[Starstruck 01.0] Starstruck

by Brenda Hiatt

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trina's mouth fall open—literally fall open—but I resisted the urge to smirk at her.

  "That's really nice of you, Dr. Stuart—" I stressed the "doctor" just a tiny bit, so Trina would know she'd screwed up there— "but my uncle is here. In fact, he's probably waiting for me at the gate by now."

  "We can all walk that way and make sure you find each other," Rigel's dad said with a smile as warm as his wife's. "Unless you're in a hurry to go change, Rigel?"

  "No, I'm fine." Rigel was looking at me again. "M?"

  At that, Trina stalked off in a huff. Rigel didn't even seem to notice.

  Practically in a daze, I walked next to Rigel toward the main gate, with his parents on his other side, talking quietly together. I didn't hurry, wanting this moment to last as long as possible, feeling strangely energized by having Rigel so close to me.

  Soon, though, I saw Uncle Louie up ahead, chatting with three other men I recognized as friends of his, though they rarely came to the house because Aunt Theresa disapproved of them. I tensed a little as we got close. Something in the way they held themselves, and in their slightly-too-loud voices, suggested they'd been drinking.

  Uncle Louie never drank at home, but I'd overheard more than one argument between him and Aunt Theresa about him stopping off at bars on his way home from work and it wasn't that unusual for him to come home a little tipsy.

  Alcohol wasn't allowed on school grounds, of course, but it was common knowledge that some people snuck it in. I just hoped he and his buddies wouldn't do or say anything too embarrassing in front of Rigel's parents.

  "Hey, Uncle Louie," I said loudly, to get his attention before we were too close. "Ready to go?"

  He swung toward me with a big smile. "There you are, Marshmallow! Sure, sure, whenever you want."

  One of his friends muttered something I couldn't hear and the other two chuckled. Before I had time to wonder about it, Rigel's father stepped in front of me.

  "Mr. Truitt?" he said, extending his hand. "I'm Van Stuart and this is my wife, Ariel. Our son Rigel, here, is a friend of your niece's."

  Uncle Louie's eyebrows shot up as he shook Mr. Stuart's hand. "The new quarterback? Really? Great game, son, really great game!"

  His friends echoed his congratulations, coming forward to slap Rigel on the back and pepper him with questions about various plays. He answered a couple of them, but his parents were frowning and after a glance at them he stepped back.

  "Mr. Truitt, would you mind terribly if we gave Marsha a ride home?" Dr. Stuart asked suddenly. "She and Rigel wanted to discuss a class assignment." She accompanied her words with a breathtaking smile that rocked Uncle Louie back on his heels.

  "Um, sure, sure, that would be great," he stammered. Then, with a glance at his buddies, he added, "In fact, uh, Marsha, why don't you tell your aunt that I'll be home in an hour or two. Tell her I, ah, ran into some potential customers and I'm hoping to close a deal."

  I usually refused to lie for Uncle Louie, but since this time it meant riding home with Rigel, I nodded. "See you later, Uncle Louie."

  I followed Rigel and his folks toward the school. "It will only take me a minute to change," Rigel said. "I can shower at home."

  "Don't be silly," his mother said. "You'll stink up the car, and we can't do that to poor Marsha. Get a quick shower and then get dressed. We'll keep her amused until you get back."

  He nodded, though I thought the look he gave her before he loped off held a hint of suspicion. Was he afraid she'd tell me embarrassing stories about him? I could only hope. As it was, left alone with his parents, I felt pretty darned embarrassed myself. What on earth could I talk about?

  "I hope you don't mind that I told a little fib to your uncle," Dr. Stuart said before the silence became awkward. "And of course, you and Rigel can talk about some assignment or other, so it will be true. It was just that . . . " She hesitated, and it wasn't hard to guess why.

  "No, no, thanks," I said quickly. "When Uncle Louie gets together with his friends, well . . . I didn't exactly want to ride with him anyway."

  "Nor should you have had to." Mr. Stuart's anger startled me. "I'm sorry, Marsha," he said. "But that's inexcusable when he's responsible for your safety. I hope this isn't a regular occurrence."

  I shook my head emphatically, feeling an unexpected impulse to defend my uncle. "Oh, no, not at all. Especially not when he's going to drive me anywhere. I mean, my Aunt Theresa doesn't even allow alcohol in the house. It's just that it was the first game of the season, and he and his buddies, well . . ." I shrugged, running out of steam.

  Rigel's mom patted me on the shoulder. To my surprise, I felt a very muted version of the jolt I got from Rigel's touch. How odd.

  "It's all right, Marsha. I'm sure your aunt and uncle are fine people. Everyone has an occasional lapse in judgment."

  I looked up at her uncertainly, wondering whether her words had a deeper meaning. Maybe she thought Rigel making friends with me was a lapse, too?

  "So, what classes do you share with Rigel?" she asked then, and we stuck to the safer topic of school until Rigel rejoined us ten minutes later.

  "Sorry," he said, jogging over to us. "I tried to be quick."

  His hair was still wet from his quick shower and his scent—equal parts clean and Rigel—went to my head like some kind of illegal drug. Or, at least, how I imagined one might feel. I tried to inhale both deeply and discreetly.

  "We were fine," his mother assured him. "Just getting to know each other a little. But now we should probably get Marsha home before her aunt starts to worry."

  On the way to the car, I walked next to Rigel again, my arm almost but not quite brushing his. I wondered if I was maybe dreaming all of this. That made more sense than Rigel and his parents really being so concerned about me, so interested in me. No one ever had been before, except my two best friends. Even my aunt and uncle never seemed particularly interested, though I was sure they cared about me, in their way.

  Sitting in the dark back seat of the Stuarts' spiffy Audi with Rigel, that dreamlike feeling increased. Certainly, I'd fantasized about something very much like this.

  "Where do you live, Marsha?" Rigel's dad asked, bringing me back to reality with a thud.

  "Oh! Um, pretty much right downtown. I'm just a couple blocks from the post office, on Garnet."

  I cringed a little at the thought of Rigel and his parents seeing our house. They probably lived someplace a lot newer and nicer, what with his mom being a doctor and all.

  Almost like she understood my worry, his mom said, "How nice to live within walking distance of everything. Downtown Jewel is so quaint, with the streets named after gemstones, and all the little artisan shops. It's one of the things we liked about this town."

  "Yes, I guess so." Since I'd grown up here, it seemed more ordinary than quaint to me. Just a small, insignificant Indiana town. "It's kind of a long way from school, though."

  "The school is clearly a lot newer than the town," Mr. Stuart commented. "I assume it replaced an older one?"

  "Yes, about ten years ago. The old school was right downtown, but I guess it was falling apart, so they tore it down and built the new town hall there, with the courthouse and police station and everything."

  I'd sometimes thought it would be nice to be able to walk to school and avoid the bus. But according to my uncle, the land was cheaper out in the cornfields, where our school was now.

  "So, um, where do you guys live?" I asked, partly to fill the silence and partly because I wanted to know.

  Rigel answered—the first words he'd spoken since we got in the car. "We're in a renovated old farmhouse, a couple miles south of downtown."

  "Oh, nice." So not one of the ritzy new neighborhoods after all. I felt a little less inadequate and wondered if that had been Rigel's intent.

  A minute or two later we turned onto my street, the ride over before I'd thought of a single interesting thing to say. I was dying to ask Rigel
the real reason he'd avoided me this morning, but I couldn't do it with his parents in the car.

  "It's the gray house on the left," I said, pointing. Somehow, it looked even shabbier than usual under the dim streetlights.

  Mr. Stuart swung the car into the gravel drive. "Rigel, why don't you walk Marsha to the door?"

  I felt my face flame. "Oh, that's not . . . I mean, you don't have to . . ."

  Rigel touched my arm and his touch wiped my mind clear. "It's okay. I don't mind at all."

  He got out and I did the same before I realized he'd been coming around to open my door. It flustered me—no one had ever done that, so I hadn't expected it. Embarrassed again, I turned to thank his parents again for the ride.

  "It was our pleasure, Marsha," his mother assured me like she really meant it.

  Trying to shake off the weirdness of that, I headed up the walk and Rigel fell into step beside me.

  "So, I guess I'll see you Monday?" he said. I got the impression it was mainly just to say something.

  "Sure," I said, then couldn't help asking, "So . . . you won't suddenly ignore me again?"

  He paused for a second, then continued up onto the porch before facing me. In the porch light, his eyes were nearly black. Mysterious. "I really am sorry about that, M. And no, I won't. I promise."

  With a little half-smile that made my heart flip sideways, he reached up and brushed my cheek with one finger, leaving a trail of energy—or something—in its wake. It was almost as good as a kiss (or so I imagined, having no experience with the real thing).

  "G'night," he said softly.

  I desperately wanted to say something clever or profound, something that would make him think about me, just a little, over the weekend, but nothing came to mind. "G'night, Rigel. See you at school," was all I managed as he turned away.

  "Who were you talking to?" Aunt Theresa asked the moment I opened the door. "Where's your uncle?"

  So instead of watching the Stuarts' car pull away through the little curtains flanking the front door, I turned with a sigh to repeat Uncle Louie's story about a customer. I could tell she didn't believe me, but all she did was harrumph.

  "And you accepted a ride from a boy you just met?" was her next question.

  "From his parents," I clarified. "They're really nice people. And Rigel is our new quarterback, so Brianna's dad knows him."

  She arched a skeptical eyebrow. "The quarterback? You made friends with the quarterback?"

  I might have felt insulted if I didn't find it at least as unlikely as she did.

  "Well . . . yeah. He's in several of my classes." I started to add that we had a lot in common, but realized that wasn't really true—at least, not beyond that bizarre electrical thing or whatever it was, which I certainly wasn't going to mention to my aunt.

  She gave another little harrumph. "Well, don't put too much stock in his attention, Marsha. If he's new here, he probably hasn't had time to meet many people. I wouldn't want you to—"

  "Don't worry, Aunt Theresa," I said quickly, her warning hurting more than I expected. Did she have to make it quite so obvious she considered me a loser? "I don't expect him to ask me out or anything. But . . . he's nice."

  "I'm sure he is. But if you think primping and wearing makeup will—"

  I cut her off again. "I don't, okay? I'm kind of sleepy. I think I'll go to bed."

  Somehow, Aunt Theresa always made me feel small without ever actually saying anything mean. I wasn't quite sure how she did it, but I wanted to escape before she could totally destroy my good mood.

  As I fell asleep half an hour later, I caught myself stroking my cheek where Rigel had brushed it but I didn't make myself stop. What was the harm in fantasizing a little? Tomorrow, or even Monday, would be soon enough to face reality.

  6

  Singularities

  SATURDAY SHOULD HAVE been busy enough to keep my mind off of Rigel. But mowing the lawn—I'd taken that over a couple years ago, since Uncle Louie's health wasn't great—only occupied my body, not my mind. As I maneuvered around Aunt Theresa's rose beds in our tiny back yard, my thoughts kept coming back to the same questions, the same hopes, the same fears.

  Taekwondo class was better, since I really did have to pay attention there. Taekwondo had been my aunt's idea, suggested by Master Parker's wife, who happened to be in the church choir with Aunt Theresa. She'd convinced her that martial arts would improve my coordination and my confidence, but I hadn't seen a big change so far. Of course, I'd only started last spring.

  Today was the first time I'd attended since school started, so I had a little catching up to do if I wanted to test for my green belt next month. Master Parker liked us to come at least twice a week and I'd slacked off.

  As I went through my forms and kicking combinations, though, I was surprised at how well I remembered everything, how strong and in control I felt. The instructor was surprised, too.

  "Have you been practicing at home, Marsha?" he asked. "I usually discourage that, but—"

  "No, sir," I answered truthfully.

  "Well, I have to say, your back spinning kick has improved two hundred per cent since last week. Whatever you're doing differently, keep doing it."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  I'd heard about people being "in the zone," but couldn't remember experiencing it myself. Until today. I liked it.

  I walked home, pumped from my success. For once, I hadn't felt awkward or out of place in taekwondo. It was almost like the amazingness from the night before had carried over into today—or maybe it had just boosted my confidence enough to make a difference.

  Still jazzed when I got home, I tried sharing my triumph with Aunt Theresa, but she immediately changed the subject. Deflated, I listened to the list of chores she still wanted me to do over the weekend. For someone who'd pushed me to take taekwondo, she never wanted to hear anything about it. She could be a real downer sometimes.

  The next day started like any other Sunday, scrambling to get to church on time for Aunt Theresa's choir warm-up. Sitting with Uncle Louie in the sanctuary before the service, I squinted up at the board listing today's hymns. It looked a little fuzzy, so I took my glasses off and polished them on the hem of my skirt.

  As I put them back on, I felt a not-quite-physical pull off to my right and turned to see Rigel and his parents walking up the far aisle. They didn't seem to have noticed me, and I didn't quite have the nerve to attract their attention. Everyone in the church had known me since I was little, and I definitely didn't want them all gossiping about how Marsha was chasing after the new boy in town.

  So I contented myself with watching Rigel from behind as he and his folks sat down about three rows ahead and off to the right. I wondered if this was their first visit here, or if I just hadn't noticed them before, since I hadn't met Rigel yet last Sunday. Somehow, I couldn't imagine being in the same room, even at this distance, without being acutely aware of him.

  The choir started filing in. Before Aunt Theresa could catch me staring at Rigel, I quickly directed my eyes back to the list of hymns on the front wall. It was still fuzzy. Which meant I probably needed new glasses, which was guaranteed to irritate my aunt even more than usual.

  "Hey, isn't that the new quarterback and his family?" Uncle Louie suddenly asked, pointing.

  Wow, no wonder he sold so few cars. Not terribly quick, Uncle Louie.

  "I think so," I whispered back, still trying not to look.

  "Do you think I should apologize after church? For, well—"

  I shook my head emphatically. The last thing I wanted was him reminding the Stuarts of his lapse Friday night. Especially in front of Aunt Theresa. I so did not want to witness another of their arguments over his drinking and his buddies—in church of all places. Nor did I want anyone else . . . okay, someone in particular . . . seeing that.

  "They seemed really happy to drive me. I'm sure they didn't mind a bit."

  He looked relieved. "Oh. Well, good. Good." I'm sure he d
idn't want to remind anyone about Friday night, either. Especially Aunt Theresa.

  Even so, when I saw the Stuarts coming our way after church, I held my breath. But Uncle Louie didn't say anything at all as Rigel's parents introduced themselves to my aunt.

  While the adults exchanged a very brief sentence or two, Rigel gave me a little smile that made my heart beat faster. Had he noticed how much better my skin was looking? Or did boys even think about stuff like that?

  "Are you having a good weekend?" he asked softly.

  "Yeah, I had a really good—" I broke off, since telling him about yesterday's stellar taekwondo class would take too much explanation, plus I didn't want him to think I was a jock or anything. "I mean, um, the weather's been nice. Not quite so hot. You?"

  He shrugged. "I guess."

  He looked like he was going to say more, but just then my aunt put a hand on my arm. No tingle there, definitely.

  "Let's go, Marsha. You still have homework to do today." She said a polite—not warm— goodbye to the Stuarts, while the look she gave Rigel was almost suspicious.

  I waited until we were out on the sidewalk and well out of their earshot to ask, "Is something wrong, Aunt Theresa?"

  She sniffed. "No. But you'd do best not to get too friendly with this new boy before you know more about him—and his family. They did just move to town last month."

  Uncle Louie laughed. "Oh, come on, Theresa, they're hardly gypsies. Rigel is the quarterback of the football team. And I heard that Mrs. Stuart is a doctor over at Mercy General."

  My aunt slanted a glance down at me, one eyebrow raised. "Even so."

  "You mean you think he's—they're—too good for me?" I flared, stung. "Is that what you mean?"

  She just primmed up her lips. "Our family has been in Jewel for four generations, Marsha. We're as good as anyone. I just don't want to see you hurt."

  So that was what she'd meant, though she wouldn't come out and say it. I fumed all the way home, my anger partly fueled by a worry she was right.