Starstruck (13 page)

Rigel looked almost as startled as I was—but not quite. At least, I didn’t think so.

“I . . . I’m not sure,” he said. “Maybe that static thing—?”

“No way. That went way,
way
past anything static could ever do. You did it, didn’t you? You shot lightning at him or something? How did you do that? What if he’s—”

Bryce groaned, then struggled to his knees, looking dazedly up at Rigel. “You bastard! You punched me!”

Rigel barely missed a beat. “You deserved it. Leave M alone. Got it?”

Though Bryce still seemed pretty out of it, he glowered. “Yeah, I’ll leave her alone. For now. You didn’t have to go all caveman on me.” With one last glare at both of us, he turned and stumbled back down the bleachers and out of the stadium, still shaking his head.

I waited until he was gone to round on Rigel. “Now, will you please tell me what the hell just happened?”

“I think I . . .
we
. . . shocked him. Somehow.”

“Well, duh. But how?”

He shrugged and shook his head, but I noticed he didn’t look me in the eye. He was definitely hiding something and I was determined, this time, to get to the bottom of it, even while I was a little terrified that I might push him away. In just a week, Rigel had become almost as important to me as air. Which was scary all by itself.

So instead of demanding he explain, I tried something more roundabout. In as offhand, nonchalant a tone as I could manage, I said, “Maybe Mr. Ferguson will have some kind of explanation. I’ll ask him about it tomorrow.”

As I’d hoped, Rigel immediately looked alarmed. “No! I mean, I’m sure it’s not worth bothering him about. He’ll probably just think we imagined it or something.”

I wasn’t giving up that easily. “Maybe,” I said with a shrug, “but it’s worth a try. I’ll explain exactly what happened just now. If he doesn’t believe me, maybe I can get Bryce to remember and back me up. If . . . if you won’t.”

He frowned at me for a long, tense moment, and I could tell he was trying to come to some kind of decision. Finally, he said, “Look, I know you need to get home and the late buses leave in about five minutes. But can I call you tonight?”

“Sure,” I said eagerly, then remembered—“But I, uh, don’t have a phone in my room. So my end might not be very . . . private.” I had a feeling that might matter. At least, I hoped it would.

“No cordless?”

I shook my head. “We used to have one, but I, um, shorted it out. The old-fashioned kind seems to be more resistant—or so my aunt says.” Personally, I thought it was to make sure I didn’t spend too much time on the phone.

“Hm. Well, I’ll still call, and then we can talk more at lunch tomorrow or something. C’mon, we’d better hurry.”

We headed for the three activity buses in front of the school.

“So you’re not even going to give me a hint?” I asked.

“I . . . I’d better not. Not yet.”

Even with only three buses, Rigel and I were on different ones, which meant I couldn’t keep pestering him for information. But he’d all but admitted there
was
something to tell. I really hoped I could manage to get some privacy when he called tonight.

Unfortunately, hoping wasn’t enough. Aunt Theresa wanted to know exactly why I’d stayed after school, and she was horrified when I told her the truth. All through dinner I had to listen to a lecture about girls who chase after boys and what that would do to their reputations. No amount of explaining that Rigel had
invited
me to come to practice made a difference.

“A boy like that is bound to have certain . . . expectations about a girl who goes along with his every whim,” she told me as I cleared the dishes from the table and put them in the sink. “It never hurts a girl’s stock to play hard to get. Remember that.”

I came back for the water glasses. “It’s not like that. We’re friends—that’s all.” I definitely
wanted
it to be more than friends, but for now that was the absolute truth.

She still wasn’t buying it. “A girl doesn’t stop wearing her glasses and fix up her hair for a ‘friend.’ You may not believe it, Marsha, but I do remember being young, once upon a time. I know what peer pressure can do to a girl’s convictions.”

The very idea of stolid Aunt Theresa ever being tempted by a boy almost made me drop a glass. Before I could get past that distraction to argue again, the phone rang.

“I’ll get it!” I said quickly, but it was too late. Uncle Louie already had his hand on the receiver.

“Hello? Yes, she’s right here.” He turned to me with a grin. “It’s Rigel,” he whispered loudly enough for the next door neighbors to hear. I was sure Rigel had.

“Thanks,” I said, ignoring Aunt Theresa’s sour look. I took the phone, wishing harder than I ever had before that we still had a cordless, like every single other family in the United States. The best I could do was to stretch the cord its full length, which took me just barely around the corner from the kitchen into the front hall.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Rigel said. His voice didn’t have quite as profound an effect over the phone as it did in person, but it was close. “Can you talk?”

“Some.” The silence in the kitchen made me fully aware that my aunt and uncle were listening. “Can I have a hint now?”

It took him a moment to answer. “Um, I don’t think a hint is a good idea, actually. How about we bring our lunches tomorrow and eat in the courtyard? We should be able to talk there.”

“Okay, sure. But can’t you at least tell me—”

“I’d better go. See you tomorrow, M.”

The line went dead and I was left with the impression that he didn’t want to be overheard any more than I did. Interesting.

“That was quick,” Uncle Louie said when I hung up the phone. “I used to talk to girls for a lot longer than that when I was your age.”

“Louie!” Aunt Theresa snapped. Then, to me, “You’d better finish the dishes, Marsha, then get to your homework, if you don’t want to be up half the night.”

Of course, I was awake half the night anyway, even though my homework was finished by nine o’clock. I couldn’t stop speculating over what Rigel might be going to tell me tomorrow.

Was he the result of some secret government experiment? Or maybe since he was so smart, he’d done some kind of experiment himself that had made him extra strong and given him super hearing. And a static charge like mine, only stronger. No, that sounded lame.

I’d read a few vampire romances, but since he didn’t have any trouble being out in the sun, I didn’t think that was it. Besides, I was pretty sure I didn’t believe in vampires. But maybe he was some other supernatural something?

I fell asleep long after midnight, still puzzling over it, then woke well ahead of my alarm. I rushed through my shower and made myself a sandwich, mumbling an answer when Aunt Theresa asked why I was taking my lunch. I was in such a hurry to get to school that I reached the bus stop ten minutes early and had to wait, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.

When I got to Geometry, I caught Rigel’s eye and held up my lunch bag for him to see. He gave me a wry kind of smile and nodded, but didn’t come over to talk to me.

“What was that about?” Deb asked me. “You were so mysterious on the bus. What happened at football practice yesterday, anyway?”

I shrugged. “Like I said, nothing much. But we agreed to have lunch in the courtyard today.”

“Ooh, that’s so romantic! Why didn’t you tell us?”

I just shrugged again.

The next three and a half hours seemed to last for weeks, but finally the bell rang for lunch. I grabbed my paper sack and turned to face Rigel, trying not to look too eager.

“So. Lunch?” he said with that devastating grin that always made my knees go weak.

Trina glanced from him to me, then made a disgusted noise and hurried out of the Science classroom. I barely noticed.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We walked in silence to the courtyard. It was nearly ninety today, so nobody was out there. It could have been a hundred and ten and I wouldn’t have cared, so long as I got to be with Rigel—and got to hear whatever his big secret was.

I’d been trying to prepare myself to be disappointed, telling myself it would probably turn out to be some perfectly normal something, after all my wild speculation. But I couldn’t help being excited as we sat on the one stone bench in the shade and pulled out our lunches.

“So?” I finally prompted when he didn’t say anything right away. “You had something you were going to tell me?”

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and took a big swig from his water bottle. Then, finally, he turned to face me.

“Yes. But I don’t think you’re going to believe me.”

I set down my own water bottle. “Try me. I’ve known something was different about you since the first day of school. So . . . what is it?”

Rigel drew a deep breath, took both of my hands in his and looked me directly in the eye.

“I’m a Martian.”

CHAPTER 8

Resolving patterns

I stared at him for a long time, probably a whole minute, while his words ricocheted around in my brain. Finally, positive I’d misunderstood, I simply said, “Wait. What?”

“I’m a Martian,” he repeated.

My brain finally came unstuck and his words penetrated. In spite of the sweltering heat, a cold wash of horror drenched me from head to toe. I pulled my hands out of his and jumped to my feet.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” I breathed. “Trina put you up to this!”

Now he was standing too, trying to grab my hands again. I backed away. The depth of his betrayal left me reeling. “Have you two been plotting this all along?” I demanded.

“No! Trina has nothing to do with this, I swear.”

I didn’t believe him. “I don’t know anyone else mean enough to do this to me. Are you trying to tell me this was
your
plan? Why? Because I told you about that stupid fantasy back in second grade? Why should that even matter to you?”

“M!”

He took a step toward me but I turned away quickly. I could feel my eyes prickling, and there was no way on earth I was going to let him see me cry. Imagining Rigel and Trina laughing together about me, I ran from the courtyard I’d entered two minutes ago with such high hopes.

As I hurried blindly down the hall, I heard him call my name again. Afraid he’d catch me, make me face him, I ducked into the nearest girls’ room and locked myself into a stall. Then, finally, I let the tears come—first in great, racking sobs, then gradually slowing to a hopeless flow down my cheeks. A couple of people came into the bathroom, but they didn’t ask who was crying and I wasn’t about to let them know.

After ten minutes or so, I’d pretty much cried myself out. My lips had that icky numb-tingly feeling and my nose was all stuffed up, but I was finally calm enough to think.

I still couldn’t believe Rigel would do such an awful thing, making fun of the most embarrassing thing from my past that I’d shared with him. And I absolutely didn’t want to face him—or anyone—right now. But the bell was going to ring soon and I couldn’t spend the rest of the day in here. Eventually Bri or Deb or even a teacher would come looking for me.

So, after a few deep breaths, I waited till I was sure the bathroom was empty and emerged from the stall to splash cold water on my face from the sink. My eyes were puffy and red, but the cold water helped a little, and some extra eye pencil helped a little more. I could do this. I just wouldn’t look at anybody.

The warning bell rang but I waited a minute, so I wouldn’t get to class too soon. Then, with another fortifying breath, I left the bathroom and walked fast, with my head down.

When I reached the classroom, I didn’t even glance toward Rigel, but made a beeline for my own desk. I didn’t look at Bri or Deb either, but of course they both immediately started asking what was wrong.

“Rigel looked upset when he came in, too,” Bri said. “Did you guys fight?”

“Sort of,” I mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“But M, what—”

I cut Deb off. “Just leave me alone, okay? For now, I mean. Please?”

Class started and they backed off.

Though I couldn’t concentrate on anything but my own misery, pretending to pay attention gave me a good excuse to avoid pitying glances from my friends—and everyone else.

Not until class was ending did it occur to me to wonder why Rigel would have looked upset, like Bri told me. If his plan was to embarrass me, it had certainly worked. So shouldn’t he be happy? I felt a thread of doubt, of hope, that maybe that hadn’t been his intent after all. Though what else it could have been, I had no clue.

When the bell rang, I gave Rigel a big head start before leaving the room myself. But he was lurking just outside the door, and I didn’t see him in time to avoid him. I tried to duck around him, but he was faster than me—a lot faster. He moved to block me and then, too quickly for me to prevent him, he snagged one of my hands. His touch jolted me with that same sense of rightness it always did, calming me against my will.

“M! Please listen to me, okay?” He spoke softly but urgently. “None of this was a plot, and I wasn’t making fun of you. I promise. I was telling you the truth.”