[Starstruck 01.0] Starstruck

by Brenda Hiatt

  I was in love.

  That truth hit me with a flash of light—then an audible boom. And some distant rumbling.

  Oh. It was just a thunderstorm. But I couldn't help feeling like it was fate or an omen or something, arriving at the same moment as my epiphany.

  I fell asleep to the sound of thunder and it wove its way into my dreams, where Rigel and I walked hand in hand through an exotic landscape. Spectacular explosions were going off all around us but somehow never quite touched us. Together, we were invincible.

  Despite nearly blinding rain, the bus couldn't go fast enough for me the next morning. I was dying to see Rigel again, to see how he'd act toward me today. I was also eager to hear his explanation, but I had to admit that was secondary. For now.

  Bri and Deb tried to pry more details out of me about yesterday's kiss—they'd known better than to call me at home—but I didn't say much. Until I knew what was really going on with Rigel, I didn't want to talk about it. Bri was clearly ticked, but I'd worry about that later.

  On the way to class, I got an inkling of how my social status had improved now that word had gotten around about Rigel and me. People who had never made eye contact before went out of their way to say hi. I even got asked to a party Saturday night—definitely a first.

  "I'll come if I can," I answered Missy Gillespie, who was a junior and really popular. And who'd never spoken to me before.

  "Cool! Hope you can make it, M!"

  I knew there wasn't a chance Aunt Theresa would let me go, but it was still amazingly flattering to be asked. And she'd called me M, like my best friends did!

  A sudden attack of nerves hit me when I got to Geometry. For a second I was scared Rigel would ignore me like he had a week ago, but the moment he saw me, he smiled and came over.

  "Hey," he said. "I would have called last night, but I remembered how tricky it is for you to talk on the phone at home. Didn't want to get you in any trouble or anything."

  Relief blossomed in my chest—along with the intense thrill of being near him again. "That's okay. We still on for lunch?" I glanced out the window, where rain was falling in sheets.

  "You bet. We'll find someplace dry," he promised.

  We had to separate then, since class was starting, but my nervousness was gone. Everything was going to be fine.

  It was still pouring when the lunch bell sounded, three and a half hours later. Like yesterday, Rigel and I left Science class together, while Trina walked off like she didn't know either one of us. Which was just fine with me.

  "So, where's a private place to talk other than the courtyard?" Rigel asked as we went out into the hallway.

  "I've been thinking about that," I admitted. In fact, I'd kind of been obsessing about it. "Why don't we go to the courtyard anyway? That alcove on the south side where we sat yesterday should be dry. And for sure, nobody else will be out there on a day like this."

  He laughed. "True enough. Okay, lead on." His fingers brushed my arm but he didn't try to hold my hand or anything. I decided that was probably just as well—and not only because of the attention it would get in the hall.

  When we reached the courtyard door, the rain was still sluicing down, with an occasional rumble of thunder.

  "You sure about this?" he asked, squinting into the mist that swirled into our eyes as we stood in the doorway.

  "Look." I pointed at the bench, under an overhang on the opposite side of the open space. "We'll get a little wet on the way, but the seat looks dry. I think."

  He looked down at me with one eyebrow quirked in amusement, then shrugged out of his Center North letter jacket and threw it over my shoulders. It was deliciously warm. "Okay, let's make a dash for it," he said.

  Rigel grabbed my hand and, laughing together, we ran across the brick path to the stone bench, which was set well back in its alcove, maybe six feet from where the rain cascaded down. The spot was both secluded and romantic. To me, anyway.

  But as soon as we sat down, Rigel's first words were, "I need to apologize for kissing you yesterday. I shouldn't have done that."

  I felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the rain—or the fact that the temperature had fallen by about twenty degrees since this time yesterday. I should have known I'd been deluding myself, that it was all a mistake—that it hadn't meant anything to him.

  "It's . . . That's okay," I mumbled, suddenly unable to look him in the eye, afraid of what I'd see in his expression. "I understand."

  I wondered if he'd experienced the same thing I had at school, only in reverse—if his social status had suffered the same way mine had soared. No wonder he—

  "No, I don't think you do." He put a finger under my chin, tilting my face up so I had to look at him. There was no revulsion, not even any regret in his eyes. Rather the opposite. My breath caught.

  "But you said—"

  "The reason I shouldn't have kissed you is that you still don't know the truth about . . . about me. So it wasn't fair. To you."

  "Oh." It came out more like a sigh than a word.

  I braced myself for another kiss, ready to really enjoy it this time, to show him with my lips what he meant to me, but he took his hand away and gazed across the drenched courtyard.

  Though it wasn't easy, I forced my mind back to the real reason we were out here in the rain. "Then I guess you'd better tell me the whole truth, huh?" I tried for a cheerful, conversational tone. "You said you were a . . . a Martian." I stumbled just a little over the word. "So, is that like a code word for a secret government experiment or something?"

  He turned and grinned at me. "That's a pretty good theory. I see you've spent some time thinking about this. But no."

  "Then—"

  He took my hands in his and his touch zinged through me, making me willing to believe anything he told me. "I meant it literally. Martian as in 'from Mars.'"

  Okay, I was willing to believe almost anything. I started shaking my head, all the reasons it couldn't be true crowding back. I'd been so sure Rigel had some logical explanation, that he wasn't insane, but—

  "I know it sounds crazy. I do. I didn't believe it either, when my parents finally told me a few years ago."

  That startled me. "Wait. You . . . you're telling me your parents are Martians, too?" I remembered how rational and intelligent his parents had seemed. Like Rigel. I wondered if they were aware that their son was delusional.

  "Yep. In fact, they were both born on Mars. I wasn't—I was born here, on Earth. So I guess in the strictest sense I'm not exactly a Martian." He sounded perfectly sane, apart from the words he was speaking.

  But I shook my head again. "No. There can't possibly be people on Mars," I said. "At least, not humans. Or . . . aren't you really human?"

  Strangely, that prospect didn't horrify me nearly as much as the idea of him plotting with Trina had.

  "I'm human. We all are. Though, as you've noticed, we are a little bit different. That's because we've evolved separately from the humans on Earth for centuries. Or, at least, that's part of the reason."

  As much as I wanted to believe him—or at least to believe he wasn't crazy—I couldn't just reason away what I knew about the conditions on Mars. No way humans could survive there, much less evolve there. But because he seemed so sincere, I felt like I had to tread cautiously. There was no knowing what he might do if I attacked his delusion directly.

  "Okay, so you're human. But different. The gravity on Mars is like one third of Earth's. How do the people there cope with that? And even if they could, what about when they come here, like you say your parents did? Anyone who grew up on Mars would have a really hard time dealing with our gravity here."

  He let out a breath, like I'd passed some kind of test and he was relieved. "I knew you'd be able to come at this reasonably," he said, not realizing I was humoring him. "The colony on Mars is underground, with artificial gravity and atmosphere, all climate-controlled. So the conditions there are almost exactly the same as on Earth, except for the unde
rground part."

  That answered what would have been my next two questions. He'd really thought this thing through! Of course, I'd made up all kinds of details for my own Martian fantasy back in second grade, too. Like a lavender sky with purple clouds and a castle made of pink space diamonds.

  Unlike me at age seven, Rigel knew enough science to make his details a little more plausible, that was all. I tried again.

  "Okay, how did this, er, colony end up on Mars in the first place?"

  He hesitated. Had I stumped him? But then he said, "That part is as hard to believe as the first. According to my parents, over two thousand years ago an advanced alien race, um, kidnapped a bunch of humans and took them to Mars."

  "Of course they did." I accidentally said it out loud.

  "So you don't believe me after all." He was obviously disappointed, and his disappointment bothered me more than I expected it to. "I thought this was going a little too well."

  "I want to believe you. I do—so much. But come on, Rigel. Think about what you're saying! Some alien master race grabs a bunch of Earthlings and whisks them off to their specially-prepared underground facility on Mars for . . . what? To experiment on them?"

  "Yeah, pretty much." But he sounded a little sheepish. "Look, I warned you it would sound crazy."

  I didn't disagree. I just sat there, looking at him. I'd been so happy since he'd kissed me yesterday, thinking I'd found someone who liked me, who understood me. Even now, knowing he was probably crazy, I couldn't help loving him. I knew I needed to get my feelings under control, something I couldn't seem to do with him touching me. Gently, I started to extricate my hand from his.

  "Wait." He tightened his grip. "Before you completely make up your mind and get a restraining order or something, talk to my parents. I warned them you might not believe me, but they can—"

  "Your parents?" I stopped trying to pull away. "They know you believe all this stuff?"

  "Like I said, they're the ones who told me. And it's true. All of it." His eyes willed me to believe him.

  For the first time, I almost did. Almost.

  "Okay, okay, let's just say I do believe you. If there are . . . Martians on Earth, it's a huge deal, and it would have to be kept really secret so people—the government, even—wouldn't freak out. So why are you telling me?"

  "A couple of reasons," he said slowly, like he was carefully choosing his words. "First, you asked—because you were noticing things. I figured it was better to tell you the truth than to let you make up your own theories, and maybe talk about them to your friends and family—and my parents agreed."

  "Which is why you didn't want me telling anybody anything about this."

  "Exactly."

  "You said a couple of reasons. What's the other one?"

  Now he smiled at me, that smile that always squeezed my heart. "Because you're special, M. But you knew that, didn't you?"

  I swallowed. "I . . . am I?" I'd certainly never felt special, unless you counted the static thing. I kind of hoped he meant special to him, but I didn't dare assume that.

  "You're more special than you know, M— especially to me," he said, making my heart stutter.

  His eyes held mine until I gave a little nod. Incredible as it still seemed, I knew he was telling me the truth about this. I didn't understand how I—plain Marsha Truitt—could be so special to the most amazing guy I'd ever met, but I reveled in it. How could I not?

  Whether he was really a Martian or really crazy barely even mattered. He was still incredible. And I was head over heels in love with him.

  9

  Eccentricities

  RIGEL PULLED OUT his cell phone and checked the time. "Oops, lunch is more than half over. We'd better eat." He handed me my paper sack, which I'd totally forgotten.

  I pulled out my sandwich and opened my drink, but then set them both down, suddenly reminded of yesterday when he'd handed me my lunch, and the question he hadn't answered.

  "You never did tell me why you wanted me at football practice. Or how you, um, zapped Bryce." Or a thousand other things I suddenly wanted to know.

  He took a big bite out of his own sandwich, chewed and swallowed before answering. "When you're with me . . . near me . . . you, well, bring out the best in me."

  "Huh?" That was totally not what I was expecting. I wasn't even sure it made sense.

  "Eat. I'll try to explain, at least a little."

  Since he stopped and waited and I really wanted to hear more, I quickly took a bite of sandwich and a swig of juice. "Well?" I asked, then took another bite so he had no excuse not to go on.

  "Okay. I know you've noticed that, er, thing when we touch."

  To demonstrate, he touched my hand briefly and I felt the now-familiar tingle zip through me. I nodded.

  "It's like we have a special, um, resonance. Something in you sort of supercharges something in me. Makes me . . . better. Stronger. Faster."

  "And able to shoot lightning bolts?"

  He took another bite before answering and this time I was sure it was to give him time to think. "That wasn't just me, you know," he finally said. "There's this thing called graell. It's really rare. In fact, most people don't even believe in it any more. But the theory is, or was, that sometimes a person can be a kind of, well, match with another person. And when they are, they somehow . . . enhance each other."

  I stared at him, things clicking together in my brain. "Each other? So it works both ways?"

  He nodded, but I thought he looked wary. "At least, that's the theory—or legend."

  "Holy crap," I breathed. "So that's why I'm suddenly not nearsighted anymore? And—" I stopped talking but kept thinking. And why my acne had miraculously disappeared? And I was so much better at taekwondo? Starting right after he'd touched me the very first time. My crazy suspicion had been right!

  "I think so. I know I run faster and throw harder than I used to—especially when you're actually in the stadium."

  That certainly explained why he wanted me at football practice . . . and at the games. Shoot, if the coaches knew about this, they'd probably require me to be there! The thought almost made me giggle.

  Suddenly, I was giddy with relief. Rigel wasn't crazy. At least, not about this mutual enhancement thing. I should probably reserve judgment on the Mars stuff, but now I couldn't quite dismiss that, either—not when this almost-as-unlikely story was obviously true.

  He was still watching me expectantly—anxiously—and I realized he was waiting for my reaction to all of this. I smiled, though I felt more like singing.

  "I believe you."

  The words seemed inadequate, but apparently they were enough. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

  "Thank you. I was afraid you'd . . . well, never mind. So, any chance you can make it to practice today?" he asked with a grin, obviously trying to lighten things up a little. "If you're going to come to the game Friday, I need to practice throwing with you in the stadium."

  I hadn't thought of it that way, but it made sense. "Is that why the receivers had such a hard time catching your passes during the first game?"

  "Yeah, I think so. I . . . didn't realize how hard I was throwing until later."

  "Of course, it probably didn't help that our receivers all basically suck."

  He laughed. "Maybe, but I did make it worse."

  The bell rang, startling me. Quickly, I stuffed another couple of bites of sandwich into my mouth while Rigel did the same, then we stood. The rain had stopped and the sun was starting to peek between gaps in the clouds, making the wet courtyard sparkle. It seemed almost magical—or maybe that was just the way I was feeling right now.

  "All right. I'll come to practice today. I'll worry about my aunt later."

  Rigel put a hand on my back as we went back into the hallway. It made me feel . . . protected. Cared for. I liked it.

  "I don't want you to get in any trouble because of me," he said.

  Though it would have been way cool to wear it to
class, I shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him. "It's not like she actually said I couldn't go. She just lectured me a little—about what boys like you expect from girls like me." I slanted a teasing glance up at him. What had gotten into me, that I was suddenly so comfortable, so brave, around him?

  He laughed out loud, a delicious sound. "Boys like me? You can tell her I don't expect anything at all. Though—" He went suddenly serious— "I may hope, a little."

  I discovered I wasn't quite brave enough to ask what he hoped, though the intensity in his eyes gave me a clue. My heart started beating faster.

  "I, um, don't think I'll tell her that part." My voice sounded breathless to my own ears.

  "No, better not. We don't want her forbidding you to see me." He slung the jacket over his shoulder. "Do we?"

  "Definitely not."

  Already we were at our History classroom, though I barely remembered walking there. I felt like I could have gone on talking with Rigel—being with Rigel—forever. It was like a little exile to leave him, even to go to the opposite side of the room. My only comfort was that he looked like he hated the separation as much as I did.

  "Looks like you guys didn't fight over lunch today," Bri teased me when I reached my seat. "Man, can you two even tell the rest of the world exists when you look at each other like that?"

  With an effort, I made myself focus on her, and on her words. "What? I mean, um, no, we didn't fight. And . . . no. At least, I can't."

  "Trust me," Deb said with a laugh, "he's not noticing anything else either. So, has he asked you out yet?"

  "No. But can I use one of you guys' cell phones to call home after school? And if my aunt asks, can you tell her I was at your house, Bri?"

  They exchanged such significant glances that I felt myself blushing.

  "It's not like that!" I whispered fiercely. "He just wants me to come to practice again, and my aunt thinks that's the path to sin or something."