Starstruck

by Brenda Hiatt

CHAPTER 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 didn'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.

  The next morning my alarm actually awakened me, jarring me out of a dream I didn't want to leave, a dream involving Rigel—again. I lay still for a moment, grasping at the retreating shreds of the dream, but it escaped before I could remember any details.

  With a sigh, I rolled over and plucked my glasses from the nightstand and put them on, then sat up. And squinted. My vision was blurrier than yesterday—a lot blurrier. I pulled my glasses off to examine them, but they didn't look smudged.

  Before putting them back on, I glanced at my clock and blinked. Then blinked again. The numbers were as clear as they normally were with my glasses on. I turned on my bedside lamp and slowly looked around my room. Amazingly, I could read the names of the planets and their moons on my poster of the solar system and easily pick out titles from book spines in my overstuffed bookcase: A Wrinkle in Time, The Hobbit, The Last Unicorn. The blurriness was gone.

  "No way," I said out loud.

  In a disbelieving daze, I got up and headed to the bathroom, my glasses abandoned next to my bed. The whole time I was getting ready for school, I kept expecting my eyes to revert to normal—well, what was normal for me, anyway—but they didn't. My vision stayed a perfect 20/20 without glasses or contacts or anything.

  Still, I stuck my glasses in my backpack so I'd have them handy when—if?—my eyes did change back. I drank a quick glass of milk and grabbed a cereal bar to eat at the bus stop, then ducked out of the house before Aunt Theresa could notice and question me about not wearing my glasses. I wanted to see if my lovely new vision would last the day first.

  I'd never heard of anyone spontaneously becoming not nearsighted. Was it even supposed to be possible? It was like some good fairy had cast a spell or something—first my complexion, and now my eyes. Would my figure be next
? I glanced down at my chest. Was I maybe a teensy bit more buxom? No, that was just wishful thinking.

  "M! Did you get contacts over the weekend?" Brianna greeted me on the bus. "That's awesome!"

  "Totally!" Deb agreed before I could explain. "Your eyes look amazing without the glasses. Did you get tinted ones? They look even greener than usual."

  "Really?" I asked, startled. "Thanks, but—"

  "Now I'm glad you decided against the eye shadow," Bri said, studying my face. "It would be too much, I think. Just the pencil is perfect."

  Abruptly, I decided not to tell them I wasn't wearing contacts. It would sound so . . . unbelievable. I still wasn't sure I believed it myself.

  On the way to Geometry, a few other people noticed my missing glasses.

  "Hey, Marsh, looking good," Ginger Ramsey commented as she passed me. The two girls with her, Alicia and Jessica, chorused their agreement.

  Startled, I thanked them, a new and unfamiliar sense of confidence giving a little extra spring to my step. Of course, there was only one person whose opinion really mattered, and I was especially eager to see how he'd react to the "new" me.

  Before I reached class I passed a few of the other football players, who were busily dissecting Friday night's game. I normally wouldn't have paid any attention at all, but I caught Rigel's name so I slowed down a little to listen.

  "Yeah, what was with those passes, anyway?" David Jaworski was saying. "He was rifling them in there like we were in the NFL or something. Who could catch that?"

  "No kidding," Matt Mullins agreed. "It just wasn't normal. He sure wasn't throwing like that in practice earlier in the week. It was like he was on steroids or something."

  I stopped, ready to defend Rigel, but David was already shaking his head. "Nah, not cool, man. I don't believe that. He was just . . . in the zone. Or something."

  Before they could notice me eavesdropping and make some crack, I hurried on down the hallway. Of course they'd be saying stuff like that, I told myself, since they needed some kind of excuse for dropping so many passes. It didn't mean anything. But David's words made me remember how I'd been "in the zone" myself on Saturday.

  There couldn't be a connection, could there? Like Rigel and me somehow "electrifying" each other to good effect? No, that was crazy. Impossible. Wasn't it?

  When I reached Geometry, Rigel was standing near the door, surrounded by three or four cheerleaders. Trina had one hand on his shoulder, flirting for all she was worth, but the moment he saw me, he sort of shrugged her off and came over.

  "Hey," he said, his gaze locking with mine, making me forget everything that wasn't him. "Did you get that homework done?"

  "That—? Oh, right, Aunt Theresa." I remembered what she'd said after church.

  "I hope she didn't give you a hard time." He was still holding my gaze and stealing my breath.

  Helplessly, I shook my head. "No. I mean, she's always strict about homework and stuff." I didn't want him to know she'd been using that as an excuse to get me away from him.

  "I'm sure she just wants what's best for you." His knowing smile told me he was fully aware of what she'd been doing.

  Trina had stayed quiet as long as she could, apparently. "I know you're into charity cases, Rigel, but there's no need to be rude about it." She put a possessive hand on his shoulder again before turning toward me, her eyes narrowing nastily.

  But then she frowned and her eyes widened slightly as whatever barb she'd been about to shoot my way died on her lips. "When—? How—?" She stared at me, clearly confused, but then she recovered her sneer. "Huh. I see your folks finally managed to scrape up enough to buy you contacts."

  That stung, but I refused to let her see it.

  "Contacts are no more expensive than glasses, Trina." I intentionally said it like I was explaining it to a child. And it was true, an argument I'd used repeatedly to my aunt, even if it had nothing to do with what had happened to me overnight.

  She turned her shoulder to me as if I hadn't spoken. "So, Rigel, are you going to sit with her now?"

  He slanted an amused glance down at me. "I'd better not. I'm afraid I'd be too distracted to pay attention in class." His half-wink made my mouth go dry.

  Though he was probably kidding, it was so exactly what I'd been thinking about him all last week that it was almost eerie. And really, really satisfying that he'd said it to Trina. It kept me from minding—much—when he went to his usual seat next to her.

  Though we caught each other staring once or twice in our classes, I didn't get another chance to really talk with Rigel until lunch, when he again came to sit at our table. Like they had last week, Bri and Deb suddenly "remembered" something else they had to do almost as soon as they'd said hi to him, leaving us alone.

  "Do you want my banana?" I asked him as soon as they'd gone. I'd taken one automatically, since Bri always ate mine as well as her own, but I'd forgotten to give it to her before she took off.

  Rigel shook his head. "Nah, I don't like them. But thanks."

  "Really? Huh. I think you're the only other person I've ever met who didn't like bananas. Not that it's a big deal or anything," I added quickly, not wanting to sound like I was groping for another similarity between us, in addition to the static thing.

  But he gave me one of his penetrating looks and smiled. "I'm not sure I have, either. One more thing we have in common."

  I felt a little lightheaded, then remembered to breathe. "Um, yeah. I guess it is."

  "So," Rigel said, settling back in his chair and smiling at me as he opened his chocolate milk. "What's with the new look? Everyone's talking about it."

  I set down the forkful of mac and cheese I'd just picked up—not that I ever seemed able to eat with him next to me anyway. "No way. Everyone? Really?"

  He shrugged. "I heard a couple people mention it, anyway. They seemed to think it's for my benefit. Is it?" He actually looked hopeful.

  I kind of snorted, then wished I hadn't, since it was an unattractive sound. "Like I would admit that, even if it was true? Anyway . . . " I hesitated, wanting to tell him about the bizarre miracle with my eyes but not wanting to freak him out again.

  "Yeah?"

  "Nothing."

  Rigel put a hand over mine and his touch sizzled right through me. "Tell me," he said.

  Helpless under his touch and gaze, I did, in a rush. "This is going to sound totally weird, but when I woke up this morning, I didn't need my glasses anymore. I mean, it was like magic. Or . . . like someone snuck in and did Lasik surgery on me while I was sleeping or something."

  He looked startled, but not as much as I'd expected. When he spoke, he sounded more thoughtful than freaked. "That's really interesting. And weird, of course," he added quickly. "But great, huh?"

  "Well, yeah, especially if it lasts. I just don't understand how—"

  "Hey, you've heard that saying about don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

  I shrugged, still a little surprised at how calmly he was taking this. "Well, yeah, but have you ever heard of this happening to anyone before? Like, ever?"

  His eyes slid away from mine and he moved his hand, leaving mine lonely. "I guess not, now that you mention it. Are you going to, um, go to an eye doctor about it or something?"

  "Probably not," I admitted. "Money at our house is kind of tight, and it's not like I'd want him to do anything about it. I'm just curious how it happened." I kept watching him, but if he had a theory, he kept it to himself. "Maybe I can research it online or something."

  "Good idea." Was it my imagination, or did he sound a little bit relieved? He changed the subject then, asking if I'd read The Bell Jar yet, and we talked about books until the warning bell rang a few minutes later.

  Rigel stood and stacked both our trays—mine almost untouched. "Walk you to class?"

  A sense of well-being flooded me as I nodded. Strange as it seemed, being with Rigel just felt so . . . so right.

  We had to pass the cheerleader table on th
e way to the tray drop and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trina and her posse staring at us.

  As Rigel was dumping our trays, one of them—I think it was Nicole—called out, "Look, there goes Marsha the Martian! Looks like she finally found her long-lost prince."

  I cringed inside, knowing I'd have to tell Rigel that whole embarrassing story now. But when I glanced up at him, he didn't look curious or amused, like I expected.

  He looked more like someone had punched him in the gut.