[Starstruck 01.0] Starstruck

by Brenda Hiatt

  Bri patted me on the shoulder—the same one—and I noticed there wasn't the slightest spark. "Don't worry, M. Tomorrow we'll explain about your static thing. Especially if Rigel is your destiny, you don't want to scare him off by letting him know it too soon."

  I nodded, willing myself to believe that's all it had been. "Thanks, guys. You're right. We'll tell him tomorrow and maybe he won't think I'm such a freak after all."

  Except maybe I was.

  I tossed and turned that night, and when I did fall asleep, sometime after two, I dreamed about Rigel—and not the good kind of dream. Instead, I kept seeing the horrified look he'd had on his face when he touched me. Only, in my dream, I noticed my hands had gone all scaly, and when I felt my face, that was scaly too—and I'd sprouted horns.

  Like I did every morning, I woke up five minutes before my alarm went off. Remembering my creepy dream, the first thing I did was check my hands and face. No scales. No horns. And Rigel hadn't exactly looked horrified. Had he?

  Feeling like I'd barely slept at all, I turned off the alarm before it buzzed and rolled out of bed with a groan. If I didn't hurry, Uncle Louie would need the bathroom before I was done with it. Some people might call our nearly hundred-year-old house charming, but I thought a second bathroom would add a heck of a lot more charm than gingerbread trim and dormered windows.

  I took my usual quick shower, brushed my teeth and dragged a comb through my wet hair, then flipped open my tube of acne cream. Leaning close to the mirror—I was pretty nearsighted without my glasses—I verified again that I didn't have any scales on my face.

  I also didn't seem to have half the zits I'd had yesterday.

  Huh.

  I looked closer. Yeah, I still had a few, but that nasty one beside my nose was completely gone, along with those two red ones on my forehead. In fact, my skin looked clearer than it had in two years. Nice! After three months, this acne medicine was finally doing its job.

  Back in my room, I agonized over what I could wear that would convince Rigel that I was perfectly normal.

  After strewing practically the entire contents of my closet and drawers over my bed, I finally chose my favorite, best-fitting jeans and a green sleeveless t-shirt Bri had once said was the exact same color as my eyes. I wished for a second that I'd borrowed that eye pencil of Bri's, then realized I was barely going to have time for breakfast, much less makeup.

  "That's a great color on you," Bri said when she saw me on the bus. "I've still got the makeup if you want it, too."

  I was relieved that she approved. "Thanks. I'll just use that purple pencil thing, if that's okay—guess I should get one of my own, huh?"

  Bri shrugged. "You can have mine. I hardly ever use that color—doesn't go as well with brown eyes. I can always borrow it back from you if I need it."

  "Thanks!" That much makeup I could probably remember on a daily basis.

  "Maggie needed her straightener today, so I couldn't bring it." Deb was apologetic, but I didn't really mind.

  "No biggie. It's too much hassle for every day anyway. Maybe I'll ask for one for Christmas and use it for special occasions."

  Since the eye pencil only took a minute I was early to class, giving me way too much time to obsess about Rigel. Would he sit by me, like in English yesterday? If he did, I could tell him about the static thing right then. If not, I'd tell him after class—or as soon as Trina let me get a word with him. I didn't want to risk Bri or Deb making it sound weirder than it was.

  Just before class started, Trina came in—alone. Even though all the seats near me were full now, I kept watching the door for Rigel. But the bell rang, and he never showed up.

  "Where's Rigel?" Deb whispered from behind me.

  All I could do was shrug. Though I knew it was stupid, I couldn't quite squash a tiny, niggling fear that he'd switched his schedule again after what had happened yesterday. Would they let him change his classes twice in three days?

  It looked like Trina didn't know any more about Rigel's absence than I did, since she kept glancing at the door too, and frowning. I got a bit of satisfaction from that, at least.

  I spent all of Computer class wondering whether Rigel would be in English, then hurried there to find out.

  He wasn't.

  "Rigel wasn't in Spanish," Bri said as she slipped into her seat just before class started. "Have you seen him today?"

  I shook my head, trying to ignore the lump forming in my throat. "I don't think he's at school. Maybe he's sick or something." At least he wasn't only missing the classes I was in.

  "I hope not. Our first game is tomorrow night!" Trust Bri to focus on something as totally unimportant as football.

  But she wasn't the only one. Even nerdy Will commented on it in Science class.

  "I hear Rigel Stuart's not in school today." He glanced behind us at the spot Rigel usually occupied. "It'll suck if Farmer has to quarterback tomorrow night."

  I automatically looked back as well, and accidentally caught Trina's eye.

  "This better not be your fault, Truitt," she said spitefully.

  I turned back around quickly, trying to ignore the guilty little suspicion that had been gnawing at me since first period. But how could it possibly be my fault Rigel wasn't here? I opened my textbook and tried to focus on tectonic plates.

  When Bri and Deb joined me at our lunch table, they looked almost as dejected as I felt.

  "What if he's already transferred to another school or something?" Bri practically wailed. "My dad said he's changed schools a lot."

  My stomach plummeted at the very thought. "C'mon, that's a pretty big stretch. Isn't it?"

  She shrugged and grabbed the banana off my tray.

  Deb, who'd been examining me critically since she sat down, said, "You know, I was thinking earlier today there was something different about you. Your skin looks great! Are you using something new on it?"

  "The same stuff I've used all summer. I guess it just took this long to make a difference. Whatever it is, I'm not complaining."

  Bri went off about some skin care article she'd read somewhere but I didn't pay much attention. I was scanning the cafeteria for Rigel, but of course he didn't show. At least I managed to eat my whole lunch for the first time this year.

  The rest of the day dragged by without incident except for a little skirmish with Trina in Health.

  "I figured it out. Rigel probably skipped school today to get a break from your mooning after him," she greeted me as I sat down in front of her. Donna and Amber snickered obediently.

  I twisted around to face her, stung into speech instead of ignoring her like I usually tried to do. "Or maybe he got tired of you treating him like your own personal property, Trina. Are you really so insecure that you have to cling to him like that? Get a life!"

  Her mouth fell open and I turned back around before mine could do the same. I'd actually stood up to Trina Squires, and hadn't sounded like an idiot doing it. Several of the girls within earshot giggled, and for once I wasn't the one being laughed at.

  Ginger Ramsey even leaned across the aisle to give me a grinning thumbs up and a whispered, "Good one, Marsh!"

  Trina didn't say another word for the rest of the class.

  On the bus ride home, Bri asked if I wanted to come over but I had to say no. Tonight was Aunt Theresa's monthly garden club meeting, which meant it was my night to make dinner—unless I could get Uncle Louie to call out for pizza.

  "I have some errands to run before my meeting," my aunt greeted me when I got home, "so I'll be leaving in an hour or so. I went to the grocery today and bought what you need for spaghetti and a salad. Tell Louie I said no pizza this time."

  She kept trying to force Uncle Louie to eat healthier, even though he ate junk food at work all the time. Spaghetti was easy, though, so I didn't argue—not that it would have done any good. I couldn't remember ever winning an argument with Aunt Theresa in my life.

  So I just nodded, grabbed a granola bar and a glass of m
ilk and went to my room to do my homework. Unfortunately, most subjects reminded me of Rigel and his unexplained absence, which slowed me down.

  I was finally finishing up with Geometry when the phone rang. Aunt Theresa had already gone and Uncle Louie wasn't home yet, so I ran down to the kitchen to answer it, wishing yet again I could have my own phone, or at least an extension in my room.

  It was Bri. "My dad just got home, and I knew you'd want the scoop on Rigel," she began without even a hello. Since I was as eager to hear as she was to tell, that was fine.

  "And?"

  "He's not gone, just sick, and his dad said he'd probably be at school tomorrow. Coach Glazier called to find out."

  "So what's wrong with him?" I wasn't sure if I was more worried about Rigel's health or that it really could be my fault somehow.

  "No clue, but it can't be too serious if he's only out one day. We can ask him at lunch tomorrow."

  The thought of sitting with Rigel at lunch again sent my spirits bobbing up, making me realize just how depressed I'd been about his absence, how worried I might never see him again.

  "Yeah, we'll do that. Thanks a lot, Bri!" I was practically gushing in my relief. Which was silly, but I couldn't help how I felt.

  We chatted for a few more minutes, then I hung up and started dinner, humming to myself as I browned the hamburger and drained it.

  The next morning I again spent way too much time deciding what to wear, discarding outfit after outfit before deciding on the white baby-doll top with peach embroidery and my favorite jeans (again). One bonus, my skin looked even better than yesterday; I'd gone from at least two dozen zits on Wednesday to maybe three or four. Excellent!

  On the way to school, Bri and Deb sounded almost as excited as I felt at the prospect of seeing Rigel again. I didn't say much, afraid to jinx his attendance by assuming anything before I actually saw him. Like yesterday, I hurried to Geometry and chose a desk near the center of the room. And waited.

  Finally, less than thirty seconds before the bell rang, Rigel arrived, with Trina clinging to his arm. Even with that drawback, I felt my whole body relax as he approached, as though something that had been askew had suddenly righted itself. I summoned my very best smile and looked up at him.

  Only to watch him walk right past without making eye contact.

  I sat there, all the air leaving my lungs, as he moved to a desk in the front row, the one that was geographically farthest from mine. Trina sat beside him, and though she sent one spiteful glance my way, Rigel never turned around.

  So much for wanting to be my friend.

  I spent the whole class working up the nerve to waylay him in the hall—to at least say hi, and maybe to bring up the weirdness of Wednesday. When the bell rang, I jumped up before I could chicken out, but Rigel was out of his seat and moving toward the door so quickly that Trina had to practically sprint to keep up with him.

  Hurt, confused, and at least a little bit pissed, I stared after him. Could he really want to avoid me that much? I headed to Computer Apps, telling myself I'd try to talk to him again in English. Though the way Rigel was acting today, that might take more courage than I usually had on hand.

  I was so distracted that I forgot to ground myself on the table leg and sparked my computer badly, even though it was a pretty humid day. Sure enough, a few minutes later it crashed and wouldn't wake back up.

  "Um, Mr. Morrison?" I waved my hand apologetically.

  He came over and fiddled with my machine for a few minutes before finally shaking his head. "I don't know how you do it, Marsha, but you've killed another one. Let me get another disk with the assignment. You can move to the next station." He pointed at one of the other old computers.

  Grimacing, I scooted over one place. Maybe I really was a freak.

  When I reached English, Rigel—and Trina—were already seated, with no empty desks within two rows. Bri was gesturing to me from across the room, so with a sigh, I joined her. Trina shot a mean glance my way as I passed but, just like in first period, Rigel refused to make eye contact.

  "So what's the deal?" Bri whispered as I sat down. "Did you guys have a fight or something? I started to sit over there—" she nodded in Rigel's direction— "but both he and Trina froze me out. I expect that of Trina, of course, but—"

  I shrugged. "No, we didn't fight. We haven't talked at all. I can't even get him to look at me! It's like . . . like he's decided I don't exist anymore."

  Bri frowned across the room at him. "Coward. I thought better of him than that. Well, if he'd really rather hang with Trina and her posse than with you, M, it's definitely his loss." She even managed to sound like she meant it, which forced a smile from me.

  "Thanks, Bri. But it's frustrating. I can't even explain about the static thing." Remembering what had just happened in computer class, I wondered if that problem was getting worse. Maybe that explained the jolt on Wednesday?

  In Science, I half expected Rigel and Trina to sit somewhere else even though Mr. Ferguson had assigned us all to our original seats. They did hesitate when they walked in, but then headed to their usual table behind me. Rigel, especially, looked really reluctant and that hurt me more than I would have believed possible, considering I'd only known him a couple of days.

  When he sat down, it was the closest he'd been to me all day and I could swear I felt his . . . vibes or whatever . . . more strongly than I ever had. It was like he was radiating energy in my direction. Except it wasn't really in my direction, of course. Rigel just radiated energy in general and I was bizarrely attuned to it.

  Almost too late, I realized that right now, before class started, might be the best chance I'd have all day to talk to him. Before I could psych myself out, I twisted around in my seat.

  "Hey, Rigel," I started, surprising myself with my own boldness.

  But before he made eye contact, Trina shushed me—loudly. "Class is about to start, Marsha," she whispered. "Do you want to get us all in trouble?"

  I almost laughed. Like Trina cared if she got caught talking in class? I glanced back at Rigel to see if he caught the irony. This time he did meet my gaze for a split second before looking away, but the expression in his eyes startled me speechless.

  He almost looked . . . scared.

  Of me?

  I'd never scared anybody in my life. I cleared my throat, trying to reorder my thoughts to say what I'd planned to say, but Mr. Ferguson called class to order and I had to turn back around.

  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Will was watching me curiously, but I didn't have room in my brain to worry about it. What on earth was going on with Rigel? Surely that touch Wednesday afternoon couldn't have spooked him that badly?

  I spent the class wondering if Trina had made up some awful story about me that he believed. That I was some kind of monster? That I had some horrible, contagious, incurable disease? That my last boyfriend (not that I'd ever had one) had turned into a frog? I just had to ask Rigel what was going on.

  Resolved, I stood and turned to him the moment the bell rang, but just like in Geometry and English, he headed straight for the door without looking at me.

  "Fine," I muttered to myself as I stuffed my textbook into my backpack, feeling more and more determined and less and less nervous. "I'll just have to corner you in the cafeteria—in front of the whole school. That'll teach you to be such a scaredy-cat."

  I rushed to the cafeteria while my courage was high and took my seat facing the room so I couldn't miss him. But he never appeared.

  "Do you think he got sick again?" Bri asked worriedly when the lunch period was almost over. "We won't have a prayer against Elm Grove if he doesn't play tonight!"

  "I guess we'll know in ten minutes," Deb said when I didn't answer.

  I had that hollow feeling again, the one I'd had all day yesterday.

  "Yeah." Bri sounded glum. "If he's not in History that'll mean he won't be at the game either." From her tone, you'd have thought losing a football game was the biggest
disaster in the world—like our team ever did anything else.

  When we got to class a few minutes later, Rigel was there in his usual seat and Brianna blew out her breath in audible relief. "He must have spent lunch in the media center. He probably had to catch up on assignments and stuff from yesterday."

  But I was positive that he'd really been avoiding me. It was almost like he'd known what I'd planned to do. I tried to summon my earlier courage, but it had deserted me for the moment. If Rigel Stuart, star quarterback and hottest boy in school, wanted nothing to do with me, who was I, Marsha-the-Nobody, to challenge him about it? I'd known all along his interest in me was way too good to be true.

  It looked like I'd been right.

  My friends had other ideas, though. I heard them whispering together during class, though I only caught bits of what they said.

  "—some explaining to do!" Deb hissed at one point.

  "Both of us. Be ready," Bri muttered a couple minutes later.

  So at least I wasn't totally unprepared when the two of them leaped out of their seats the second the bell rang and dashed to the door, cutting off Rigel's attempted escape. I hung back, almost as curious as I was horrified, to see what they would do.

  Bri didn't beat around the bush. "Okay, Rigel, what kind of game are you playing?"

  "Game?" His glance flicked to me for an instant, then away. "What do you mean?"

  "You know exactly what we mean," Deb chimed in. "Two days ago, you were coming on to M like nobody's business, you know you were. And today, well, are you really that humongous a jerk?"

  "Or is this all some nasty plot to make her a laughingstock?" Bri demanded. "I don't care how good a quarterback you are, nobody treats my friends like that."

  He glanced at me again and now I just wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground and die. Didn't my friends realize they were embarrassing me way more than anything Rigel could do? I told myself I was not going to cry—that would be even more humiliating. But just in case, I turned away and stared out the window. I was going to be late to French class, but right now that was the least of my worries.