Starfall: A Starstruck Novel (20 page)

She nods. “I’m kind of a disaster around electronics. Always have been. It’s a, uh, static thing.” Her voice is slightly shaky. Again I get that bizarre urge to comfort her, even though I have no idea why she’s so upset.

“Yeah, I think it’s an
Echtran
thing. I sometimes do that, too.” I try to convince myself that’s all that freaky adrenaline zap was, though I know better. Despite my own static issues, I’ve never felt anything remotely like that before.
 

Still unnerved, I reach for the computer. “Here, let me see what I can do.” I unplug it and plug it back in, try turning it back on. Nothing. Finally I go to Ms. Raymond and tell her the computer conked out.
 

She comes over, does all the same stuff I just did, then frowns at M. “Mr. Morrison did warn me about you, Marsha—your propensity to short out computers, I mean. Apparently he was right.”
 

“If you let me take it home, I can probably fix it over the weekend,” I volunteer. “I really am good with computers. So’s my dad. His job is troubleshooting computers and software.”

Ms. Raymond’s worried expression clears. “I’d very much appreciate that, Rigel, if you really think you can. The publications budget has been cut so much, a new computer or even an expensive repair would put a serious dent in it.”

M and I spend the last ten minutes of class packing up the computer, a clunky old desktop. I’m careful not to brush against her in the process.
 

Just before the final bell rings, I whisper, “Seriously, what was that…thing you did, where you touched my arm? What did you think would happen, when you told me not to freak out?” Which I totally did anyway, I realize.
 

“It doesn’t matter, since it didn’t work. Have a great game tonight, Rigel. I’ll come cheer, if my aunt lets me.”
 

With a sad sort of smile, she picks up her backpack and walks out of the room.

*
   
*
   
*

By halftime, there’s no doubt about it—I’m playing the best game of my life. Or, at least, that I can remember. My arm has never felt so good and it’s like I know exactly where my receivers will be before they’re even there. I’m faster, stronger, more agile than I’ve ever been in practice. It’s like I can do no wrong.

Once or twice, while the defense is on the field, I wonder if my exponential improvement could possibly have anything to do with that bizarre zap I got from the Sovereign this afternoon. She obviously expected it to do
something
. I kind of doubt giving me rad football skills was what she had in mind, but who knows? Maybe she’s a really rabid fan or something.
 

In the locker room, Coach Glazier is ecstatic. “I didn’t want to mess with your head earlier, Stuart, but now I can admit that last week you had me worried. Especially after the town pitched in to help us double the size of our stands. But seeing what you did this half, I don’t think we’ll have any trouble filling those new bleachers. Looks like you’re back a hundred and ten percent. Keep up the great work, son, and we’ll be looking at an undefeated season!”

The other guys hoot and holler their agreement, then Coach launches into his halftime talk, mostly about getting the defense up to the same level as our offense. When we head back to the field for the second half, I look up at the supposedly new stands. Hard to believe they were even smaller last year. My gaze drifts over to where M was sitting earlier, on the fifty yard line.
 

Her friends Bri and Deb are still there, but she’s gone. Squashing down a stupid prick of disappointment, I look a few rows higher to wave at my parents—and there’s M, talking to them. Arguing with them? My mom shakes her head and says something and Dad nods agreement with whatever Mom is saying. M leans in like she’s arguing again, then heads back to her friends, frowning. My folks watch her go. They both look worried. What the—?

Before I can even start to come up with a theory, the whistle blows. I shove my helmet back on and run onto the field. Another mystery that’ll have to wait. Time to get my head back in the game.
 

At the final whistle, it’s Jewel 41, Frankton 13 and the crowd explodes. Fans stream onto the field to congratulate the team—to congratulate me. I catch a glimpse of M through the crowd, just behind her friends, heading my way. Then I get a flash—
deja vu
?—of exactly this scene, excited fans coming toward me after a big win. And M. M is…
 

Suddenly another flash crowds out the first, this one even clearer. A memory of Trina running up to me in her skimpy cheer outfit, just like she’s doing now. Of Trina and me…kissing.
 

The relief of
finally
remembering something adds to my high from winning the game. So when Trina reaches me, I return her hug and swing her around. “I remember this!” I tell her exultantly. “My first memory!”

“Oh, Rigel!” she squeals and plasters her mouth on mine. I let her. We must have kissed last year, since I remember it. But it still feels…off, somehow. So when she lets go of me, I turn half away to talk to other people—like my parents, who’ve just reached me.
 

“Great game, son, just great,” Dad says. He and mom are smiling now, not looking worried at all. Then, over Mom’s shoulder, I see Molly O’Gara, who’s also on the cheer squad, staring at me.
 

Molly looks upset, almost outraged. About Trina? Crap, I never went out with Molly, did I? Like in Ireland or something? I scan the crowd for M but now I don’t see her, even when her friend Bri runs up. She hugs me like Trina did. I’m glad she doesn’t try to kiss me.
 

“What an incredible game, Rigel! Even better than last year’s opener!” She goes on gushing, while other people move in to slap me on the back and offer more congratulations.
 

I nod but I’m not listening because I’ve finally spotted M. She’s not heading my way anymore. Before I can figure out her expression from here, she spins around and walks quickly away. Huh. The guys did tell me she and Trina don’t like each other…
 

Another memory is starting to niggle when I’m suddenly hit by a second clear one—M and Jimmy Franklin, dancing together, a slow dance. And me dancing with Trina. Homecoming, maybe? I turn to Trina, who’s still hovering by my shoulder.

“Did…did we go to a dance together last year?”

She dimples up at me and nods. “I told you we were on the Homecoming Court together. Oh, Rigel, you
do
remember!”
 

Bri frowns across me at Trina. “But—”

“Can’t you see other people want to talk to Rigel, Bri? Give them a chance,” Trina snaps.
 

Bri glares at her, but moves off. I wonder what she was going to say, but then my attention is claimed by a bunch of people still wanting to congratulate me before I head to the showers.

In the car on the way home, I tell my parents about those two flashes of memory, my first since waking up in Ireland. “So I guess Trina was telling the truth about us dating last year, at least first semester. From what some of the guys said, I figured she was exaggerating.”

“Oh, yes, you and Trina were fairly close for a while,” Mom says lightly. “Though it never became terribly serious, of course.”

“Of course?” I echo.

“Well, she
is
Duchas.
It’s not as though you could ever tell her about, well, us.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” I guess keeping such a big secret would make a relationship kind of hard. Which reminds me. “How about Molly O’Gara? Did I ever go out with her?”

Mom glances back at me in surprise. “I don’t believe so. Oh, you did take her to the Winter Formal, but I had the impression you just went as friends.”
 

Because Sean took M? Wasn’t that what the guys told me? But if Molly and I were just friends, why did she look so upset when Trina kissed me? Then I remember the other thing I wanted to ask about.

“So what were you guys and the Sovereign talking about at halftime?”
 

My parents exchange one of their looks, then Mom smiles at me over her shoulder. It looks forced. “She just wanted to know how you’re doing. How you’re adjusting.”

“Nothing else? You’re sure?”

“She did mention the emigration effort,” Dad adds. A little too quickly. “Wanted suggestions on ways to help the newcomers make a smoother transition. I must say, it’s good to see her taking such a personal interest rather than simply delegating everything.”

Mom nods, still smiling. “By all accounts, by the time Sovereign Emileia is of age, she will be a very effective leader. It’s really quite flattering that she wanted our advice.”

Apparently they consider some things as important to keep secret from me as from any
Duchas.
I just wish I knew why.

*
   
*
   
*

Later that night, I stare up at the crystal dreamcatcher hanging over my bed, trying to force more memories to surface. Like who gave me that thing. Should I ask Trina on Monday if it was her? Somehow, I don’t think it was. If I ask, and it was another girl, it’ll probably piss her off.
 

Frustrated, I try to make myself to remember something as simple as my sixteenth birthday party. For a second I almost catch a flash of something—Sean O’Gara’s face?—but then it’s gone. I probably imagined it.

I think about the two clear flashes I did get, of Trina. Then about everything else that happened today, including my awesome game tonight. But as I drift off to sleep, I’m mostly reliving that inexplicable jolt I got when M touched me.

When the early-morning sun wakes me, bits of a dream still linger. I lie still, trying to hang onto the details, hoping for more clues about things I’ve forgotten. I was at school, in a classroom, and M was definitely there. As I concentrate, more comes back.
 

M and me, sitting near each other. A teacher talking. M was talking, too…except her lips weren’t moving. Instead, it’s like I could hear her voice inside my head, saying something about meeting after school. And then I thought back to her, agreeing. Wacky. Obviously not a real memory. More like wishful thinking based on what my parents sometimes do. But why with the Sovereign?

Disappointed and a little disturbed, I shake off the weird dream, glance up at the dreamcatcher, glinting in a sunbeam, and climb out of bed.
 

It takes Dad and me maybe an hour to fix the computer I brought from school—just a matter of finding the burned-out connection in the motherboard and re-soldering it. It’s fiddly work and we don’t talk much while we’re doing it. That stupid dream I woke up to keeps niggling at me. I’d rather remember real stuff, like I did last night after the game.

“There. That should do it.” Dad sets down the solder gun. “You want to put the case back on?”

I fit the housing over the components and pick up our tiny allen wrench. “Thanks, Dad. Ms. Raymond will be happy.” The bolts secured, I glance over at him. “I wish you and Mom would tell me at least part of what’s really going on. Like the real reason the Sovereign was talking to you at the game last night.”

“I’m sorry, son. You caught us off-guard and we weren’t sure what to say, which I guess was obvious. But there are issues—political issues—that we don’t feel free to discuss with you just yet.”

“Because of what the Healers said could happen?” I’m really not buying that anymore.

He sighs and looks away from me. “Not entirely. Sean O’Gara told you that you went to Mars with them last spring?”

“Yeah.” I hold my breath, hoping he’s finally going to give me some real information.

“While there you apparently heard things, saw things, that you, ah, shouldn’t have. At least, that’s what we’ve been told.”

“Things? What things?”
 

Dad lifts a shoulder. “We don’t know. They won’t tell us. Something highly classified. Something that could put you, perhaps all of us, at risk, should you remember.”

“You mean…you don’t
want
me to get my memory back? Because it might be dangerous?” I
thought
all that crap about damaging my mind or health was bogus. But I never expected this!

“We were told it might be safest if you don’t.” He sighs. “I realize this is terribly frustrating, Rigel, and perhaps your memory will spontaneously return at some point. I hope so. But if it does, if you start to remember things that seem as though they could be risky for you to know…”

“I should keep my mouth shut?”
 

He nods, his eyes sympathetic. “That would be safest, yes.”
 

In other words, I shouldn’t even tell Mom and Dad. I wonder if it’s something Sean knows? M—the Sovereign—must. But apparently there’s no point asking.
 

“Thanks, Dad. And tell Mom not to worry, okay? I won’t do anything to put you guys in danger, no matter how much I want to know everything that happened last year.”
 

I don’t promise to stop trying to find out, though.

Trina calls twice over the weekend, mostly to ask if I’ve remembered anything else. I can tell by the way she asks, she means about
her.
But I haven’t. Not about her or anybody else, unless you count that ridiculous dream about M. Which I’m not stupid enough to mention to Trina.
 

She also insists on giving me a ride to school Monday. I know we weren’t dating when I left Jewel last spring. Now I think of it, the fact she’s only called our land line, not my cell, probably means she doesn’t even have that number. But since it’ll be easier to bring the computer back in her car than on the bus, I say that’ll be fine.

I’m carrying the computer from her little yellow sports car to the school when I see M and Molly getting off their bus just ahead of us. I half expect Trina to avoid them, but instead she wraps her hands around my arm and sort of steers me their way.
 

“Hey,” she calls out in a kind of singsong voice, “did you hear the good news? Rigel is starting to get his memory back!”