Starstruck (9 page)

He grinned down at me, his hair all tousled, his uniform dirty and sweaty . . . in other words, totally gorgeous.

“Hey, M!” he said, causing several heads to turn my way, their owners wearing various expressions of surprise. Trina was the only one who actually looked outraged, but I only got a fleeting glimpse of her face before I was completely caught in Rigel’s gaze—again.

“Hey,” I echoed. “Great game!” It was trite, but true.

His grin widened. “Thanks. Too bad we still lost.”

A few people around him protested, repeating what Bri had said about the improvement over last year’s game against Elm Grove, but Rigel didn’t seem to be paying attention to them. He kept his eyes on me for a long moment, stealing my breath, and then turned to a man and woman just behind him.

“Mom, Dad,” he said, “this is M. Um, Marsha Truitt.”

I gulped—not visibly, I hoped. I definitely hadn’t expected this.

Nor did I expect what I saw when I looked past Rigel to his parents, a polite smile on my lips. They were both nearly as gorgeous as Rigel. His mom looked more like a movie star than an obstetrician, with auburn hair and perfect skin. His dad was as tall and dark as Rigel, and way,
way
too handsome for a computer tech.

Though I desperately wanted to make a good impression, all I managed was a weak, “Hi.”

They made up for my lack, coming forward to greet me with delighted smiles that warmed me even before they spoke.

“Marsha!” his mother exclaimed. “I’m so honored . . . I mean, I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Honored?
I blinked. Why would anyone, especially this beautiful, brilliant woman, be honored to meet
me?

She looked a little embarrassed, which surprised me further, then she glanced at her husband, who quickly spoke up.

“We’re both pleased to meet you,” he said. His voice was deep and pleasant, though it didn’t affect me the way Rigel’s did. “It’s nice to see Rigel making friends here already.”

At that, Trina stepped up, practically shouldering me out of the way as she extended her hand. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, I’m Trina Squires. I was actually Rigel’s very first friend here at Jewel High, wasn’t I, Rigel?”

He hesitated for an instant but then nodded. “Yes, Trina was very helpful my first day here.”

“Nice to meet you, Trina,” Rigel’s mother said with a cool, polite smile. Then she immediately turned back to me. “Marsha, can we offer you a ride home?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trina’s mouth fall open—literally fall open—but I resisted the urge to smirk at her.

“That’s really nice of you, Dr. Stuart—” I stressed the “doctor” just a tiny bit, so Trina would know she’d screwed up there—“but my uncle is here. In fact, he’s probably waiting for me at the gate by now.”

“We can all walk that way and make sure you find each other,” Rigel’s dad said with a smile as warm as his wife’s. “Unless you’re in a hurry to go change, Rigel?”

“No, I’m fine.” Rigel was looking at me again. “M?”

At that, Trina stalked off in a huff. Rigel didn’t even seem to notice.

Practically in a daze, I walked next to Rigel toward the main gate, with his parents on his other side, talking quietly together. I didn’t hurry, wanting this moment to last as long as possible, feeling strangely energized by having Rigel so close to me.

Soon, though, I saw Uncle Louie up ahead, chatting with three other men I recognized as friends of his, though they rarely came to the house because Aunt Theresa disapproved of them. I tensed a little as we got close. Something in the way they held themselves, and in their slightly-too-loud voices, suggested they’d been drinking.

Uncle Louie never drank at home, but I’d overheard more than one argument between him and Aunt Theresa about him stopping off at bars on his way home from work and it wasn’t that unusual for him to come home a little tipsy.

Alcohol wasn’t allowed on school grounds, of course, but it was common knowledge that some people snuck it in. I just hoped he and his buddies wouldn’t do or say anything too embarrassing in front of Rigel’s parents.

“Hey, Uncle Louie,” I said loudly, to get his attention before we were too close. “Ready to go?”

He swung toward me with a big smile. “There you are, Marshmallow! Sure, sure, whenever you want.”

One of his friends muttered something I couldn’t hear and the other two chuckled. Before I had time to wonder about it, Rigel’s father stepped in front of me.

“Mr. Truitt?” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Van Stuart and this is my wife, Ariel. Our son Rigel, here, is a friend of your niece’s.”

Uncle Louie’s eyebrows shot up as he shook Mr. Stuart’s hand. “The new quarterback? Really? Great game, son, really great game!”

His friends echoed his congratulations, coming forward to slap Rigel on the back and pepper him with questions about various plays. He answered a couple of them, but his parents were frowning and after a glance at them he stepped back.

“Mr. Truitt, would you mind terribly if we gave Marsha a ride home?” Dr. Stuart asked suddenly. “She and Rigel wanted to discuss a class assignment.” She accompanied her words with a breathtaking smile that rocked Uncle Louie back on his heels.

“Um, sure, sure, that would be great,” he stammered. Then, with a glance at his buddies, he added, “In fact, uh, Marsha, why don’t you tell your aunt that I’ll be home in an hour or two. Tell her I, ah, ran into some potential customers and I’m hoping to close a deal.”

I usually refused to lie for Uncle Louie, but since this time it meant riding home with Rigel, I nodded. “See you later, Uncle Louie.”

I followed Rigel and his folks toward the school. “It will only take me a minute to change,” Rigel said. “I can shower at home.”

“Don’t be silly,” his mother said. “You’ll stink up the car, and we can’t do that to poor Marsha. Get a quick shower and then get dressed. We’ll keep her amused until you get back.”

He nodded, though I thought the look he gave her before he loped off held a hint of suspicion. Was he afraid she’d tell me embarrassing stories about him? I could only hope. As it was, left alone with his parents, I felt pretty darned embarrassed myself. What on earth could I talk about?

“I hope you don’t mind that I told a little fib to your uncle,” Dr. Stuart said before the silence became awkward. “And of course, you and Rigel
can
talk about some assignment or other, so it will be true. It was just that . . . “ She hesitated, and it wasn’t hard to guess why.

“No, no, thanks,” I said quickly. “When Uncle Louie gets together with his friends, well . . . I didn’t exactly want to ride with him anyway.”

“Nor should you have had to.” Mr. Stuart’s anger startled me. “I’m sorry, Marsha,” he said. “But that’s inexcusable when he’s responsible for your safety. I hope this isn’t a regular occurrence.”

I shook my head emphatically, feeling an unexpected impulse to defend my uncle. “Oh, no, not at all. Especially not when he’s going to drive me anywhere. I mean, my Aunt Theresa doesn’t even allow alcohol in the house. It’s just that it was the first game of the season, and he and his buddies, well . . .” I shrugged, running out of steam.

Rigel’s mom patted me on the shoulder. To my surprise, I felt a very muted version of the jolt I got from Rigel’s touch. How odd.

“It’s all right, Marsha. I’m sure your aunt and uncle are fine people. Everyone has an occasional lapse in judgment.”

I looked up at her uncertainly, wondering whether her words had a deeper meaning. Maybe she thought Rigel making friends with me was a lapse, too?

“So, what classes do you share with Rigel?” she asked then, and we stuck to the safer topic of school until Rigel rejoined us ten minutes later.

“Sorry,” he said, jogging over to us. “I tried to be quick.”

His hair was still wet from his quick shower and his scent—equal parts clean and Rigel—went to my head like some kind of illegal drug. Or, at least, how I imagined one might feel. I tried to inhale both deeply and discreetly.

“We were fine,” his mother assured him. “Just getting to know each other a little. But now we should probably get Marsha home before her aunt starts to worry.”

On the way to the car, I walked next to Rigel again, my arm almost but not quite brushing his. I wondered if I was maybe dreaming all of this. That made more sense than Rigel and his parents really being so concerned about me, so interested in me. No one ever had been before, except my two best friends. Even my aunt and uncle never seemed particularly
interested
, though I was sure they cared about me, in their way.

Sitting in the dark back seat of the Stuarts’ spiffy Audi with Rigel, that dreamlike feeling increased. Certainly, I’d fantasized about something very much like this.

“Where do you live, Marsha?” Rigel’s dad asked, bringing me back to reality with a thud.

“Oh! Um, pretty much right downtown. I’m just a couple blocks from the post office, on Garnet.”

I cringed a little at the thought of Rigel and his parents seeing our house. They probably lived someplace a lot newer and nicer, what with his mom being a doctor and all.

Almost like she understood my worry, his mom said, “How nice to live within walking distance of everything. Downtown Jewel is so quaint, with the streets named after gemstones, and all the little artisan shops. It’s one of the things we liked about this town.”

“Yes, I guess so.” Since I’d grown up here, it seemed more ordinary than quaint to me. Just a small, insignificant Indiana town. “It’s kind of a long way from school, though.”

“The school is clearly a lot newer than the town,” Mr. Stuart commented. “I assume it replaced an older one?”

“Yes, about ten years ago. The old school was right downtown, but I guess it was falling apart, so they tore it down and built the new town hall there, with the courthouse and police station and everything.”

I’d sometimes thought it would be nice to be able to walk to school and avoid the bus. But according to my uncle, the land was cheaper out in the cornfields, where our school was now.

“So, um, where do you guys live?” I asked, partly to fill the silence and partly because I wanted to know.

Rigel answered—the first words he’d spoken since we got in the car. “We’re in a renovated old farmhouse, a couple miles south of downtown.”

“Oh, nice.” So not one of the ritzy new neighborhoods after all. I felt a little less inadequate and wondered if that had been Rigel’s intent.

A minute or two later we turned onto my street, the ride over before I’d thought of a single interesting thing to say. I was dying to ask Rigel the real reason he’d avoided me this morning, but I couldn’t do it with his parents in the car.

“It’s the gray house on the left,” I said, pointing. Somehow, it looked even shabbier than usual under the dim streetlights.

Mr. Stuart swung the car into the gravel drive. “Rigel, why don’t you walk Marsha to the door?”

I felt my face flame. “Oh, that’s not . . . I mean, you don’t have to . . .”

Rigel touched my arm and his touch wiped my mind clear. “It’s okay. I don’t mind at all.”

He got out and I did the same before I realized he’d been coming around to open my door. It flustered me—no one had ever done that, so I hadn’t expected it. Embarrassed again, I turned to thank his parents again for the ride.

“It was our pleasure, Marsha,” his mother assured me like she really meant it.

Trying to shake off the weirdness of that, I headed up the walk and Rigel fell into step beside me.

“So, I guess I’ll see you Monday?” he said. I got the impression it was mainly just to say something.

“Sure,” I said, then couldn’t help asking, “So . . . you won’t suddenly ignore me again?”

He paused for a second, then continued up onto the porch before facing me. In the porch light, his eyes were nearly black. Mysterious. “I really am sorry about that, M. And no, I won’t. I promise.”

With a little half-smile that made my heart flip sideways, he reached up and brushed my cheek with one finger, leaving a trail of energy—or something—in its wake. It was almost as good as a kiss (or so I imagined, having no experience with the real thing).

“G’night,” he said softly.

I desperately wanted to say something clever or profound, something that would make him think about me, just a little, over the weekend, but nothing came to mind. “G’night, Rigel. See you at school,” was all I managed as he turned away.

“Who were you talking to?” Aunt Theresa asked the moment I opened the door. “Where’s your uncle?”

So instead of watching the Stuarts’ car pull away through the little curtains flanking the front door, I turned with a sigh to repeat Uncle Louie’s story about a customer. I could tell she didn’t believe me, but all she did was harrumph.

“And you accepted a ride from a boy you just met?” was her next question.

“From his parents,” I clarified. “They’re really nice people. And Rigel is our new quarterback, so Brianna’s dad knows him.”

She arched a skeptical eyebrow. “The quarterback? You made friends with the quarterback?”

I might have felt insulted if I didn’t find it at least as unlikely as she did.