Max & OTA
Max wasn't going to skip the party at the Crashdown for anything. He wasn't too thrilled about the cheesy alien theme, but he also wasn't going to tell Arturo Ortecho that he thought it was ridiculous. They were in Roswell, after all, site of the alleged alien space ship crash back in '47. Arturo probably remembered when it happened, but like most people in Roswell and beyond, he thought it was a big misunderstanding, because of course aliens hadn't really crash landed in the New Mexico desert.
In hindsight, he probably should have skipped it. He wasn't feeling all that great, which in itself was unusual. Max didn't get sick. It just wasn't a thing that happened, probably because of his alien DNA. And it wasn't sickness he was feeling, as far as he could tell. It was something...he couldn't really put it into words. A low hum of restless energy just under the surface was the best he could come up with. Not that he'd said as much to anyone, not even Liz.
He'd rather pretend everything was fine. Everything should be fine. No reason to panic, or cause Liz to panic. She'd drag Kyle into it and as much as Max appreciated Kyle working with him from a medical standpoint, he still didn't really like the guy. So. Max didn't say anything to anyone, and instead pretended everything was fine.
He got himself a drink from the cauldron that was shaped and designed like a UFO, and looked for a place to sit down.