Starcrossed (10 page)

Rigel’s suspicions had me imagining things, I told myself as I went inside. Sean had never done anything that could be remotely construed as making a pass at me—though he probably knew I’d shut him down immediately if he did.

Lying in bed later, I thought back over my conversation with Molly tonight. It still rattled me to learn that the
graell
was literally the stuff of fairy tales. I’d made up a lot of stories over the years, with my overactive imagination—to include that I was a Martian Princess. While that one turned out to be true, the others, like my invisible pet cheetah and the elaborate plots acted out by my toys, had been completely in my head.
 

But my bond with Rigel wasn’t. Even Shim believed it. Because there was lots of proof, no matter how skeptical Molly was, or how confusing that tingle from Sean might be. Rigel and I both knew for a fact our
graell
bond was real and that was all that mattered.

Wasn’t it?

Rigel
(RY-jel):
an extremely hot, rapidly-burning star

Allister is still on my folks for not making me do more around the house, so I clear the table and start doing the dinner dishes before anyone asks. Anyway, I’d rather do dishes—even by hand—than talk
Echtran
guidelines. Especially with Allister.
 

I take an extra couple minutes to wipe down the sink and straighten some stuff on the counter, but finally I run out of excuses not to join my dad, my grandfather and Allister in the living room.
 

“So are we agreed that it’s pointless to try to cover every conceivable situation?” my father is saying. He’s the youngest and doesn’t hold any kind of leadership position, so he tends to defer to them. Not that he’s a wimp. He proved that during the big battle in the cornfield.

“I suppose so.” Allister sounds reluctant. He’s middle-aged for a Martian, maybe a hundred and fifty, and definitely has control issues. The type who’d rather legislate every detail of people’s lives than risk them doing anything “wrong.” Meaning, “not his way.”

Grandfather agrees with my dad. “Our people have done remarkably well avoiding detection or even suspicion for over five hundred years without canonized regulations. I believe we can trust they will continue to do so. This can simply be a handbook to ease their transition into terran life.”

I admire Shim more than anybody I’ve ever known, though when I was a kid I was so in awe I was practically scared of him. To be honest, he still intimidates me a little, but he probably intimidates most people. He gives off a sort of aura of power, like you might expect from a president or a king or something. Maybe because he’s the oldest Martian on Earth—which makes him the oldest
person
on Earth—at two hundred seventy-eight.
 

“Should we at least include a list of proscribed technologies?” my dad asks, making notes on his handheld computer. It’s just a souped-up tablet, though, not anything Martian. Not like Sean O’Gara’s omni.

“I’d prefer to let our people use their own judgment,” Grandfather says, “unless you think such a list would be helpful to them?”
 

Allister’s frowning again. “We can’t overstate the importance of secrecy, at least for the next few decades. Now that all rational people are agreed we should pursue peaceful integration with Earth culture, we must be careful not to jeopardize that by premature discovery. Any technology likely to be noticed—or abused—should be avoided.”

“Of course,” Shim agrees. “And some must obviously be banned entirely, such as the Ossian Spheres that Boyne Morven smuggled to Earth.”

They all nod, and so do I—emphatically. That vicious thing nearly killed M and my mother last month, not to mention that he’d planned to use it to enslave humans by the thousands. Talk about abuse of technology!
 

“That goes without saying,” Dad says. “Though perhaps we should note it anyway, just to be clear. But what about the gray areas? Most Martian households have at least a few, ah, improvements that would be difficult to explain to the average
Duchas
. Should we craft any guidelines for those?”

“What our people use in the privacy of their own homes doesn’t concern me so much as things they might be tempted to use in more public settings,” Allister says. “Not everyone has impeccable judgment, after all.” He glances at me.

I totally know what he’s thinking. Not only does he hate my relationship with M, he hasn’t forgiven any of us for going against his advice when we let all the other Martians on Earth know about her. If he’d had his way, she’d have spent the last two months in that compound in Montana, well away from me. Which would probably mean she and I would both be dead by now, without any help from Faxon’s goon squad.
 

“I think it might be wise to include more stringent and specific rules in the portion of this, ah, handbook intended for young people,” Allister continues, “as they constitute our greatest risk of discovery.”

I have to practically glue my mouth shut, I’m so tempted to tell Allister his precious nephew is carrying an omni around in his pocket. Should I? For the good of our people?

No. That’s not my real reason and I know it. My real reason is petty. And stupid, because there’s no way Sean can come between M and me, no matter how much Allister wants him to.

“It, uh, might not be a bad idea to say somewhere that kids can’t take any kind of Martian technology to school,” I suggest instead, proud of my restraint. “That way they won’t be tempted to show something off to impress the other kids.”

“An excellent point, Rigel. Of course, that goes for abilities as well as technology.” Shim looks from me to Allister, and I know he’s thinking of me on the football field and Sean on the basketball court.

Last year at Center North High School, near Indy, I was a good player for a freshman, but not any kind of phenom. Since coming to Jewel, though—since bonding with M—I’ve improved so much it sometimes does feel like cheating. My parents finally made me promise to hold back so I wouldn’t attract
too
much attention, though I don’t think they’d mind if I landed a football scholarship.

I haven’t seen Sean play basketball yet but I know he’s good, from what M’s friend Bri said. As more and more Martians come to Earth, will we eventually dominate most sports? And if we do, how will the
Duchas
—native Earthers—feel about that, if the truth comes out? I guess I can see Grandfather’s point.
 

“Most
Echtran
kids have grown up in compounds and villages so far, right?” I ask, though I was an exception. “Will that be changing?”
 

I watch Allister, hoping he’ll admit why he brought the O’Garas here to Jewel. He doesn’t say anything, but my grandfather does.

“That’s always been the suggested course, as it seems unrealistic to expect children—especially young children—to maintain strict secrecy.”

“It’s why we didn’t tell you the truth until you were older,” Dad explains, though I’d already figured that out. Duh.
 

Shim nods. “However, if we are to truly integrate into terran society, it makes sense to allow our youngsters to interact with the
Duchas
once they reach an age of reason.”

“Particularly those who may eventually have a hand in guiding our people here on Earth,” Allister says, not looking at me now.

He can’t mean M, since she’s lived like an Earther all her life. Does he mean Sean? Is he being groomed as Allister’s successor or something? I can’t ask without giving away how I feel about the jerk, so I keep my mouth shut. I’ll just watch and listen and figure it out.

With barely any more input from me, the others hammer out the main points for their handbook or guidelines or whatever the hell it’s going to be. It’s nearly eleven when they finally call it a night—way too late for me to call M.
 

I can’t help wondering if that’s intentional.

I’m barely off the bus Wednesday morning when Sean O’Gara waylays me outside the school.
 

“Hey, Stuart! Got a minute?” He walks over and stops so close I’d have to crane my neck to look him in the eye. Not that I give him that satisfaction.
 

“What’s up?” I glance past him toward the school, keeping my voice casual. No point turning this into a pissing contest. Yet.

“Molly and M had a real interesting conversation at our house last night.” He says it too low to be overheard. “But you know how girls can be, all starry-eyed over nothing, so I figured I should get the scoop from you before jumping to conclusions.”

His tone makes my fists want to clench but I force myself not to react. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I point out when he pauses like he expects me to say something.

“Glad to hear it. I guess that means you didn’t really give M some stupid come-on line about the
graell
being real and try to convince her you guys are bonded?”
 

Now I do glance up at him. He’s bigger than me, yeah, but I’m pretty sure I can wipe that smirk off his face. “How is that any of your business?”
 

His fake smile gets wider. “Oh, c’mon, Stuart, I thought better of you than that.”
Not.
“You wouldn’t really take advantage of her ignorance that way, would you? I mean, that line’s so old, no
other
girl would ever fall for it. Guys back home have been using it for a few hundred years now.”

That’s news to me, but I’m not about to admit it. “Maybe it’s not a line,” I manage through clenched teeth. Asshole.

Now his eyebrows go up and he gives me this exaggeratedly sympathetic look that makes me want to punch him even more. “Oh,
sorry
, man. I guess, born on Earth and all, you’re as naive as she is. But tell me this. If she were really bonded to you, would she keep asking me to walk her home at night? Think about it.”

With a last obnoxious grin, he turns and walks into the school.

I glare after him, getting my anger under control. The icy wind helps a little. Then the warning bell rings and I curse out loud. I’d planned to meet M at her locker to ask her about last night and now I’ll barely have time to drop my coat and backpack at my own locker before class.
 

It’s tempting to sprint full speed through the school, but I don’t dare draw that kind of attention, not now. Not when I might have to take down Sean O’Gara in the very near future.

Forcing myself to just a fast walk, I dump my stuff, grab my Geometry book and get to class right as the final bell rings. M is already in her seat, watching the door for me. “Sorry,” I whisper as I slide into the desk next to hers.
 

“What—?” she starts to ask. I can tell from her expression she’s sensing I’m pissed. But the teacher clears his throat and looks at us, so she has to shut up.
 

I’m hyper aware of M all through class. Even more than usual. For one thing, she looks totally hot in that green sweater. But mostly I’m trying to figure out if there’s anything off about her expression when she looks at me. She catches me staring and frowns a question at me that I can’t answer. Not yet.
 

When class finally ends, I turn to M to explain—or maybe to ask her to explain—but her friend Deb immediately starts talking to her about Mark Lennox, a guy on the football team, asking stuff like if M thinks he likes her. M sends me a little nonverbal apology but keeps listening.
 

It ticks me off, but not exactly at M. I mean, Deb is one of her best friends and M isn’t the kind of girl to blow off a friend needing advice. But I
really
want to talk to her and we’re in different classes next period.
 

Deb finally winds down and M says something encouraging to her and then it’s just the two of us together in the hallway. Surrounded by a whole lot of other people on their way to second period.
 

But instead of telling her what Sean said, like I planned, I hear myself asking, “So, how did it go last night?”

She gives a cute little shrug and a smile that makes me want to kiss her. “It was fine, I guess. I finished catching them up on U.S. History, then we talked some more about, um, Ireland.” That’s our code for Mars these days.
 

“Learn anything interesting?” I want to ask about Sean, ask if he really walked her home again, but I don’t. I’m not sure why.
 

“I did, actually. I’ll tell you about it later when we can be, uh, private.” We’re already at the door of her Computer classroom. How did that happen?

“Yeah, we’ll talk later.” Then just before running off to Spanish, I blurt out, “I’m just glad you made it home okay.”

She stares at me and opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but I just shoot her a tight smile and walk away, feeling like an even bigger jerk than Sean.
 

I trust M. I absolutely trust her. So why am I letting Sean make me act like a jealous idiot?

Maybe because I really am a jealous idiot? Crap.

efrin
(EF-rin):
Hell; used as a mild curse

I stared after Rigel, wondering what he’d meant by that last comment. It sounded like he already knew Sean walked me home again last night, even though I hadn’t had a chance to tell him. Had Molly said something? He’d been late getting to Geometry, so he must have been talking to somebody.
 

Great. Just great.

I was so distracted when I sat down at my computer, I nearly forgot to ground myself on the table leg before touching it. I’d already fried one computer this semester and I knew Mr. Morrison—who was Bri’s dad and really nice (for a teacher)—would be upset if I broke another one.

I hurried off when the bell rang, so I could explain to Rigel before English. Surely he wouldn’t be mad once I explained how Sean had insisted because of some dumb idea that the “Princess” shouldn’t be walking alone at night. And that he hadn’t made any kind of pass at me or anything.