semester when someone in my friend group posted a vague tweet about people who don't return borrowed hoodies, and somehow it escalated into three friendship breakups and one very awkward group presentation.

"Okay, but what about—" I was interrupted by my laptop pinging with an incoming video call. From my mom. Again.

"Quick! Hide the interdimensional evidence!" I hissed, frantically trying to make my room look normal – whatever that meant these days.

Pip immediately phased through my ceiling with half my floating succulent collection, while Zax tried to help by making himself invisible but forgetting that he was still holding my glowing alien homework crystal, making it appear to float mysteriously behind my head.

I answered the call, trying to position myself so the floating crystal wouldn't be visible. "Hi Mom!"

"Honey! I was just calling to check on you after Sarah's... concerns." Mom's face filled my screen, her forehead creased with worry. In the background, I could see Dad attempting to fix their printer, which had been his ongoing battle for approximately three years.

"I'm fine, Mom. Sarah's just being overprotective because I've been talking to myself while studying. You know, active recall and all that."

"While your laundry glows in the dark?"

"It's a new eco-friendly detergent?" I offered weakly, while behind me, Zax had somehow gotten tangled in my fairy lights trying to retrieve the homework crystal.

Mom opened her mouth to respond, but was distracted by Dad's triumphant "Aha!" followed immediately by the sound of something crashing and his muttered "Never mind."

"Your father's trying to print the instructions for fixing the printer," Mom explained, rolling her eyes. "He refuses to admit we need a new one."

"The irony is not lost on me," I said, trying not to react as Pip phased back through my ceiling, now wearing what appeared to be a tinfoil hat. Where did he even get that?

"Anyway, sweetie, I was thinking of driving up this weekend to visit. Maybe take you shopping? Your last few Instagram posts have been... interesting."

By 'interesting' she probably meant the photos where all my clothes had a mysterious green tinge thanks to my aliens' laundry "help."

"This weekend?" I squeaked, watching as Pip attempted to teach Zax how to moonwalk in mid-air behind my laptop. "Um, I have a lot of studying to do..."

"Perfect! I'll help you organize your notes. You know how good I am at color-coding."

Yes, I did know. My entire childhood was organized by color-coded sticky notes. I still had flashbacks to the Great Folder System of 2018.

"Mom, really, you don't have to—"

"Oh! And Sarah mentioned something about your room glowing at night?"

Behind me, both aliens froze mid-moonwalk. Pip's tinfoil hat slipped over his eyes.

"LED strips!" I blurted. "Very popular with students. For... studying ambiance."

"That pulse in time with strange chanting?"

I was going to kill Sarah. Literally. Or at least hide all her left socks. "Contemporary study music. Very experimental. Helps with focus."

Mom looked unconvinced, but was distracted by another crash from Dad's printer battle. "Harold! Did you just throw the instruction manual at the printer?"

"It started it," Dad's voice came from off-screen.

Taking advantage of the distraction, I quickly made up an excuse about a study group meeting and ended the call. As soon as the screen went dark, I turned to my alien friends.

"Okay, we need to work on your stealth mode. And Pip, why are you wearing a tinfoil hat?"

"Research!" he said proudly. "I've been studying Earth's alien conspiracy theories. Did you know some humans think we communicate through their dental fillings?"

"That's ridiculous," Zax scoffed. "Everyone knows we prefer interdimensional TikTok."

I flopped back on my bed, staring at the ceiling where their mini solar system was still spinning gently. "This is getting complicated. How am I supposed to handle cosmic diplomacy when I can't even convince my mom I'm not having a breakdown?"

"Perhaps we could help with your Earth problems while you help with our cosmic ones?" Zax suggested, finally untangling himself from my fairy lights. "A cultural exchange of problem-solving?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for instance, we could assist with your academic challenges while you teach us about human emotional complexity."

"You want to help with my homework?"

"We are quite knowledgeable about Earth subjects," Pip said, adjusting his tinfoil hat. "Though we may need clarification on some things. Like why humans still teach that Pluto isn't a planet when it's clearly just shy."

"Shy?"

"Yes! It's going through an introvert phase. Happens to many celestial bodies."

Before I could unpack that statement, my phone buzzed with a text from Jenny: "Emergency study group meeting. Brad and Ashley aren't speaking to each other after The Great Coffee Shop Incident. Need neutral territory and a mediator."

I showed the message to my alien friends. "See? This is what I mean. How can I handle cosmic disputes when I can't even handle coffee shop drama?"

"What was the incident?" Zax asked, genuinely curious.

"Brad and Ashley were supposed to meet up to work on their project, but they both got to the coffee shop at different times because they were in different time zones on their phones and neither would admit they forgot to update after the break. So they both sat in different corners for an hour, thinking they were being stood up, then proceeded to post passive-aggressive Instagram stories about 'people who don't value other people's time.'"

Pip and Zax exchanged looks. "And humans think cosmic entities are dramatic?"

"At least the light beings had their dance-off openly," I pointed out. "They didn't subtly unfollow each other on social media first."

"This is exactly why you're perfect for the role!" Zax's antennae perked up excitedly. "You understand the complexities of human communication... and its frequent lack thereof."

"Plus," Pip added, "you handle chaos with humor. Like that time last week when your professor asked why your essay on Renaissance art included a section about the metaphysical implications of cherubs as interdimensional messengers."

"Yeah, thanks for that insight, by the way. Pretty sure Professor Martinez thinks I'm starting a new art history cult."

"A cult?" Pip's eyes widened. "Like those Earth groups that believe crystals can heal their chakras?"

"First of all, we're not starting a cult," I said firmly. "And second, please tell me you haven't been watching documentaries about Earth cults."

Their guilty expressions told me everything. Great. Just what I needed – aliens with an interest in cult documentaries.

"Perhaps we should focus on your immediate challenges," Zax suggested diplomatically. "Like your upcoming presentation on Baroque architecture."

"Oh right, the one where I have to explain why everyone was obsessed with cherubs and gold leaf without mentioning your theory about angels being bad at interdimensional travel."

"They really were terrible at it," Pip muttered. "Keep bumping into clouds, missing their landing spots..."

A knock at my door made us all freeze. "It's Sarah again!" Pip stage-whispered, which was completely unnecessary since she couldn't hear him anyway.

"Come in!" I called out, watching as my alien friends arranged themselves in what they probably thought was a casual manner – Pip perched upside down on my desk lamp while Zax attempted to blend in with my poster of Van Gogh's Starry Night by making his skin swirl in similar patterns.

Sarah poked her head in, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. "Hey, so about that study group emergency..."

"Right! Brad and Ashley's coffee shop drama. I was just heading out."

"Good, because they've escalated to writing subtweets about 'people who can't tell time' and I'm pretty sure Ashley's about to post a TikTok rant."

Behind Sarah, Pip was now attempting to recreate what he imagined the coffee shop incident looked like, complete with dramatic poses and what appeared to be interpretive dance moves.

"I'll be right there," I promised, trying not to laugh as Zax joined Pip's performance, adding what he probably thought was helpful background music – a sort of ethereal humming that sounded like a cross between whale songs and a synthesizer.

Sarah squinted at my room. "Is that... humming?"

"Meditation app!" I said quickly. "You know, for stress relief. Very zen. Much peace. Many calms."

"Did you just speak in a meme?"

"Would you believe it's a side effect of too much art history?"

Sarah looked like she was about to say something else, but then her phone buzzed. "Oh no, Ashley's started a poll on her Instagram story asking if being on Arizona time is a valid excuse for missing coffee meetings."

"I'll be right there," I promised, practically shooing her out the door. Once it was closed, I turned to my alien friends. "Okay, you two. I've got to go prevent World War Three: Coffee Shop Edition. Please try not to reorganize my room by aura colors again while I'm gone?"

"That was one time!" Pip protested. "And your chakras have been much more aligned since then."

"My sock drawer started glowing!"

"Improved visibility," Zax nodded sagely. "Very practical."

I grabbed my bag, then paused. "Actually... want to come with me? Might be good practice for your whole 'understanding human nature' thing. Just... stay invisible and try not to provide musical accompaniment this time."

Their antennae perked up simultaneously. "Observation of human conflict resolution in action!" Pip clapped his hands excitedly, causing little sparks of light to shower around him. "Like a National Geographic documentary, but with more passive-aggressive social media posts!"

"Exactly," I sighed. "Though hopefully with less bloodshed than nature documentaries."

As we headed to the study room, me walking normally while my alien friends floated along beside me occasionally phasing through walls (just to show off, I'm pretty sure), I couldn't help but wonder if maybe they had a point. If I could handle the drama of college life – with all its petty conflicts, miscommunications, and coffee shop incidents – maybe handling cosmic disputes wouldn't be so different.

I mean, sure, the stakes were higher when dealing with light beings and interdimensional entities, but was it really that different from managing a group project where nobody checks their emails?

"You're having another profound realization," Zax observed as we walked.

"No, I'm wondering if I can convince Brad and Ashley that their phones switching time zones was actually a metaphor for the relativity of time and space, and therefore neither of them was actually late."

"Ooh!" Pip perked up. "We could help explain how time is actually a construct and in some dimensions, they're still sitting in that coffee shop, perpetually waiting for each other in an infinite loop of passive-aggressive Instagram stories!"

"Let's... maybe save the existential physics lessons for after we get them to stop subtweeting each other."

As we approached the study room, I could hear raised voices discussing the proper etiquette of phone time zones and the importance of communication. Behind me, my alien friends were practically vibrating with excitement at witnessing what they called "primitive human conflict resolution rituals."

Just another day in the life of an accidental alien queen. At least it would make a great story for my therapist – if I ever figured out how to explain any of this without sounding completely unhinged.

Then again, maybe being a little unhinged was exactly what both humanity and the cosmos needed right now. After all, who better to bridge the gap between worlds than someone who could find humor in chaos and wisdom in absurdity?

Plus, I was pretty sure handling intergalactic diplomacy would look amazing on my resume. Under "Special Skills," of course, right next to "Can explain memes to aliens" and "Survived group projects without committing homicide."

Now if I could just figure out how to explain to my mom why my room occasionally looks like a rave hosted by extraterrestrial beings...

The study room scene was exactly what you'd expect from a group of sleep-deprived college students trying to resolve a time zone crisis – complete chaos, but with more PowerPoint presentations than strictly necessary.

"I have prepared a detailed timeline," Ashley announced, pulling up a slide showing what appeared to be a military-grade analysis of The Great Coffee Shop Incident, complete with color-coded timestamps and satellite imagery of the coffee shop parking lot.

Brad, not to be outdone, had created a spreadsheet tracking every notification, read receipt, and Instagram story posted within a three-hour window of the failed meeting. There were pie charts involved. Why there were pie charts in a time zone dispute, I couldn't tell you, but Brad had always been creative with his data visualization.

Behind me, Zax and Pip were absolutely fascinated, but they were acting strangely suspicious.

"Earth beings document their conflicts so thoroughly!" Pip whispered, floating near the ceiling to get a better view of Ashley's presentation. "On our planet, we just have dance battles and move on."

"Shh," I muttered, trying to look like I wasn't talking to thin air. The last thing I needed was for Brad and Ashley to think I was taking sides by whispering to myself.

"Look," I addressed the group, channeling what I hoped was diplomatic alien queen energy rather than sleep-deprived college student desperation. "Maybe instead of focusing on who was technically late, we could talk about why this mixup happened in the first place?"

"Because some people can't be bothered to update their phone settings?" Ashley suggested sweetly, with the kind of smile that suggested she was already drafting another subtweet in her head.

"Or because some people assume everyone lives in their time zone?" Brad countered, aggressively clicking to his next slide, which somehow involved a bar graph of coffee shop wait times across different dimensions. Wait, dimensions?

I squinted at his PowerPoint. Those couldn't be... I glanced suspiciously at my alien friends, who were suddenly very interested in the ceiling tiles.

"Did you two help Brad with his presentation?"

"We may have... suggested some statistical analysis techniques," Zax admitted sheepishly. "The multiverse does provide excellent data points for time-based conflicts."

Great. Now I had to prevent both a friendship meltdown and a potential breach in the space-time continuum, all before my evening class.

"Okay, new plan," I announced, standing up. "Everyone close their laptops."

"But I haven't gotten to my slide about temporal relativism in coffee consumption patterns!" Brad protested.

"Or my analysis of Instagram story viewing patterns during periods of perceived tardiness!" Ashley added.

"Nope. Laptops closed. Phones down. We're going to do this the old-fashioned way."

"With interpretive dance?" Pip suggested hopefully.

I ignored him. "We're going to talk. Like actual humans. Face to face."

The room fell silent. Even my alien friends stopped floating for a moment. You'd think I'd suggested we all go live in the woods without WiFi.

"But... how will we document the conversation?" Ashley asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"We won't. Sometimes, crazy as it sounds, people can just... talk things out without creating a digital record."

Behind me, Zax was frantically taking notes on what appeared to be a holographic tablet. "Fascinating! Humans attempting non-digital conflict resolution! This is groundbreaking research for our cultural archives!"

I shot him a look that I hoped conveyed "not helping" in alien body language. He responded by making his tablet invisible but definitely didn't stop taking notes.

For the next hour, I managed to guide Brad and Ashley through an actual conversation about time zones, communication expectations, and the proper etiquette of coffee shop meeting protocols. It was like herding cats – if the cats were addicted to social media and had access to advanced presentation software.

"So what you're saying," Brad said slowly, "is that instead of assuming you were standing me up, I could have... texted you?"

"And instead of immediately posting a story about 'flaky people,'" Ashley added, "I could have... called you?"

"Revolutionary, isn't it?" I tried not to sound too sarcastic. Above them, Pip was performing what appeared to be a ceremonial dance of reconciliation, complete with sparkly light effects that thankfully only I could see.

"But what about my data analysis?" Brad looked longingly at his laptop.

"Save it for your statistics class," I suggested. "Though maybe leave out the parallel dimension stuff."

"The what stuff?"

"Nothing! Who wants coffee? Non-passive-aggressive coffee, with everyone in the same time zone?"

As we headed to the campus coffee shop (after triple-checking that everyone's phones showed the same time), my alien friends floated alongside me, still buzzing with excitement.

"That was brilliant!" Zax exclaimed. "You got them to engage in primitive communication methods without any technological interfaces! Though I still think a dance-off would have been more efficient."

"Not everything needs to be solved with dance-offs," I muttered.

"That's exactly what someone who's bad at dance-offs would say," Pip noted sagely, still wearing his tinfoil hat, which he'd now decorated with small twinkling lights.

"Says the alien who thought the Macarena was a sacred Earth ritual."

"It's not? But humans perform it at all their important gatherings!"

Before I could explain the complex cultural significance (or lack thereof) of the Macarena, my phone buzzed with a text from Mom: "Just booked my train ticket for this weekend! Can't wait to help organize your room! ❤️"

I stopped dead in my tracks, causing Brad and Ashley to look back at me curiously.

"Everything okay?" Ashley asked.

"Fine!" I squeaked. "Just remembered I have... a thing. This weekend. A very normal, non-glowing thing."

Behind them, my alien friends were already brainstorming solutions, their antennae twisting into what I'd come to recognize as their "plotting" formation.

"We could temporarily relocate your room to another dimension?" Zax suggested.

"Or make your mom temporarily able to see us, so we can explain everything!" Pip added brightly.

"Absolutely not," I hissed. "The last thing we need is my mom finding out I'm an alien queen. She still hasn't gotten over the time I decided to become a philosophy major for three weeks."

"But she's going to see the improvements we made to your living space!" Pip protested. "The interdimensional study corner alone took us hours to calibrate!"

He had a point. My room had undergone some... modifications since my alien friends arrived. The mini solar system on my ceiling was just the beginning. They'd also "upgraded" my desk lamp to run on something they called "quantum luminescence," installed a meditation corner that occasionally defied gravity, and don't even get me started on what they did to my closet in an attempt to solve my storage problems. Let's just say some of my sweaters now existed in multiple dimensions simultaneously.

"Okay, we need a plan," I said, pulling my alien friends aside while Brad and Ashley went ahead to grab our coffee orders. "We have exactly three days to make my room look normal enough that my mom won't think I'm running an illegal physics experiment."

"But you are running illegal physics experiments," Zax pointed out. "That's what your Earth authorities would call our improvements to your WiFi router."

"Not helping!"

Back in my room, we surveyed the damage. It was worse than I thought. In addition to the obvious alien modifications, there were several objects that definitely weren't obeying the normal laws of physics. My lava lamp was floating, my plants were emitting a soft humming sound that Pip swore was "just their natural frequency," and my wall calendar seemed to be showing dates from three different timelines.

"Maybe we could say it's all art installations?" I suggested weakly. "Mom knows I'm taking that experimental media class..."

"Oh! We could tell her it's a commentary on the ephemeral nature of reality!" Pip bounced excitedly, causing his tinfoil hat to shoot off sparks.

"Or," Zax said thoughtfully, "we could help you clean and organize everything the human way. We've been studying your Earth home decoration shows."

I raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me you haven't been watching Marie Kondo."

Their guilty expressions said it all.

"We found her approach to spark joy quite fascinating," Pip admitted. "Though we disagree with her stance on book organization. Books should clearly be arranged by their quantum resonance, not their size."

"No quantum anything!" I insisted. "This weekend, everything needs to be completely normal. No floating objects, no interdimensional storage solutions, and definitely no glowing laundry."

"But how will your socks find their optimal pairs without the bioluminescent matching system?" Zax looked genuinely distressed.

"They'll have to pair up the old-fashioned way – by approximate color matching and blind hope."

We spent the next few hours attempting to "de-alienize" my room. It was harder than you'd think. Turns out once you've experienced interdimensional storage solutions, going back to regular closet organization is like trying to downgrade from a smartphone to a carrier pigeon.

"What about your homework crystal?" Pip asked, holding up the gently pulsing gem. "You need it for your quantum physics study session tomorrow."

"I'm not even taking quantum physics!"

"Not in this dimension," Zax muttered under his breath.

I was about to argue that point when my phone buzzed again.