[Starstruck 01.0] Starstruck

by Brenda Hiatt

  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."

  "I will," I promised, though I knew Uncle Louie wouldn't notice, or care if he did. He might even tell me I looked nice, which I couldn't imagine Aunt Theresa ever doing. Uncle Louie was as soft, round and easygoing as Aunt Theresa was rigid, angular and uptight. He might not be the sharpest tack in the box, but he was a sweetie most of the time and a pushover compared to my aunt. It was too bad he was hardly ever home.

  We hurried to my room before Aunt Theresa could ask any more questions.

  "Are you going to tell your aunt and uncle about Rigel?" Bri asked as she rummaged through my closet.

  I almost dropped the shoes I'd picked up for her approval. "What? Of course not! It's not like he asked me out or anything. Or like he will."

  "Hm. I dunno. I keep thinking about the way he was looking at you. He just might. Ah, here it is!" Bri emerged with a sleeveless paisley dress in different shades of purple that she herself had given me on my last birthday, and that I'd worn exactly once.

  "Are you sure?" I eyed it skeptically. "It's awfully, um, noticeable."

  "Well, duh. Noticeable is exactly what you want. Trust me, it's perfect. And it'll go with that eye shadow I'm lending you."

  "You may as well keep it. You heard what Aunt Theresa said. She won't let me out of the house wearing it."

  Not that she'd noticed my blouse buttoned wrong this morning. She really didn't look at me all that much, come to think of it.

  Bri shrugged, unconcerned. "You can put it on in the bathroom before school. I better head, before my dad honks and pisses off your aunt. See you tomorrow. I can't wait till lunch!"

  "Me either." It was only half a lie. I definitely couldn't wait to see Rigel again, but I wouldn't be astonished if he completely ignored me. Today had to be either a fluke or a prank. Shoot, Trina might even have put him up to it, to embarrass me. It was exactly her style.

  After Bri left I went into the tiny bathroom I shared with my aunt and uncle to wash my face, pausing to examine myself in the watery mirror. The eye pencil did emphasize my eyes, which wasn't a bad thing. They were probably my best feature, an unusually deep green (greener than Rigel's), with reasonably thick lashes.

  But the powder Bri had applied only made the pimples on my forehead look worse—and probably would make them worse, if I left it on my skin. I took off my glasses, turned on the water and picked up the soap.

  The next morning I dithered before finally putting on the purple dress at the last minute. Most girls wouldn't have thought twice about wearing this to school, but it was so . . . Not Me.

  Okay, then, I decided, I would be Not Me for one day, just to see what happened. What did I have to lose?

  I half expected smart-ass comments from the other kids on the bus, but no one noticed me at all until Bri and Deb got on.

  "I brought the makeup," Bri inf
ormed me as she sat down.

  "And I've got the straightener in my backpack," Deb added.

  "Seriously?" Were there even outlets in the bathroom? "We'll only have, like, five minutes."

  Deb waved a hand in the air. "Plenty of time. Don't worry."

  When we got to school, Bri and Deb hustled me into the girls' bathroom before I could even look around to see if Rigel was within sight. Deb plugged in the straightening iron (there were outlets after all) while Bri dug makeup out of her pack.

  They both worked at super speed and pronounced me good enough with a whole minute to spare. Deb fanned the straightener to cool it, Bri stuffed all the makeup back in her backpack and I took a critical look in the mirror. My friends had achieved a muted version of what they'd done yesterday afternoon and I liked it better—though the eye shadow was still a bit much.

  "Thanks, guys. Whether it works or not, I appreciate it."

  "Hey, what are friends for?" Bri grinned and peeled off for Bio II, while Deb and I headed to Geometry. My first class with Rigel.

  My stomach clenched as we neared the classroom and I found myself hoping his weird effect on me had just been a one-day thing. He—and Trina—were already there when we entered the room just as the bell rang. He looked up and my breath caught as our eyes met. If anything, that zing from yesterday was even stronger today. My feet pulled me irresistibly in his direction before I noticed that there wasn't an empty seat anywhere near him.

  Feeling stupid, I managed a half smile—which he actually returned!—before following Deb to the same seats as yesterday. To my surprise, Jimmy Franklin glanced up at me as I passed—the first time I could remember that happening. Gratifying as that should have been, I was definitely more interested in Rigel's reaction. So much for my two-year crush.

  "He's staring again," Deb hissed as we sat down.

  "Shh!" Not until we were well into the throes of complementary angles did I allow myself a quick peek. Luckily, he wasn't looking my way right at that moment, but I noticed he was sitting a row closer to me than yesterday. I pretended it was intentional.

  I knew no good would come from this sort of fantasizing, that I was only setting myself up for disappointment, but it didn't stop me. Though I dutifully copied the problems Mr. Benning wrote on the board, at least two-thirds of my brain was occupied with elaborate scenarios where Rigel and I became friends and more—much more. I could pretend until lunch, anyway, since he couldn't dash my hopes (or maybe confirm them?) before then.

  I was wrong. When class ended, I was so absorbed in not watching Rigel that I didn't notice he'd paused by the door until I almost ran into him.

  "Hey, Marsha," he said, startling me into speechlessness. Again.

  I stared up at him, trying to force my lips into a smile since words weren't coming. Again.

  "I like that dress," he continued, shocking me even further. He looked impossibly fine in a gray t-shirt that subtly emphasized his sculpted chest and biceps. I started to hyperventilate.

  Finally, assisted by Deb's deft pinch to the back of my arm, I forced out, "Um, thanks. Rigel." There was just enough of a pause before his name to make my simple reply awkward.

  He pretended not to notice. "Where are you headed now?"

  "Oh. Ah . . . Computer Applications," I remembered before a whole minute passed.

  "Cool. I've got Spanish. Do you take Spanish?"

  "Uh, no. French," I managed in a slightly more timely manner this time, still flabbergasted that he was actually trying to make conversation.

  He nodded as though I'd said something intelligent. "French, huh? I've thought about taking French. It seems, I don't know, more sophisticated than Spanish, don't you think?"

  Rigel Stuart was asking me, me, Marsha Truitt, what I thought?

  "Well, yeah, I guess so. Not that there's anything wrong with Spanish," I added hastily.

  "Come on, Rigel, we're going to be late!" Trina had been standing at his shoulder all this time, I suddenly realized. As her face came belatedly into focus, I could see that she was barely concealing her fury—at me.

  "Oh. Oh, yeah. Um, talk to you later, Marsha?" He actually sounded apologetic, though I was sure that was for Trina's benefit rather than mine.

  I nodded helplessly. "Sure. Of course. Later. Um, bye." Luckily, he walked away before I launched completely into babble mode.

  "Holy crap," Deb breathed at my elbow. "I can't wait to tell Bri our makeover worked!"

  "Er, yeah." Gradually, the Rigel-fog in my brain dissipated. "I guess maybe it did."

  "There's no 'maybe' about it! And the look on Trina's face! Man, she was pissed. That was so rich!"

  But I couldn't spare a single thought for Trina. My head was too full of Rigel: the way he'd looked at me, talked to me, every nuance of his voice and expression . . .

  After Computer Apps, I raced to English and sat near the middle with plenty of empty desks around me, so it would be Rigel's choice whether to sit near me or not. He arrived just a moment later—and Trina wasn't with him. Even more amazingly, he walked right over and took the desk next to mine.

  "Hi again," he greeted me with a devastating grin. "Long time, no see."

  Hoping he couldn't hear the thundering of my heart, I fought desperately to act like a normal person. I never would have believed a guy—any guy—could affect me like this. Sure, I'd always been nervous around boys, especially cute ones. Jimmy Franklin in particular tended to put me deeper into dork mode. But this was different. A whole order of magnitude different.

  "Hi," I forced out, along with an answering grin. (At least, I hoped it looked like a grin.) "How was Spanish?"

  "Así-así," he said, rocking a hand back and forth. "So-so. It's all review so far."

  Now that I had an actual topic to seize on, a little of my panic subsided. "Same with French yesterday. How many years of Spanish have you taken?"

  "Just one. But I'm . . . I seem to be pretty good with languages."

  "Really? Me too. It's funny how some people can—"

  "Gee, thanks for waiting, Rigel!" Trina's sarcastic voice cut me off. She sailed across the room with Nicole in her wake and stopped next to Rigel, radiating annoyance. "I told you it would only take us a minute to tell Alice she didn't make the cheerleading squad."

  Rigel turned to her with a smile that smoothed away the worst of her frown. "Sorry, Trina. I figured Alice wouldn't want any spectators, since she was bound to be disappointed."

  Trina shrugged. "She had to know she didn't have a chance after the way she screwed up at tryouts. And let's face it, she's really not pretty enough to be a cheerleader."

  She let her gaze slide past Rigel to include me in that assessment. Like I'd ever try out for cheerleading? I had enough humiliation in my life without actively seeking it out.

  Rigel followed her gaze and frowned—but not at me, exactly. "So, Marsha, what were you saying about languages?" he asked.

  I'm not sure whether Trina or I was more surprised, but she found her voice first.

  "Wow, you really must have been bored, Rigel, but I'm here now, so you don't have to torture yourself anymore."

  Brianna came up behind Trina as she was speaking and I saw her open her mouth to defend me. Rigel beat her to it.

  "There was no torture involved, Trina. I find Marsha very interesting."

  Bri's mouth fell open and mine would have too, if Rigel hadn't been looking right at me. Instead, I managed a smile of gratitude. He was lying, of course, since I hadn't said anything remotely interesting, but it was still really nice of him.

  Trina stared for a moment, then put on a superior, patronizing expression. "Of course you do. Everyone knows Marsha is the most scintillating conversationalist in the whole school. So tell us, Marsha, what fascinating thing were you about to tell Rigel?"

  Of course my mind went completely blank, as Trina knew it would. It was beyond irritating that she knew my weaknesses so well. To my intense relief, Ms. Garner chose that moment to call the class to ord
er.

  "You all should have read Jane Eyre over the summer," she said. "Let's see how many of you actually did." She started going down the rows, asking random questions.

  As it happened, I knew that particular book almost by heart—I guess the whole orphan-raised-by-an-aunt-who-didn’t-want-her thing resonated with me. Which was lucky, since most of my mind was occupied with the miracle that had just taken place.

  Rigel, the hottest guy in the whole school, who I was more attracted to than any boy I'd ever met or even imagined, had said I was interesting. And whether he meant it or not, he had defended me against Trina, which made him as heroic as he was gorgeous.

  So much for keeping my fantasies under control.

  3

  Or not

  AS SOON AS the bell rang, Trina tried to drag Rigel out of the room. For a moment he almost looked like he was going to resist, glancing my way, and I held my breath. But then Bri grabbed me by the arm and started whispering excitedly.

  "Tell me everything that happened before I got to class," she breathed, glancing over her shoulder at Rigel and then giggling. "Absolutely everything!"

  Rigel's mouth turned up at one corner, like he was amused, then he turned and left with Trina. I restrained a sudden impulse to shake Bri. Instead, I took a deep breath and filled her in.

  "And he actually came to sit by you and started a conversation, just like that?"

  "I'm not sure it quite rose to the level of conversation, but he came over and said hi, yeah. So, did you find out anything from your dad? I forgot to ask before school, what with the five-minute makeover and all." And because I didn't want to sound too obviously obsessed. Forgetting had nothing to do with it.

  She shrugged. "Hardly anything. He was second string quarterback at Center North last year—which is pretty impressive for a freshman, you know."

  I nodded. Everything about Rigel was impressive.