When the bell rings, I scoop up my books and rush off to Spanish, where I won’t have to deal with this torture.
Determined to scrub that dream—and especially the feelings associated with it—from my mind once and for all, I make a point of talking to Trina before class starts.
“So, how was the party after the game Friday night?”
She shoots a flirty glance my way. “Not nearly as good as it would have been if you’d come. It was like the guest of honor wasn’t even there! We toasted you a lot.”
“Yeah, well, my folks thought I should be home in case the cops had questions about that lunatic on the sidelines, the one Mr. Cormac hauled off.”
“And did they?”
“Nah. Guess they got all they needed from Mr. Cormac.” From what M said, I doubted the police had been told at all. “Wish I’d come to the party instead.”
Trina gives me a limpid look from those big blue eyes and I try—I really try—to feel attracted to her. She’s pretty. And well-built. Most guys seem to consider her way hotter than M. Which I totally don’t get. M is so much more—
I yank my thoughts away from M and back to Trina. Why is it so hard?
“I’ll, uh, try to come to the next one,” I half promise even though my folks won’t like it. They know full well there’s drinking at those parties. I must have stupidly told them that last year. They claim alcohol would screw up my brain even more.
I’ve quit mentioning my random memory flashes to them, they’re so jumpy about the idea of me remembering things I shouldn’t. And obviously, since I never mentioned the arboretum at all, I couldn’t tell them it seemed familiar. It looked so different in my dream…
And I’m right back where I started, obsessing again.
In Chemistry, I pay extra close attention to today’s lab. But all the lab partners are talking to each other, reading instructions aloud. And every time M says something to Molly, on the other side of the room, her voice thrums through me more intensely than ever.
“Rigel! I said Sodium Chloride, not Calcium Chloride!” Trina snaps. “Here, let me do that or you’re going to screw up the grade for both of us. Where is your head today, anyway?”
Back in that snowy arboretum. Again.
Lit class is even worse. With M sitting just three feet from me, Ms. Raymond might as well be speaking Mandarin Chinese. To keep from totally losing my cool, I force myself to make a mental list of all the reasons I can not let that insane dream make me do something stupid. Like ask M out.
Reason One: she’s the freaking Sovereign. The supreme ruler of at least a quarter million people. And I’m basically nobody, no matter what kind of “special connection” she claims we have. Had. Last year.
Reason Two: according to Martian law or tradition or whatever, she’s supposed to end up with Sean. So asking her out would be like asking out somebody else’s fiancée. Whether they’re technically dating right now or not.
Reason Three: even if she’s not on board with the whole Sean-being-her-Royal-Consort thing, Sean obviously is. Last week I told him flat out I was no poacher, and I meant it.
Reason Four: according to M herself, one reason my memory got erased was because of the relationship she and I used to have.
Reason Five: my parents are obviously worried, even scared, about what could happen if I get too tight with M. They’re not stupid, so they probably have a good reason for that.
Reason Six: anything I want as badly as I want M right now can’t possibly be good for me.
I spend the rest of class going over and over my list, determined to commit it to memory for easy reference in case I get too tempted to do or say something I shouldn’t. It helps a little.
But not much.
When everyone heads to lunch, I hang back so I can be sure not to be anywhere near M in the cafeteria line. After she goes to her usual table, I go to mine—and sit with my back to her.
“Hey, Rigel, no relapses over the weekend?” Matt Mullins asks, peering into my face. “You looked like you were gonna hurl before that fourth quarter turnaround. Food poisoning or something?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I figure it was something I ate. Or maybe some twenty-four-hour bug. Just glad I got over it in time to do my job last quarter.”
“Weren’t we all,” agrees Jimmy Franklin. “Don’t scare us like that again, man.”
I have a sudden, irrational urge to tell Franklin to shut up or even punch him in the face. But I realize in time it has nothing to do with what he just said. It’s because of those memory flashes of him dancing with M—which never bothered me that much before. Didn’t M say those flashes were fake anyway?
No, just that they were “safe” memories those so-called patriots stuck on top of more dangerous ones. Like any about M and me together. Reason Five.
“I’ll do my best,” I finally say. “Anyway, I feel fine today.” Not true, exactly. In fact, I’m kind of a mess. But hopefully not in a way that’ll affect how I play football.
In Government, I feel awkward and uncomfortable around Sean and M. Reasons Two and Three keep running through my head, especially when M asks to borrow a pen from me and brushes my hand when she takes it. I manage not to flinch from the way-too-delicious jolt I get. But just barely. Knowing she did it on purpose doesn’t help.
For the last fifteen minutes of class, we’re supposed to talk to our partners about our projects. That gives me an excuse to move farther away from M, though talking with Sean feels weird now.
“You okay today?” he asks when I space out again and don’t answer whatever he just asked. Proving I suck at hiding my feelings.
“Yeah. Just a little…scattered. Sorry.” I absolutely can’t be thinking about M like that right now! Or ever. But especially now. “What did you ask?”
“Just whether you want to come over and work on this at my house some night this week. My mum and dad want to thank you for what you, um, did Friday night. I do, too. That guy was seriously bad news. If you hadn’t been there—”
I shrug. “Just glad I saw him in time to run interference until Mr. Cormac got there.”
“Hey, don’t downplay it. That was really quick thinking and follow-through. So, you think you can come by sometime?”
The muscles in my neck tense up and I shift in my seat, hoping I don’t look as uncomfortable as I feel. Not only is Sean treating me like some kind of hero when I’m actively lusting after his girl, but now that I know what his father did to me, there’s no way I want to go to his house.
“I’ll, um, check with my folks. Anyway, what do you think? Should we go with one of the Articles or maybe how the Constitution got ratified?”
To my relief he switches to the topic of our project for the rest of class—a much less dangerous subject. I’m starting to relax around him when M comes up from behind me and touches my arm.
“Here’s your pen back, Rigel. Thanks.”
I practically have to climb back inside my skin before I can answer in a normal voice. “Sure. No problem.”
She smiles and goes back to her seat while I’m still resonating from that unexpected touch. Again I feel the surge of strength she somehow gives me. It would be great if I could use that strength to resist her. Somehow, I don’t think it works that way.
In Weight Training, I spend the whole time doing circuits on the machines—stuff I don’t need a spotter for. I need to come up with a good excuse before Sean mentions coming to his house again. Even if his folks really do just want to thank me for playing hero, I don’t want to go. Because I absolutely don’t feel like any kind of hero right now.
I’m half tempted to ditch last period. The last thing I need is alone time with M, if only because I want it so bad. But I didn’t plan ahead, so I go anyway—and Ms. Raymond comes to my rescue.
“Our first issue goes live Wednesday morning,” she announces right at the start, “so today and tomorrow will be a little crazy. Fair warning to those of you who are new on staff this year. Here’s a list of
everyone’s assigned tasks. It’s going to take complete focus by each of you if you don’t want to stay late either or both days.”
She tacks the list up on the bulletin board and I’m relieved to see I’m doing formatting while M will be proofing—from a printout, so not at the computer.
Angela is obviously in her element. She immediately takes charge, barking orders like a general. She sends the proofers to the table in the middle of the room, me to the desktop computer and the photo and layout people to the long table along the wall.
“And get it right the first time,” she cautions. “I remember once or twice last year we were here till ten o’clock the night before deadline because somebody was careless. The good part is, once this issue goes live we can relax for a day or two. So you’ll have time later this week to catch up on anything you have to let slide while we’re scrambling to meet deadline.”
I get right to work since missing football practice isn’t an option, grateful for both the distraction and the reprieve from dangerous one-on-one time with M. By tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll have mostly forgotten that dream and be able to act like a normal person around her.
* * *
Even though I don’t remember dreaming about M again when I wake up Tuesday morning, I need another cold shower. At least I’m not haunted by details…except the ones from yesterday’s dream. And my own imagination.
At school, I’m every bit as obsessed with M as before, no matter how I try to talk myself out of it. Last night I put my Six Reasons in writing, but it doesn’t seem to have done a lot of good. Just like yesterday, I’m hyper-aware of her every time she’s within sight or earshot—which is a lot.
Twice in Lit I fight the urge to reach across the aisle and touch her arm on the pretext of asking a question about theme. The second time, I convince myself I really need to ask her, but realize just in time it’s safer to ask the teacher or even Trina. After which I realize the answer is in the book.
At lunch I sit with my back to her again, but that doesn’t keep me from picking her voice out of the babble, even from thirty feet away. I keep losing the thread of the football discussion at my table, I’m so focused on what M is saying at hers.
“Are you serious?” she’s asking Molly. “Trina actually told Penny she’s not pretty enough to be a cheerleader? To her face?”
“Yeah. I could tell Penny didn’t really want to try out, but apparently she promised her mom, who was a cheerleader here back in the day. It probably took her forever just to work up the nerve to talk to Trina about it.”
“I’ll bet. And now she’s sitting all by herself over there. See you in a bit.”
I can’t help it, I turn my head slightly so I can watch M out of the corner of my eye. She’s going to talk to a little stringy-haired girl with bad acne sitting alone near the wall. Nodding absently at whatever Jaworski is saying about last Friday’s game between Elwood and Frankton, I listen harder.
“Hey, Penny! I’m Marsha Truitt, but you can call me M. Do you mind if I sit here?”
I can’t hear what the other girl says, but M might as well be right next to me. “I wanted to tell you how brave I think you are, trying out for cheerleading as a freshman! I never, ever would have had the guts to do that.”
Again something inaudible from Penny. Then, “No, it wasn’t stupid at all! But cheerleading is like Trina’s own little queendom and you’ve probably figured out by now she’s not somebody you want to spend a lot of time around. Trust me, she’s said way worse to lots of people. You were just her most recent victim. Everyone knows how mean she is, even her so-called friends. Anyway, there are lots of other extracurriculars here at Jewel, most of them way more fun than cheerleading.”
She goes on to list some clubs and activities and even invites the girl to check out her taekwondo school. She sits with Penny the whole rest of lunch, makes a point of introducing her to a few other kids nearby, then says she’s welcome to sit at M’s table tomorrow if she wants.
Watching M ahead of me in the hall on our way to Government, I’m conscious of a new respect that has nothing to do with her being Sovereign. She totally had nothing to gain by being nice to that Duchas, but she did it anyway. Because she knows what it’s like to be an outcast? Hard to believe, though that’s what she told Molly.
It’s bad enough I’m already more attracted to M than I’ve ever been or can ever imagine being to any girl. That she’s beautiful and smart and sexy and we have this weird touch thing between us. Now I find out she’s genuinely nice, too.
I’m doomed.
21
Soft reset
By Lit class Wednesday, I can’t fight it anymore.
“Hey, M?” I whisper ten minutes into class. “Do you have an extra sheet of paper?”
She looks surprised—she has to have noticed I’ve been avoiding her—but also pleased. “Sure.” A second later she hands me a couple sheets of paper and I don’t even try to avoid brushing her fingers when I take it.
That tiny touch feels so good I shudder—inside, anyway. “Thanks.”
Her lips quirk up, making her even cuter. “No problem.” I know she’s talking about the touch as well as the paper—and that she noticed the little shudder I tried to hide. “Really.”
The look she gives me with that “really” reminds me she claimed to get the same jolt—the same boost—from touching me that I get from her. Which means I’m being selfish if I don’t let her touch me, now that I think about it.
Sounds good in my head, anyway.
That afternoon, Sean specifically asks if I’ll spot him on the bench press. I’d rather not, but don’t have an excuse not to. Sure enough, he wants to talk.
“Hey, wish I’d known you were going to say something to M about your, uh, memory thing happening on purpose.”
Oops. “Sorry, man. It kind of…slipped out. Was she pissed?”
“Mainly that I didn’t tell her I told you. Took her off guard when you mentioned it, I guess.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t keep track of who’s keeping what secrets from who anymore. There’s so much stuff my folks aren’t telling me, and you—” I break off, but he obviously knows what I was about to say.
“Never said my dad was one of the people involved in what happened to you. M said she told you. No wonder you’ve been, y’know…”
I lift a shoulder and start putting weights on the bar for him. “Not so keen to come to your house? Or talk about it?”
He nods unhappily. “I don’t blame you. In your place, I’d want to avoid my dad, too. He was way out of line. But…he gets that now. Really.”
Yeah, M claimed the same thing. Still doesn’t mean I want to spend time with Sean’s dad anytime soon.
A couple of guys come over to take turns with us on the bench so we switch to safer topics for the rest of class. But that doesn’t stop me thinking.
What could have happened on Mars that has to be kept so secret? Since finding out Mr. O’Gara wanted my memory erased, I’ve been tempted to mention it to my parents. I have to wonder if maybe they already know. Since they think the guy’s such a hero, that could explain why they don’t want me to get my memory back.
Which I absolutely need to do. All these secrets are starting to feel like land mines that could destroy more than me if I stumble across one because I don’t know any better.
The atmosphere in Publications is totally different today. Instead of the frantic chaos of yesterday afternoon, everyone’s relaxed and relieved. Especially Ms. Raymond.
“I’m really proud of how you all pulled together these past few days,” she tells us once we’re all there. “I’m not saying this issue couldn’t be better, but it’s not bad. Next week we’ll put together our quarterly parent newsletter and start talking about yearbook layout, but today and tomorrow you can take it easy. If anyone needs a pass for the media center, let me know.
Five of the staff of eight immediately start asking for passes. Ms. Raymond leaves, too, saying something
about a call. Angela stays in the room but retreats to a corner with her laptop, ear buds in, to work on some class project or other. Leaving M and me effectively alone.
At first I open my Government book, thinking I should attempt an outline for the project Sean and I are doing. But with M just a few feet away—also with a book open—I can’t concentrate. Plus it’s a perfect chance to get a few more questions answered.
“So, um, any more news about that guy who went after you Friday night?” I keep my voice low enough that Angela wouldn’t be able to hear even without her ear buds.
M glances up from her book so quickly I doubt she was really reading it. “Not yet. I think they’re planning to do the, ah, procedure this weekend. Apparently the equipment they have in Montana isn’t as sophisticated as what they have on…” She tilts her head skyward. “So it needs some modification.”
I want to ask how that works, how they can pull memories out of somebody’s head and actually see them. Instead, I shock myself by blurting out the question that’s been driving me nuts.
“What exactly is the deal with you and Sean? Can you tell me?”
Now that they’re out, those words I never intended to utter hang in the air between us. I hold my breath, since her answer could whittle my Six Reasons down to four. Or etch all six in stone.
Though she’s clearly startled, she doesn’t hesitate. “We’re friends. And that’s all we’ll ever be, no matter what Nuathan tradition says. Everyone there is coming here over the next few decades anyway, so lots of traditions are going to have to change. That’s definitely one of them.”
I try to control the exultation expanding in my chest, afraid to hope that much. Because I still have Reasons One, Four, Five and Six to consider. And Three?
“I’m not sure Sean feels the same way you do about the ‘friend’ thing.” Might as well get that out in the open, too.
She frowns. “That’s on him. Because I’ve been completely upfront with him about my feelings from the very start.”
Starfall: A Starstruck Novel Page 19
