Starstruck (3 page)

Will dragged my attention back from behind me by saying, “Hey, I’m glad you’re gonna be sitting here. You can help me out when we get to the space stuff next semester.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, no problem,” I agreed absently.

Behind me, I heard Trina start to say something, then it sounded like Rigel shushed her. I glanced at the teacher, but he wasn’t looking our way. Huh. I wondered what that was about—and how Trina liked being shushed. It was all I could do not to turn around to see her expression.

I was still trying to think of some totally legit reason to look behind me when Mr. Ferguson started calling the roll. None of the other teachers had bothered. They knew everyone by name already, but this was only Mr. Ferguson’s second year at Jewel. I started doodling in my notebook, since I’d be one of the last people called.

As he made his way through the alphabet, sketches of constellations appeared under my pencil, inspired by Will’s reminder and the star charts above the whiteboard.

Mr. Ferguson was almost done with the roll. “Trina Squires?”

“Here,” she responded.

I braced myself for Rigel’s voice.

“Rigel Stuart?”

“Here.”

It was one word.
One word
and it still went through me like a rush of adrenaline. What in the world was wrong with me? Even Jimmy Franklin had never affected me like this.

“Marsha Truitt? Are you here?” Mr. Ferguson sounded impatient and I realized I’d missed my own name.

“Oh, um here!” I answered, feeling my cheeks burn.

Then I looked down at my doodling and they burned even hotter. Not only had I drawn the constellation Orion, I’d been drawing circles around Orion’s left foot—the star Rigel. I slammed my notebook shut, hoping no one had noticed.

I peeked sideways at Will, but he was watching the teacher, who had finished roll and was writing on the whiteboard. Slightly reassured, I forced myself to do the same.

It was an intense relief when the bell finally rang for lunch. No matter how I tried, I hadn’t been able to ignore my awareness of Rigel behind me. If anything, it had increased as the class wore on. I was out of my seat before the bell stopped, eager to get away from his disturbing influence. But as I reached the door, I felt my feet slowing, like I wanted him to catch up.

Disgusted at my weakness, I sped up, practically jogging to the cafeteria. Not till I’d gone through the lunch line did I glance back and sure enough, there was Rigel. Trina was right behind him, wearing a smug smile, clearly hoping everyone was noticing who she was with.

With a snort aimed as much at myself as at Trina, I went to an empty table near the windows and deliberately sat with my back to the room. I was opening my juice box when Bri slipped into the seat across from me. “Hey! You’re into window seats today, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. “Sunshine is good for my mood.”

“Can I have your banana?” she asked as Deb joined us with her tray.

“Sure. That’s why I got one.” I never ate bananas, as my friends well knew.

“So, how was—” Bri began, when she was interrupted by a hiss from Deb, who was staring over my shoulder.

I nearly turned, but stopped myself. “What?”

“Don’t look now,” Deb whispered, “but Rigel Stuart is headed Right. Toward. Us.” Beside her, Bri nodded, wide-eyed.

“Stop staring!” I held perfectly still, trying to be inconspicuous.

But then it didn’t matter because he was standing right next to me, his nearness zinging through me again like an electrical current. I swallowed once, convulsively, and looked up past his lean, muscled chest to find him regarding me with those amazing greenish eyes in that impossibly perfect face.

“Marsha, isn’t it?” he said.

Unable to form words, I nodded.

“Hi. I’m Rigel Stuart.”

CHAPTER 2

A star is formed

I continued to stare up at him, my brain completely frozen, until either Deb or Bri kicked me under the table. In a lame attempt to cover my idiocy, I coughed, then dredged up a smile. I hoped it wasn’t a stupid one.

“I know. I mean . . . Hi. Um, so, how do you like Jewel so far?” It was a normal sort of thing to ask. Much better than
Why is someone as gorgeous as you talking to a nobody like me?

“More than I expected to.” His smile didn’t look fake at all. And Bri was right—it did make him look even more amazing, which shouldn’t have been possible. That odd electrical pull was stronger than ever and I felt the power of speech leaving me again.

One of my friends gave me another kick under the table. It must have been Bri, because she immediately said, “Hey, Rigel! Welcome to Jewel. I’m Brianna Morrison and this is Debbi Andrews. Have a seat.” She indicated the chair next to me.

I felt a stab of panic. I’d never be able to hide the way he affected me if he sat here! Not that I was doing a great job of it now.

“Thanks, but I’m already sitting over there.” He motioned toward Trina, Nicole, Amber, and a couple other cheerleaders, a few tables away.

Relief battled with disappointment, but neither lasted beyond his next words.

“Maybe tomorrow? Anyway, I, ah, noticed we have a couple classes together and just wanted to say hi.” He was looking at me again—looking at me almost the same way he’d looked at Trina in homeroom. Which was wonderful, but also really weird.

My voice was stuck again, but this time Deb came to my rescue. “It’s great to meet you, Rigel. We’ll see you tomorrow, definitely!”

“Tomorrow, then.” With a last, stunning smile that kept me from getting the polite response I’d composed in my head out of my mouth, he headed back to Trina, who was looking decidedly pissed.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod!” Brianna breathed as soon as he was out of earshot. “Can you believe that?”

I slowly shook my head, because I really, really couldn’t.

“M!” Deb’s voice was low and dramatic. “He is so totally into you! It’s like he couldn’t stop staring at you!”

“That’s it,” Bri said decisively. “After school, Deb and I are giving you an extreme makeover. You are
so
going to snatch Rigel right out from under Trina’s greedy little nose!”

They started chattering about makeup, hairstyles, acne treatments, and even contacts, but their words just washed over me while I relived those magical few moments when Rigel had been standing here, looking right at me. Staring at
me
. Saying he wanted to get to know me.

Us. He’d meant all of us, of course. But still . . .

When we got to U.S. History, Bri and Deb were surprised that Rigel was there already—which surprised me. How could they not have noticed him going into the room just thirty feet ahead of us? I was forced to the conclusion that neither of them were
quite
as obsessed with his every move as I was.

Though I only allowed myself the briefest glance as I crossed the room, I caught him looking my way, which flustered me so badly I nearly knocked a desk over.

“He’s watching you, M,” Bri whispered. “He can’t keep his eyes off of you!”

Deb nodded vigorously. “Even with Amber coming on to him, he’s staring this way. And if he’s interested now, just wait till he sees you tomorrow! You’ll be gorgeous.”

I just smiled noncommittally. Not that I didn’t
want
to believe my friends could perform a miracle, but some basics—like my flyaway mousy brown hair, my bad complexion and my nearsightedness—weren’t going to change. The very things that made it so unbelievable that super-hunk Rigel Stuart could want to be my friend.

By the end of class, I couldn’t have told anyone whether we were studying the American Revolution or the Civil Rights movement. In fact, I was starting to worry I might flunk every class I shared with Rigel. Not good, since the
only
way I’d get to college—and out of Jewel—was if I got a scholarship.

I knew he wouldn’t be in French since Bri had said he was in Spanish, so I hurried there, anxious to clear my mind of the fog of distraction he seemed to create. But once class started I felt almost . . . empty.

Stop it
, I scolded myself. He was a cute new guy, and that was all. Okay, a really
really
cute new guy, but that was no reason to act like a crazy person all day. I shoved Rigel forcibly from my mind, and by the time the bell rang I’d remembered most of my French from last year. It gave me hope that the damage Rigel had inflicted on my brain might not be permanent.

My final class was the dreaded-but-required Health—a euphemism for “embarrassing sex talks.” The good news was, they’d separated the classes by gender. An all-girl class on these topics wouldn’t be
quite
so excruciating. The bad news was that Trina was in this class and my friends weren’t.

“Wow, Marsha,” she said loudly, slipping into the seat right behind me. “I can’t believe they make people like
you
take sex ed. I mean, it’s not like you’re ever going to
need
it!”

The whole class tittered and Trina’s friends laughed out loud. I tortured my brain for a snappy comeback but nothing emerged. I’d probably think of the perfect retort at three a.m. Like always. For now, I just slouched down in my seat and waited impatiently for the final bell.

Fifty uncomfortable minutes later, I headed for my bus. I scanned the crowd for one last glimpse of Rigel before remembering (facepalm) that of course he’d have football practice.

Bri hurried over with Deb in tow. “We’ll do your makeover at my house,” she announced, “since you probably don’t have any of the stuff we’ll need. You can call your aunt on my cell and my dad can drive you home. Now, here’s what I’m thinking we’ll do first.” She and Deb launched back into the same discussion they’d had at lunch and all through History class.

When we got to their stop, Deb ran next door to let her dog out and get “supplies.” Bri poured root beer for the two of them while I made a cup of tea for myself—yet another way I was weird, preferring tea to soda.

Deb came in armed with a straightening iron and a couple of spray bottles. “Maggie swears by this stuff, so I thought we should try it.”

“Nothing will give me hair like Maggie’s.” Maggie was Deb’s older sister. She was about to start college and she was gorgeous, with sleek blonde hair that hung to her waist.

“We’ll do our best.” Bri piled cinnamon grahams on a plate and led the way to her bedroom, which was twice the size of mine, with her very own attached bath. I’d always been jealous of that bathroom, though not of the black and gold Jewel Jaguars banners or the boy band posters all over the walls. I much preferred my own posters and models of planets, galaxies and nebulae, no matter how geeky they were.

Skeptical as I was about the results, it was kind of fun playing Barbie doll while my friends fussed over me, trying different looks. And it
did
make a difference. I especially liked how sleek and shiny the straightener made my hair, though I was less sure about the makeup.

“I’m glad we went with the purple,” Bri said when they were finally done. “I read in Seventeen last month it’s the best color with green eyes.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Deb squinted critically at me. “But not so much eye shadow.” She took my glasses off to smudge it with her finger. “We don’t want her to look like a slut.”

I suddenly remembered Trina’s crack in Health class. “Why don’t you teach the class, you’re so experienced. That’s what I should have said.”

“Huh?” Bri and Deb said together.

I explained. “Too bad I never think of a snappy comeback when it would actually be snappy,” I finished.

“Yeah, that would have shut her up,” Bri agreed. “But you’ll get plenty more chances, knowing Trina.”

Deb nodded. “Especially if you steal Rigel from her. She’ll turn into a raving bitch.”

“Think anyone will notice the difference?” Bri asked, and we all laughed.

But then I sobered. “Seriously, guys, you can’t think I have any real chance with him? I’ll be amazed if he even sits with us tomorrow. It’s not like he actually promised.”

“Okay, I’ll be amazed too,” Bri admitted, “but it’s not
totally
impossible. Right, Deb?”

Deb hesitated for an embarrassing second before saying, “Oh, yeah, definitely. Of course it’s not impossible.”

They were good, loyal friends but they were also realistic. They knew as well as I did that girls like me didn’t date guys like Rigel.

Not in this universe, anyway.

“You’re late,” my Aunt Theresa greeted me when I got home. If anyone ever needed a makeover, it was Aunt Theresa. She was in her mid fifties but looked at least ten years older. Partly because she acted it—she was really old-fashioned—but also because she usually kept her graying hair in a tight bun and only wore frumpy stuff like button-down dresses and cardigans. A little color and style might do wonders for her. Or not.

“What did you do to your hair?” she demanded before I could even say hi.

“We straightened it,” Bri explained. She’d come in to pick out my outfit for tomorrow. “Thanks for letting her come over, Mrs. Truitt.”

Aunt Theresa hmphed—something she was really good at. “You’d better wash that paint off your face before your uncle gets home, young lady.”