by Brenda Hiatt
"I hope you'll have an opportunity to meet my father soon," Mr. Stuart said. "He's one of our top geneticists and he'll be able to explain about the brath—the genetic resonance—better than we can."
"But I thought— He doesn't live in Jewel, does he?" I asked, confused.
He shook his head. "No, in Washington, DC. But now that we've found you, I imagine he'll come for a visit very soon."
I gave a shaky laugh. "Wow, no wonder it freaked you out when Nicole called me 'Marsha the Martian' the other day," I said to Rigel. "I figured it was because you were . . . well. But how weird is it that I pretended to be a Martian when I was little, and all along it was actually true?"
"Maybe not so strange," Dr. Stuart said. "Didn't you tell Rigel you weren't adopted until you were two years old? Undoubtedly you retained some memories of your birth parents, if only subconsciously. I'm sure that played into what you thought were fantasies as a child."
That made so much sense, I felt a little foolish for not realizing it myself. Though I guess I had some excuse, since I was still reeling from the truth about where I'd come from.
I had a strong sense that there was more that they weren't telling me, but I honestly wasn't sure I could absorb much more at the moment. Apparently they thought I'd heard enough for now too, since after another glance between them, Rigel's parents both stood.
"Rigel, after you two finish your snack, why don't you give Marsha a tour of the house?" his mother suggested. "We'll need to leave by five if we're going to stop for dinner on the way to Springdale."
They left us alone in the kitchen and Rigel looked at me questioningly. "You okay?" he asked softly.
"I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "Tell me—did you only want to . . . to be my friend because you thought I was this Martian you were looking for?" For some reason, this seemed more important than me being a Martian.
"No!" His denial was instant, but then, meeting my gaze, he gave a little shrug. "Okay, maybe on the first day of school, when I very first figured it out. I needed to make sure. But as soon as I started talking to you, I liked you. For yourself, not just because of . . . you know." He took my hand and looked at me pleadingly. "M, I really did want to tell you myself, but—"
"But after the way I freaked when you told me you were a Martian, you didn't want to risk me going off the deep end if you tried to tell me I was? At school?"
He shrugged and nodded, smiling sheepishly. "Sorta, yeah."
Hugely relieved, I squeezed his hand—something I could never have imagined myself doing just a couple of days earlier. "No, I get it. And I can't swear I wouldn't have. Gone off the deep end, I mean. It's . . . kind of a lot."
"Actually, you took it way better than I thought you would. Way better than I did, in fact."
"That's right—you said you didn't find out until a few years ago. So until then, you just thought you and your parents were like everyone else?"
"Pretty much. I mean, why would I think otherwise? But as I got older, I started overhearing conversations between them, and with my grandfather and others, and I started to think something weird was going on. So I started asking questions. They put me off for a while, but finally decided I was old enough to handle it."
"How old were you?"
"Almost eleven. And man, I was seriously freaked out when they told me. Locked myself in my room for two days, yelling that I didn't want to be raised by aliens. But finally I decided it was kind of cool. And now it just seems, well, normal."
I tried to imagine what he'd gone through, finding out such a thing when he was just ten years old. "I guess I have a little bit of an advantage, being older."
And having the kind of life where anything different, anything special, was bound to be an improvement. But I didn't say that part. It did make me wonder about something else, though.
"I still don't understand how you and your parents found me," I said. "I mean, Jewel is such a nowhere little town . . ." I trailed off, remembering something Rigel had told me during our very first conversation.
"Wait. Is that why you had to change schools every year? Looking for me?"
Rigel confirmed my guess with a nod. "Though I didn't know that was the reason until eighth grade."
"I'm surprised you don't resent the heck out of me."
"It's not like it's your fault."
I frowned, still skeptical, and he suddenly grinned. "Okay, I admit that before I met you I might have resented you a little. But definitely not now. Not even a little." His expression, his voice, his touch, forced me to believe him.
"As for the how," he continued, "my dad's a computer whiz. He'd been searching adoption records and stuff and was pretty sure you were in Indiana somewhere—which is why we were here. The lucky break came when Center North played Jewel at football last fall. I was the backup quarterback, had only been off the bench once before in a game, since I was a freshman. But Appleton wrenched his shoulder and the coach put me in while they iced it. And it was like I was supercharged, or something. Played way over my head."
"And you think it was because—"
"Had to be. I told my parents about it after the game and they figured you must have been there. So the next year I transferred to Jewel—and here you are."
No wonder I'd been such a whiz in the concession stand that night! I must have been "supercharged" by Rigel, as well.
"So, you want to see the house?" he asked, standing up.
"Sure. Any cool futuristic gizmos you can show me? Food replicators or a holodeck or something?"
"Funny. It's not Star Trek. But here, watch this." He picked up our empty milk glasses, but instead of rinsing them in the sink, he opened a cupboard and put them inside, right next to the clean plates and glasses. Then he closed the door, pushed a tiny button I hadn't noticed and immediately opened the cabinet again. Our used glasses sparkled, without a trace of milk.
"Whoa! What did you do?"
"It's an ionic sterilizer, built into the frame of the cupboard. There's a little one in each of the bathrooms, too, for toothbrushes and stuff. Pretty cool, huh?"
"Extremely cool," I agreed, thinking of the time it would save.
He closed the cabinet and turned back to me, his eyes glinting with suppressed excitement. "Come on. There's something else I think you'll like even more."
Taking my hand, he led me out of the kitchen and up the wide, wooden staircase to the second floor. My heart started to pound again as I wondered if he was going to show me his bedroom. Where had his parents disappeared to, anyway?
But instead of a bedroom, he led me through an archway at the top of the stairs into a small room facing the back of the house. He flipped a switch on the wall and a slit opened, bottom to top, in the opposite wall where a window would normally be, and I saw there was a large telescope set in front of it—just like a real observatory, in miniature.
"Oh, wow!" I breathed. I'd begged my aunt and uncle for a telescope for years and finally, last Christmas, they'd given me a little cheapie one from Wal-Mart. But this—this was a real telescope! I stepped in front of Rigel and put my hand reverently on its smooth casing.
"Go ahead and take a look." He motioned to the telescope.
I was too eager to do just that not to obey. Of course, it was still broad daylight, so I knew I wouldn't see much—or even be able to orient it. At least we were facing away from the sun.
"Just a sec," Rigel said, and punched a code into a keypad on the telescope's mount. The telescope shifted position, a couple of inches to the left and a hair higher. "Okay, now."
"Like a GoTo on steroids," I muttered, feeling a pang of envy as I put my eye to the eyepiece. Even a low end GoTo—programmable—telescope was more than I had any hope of owning anytime soon. Then I really looked. And gasped.
"What planet is that? And how can I see it so well in the daytime?"
"It's actually one of Jupiter's moons. Leda."
I stood straight and stared at him. "No way! Astronomers didn't even disco
ver Leda until 1974, it's so small." I bent for another look. The detail was amazing—I could see actual craters and hills.
"I'd show you Mars, but it's not visible from here right now. Soon, though, I promise."
The feeling that welled up in me at his words startled me with its intensity. It was a longing—not just to see Mars, now that I knew it was my heritage, so to speak, but, even more, to see it with him. And maybe not just through a telescope.
"You've never been there yourself, right?" I asked.
"Nope. My folks haven't been back since they moved to Earth, though my grandfather went back once, a few years before I was born. My dad says it's trickier to go that direction without being spotted, so there are just two spots on Earth we're allowed to launch from, and only if it's really important."
I tried to hide my disappointment. "Oh. I guess that makes sense. Still, it would be cool to actually visit there, don't you think?"
"Very cool," he agreed. "You'll probably get to someday." He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as he spoke, which distracted me so much I almost didn't catch the wistfulness in his voice.
"I hope you mean 'we,'" I said.
He nodded quickly, but dropped his hand and took a half step away from me. "Of course. You think I'd let you go without me?" But I thought there was a reserve in his expression that hadn't been there a moment ago.
Before I could ask about it, he punched another set of numbers into the telescope keypad and motioned for me to look. He stood well back as I peered through the eyepiece. I smiled as I recognized the distinctive crater on Europa. "Pwyll," I mouthed soundlessly. At least, I thought I'd been soundless.
"Wow, you can tell at a glance?"
I straightened and looked at Rigel, who was several feet away from me. "You do have super hearing, don't you?"
"We're in the same room, so I hardly need—" He broke off at the look I gave him. "Okay, yeah, kind of, I guess. Most of my senses are more, um, sensitive than the average human. It's just one of those Martian things."
"But you can't, like, read my mind, right?" I really, really needed to know this.
He grinned almost like he did know what I was thinking. "Not yet."
I frowned at him, not sure if he was kidding or not. "Wait. Do you mean—"
Rigel took my hands, his smile more serious now. "Sorry. I don't really know. You might have noticed my parents communicating without speaking."
"So they can read each other's minds?" It had seemed that way, but I hadn't dared to ask. "Do they have that . . . bond, that resonance thing you said we have?" I was completely confused about that after what his parents had said.
"They have something, for sure, but it took them like twenty years to develop it. I asked. And even that's apparently pretty unusual, from what they told me."
"So it's not that graell thing that's supposed to be so incredibly rare? Do you still think—I mean—you don't think this . . . whatever we have . . . is just the usual thing between Martians that your dad mentioned?"
He took both of my hands, his expression melting my heart. "No, I really don't. I think what we have is way more than that. Special."
His look, his touch, dragged a smile out of me. "It feels pretty special to me," I admitted. "But . . . you all say I'm a Martian, too. So why don't you want your parents to know about it?"
Now he looked away. "I guess I was worried they'd get all weird about it. We're only fifteen, after all." I thought he sounded evasive, but then he met my eyes again, pleadingly. "Are you okay with it being our secret, M? For now?"
I nodded. As if I could deny him anything, when he looked at me like that? Though I still didn't really understand.
"Thanks. I'll explain it all soon, I promise."
I wasn't sure if he meant to me, or to his parents. He'd said he couldn't read my mind, but—
"Kids?" came his mother's voice from downstairs. "We need to get going, if we're going to stop for dinner."
"Coming, Mom," Rigel called back.
Still holding my hand, he led me out of the little observatory and down the stairs. I hoped I'd get a chance to see the rest of the house sometime soon.
On the way to the game, Rigel's parents kept the conversation light—intentionally, I thought. Like maybe they didn't want me asking more questions yet. They talked about some of the places they'd lived before Indiana, which included Colorado and St. Louis and even Australia, before Rigel was born. And they talked a little about other Echtrans—expatriate Martians—they knew, who were scattered around the country. But nothing about my real parents, which was what I most wanted to know.
Halfway to Springdale, we pulled in to Rory's Steakhouse, a little place I'd heard of but never been to. Not surprising, since Aunt Theresa and Uncle Louie went out to eat maybe twice a year, and hadn't taken me along since I was twelve. I felt a little awkward letting them pay for my dinner—one of Rory's famous pork tenderloin sandwiches—but they insisted.
Back in the car, I tried to work up the nerve to ask more questions about my origins, but between the distraction of having Rigel right next to me, sometimes even touching me, and the running dialogue between his parents, now about the upcoming game, I never quite managed it. And then we were at Springdale and the opportunity was over. For now. I told myself there was still the trip back, and that I was definitely going to get more info out of them then.
"Rigel, you'd better go join the team," Mr. Stuart said as we all got out of the car. "I see the bus is already here. Marsha, would you like to sit with us, or will some of your friends be here?"
I was torn, but figured I'd never get anything out of them during the game, so I opted for honesty. "I sort of promised my friend Brianna I'd sit with her."
"That's fine," said Dr. Stuart with her warm smile. "You'll have more fun that way, I'm sure. We can all meet down on the field after the game."
Nodding, I turned toward the stands but Rigel took my hand and stopped me. "Walk with me first?" he asked, and something in his eyes made my heart speed up again.
"Sure."
He led me in the direction of the team bus, over by Springdale's gym, but before we reached it, he swerved off to the right, behind a corner of the building. Another corner jutted out a few yards further down, which put us in a slightly secluded angle—at least, no one was directly in sight at the moment.
Rigel stopped and looked down at me, a tiny frown between his dark brows. "I was, um, wondering . . . That is, would it be okay . . ." He paused and cleared his throat.
"What, Rigel?" I couldn't imagine what could make him so nervous all of a sudden.
"Could I have a . . . a kiss for luck?" he asked in a rush.
Oh! I could tell from the heat in my face that I'd suddenly gone bright red—but I nodded. I'd been wanting this, dying for this, ever since that first quick kiss on Wednesday, and now I was at least as nervous as he was. My heart pounding like a jackhammer, I tilted my face up and waited.
As he lowered his lips to mine—slowly, this time—I let my eyes flutter closed. And at the first touch of his mouth, all my nervousness magically disappeared. He felt wonderful. Amazing. Impossibly fabulous.
Without even thinking about it, I slid my hands up his shoulders, and at the same time I felt his arms come around my waist. His lips were firm, warm . . . perfect. I thought I might just die from happiness.
Even though it was about five times longer than our first kiss, it was still over way too soon. With obvious reluctance, he pulled away, then planted one last feather-light kiss on the corner of my mouth before straightening up.
"If I don't have the best game of my life now, it'll be a miracle." His voice was husky, which kept his words from being as light as he probably intended them. "I'll see you after."
He touched my cheek one more time, then hurried off around the corner to go join the team for warmups.
I stayed where I was for a couple of minutes, waiting for my heart to slow to—well, not normal, but maybe only double speed.
Then, in a euphoric daze, I smoothed my hair and headed for the visitor bleachers on the far side of the field to find Bri, already eager for the game to be over so I could be with Rigel again.
12
Axial tilt
"HEY! I WAS starting to wonder if you were coming after all," Bri greeted me when I joined her in the middle of the third row of the visitor stands a few minutes later.
The one small section of metal bleachers on this side of the field was already starting to fill up—probably because Jewel had done so much better than expected last week.
"I mean, the team's starting to warm up," she continued as I sat down. "I'm sure the coaches are getting antsy because Rigel's not—oh, there he is."
Of course my head whipped around when she said that, in time to see him trotting onto the field. I wondered how he'd changed so fast.
"Where's Deb?" I asked, forcing my attention back to Bri.
"She couldn't come. She told us. Both of us, but I guess you didn't hear her. As usual. So," she continued, looking more closely at me, "were you two making out?"
"What?" I was sure I'd waited long enough that it wouldn't be obvious, but of course when she said that, I felt my face heat. I probably looked guilty as sin. Too late to deny it. "Um, not exactly. Just a, um, quick kiss for luck."
"Hey, I'm the last person to blame you," she said, throwing up her hands to stop my stammering. "I mean, who wouldn't want to—" She broke off at the look on my face and shrugged. "Sorry."
I forced a smile, though I was still embarrassed—and a little irritated. "That's okay. We stopped for dinner on the way and it made us a few minutes late, I guess."
"Yeah, well, it's not like Coach Glazier will throw him off the team for it." Now I was sure there was a sour edge to her tone.
"It's not like he was late on purpose. And he did clear it with the coach ahead of time—coming separately, I mean."
