Starstruck (32 page)

I expected the weekend to be a relief from the stress of Rigel ignoring me, and of me pretending I didn’t care. But I was tired and achy, probably from trying so hard all week to convince everyone that I was okay when I totally wasn’t.

I was glad it rained on Saturday, sparing me from mowing the lawn. I didn’t think I was up to it. And in taekwondo class, I wasn’t surprised that I had backslid from my previous progress.

“Is anything wrong, Marsha?” Master Parker asked after class. “The belt test is next week, you know. I didn’t think you would have any problem, but—”

“I’m fine, sir,” I replied quickly. “I just have a cold or something. I’m sure I’ll be okay in time for the test.” In fact, I’d forgotten all about the belt test and couldn’t bring myself to care much. But Aunt Theresa had already paid for it, so I did need to pass. “I’ll review everything this week,” I promised.

Sunday, neither Rigel nor his parents were at church. Had they changed churches just to avoid me? Uncle Louie commented on their absence, asking me if they were out of town, but all I could do was shrug. And feel miserable.

“You picked a good game to skip,” Debbi said when she and Bri joined me on the bus Monday morning. “We won, but only by one point—and that was against Edgewood. We nearly beat them last year, when we sucked so bad. Rigel’s game was way off.”

“Really?” My interest was immediately snagged. “I saw the score in the paper Saturday, but there wasn’t any article with it.” I’d sneaked a peek at the sports section after Uncle Louie finished it. “What happened?”

Bri took over with the technical stuff. “He missed five easy passes and only ran in one touchdown, and that was only because one of their defenders blew the tackle. He even got sacked twice. He’s never been sacked before! At least, not this season.”

“Maybe he misses you more than he’s letting on,” Deb suggested.

I felt suddenly guilty for wishing exactly this on Friday, now that it had come true. Yeah, I was sure Rigel
did
miss me, or at least missed the way I helped his football game. But it’s not like it was
my
idea to break up.

“What did Trina do?” I couldn’t help asking. She was sitting near the front of the bus, well out of earshot.

Bri made a face. “Oh, she still fawned all over him, of course. But while he was on the field, I heard her joining in the bitch-fest with the other cheerleaders about how bad he was playing. Two-faced little—”

“Yeah, well, we already knew that about her, didn’t we?” Deb broke in. “He’ll figure it out, too, just you wait. If he hasn’t already.”

With Rigel’s super-hearing, I hoped maybe he’d heard more than Trina thought he did. Not that I
really
believed he liked her anyway. Did I?

“You’re not looking so good,” said Deb, ever the observant one. “Are you feeling okay?”

I shrugged. “Just tired. I’m not sleeping great these days.” I was also slightly queasy and a little headachy, but they didn’t need to know that.

“Poor thing,” Deb said, but Bri smacked me on the shoulder.

“Hey, buck up, M! No guy is worth losing sleep over, you know that. Not even Rigel.”

I managed a smile. “You’re right. I’ll be fine.” But I didn’t feel fine. I felt like part of me was missing. Or dying.

Even though there wasn’t much whispering or staring by now, I still dawdled on the way to Geometry. I’d dreamed about Rigel again last night, and in my dream he’d been as sweet and caring as he’d been two weeks ago. I wasn’t quite ready to let go of the illusion.

But I couldn’t put it off forever, so just before the bell rang I entered the classroom.

And immediately felt better than I had all weekend.

Through sheer strength of will I managed to wait until I got to my seat to sneak a glance at Rigel. This time I actually caught him looking at me, though he immediately looked away. Had he felt something, too?

Not that I was back to normal, but I
was
less queasy, a little less achy. Pretty much how I’d felt on Friday. I wondered if I’d feel like this the rest of my life: either a little bleah, like now, or really yucky, like I had over the weekend. Would it even be worth living like that?

Suddenly it pissed me off that Rigel could make me feel this way. I’d been fine before I met him. Okay, not popular, and maybe not wildly happy, but fine. Healthy. Pretty good in school, on track for a scholarship, maybe. Progressing—slowly—at taekwondo. I could deal with going back to that. But feeling like this, like I had some kind of wasting disease just because he’d gotten me addicted to him and then made me go cold turkey? This sucked.

I decided to try talking to him as soon as class ended. It wasn’t like I was in any more danger now than I’d been a week ago. What difference could it make?

When the bell rang, I jumped up and headed his way, but he looked at me and gave a little shake of his head. Frustrated, I mouthed the word, “Why?”

He gave me an exasperated look that said, without words, “You know why.” And then Trina grabbed his arm and he gave me a little one-shoulder shrug and turned to face her with a smile that looked totally fake from here. Not that Trina seemed to notice—or care.

I wished I had the nerve to confront him, Trina or no Trina, but I didn’t. I could imagine everyone laughing or doing the pity thing all over again, at how poor Marsha couldn’t let go and face reality. I just wasn’t that brave.

In Earth Science, I almost got up the courage to turn around, what with Rigel giving off those strengthening vibes from right behind me. If he hadn’t been sitting
with
Trina, I would have. Or so I told myself. Still, it was good to feel better, stronger, than I had since . . . well, since Science class on Friday.

At lunch, Jimmy Franklin smiled and waved at me, and since I saw Rigel watching, I smiled and waved back, feeling a little guilty for leading Jimmy on. Bri noticed and raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t say anything, since Matt Mullins was sitting right there at the table, blatantly flirting with her. I was happy for her—or tried to be.

By Health, I’d given up trying to talk to Rigel that day. I guessed I should be grateful that at least my eyesight hadn’t reverted back to what it was, but I was finding it hard to feel glad about much of anything right now. Doodling on my notes while the teacher droned on about STDs, I heard Trina whispering to Donna and Amber, a couple seats behind me.

“Wouldn’t it be sweet of me to make him cookies or something?” she was saying. “He had a really bad weekend, after that disaster of a game Friday night. I wanted him to take me to a movie Saturday night but he was sick, poor guy. Otherwise he def would have. Or maybe chicken soup would be better than cookies? Canned is just as good as homemade, right?”

I stopped doodling. So, Rigel
was
feeling as yucky as I was! Interesting. Maybe he’d be more open to the idea of getting back together than I’d thought.

After another couple of days, I felt bad enough to try again. I hurried to Geometry, figuring it might be my best chance to talk to Rigel without a crowd around. He was there ahead of Trina, who I’d seen detour into the girls’ room, probably to touch up her makeup. Definitely my best chance.

Before I could lose my nerve, I walked right up to him. “Hey, Rigel,” I said, softly but not whispering. “How, um, how have you been?”

He looked wary but didn’t turn his back on me, like I’d been scared he might. “Okay, I guess.”

“Really?” I held his gaze, trying to will him to tell me the truth.

Amazingly, it seemed to work. “Okay, not so great, I guess,” he muttered. “You?”

“Not so great either,” I admitted. Knowing I probably only had a few seconds, I got right to the point. “So, have you rethought this . . . separation thing? At all?” I said it really fast.

He hesitated, getting my hopes up. “I . . . No. But maybe . . .”

“Maybe?” I prompted. I could hear Trina’s voice in the hall and I was sure he could, too.

“Maybe we can talk about it,” he said in the same rush I had. “Later.”

At least he hadn’t totally slammed the door in my face. “Later, then.”

I turned away just as Trina came into the classroom and headed to my seat, my heart lighter than it had been since he’d dropped his bombshell in the arboretum a week and a half ago.

My optimism carried me through Computer class and into English, where I’d see Rigel again. And maybe snag a desk near his? But when I reached the classroom, everyone was milling around instead of sitting down.

“What’s going on?” I asked Bri, who was standing just outside the door.

“New teacher,” she said. “Ms. Garner had a family emergency or something.”

“A sub?” I didn’t see why that would keep people from going to their seats. It never had before.

“No, I think he’s here for the rest of the semester. He wants us to sit alphabetically as he calls the roll, someone said, so we’re waiting for the bell.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s pretty hot for a teacher, though. At least he’ll be easy on the eyes.”

Seeing Rigel and Trina coming up behind us, I hesitated a moment but then followed Bri into the room. As I glanced toward the front to get a look at the new English teacher, I heard Rigel whisper, very softly but urgently.

“M! Get behind me.”

I obeyed without thinking, noticing that Trina didn’t seem to have heard him. Then I finally had a chance to focus on our new teacher and froze. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.

This guy was a Martian, and not a nice one. The bad guys were here.

CHAPTER 20

Black hole

“Everyone, quiet, please,” the teacher called out as the bell rang. Something about his voice grated on me—the same way Flynn’s had. “As I call your name, please take your seat, starting with the near corner and filling the rows front to back. Nicole Adams.”

As I waited for my name, I examined the man. He looked young, maybe late twenties, but of course that didn’t mean much. He could be a hundred, for all I knew. Light brown hair and lightish eyes—I couldn’t really tell the color, especially since Rigel seemed to be trying to block me from his view. Handsome, but in a smarmy kind of way, like a politician or TV pitch man. I wondered if he was the actual guy Shim had talked about. What had the name been? Mor-something.

“Trina Squires.”

As she moved to the second seat in the last row, Rigel muttered, “Come on.”

He shuffled toward the next desk and I did the same, a couple of paces back. Remembering how Rigel had been confused on the first day of school, I figured he was trying to make it harder for the Martian guy to pinpoint my vibe now.

When he called Rigel’s name, the teacher watched intently as he took his seat behind Trina. Then he called mine and I sat behind Rigel, and was relieved to see that he wasn’t watching me nearly as intently.

After Pete Warner sat down, the teacher surveyed the whole class for a moment, then said, “Good morning. I’m Mr. Smith and I’ll be your teacher for the rest of the semester. Ms. Garner left her lesson plan, and I plan to stick to it with a few minor modifications.”

He droned on and I had to resist the urge to whisper to Rigel,
Smith? Really? How obvious is that?
But I didn’t dare do anything that might draw the man’s attention.

Just before class ended, I noticed a scrap of folded paper on my desk. I didn’t know how Rigel had managed it without me seeing him, but it read:
Don’t talk to me. Don’t let on you know me. Leave quickly. Destroy this.

I wadded the paper into a tiny pill and shoved it into my jeans pocket. That seemed safer than leaving any piece of it in the classroom. The brief surge of optimism I’d felt earlier had evaporated, leaving despair in its wake. Even if Rigel
had
been on the verge of reconsidering, now that “Mr. Smith” was here, there was no chance he’d get back together with me now.

Even I couldn’t argue with that.

For the rest of the day I was scared enough to keep my distance from Rigel. Mr. Smith—or whatever his name really was—roamed the cafeteria during lunch, keeping a close eye on Rigel, I noticed. Rigel was sitting with Trina again, but the other cheerleaders were flirting with him almost as much as she was. I did my best to be inconspicuous, eating my lunch in near silence while Bri and Deb chattered with the football players at our table.

I spent most of History class composing a note to Rigel, asking if he had a plan and if he was going to tell his parents about the new teacher. But when the bell rang, he left ahead of me, before I could get it to him. Since I doubted I’d see him again before the end of the day, I swung by his locker after French and slipped it through the vent, hoping his locker wasn’t as messy as mine, so he’d actually see it.

When I opened my own locker the next morning, I saw a little triangle of blue paper on top of the jumbled pile of crap at the bottom. I dropped a book so I’d have an excuse to bend down to retrieve it—and the note. Then I hurried to the girls’ room and locked myself in a stall before unfolding it.

Told my folks about Smith. They called Shim and he’s checking on it, doesn’t think it’s Morven. But you felt it too, right? Really, REALLY important we not let on we even know each other until we know what’s what!! Thinking of you, even if I don’t show it. –R