Starcrossed

by Brenda Hiatt

  She shrugged, scarfing down more of her lunch. I tried not to let my impatience show since she did only have a few minutes before the bell and she had done me a favor delivering food to Rigel.

  “He, um, says if it’s for the best that he be out of the picture, he’s okay with that,” she finally replied.

  “What?” I accidentally said it too loudly.

  “What’s going on?” Bri asked.

  Without hesitating, Molly said, “I just told M about a rumor we’re having a pop quiz in History. I don’t think it’s true, though. Sally Jorgensen is just worried because she didn’t do the reading.”

  I nodded, impressed and a little startled by how quickly Molly had covered. I could never think stuff up that fast.

  “Shoot, I’d better glance over it just in case,” Deb said, pulling out her book.

  Bri did the same, while Sean devoted himself to the rest of his huge lunch. The bell rang before I could ask Molly again what she’d meant about Rigel so I hurried to class, determined to ask him exactly what he’d said to Molly and why. Quick as I was, she and Sean were right behind me, so the best I could manage was to “accidentally” brush against Rigel as I took my seat.

  He must have picked up on my worry, because he looked at me questioningly but my thoughts were way too complicated to send to him silently. We’d have three classes without O’Garas tomorrow, but I needed to know now if he was concocting some stupid noble gesture that would destroy our happiness forever.

  Mrs. George broke into my anguished thoughts by announcing a pop quiz. Incredulous, I glanced at Molly. How had she known? But she looked as surprised as I was.

  Coincidence or not, the quiz took my mind off of my worries for the next twenty minutes. When class ended, I took what fortification I could from Rigel’s quick handclasp before we had to go our separate ways for the rest of the day. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it reassured me that he wasn’t feeling desperate. Just frustrated, like me.

  At the end of the day I found a note from Rigel in my locker, which helped a little more. It was short but very sweet, promising that no matter how he kept his distance, he was thinking of me every moment. I tucked it into my bra and went to board the bus with a secret smile.

  My glow faded when I got home and found a very not sweet note from Aunt Theresa with another list of chores and, again, explicit instructions to stay off the phone.

  “She’d probably have it tapped, if she knew how,” I grumbled.

  Which made me realize—duh—that she didn’t know how. Which meant she would never know— I was dialing before I finished the thought. Though I half expected to find his cell number blocked, the call went right through.

  I sucked in an ecstatic breath, ready to pour out my heart and ask my questions . . . but his dad answered instead.

  “Oh, um, hi. Is Rigel there?” I kept my voice totally casual. It didn’t work.

  “I think it’s better if we all abide by your aunt’s rules for now, M, and I’m sure those don’t include you phoning Rigel,” Mr. Stuart said.

  I was glad he couldn’t see me flushing with mortification. Since the only alternative was a lie he wouldn’t believe anyway, I mumbled an apology and hung up.

  With furious tears running down my cheeks, I ran up to my room and pulled out my old backpack from middle school and began a much more systematic packing than my hurried one Sunday night. By the time I finished, renewed determination had dried my tears. The backpack securely hidden under my bed, I went back downstairs to organize the pantry.

  Making concrete preparations for a last-resort escape with Rigel improved my mood so much that I actually started making a game of just how over-the-top obedient I could be. I had just finished alphabetizing the spices when Aunt Theresa got home.

  “Hm. That’ll do.” She sounded both grudging and surprised as she peered into the pantry. “Is the linen closet done?”

  “I’ll do it right after my homework.” Would it kill her to actually compliment me?

  Apparently. “See that you do,” was all she said, hanging up her coat and washing her hands to start dinner. “Whatever you can’t finish tonight, you can start on tomorrow.”

  I raced to Geometry the next morning to ask Rigel exactly what he’d meant about being “out of the picture.” But when he touched me it felt so good, so calming, I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to do it. Besides, whatever he’d said was probably just to throw Molly off. No point ruining these precious few minutes.

  So, after all that rushing and worrying, I just asked how he’d spent his evening.

  “Driver’s Ed and homework. And fooling around with the telescope. It . . . it makes me feel closer to you.”

  I melted, any lingering uncertainty evaporating. “That’s so . . . Thanks, Rigel. I wish I had something at home to remind me of you, too.” Not that I needed it, since I thought of him constantly anyway.

  He gave me that crooked smile I didn’t see often enough lately. “I’ll work on that.”

  “Oh! I didn’t mean— You don’t have to—”

  “I know you weren’t fishing for presents, M. But I want you to have something to remember me by, too.” His smile faded.

  “Don’t put it like that!” I whispered fiercely. “You make it sound like you’re going to . . . to disappear or something.” Molly’s words from yesterday took on ominous meaning again and sudden panic gripped my chest. “You’re not, are you?”

  To my relief, he shook his head emphatically. “Not by choice. I promise you that!”

  “Do you mean—?” I began, then realized class had started and no one else was talking. I’d ask later.

  But Sean was waiting just outside the door when class ended, then casually walked me to Computer class, forcing me to wait till English to talk privately again with Rigel

  “What you said first period, did you mean someone might make you leave?” I asked urgently, the moment I could.

  He shrugged. “No one’s actually said that, so I’m probably just being paranoid. But it’s no secret some people think it would be better for . . . you know . . . if I were out of the picture.”

  That was way too close to what Molly had said. “Not better for me!” I hissed, infusing my words with every ounce of certainty I could summon so he’d believe me. “Never, ever for me!”

  “I know, M. Not for me, either. Don’t worry, okay?” But his smile was sad again.

  “Okay.” I was worried, though. What did he know, or suspect, that he wasn’t letting on? I knew I could get it out of him if I had time, but with these stupid restrictions, we never seemed to have any time.

  Molly intercepted us in the hallway on the way to Science, then she and Sean both showed up almost the moment that class was over, to walk with me to lunch. Rigel went to the media center again, this time with a sandwich he’d brought from home. It was almost like they knew I needed to talk to him and were tag-teaming to prevent it.

  No, not “almost.” They knew.

  “What’s wrong, M?” Bri asked almost as soon as she sat down at the lunch table. “You look worried.”

  Since I couldn’t explain, I shook my head. “Just thinking. A lot on my mind these days.” I glanced at Molly and Sean, but they both did an enviable job of looking clueless.

  “You and Rigel aren’t fighting again, are you?” Deb asked in a half whisper. “Is that why he’s not eating with us again? You guys looked kind of . . . intense earlier.”

  “It’s only been two days, and no. We’re not fighting. Since my aunt made us promise to stay away from each other, he’s working on a paper for extra credit. He’s hoping to finish it today.”

  I was a lousy liar and Deb still looked doubtful, but it was Sean who startled me by saying, “Don’t let him jerk you around, M. You deserve better than that.”

  I stared at him incredulously. How hypocritical was that, when it was because of him all this stuff had happened in the first place?

  “Rigel has never jerked me around,” I informed him
, making every word distinct. “Ever.”

  His blue eyes held mine for a long moment but I refused to blink or look away, and after a few seconds he finally shrugged. “My mistake.”

  “Did you ask your aunt about going to the game?” Bri asked then, apparently oblivious to the moment of tension.

  I shook my head. “I was going to, but she was in such a bad mood I chickened out.” In fact, I hadn’t even thought about it. “I’ll ask tonight.”

  “You have to come, M!” Bri insisted. “It’s Sean’s big debut!”

  “Guess that makes Sean a debutante, huh?” I was still ticked by his remark about Rigel.

  But he just laughed along with the others. “I guess it does.” His grin didn’t hold any hint that he minded my teasing—if anything, the reverse. I quickly looked away.

  History class was as frustrating as yesterday, with both Sean and Molly watching us, then Molly walking with me to French afterward.

  “I asked Mum to use the tutoring excuse to invite you over this evening.” Maybe she was trying to be nice, but all I could think was how awkward going to their house would be now.

  “It won’t work, what with Aunt Theresa’s Infinite Chore List. You wouldn’t believe the stuff she has me doing.”

  Molly’s eyes widened indignantly. “That is so wrong! You should have people serving you, not the other way around.” At least she remembered to whisper.

  “Yeah, well, tell that to Aunt Theresa. Or don’t,” I added quickly, worried she just might. “She can’t know the truth. Much as I sometimes wish she did.”

  “I know, but it really bothers Sean and me. You should hear what he says about it. Our parents, too. I told them the kind of stuff your aunt makes you do, like a giola uresal—that’s, like, the lowest level of servant.”

  I shrugged. “I’m used to it, so it’s really no big deal.”

  Still, I couldn’t help hoping—just a little—that Mrs. O’Gara really could talk her around. What I really wanted was to spend time with Rigel, but anything that got Aunt Theresa to lighten up would be welcome at this point.

  Mrs. O’Gara must have worked some magic, because the first thing Aunt Theresa said when she got home that afternoon was, “Molly O’Gara needs your help with some more schoolwork, so you’ll be going over there after dinner.”

  “What about my grounding?” I was careful to sound sulky.

  “The terms are for me to decide,” she snapped. “The O’Garas are neighbors and you’ll do this favor.”

  “Sure, fine, whatever.” My spirits rose at the thought of getting out of the house for an evening. Awkward or not, this visit had to be better than scrubbing bathtub grout. Maybe Sean wouldn’t even be there.

  After doing the dinner dishes I headed over, hoping for some real girl talk with Molly—like more detail on what exactly Rigel had said to her at lunch yesterday. Unfortunately, Sean answered the door the same as always.

  “M! I was worried your aunt might find some reason to keep you home at the last minute.”

  He looked so pleased I almost smiled. “I acted all upset, like it was part of my punishment,” I admitted. “Where’s Molly?” I didn’t care if he was offended.

  “Oh. Molly. She, um, got invited to some kind of cheerleading party at Trina Squires’ house.”

  I took a step back. “You mean she’s not home? At all? Then why—?”

  “You wanted to get out of the house, didn’t you? Out from under dear auntie’s thumb? Molly offered to stay home since you were coming, but I could see she really wanted to go to the party so I said I’d entertain you instead. That’s . . . okay, isn’t it?” he asked, vivid blue eyes worried and pleading, like he’d be crushed if I said no.

  Though I was sure it was an act, I shrugged and came inside. “I guess it’s better than going back home,” I said ungraciously. “But Molly should have told me.”

  “I wouldn’t let her.” He still wore that pathetic puppy-dog look. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come, and hated to think of you cooped up doing chores another whole evening.”

  “How thoughtful.” I didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Maybe it’s just as well. It gives you and me a chance to put all our cards on the table.”

  CHAPTER 24

  aisling (AYS-ling): fantasy; daydream; imagination

  “Cards on the table? What cards?” Sean looked genuinely puzzled.

  “It’s just a saying. It means we tell each other what our real agendas are, instead of tiptoeing around and pretending.”

  His expression cleared. “Oh. Hadn’t heard that one before, but aye, yeah. It is time we had a real talk, now that you know . . . how things are. C’mon.” He started to reach for my hand, then changed his mind and just held his hand out to me, instead. I didn’t take it. After a moment’s hesitation, he gave a little shrug and headed into the living room.

  I followed, gathering my courage for the coming confrontation, wishing I’d had time to rehearse for it. Sean sat on the couch and looked up at me expectantly but I pulled a chair over and sat across instead of beside him. I’d think better that way.

  “Look,” he began, “I know I apologized Saturday night for the way my uncle sprang this Consort thing on you, but I want to say sorry again. I’ve thought about it a lot since then and realize how we all must seem to you. Me, especially. It must look like we came into town under false pretenses and pretended to be your friends, when all the while we knew this huge thing you didn’t, that was going to turn your life upside down. I don’t blame you for being mad about that. For being mad at me.”

  “Well . . . yeah,” I admitted, surprised he’d described it so perfectly.

  “You must have felt the same way about the Stuarts back in September,” he continued. “When you found out the truth about your identity, I mean.”

  I immediately bristled. “No! I never—” But then I broke off, because he was right. I had felt the same sense of betrayal when I’d first learned they’d come to Jewel specifically to find me. It might even have been stronger, because of the way I felt about Rigel—but only until he convinced me he felt the same way.

  “That was different,” I finally said. “They didn’t know for sure I was in Jewel when they came here—or if I was even alive. And Rigel definitely didn’t plan what happened between us.”

  For a second, Sean’s blue eyes blazed. “What happened—!” Then he caught himself. “Oh. Right. You mean that bond you two think you have.”

  “That we do have,” I corrected. “That’s part of what I need to get across to you tonight.”

  Instead of responding to that, he said, “You have to believe the last thing any of us wanted was to upset you or mess up your life. Especially me.”

  Especially him? “Yeah? Convince me.”

  He hesitated, long enough for me to become unwillingly aware of his brath, even from here. I ignored it, staring past his shoulder at the shelf of Martian books instead of at him.

  “Well?” I prompted as the silence lengthened.

  “Um, remember I told you I grew up knowing about you, about what would have been expected if . . . But of course, everybody thought you’d been killed by the time I was old enough to understand it.”

  I nodded.

  “So up until a few weeks ago, you were never exactly real to me. Except, well, you kind of were.” When he didn’t continue, I glanced at him, to see he’d turned red and wasn’t quite meeting my eye.

  “What do you mean?” I finally asked, when the pause started to get really awkward.

  He darted a look at me, then gave a sheepish sort of grin. “This part is embarrassing, okay? If I tell you . . . well, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, I promise. But maybe it’ll help if you know where I’m coming from in all this.”

  Now I was really curious. “Tell me what? C’mon, Sean. What is it?”

  After hesitating again, he finally gave a quick nod and continued, still not quite looking at me. “Okay, then. For most of my
life, I sort of, well . . . fantasized about you. Even talked to you. When I was a kid, I mean. Like having an imaginary friend. Later I imagined you as the ideal girl. Er, girlfriend.”

  Now I felt my own face flushing, which was ridiculous. “But that wasn’t really me,” I protested. “Just somebody you made up who happened to have my name.”

  Sean shrugged. “Maybe. Technically. But it was you, too.”

  “Huh?”

  “See, I knew—or found out—pretty much everything about you. Pictures of you as a baby, what your parents were like growing up, exactly when and why they left Mars with you, your last known location on Earth. I even, um—” He raked a hand through his copper hair. “I even ran an age-progression program on you.”

  “A what?”

  He turned even redder. “Using the last picture of you that existed, plus pictures of your parents at different ages. It extrapolated approximately what you would look like, as you grew up. And . . . it wasn’t far off.” His expression was frankly admiring.

  I dropped my gaze in sudden embarrassment, trying to decide if I was flattered or totally creeped out.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have told you that part. But I couldn’t help pretending . . . hoping . . . you were somehow still alive and I wanted to know what you looked like, so if I . . . I ever found you, I’d know you.”

  I swallowed, but didn’t say anything. Had the Stuarts had something like that, when they were searching for me? Of course, before Rigel, I wouldn’t have looked much like they’d expected, what with the glasses and acne and all.

  “In fact,” Sean continued, “you were so real to me that when the news broke that you actually were alive, I wasn’t even surprised. It was like I’d known it all along. So when Uncle Allister insisted we should come here, I was totally on board with the idea. I couldn’t wait to meet you. For real.” He finally met my eyes.

  “I . . . I don’t . . .” I groped for words to express all my feelings, positive and negative, but came up empty.