Starstruck (34 page)

“Thanks. I probably will.”

I hung up the phone and turned to see Aunt Theresa standing there.

“Did I hear you say that you’re sick?” she asked immediately. “Why would you tell her and not me?”

Maybe it was because I felt so lousy, but I suddenly snapped. “Why do you always do that, listening in on my conversations? Is it because you don’t trust me?”

She looked startled, but only for a second. “I don’t know what you mean, Marsha. I simply came into the kitchen to water the plants. Now, are you sick or not?”

I shrugged. “Just an upset stomach and a little headache. Nothing serious.”

“Upset stomach?” she repeated, her voice suddenly sharp. “How long has this been going on?”

I shrugged again. “A week, maybe. It’s a little worse today but I don’t think I have the flu or anything.”

Now her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been mopey for two weeks now. What happened between you and that football player?”

I wanted to tell her it was none of her business but I didn’t quite dare. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not a fool, Marsha. For a while there, you were happy as a clam and I know you were spending time with him, despite your excuses for staying after school every day. Then suddenly he’s not at church on Sundays and you’re not staying after anymore, didn’t even ask to go to last week’s football game. It was like I said, wasn’t it? And now you’re paying the price.”

Now I really didn’t know what she meant—or at least I hoped I didn’t. “Price?”

“You let things go too far, and then he lost interest. It happens all the time. I tried to warn you, but no, you wouldn’t listen. But if you think I’m going to support you
and
your illegitimate child, you’re sadly mistaken!”

I stared at her, not sure whether to scream or laugh. “You . . . you think I’m
pregnant?
” I finally choked out.

The incredulity in my voice must have been convincing, because she backtracked, but only a little. “You said you were queasy. Everyone knows that’s one of the earliest symptoms.”

Suddenly, tears threatened instead of laughter. “I’m sorry you don’t have more faith in me than that, Aunt Theresa,” I said quietly, “but I promise you you’re wrong. About everything you just said. But at least now I know that if I ever do find myself in real trouble, I shouldn’t expect any help from you.”

For the first time I could ever remember, I actually left her speechless. If I hadn’t felt so awful, I might have savored the moment. Instead, I just left her standing there in the middle of the kitchen and went upstairs to take a long, hot shower.

I still didn’t have any appetite at dinner that night, though I pushed my food around on my plate to make it look like I was eating a little. As usual, Uncle Louie carried on a monologue during the meal, telling funny stories from his work week. I suspected Aunt Theresa was as relieved as I was not to have to say anything. We hadn’t exchanged more than two words since our confrontation earlier.

I was just washing the last of the dinner dishes when the phone rang. Aunt Theresa answered.

“Hello? (pause) Yes she is, but you have some nerve calling here, young man, after your behavior to my niece. (pause) No, she didn’t have to say anything. I’m not blind. If you think—”

But by then I’d dried my hands and was reaching urgently for the phone, so she broke off in mid sentence with a snort and handed it to me.

“Rigel?” I’m sure my disbelief showed in my voice.

“Hey, M. I’m . . . I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you sooner, but—”

“You sound terrible.” And he did. He sounded as bad as I felt, his voice raspy and tired.

“Yeah, about that. Look, I know you can’t talk privately, so just listen, okay?”

Though I had a whole lot I wanted to say to him, my aunt and uncle were both unabashedly eavesdropping, so I just said, “Okay.”

“We really, really need to talk, face to face, but it has to be some way nobody will see us. Especially a particular somebody. Do you think there’s any chance you can sneak out of the house tonight, after your aunt and uncle are asleep? Just say yes or no.”

“Um, probably.” I wasn’t going to let him order me around like that, after what he’d put me through. But I was also desperate to see him—to talk to him.

He gave a ghost of a chuckle. “Okay, good enough. If you can get away, meet me at the arboretum at midnight. But be super careful, and if I’m not there, don’t wait. It’ll mean I either couldn’t sneak past my folks or I was being followed. And if you see anything suspicious at
all
, run right back home. Got it?”

“Yeah, but—”

“The rest will have to wait till later. See you in a few hours—hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” I echoed. And then he hung up. Aware of my listeners, I waited a moment, then said, “Okay, bye, then.”

“And what was that about?” Aunt Theresa asked the moment I hung up. “He didn’t give you a chance to get a word in edgewise.”

I shrugged, not having had time to think up a good cover story. “He was mostly just apologizing.” It was how he’d started, anyway. “So it seemed better to just let him talk.”

“Apologizing?” Her voice was sharp. “Apologizing for what?”

Oops. “He, um . . . well, we were kind of starting to be a couple at school but then he started flirting with a cheerleader.” She’d probably learned that much from gossiping with her friends, anyway. “But he didn’t really mean anything by it.” I hoped that part was true.

“Hmph. Or so he claims now. Don’t let him string you along, Marsha. Show some self-respect.”

Stung, I felt my chin tilt upward automatically. “I have. That’s why
he
called
me
.”

She was still frowning and looking sour, but apparently couldn’t think of anything else to say beyond another snort. That was fine with me. I needed to figure out how I was going to slip out of the house without being heard . . . and what I was going to wear when I did it.

The sneaking out part turned out to be easy. Aunt Theresa and Uncle Louie were in bed by ten-thirty, and by eleven I could hear Uncle Louie snoring. That was definitely enough noise to cover me tiptoeing down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door.

Which gave me a whole hour to decide whether I should dress in something black and espionage-y or something alluring and feminine. Finally after some excruciating angsting, I split the difference and pulled on my black jeans and a dark green—but flattering—top. And my old gray sneakers, because they were my quietest shoes.

The fine mist was still falling when I stepped outside, more than fog but not quite rain. Autumn in Indiana. It gave the night an eerie quality, making halos around the lamppost lights in everyone’s front yards. Reminding myself that no one had any reason—yet—to suspect who I really was, I headed for the arboretum, peering into every shadow just in case there really was anyone watching me.

Even though I still felt horribly tired and achy and ill, excitement bubbled up inside me as I walked at the thought of seeing Rigel again. I imagined I could feel him as I reached the stone wall of the arboretum and stepped through the archway. But, peering through the mist, I didn’t see anyone and the excitement started to leak out of me. Maybe he hadn’t been able to get away. Worse, maybe he’d been followed or even caught by—

A shadow suddenly moved at the base of a huge sycamore tree just inside the entrance and I fought to stifle a scream. Then, as adrenaline kicked in, I tried desperately to remember a defensive taekwondo move or two.

And then I heard Rigel’s voice say, “M? Everything okay?” and I practically went limp with relief.

“Hey,” I whispered back, my heart gradually slowing. “I’m fine. No trouble getting away at all. How about you?”

“A little dicey—I didn’t think my parents would ever go to bed. And my bike was stuck in front of my dad’s car, but I managed to get it out without making too much of a racket. C’mon.”

He led the way and a moment later we stood face to face by “our” bench. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, but I didn’t quite dare after all that had happened the last couple of weeks—and especially last night at the game.

“So?” I said when he didn’t immediately speak. “What’s going on, exactly?”

“Let’s sit down,” he said, taking my hand.

The jolt was even stronger than the very first time we’d touched. Gasping, I clutched at his hand like someone drowning, feeling the connection, the healing, flowing through me. He stared at me for a long moment, gripping my hand tightly in his, and then, without warning, he gathered me into his arms.

“Is it just me?” he murmured, “or can you feel everything wrong righting itself?”

“I feel it. Oh, I definitely feel it,” I assured him. “It’s like . . . your touch is curing me, or something.”

He nodded. “I hoped, but I wasn’t sure . . .” He gripped me by the shoulders for a moment, then swooped in for a kiss, which I enthusiastically returned. “M,” he said when he finally released me, “let’s not stay apart like this again, if we can help it.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said shakily. And it really, really did. During that too-short kiss, my aches had lessened noticeably and my queasiness had completely disappeared.

I sank down onto the metal bench beside him, not even noticing the soft mist anymore. “So, what
did
you want to tell me?”

“So much,” he said with a sigh. “One thing I only guessed, but now I know—being apart hurts us both. And the last thing I ever want to do is to hurt you.”

Instantly, my thoughts went to last night, to the sight of Rigel kissing Trina. He seemed to realize it before I could say anything. He took my hands again and held them tightly, willing me to look him full in the face in the dim, misty light.

“Last night—that was an awful, awful thing I did to you, M. But . . . I didn’t know what else to do. Smith was behind you in the stands, looking right at me, and then Trina, well, she kind of threw herself at me. Please,
please
believe that I didn’t enjoy a second of it, that I only did it to keep you safe. When I saw you leaving and knew I’d hurt you, it practically killed me.”

The grief in his eyes compelled me to accept what he said—and to forgive him.

“I heard you lost the game,” I said, “and that the coach benched you.”

His mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a smile and he nodded. “Like I said. After you left, well, I was kind of a disaster. Worst game I’ve played since sixth grade. I don’t blame the coach for pulling me out. Even Farmer did a better job.”

“So—” I wanted to make sure I really understood. “This being apart thing. It was as awful for you as it was for me?” I intentionally used the past tense.

“Oh, man, I really hope you haven’t been feeling as bad as I have, M. It was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning. Couldn’t stand the sight of food, and during football season I usually eat about twice my weight every day—or so my mother claims.”

I nodded. “And headaches, and aching muscles . . . Sounds like we had it about the same. I don’t want to see how much more I can take without it killing me. Even if it’s to keep someone else from killing me.”

I meant it as a joke, but he didn’t laugh. “Exactly. What’s the point of saving you by killing you? Killing us both. Though we’ll need to be super careful.”

“How careful? I mean, your folks must have noticed how sick you’ve been, and the whole school saw you lose a game. And I . . . I flunked my taekwondo belt test this morning. My aunt’s going to be pissed when she finds out. Almost as pissed as—” I broke off, realizing I did
not
want to tell him about her suspicions earlier.

“You flunked your belt test? Oh, man, M, I’m sorry. I’ve really messed us both over, haven’t I? And maybe for nothing.”

“Nothing? What do you mean?”

“Well . . . My folks talked to my grandfather, like I told you in my note, and Smith is definitely not the guy his people have been watching in California. That guy is still there. Then at the game last night, I pointed him out to my parents. They went and sat right behind him, and they didn’t get any vibes off him at all.”

I thought Rigel looked a little uncomfortable as he continued. “The weird thing is, I didn’t get any vibes off him either—last night, I mean. I definitely did Thursday. I thought maybe it’s just because I’ve been feeling so lousy. I figured maybe my . . . my
brath
sensing was messed up, too. Anyway, after last night, I think my folks are chalking the whole thing up to overactive teenage imaginations. That we’re just seeing—or feeling—what we expect to.”

I was already shaking my head. “No, there’s no way we both imagined it. And I didn’t
just
get a Martian vibe off him, I got a definite bad guy vibe. Like I did from Flynn. Plus, he’s been watching you like a hawk. But it’s so weird that your parents—and you—didn’t feel his
brath
last night. Do you think he could have a way to disguise it or something?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe now. I’ve never heard of anybody being able to do that, but then I’ve never heard of anyone wanting to, either. So who knows?”

I definitely didn’t. For a long time—at least ten minutes—we just sat there saying nothing, Rigel’s arm around my shoulders. I suspected he was drawing as much strength and health from me as I was drawing from him.