Starcrossed (32 page)

Sure enough, there’s another note from M, sent just this morning, replying to my reply from late Wednesday night.

My poor Rigel,

I hate that you’re feeling awful, too! This has been the longest week of my whole life and I SO can’t wait until Monday! I hope your Thanksgiving was better than mine. The whole O’Gara family came to our house, including Allister. He totally creeps me out, it’s like he’s watching my every move, just waiting for me to screw up so he can be snarky about it later. Did I tell you he’s giving me TESTS now on all the Martian stuff he’s teaching me? There was kind of a weird thing that happened at dinner, too, but I’ll tell you about it when you get home.

Oh, it was really sweet of you to offer to have your dad or Shim send me stuff on Martian history and politics, but the O’Garas gave me an e-reader, one of those scroll things, you’ve probably seen them, right? It’s crammed with more history, genealogies and legal/political stuff than I’ll be able to read in a lifetime. I’ve been too sleepy to read more than a tiny bit of it so far but I know I should, since I might find something that will help us—you and me, I mean. When you get home I’ll be able to stay awake long enough to do that, for sure!

I love you totally and I’m counting every single minute until I can see you again! Please, please take good care of yourself and sleep lots—I think it helps a little.

Until Monday,

Your M

I read it over like ten times, wondering what “weird thing” could have happened that she didn’t want to put in an e-mail. My first thought is it’s something about Sean, since she wouldn’t want to upset me, but it’s stupid to jump to conclusions. Maybe she just felt too tired to type any more right then. This
is
a lot longer than the other e-mail she sent me, and way better written. She must have spent a long time proofing it. Pushing away my stupid suspicions, I slowly start typing, trying to make my e-mail as good as hers.

Over the next couple of days I get even more tired and achy and foggy-brained, to the point I don’t want to do anything but sleep. My mom is seriously worried, I can tell, but when she asks what she can do to help me, all I can tell her is to get me back to Jewel. Back to M. Like I’ve been saying all along.

I think it’s sometime Saturday afternoon, though at this point I’m not positive, when I hear a bunch of voices downstairs on my way back from the bathroom. For a few seconds I just stand at the top of the steps, blinking, trying to remember why I should care about this.
 

Oh. Right. I told M I’d try to find out what they’re talking about, in case it can help us later. Squinting against my jackhammer headache, I creep halfway down the stairs, every step a ridiculous amount of effort. So much for me being some kind of super athlete.

“—claims she seemed noticeably better Thursday evening,” are the first words I hear clearly. It sounds like Teague’s voice. “He’s saying it’s due to his nephew being near her, though why he’d think that if he doesn’t believe in the
graell
in the first place, I’m not clear.”

Now Kyna says, “Whatever the cause, it appears the Sovereign may not be as strongly affected as Rigel, which is all to the good. For our people, I mean, Ariel. Of course we’re concerned about your son, as well.”

“As long as we can be certain Allister is not merely reporting what he wishes to be true rather than the Sovereign’s actual condition.” It’s my grandfather talking now. “He has shown himself capable of, shall we say, self-deception on this matter already.”

“Has he seen her again since Thursday night?” Nara’s voice, sounding worried but hopeful. “Does she continue to improve?”

I sneak down another two stairs, anxious to hear the answer.

“No,” Teague says. I wince. “He said his sister called to ask about her this morning and was told she was feeling worse again, and sleeping. I suggested Lili visit her tonight or tomorrow, if possible, to give a firsthand account of her condition.”

“Not Allister himself?” A male voice I don’t recognize.

“Ah, it seems Allister hasn’t exactly endeared himself to our Princess.” Teague sounds almost amused, which pisses me off since they’re talking about M being so sick. “Those of you who know him can probably imagine why.”

“No need for imagination,” my mom snaps. That almost gets a smile out of me. “Allister has behaved abominably to Emileia as well as to Rigel. He seems to think he has authority over her, rather than the other way around.”

There’s some indistinct murmuring in response, then I hear footsteps approaching from below. Crap.

I pull myself back up the stairs as quietly as I can, then tiptoe into my little room and ease the door shut. Back in bed, I stare at the ceiling and ponder what I just heard.
 

So Allister thinks Sean can make M feel better when I’m not around? I snort. He wishes! Both of them wish! They’ll see what better is when I get back—they all will. That thought calms me down enough that I start to drift off again . . . until another thought snaps my eyes back open.

M said in her e-mail that something weird happened at Thanksgiving dinner. Could that be it, that Sean made her feel better? Because she sure as hell wouldn’t tell me
that
in an e-mail, knowing how crappy I already feel.
 

I feel another bout of dry heaves coming on.

When we finally head home Sunday, I’m so weak my dad won’t even let me carry my own backpack through the airport. I sleep the whole way on the plane, waking up just enough to stumble to the car when we get to Indianapolis, then fall asleep again as soon as my dad starts driving.
 

Next thing I know, my parents are carrying the suitcases into our house. Dad makes two trips rather than ask me to help and I don’t even argue. All I want is my bed. My mom seems sad, but I figure it’s because I’m so sick. And then I’m asleep again.

Either I automatically set my alarm or one of my parents did, because it goes off at the regular time for school the next morning. I groan, but then I remember it’s finally Monday, the day I’ll see M again, and I leap out of bed.

And collapse in a heap on the floor.

Okay, maybe leaping was a bad idea, but I’m still super excited at the prospect of seeing M. Touching M. Talking to M. I drag myself upright and stagger into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

“Rigel! What are you doing up so early?” My mom sounds shocked when I appear in the kitchen ten minutes later.
 

“School,” I say. Isn’t that perfectly obvious?

“But . . . you’re sick! I’ve already called the two most experienced Healers in the Midwest, and they’ll be here this afternoon to see what they can do for you. Why don’t you go back to bed until then?”

I stare at her. “Seriously? No way. Don’t you get it, Mom? What I need is M. She’s the only one who can make me better. I thought you and Dad got that.”

She calls my dad into the kitchen and I have to say it again, which sucks since I’m still feeling like crap and don’t really have the energy for this right now. Then the two of them do that telepathy thing for a long time—two or three minutes—and finally nod at each other.

“I’ll take you to school,” my dad says, “but if you’re not feeling better by lunchtime, I want you to go to the nurse’s office and I’ll come back and get you. Your mother has patients this morning, but she’ll be home this afternoon, before Fiona and Brody get here.”

The Healers, I assume. “I’ll feel a
lot
better by lunch,” I promise. “Unless M’s aunt doesn’t let
her
come to school. Because she’s been sick, too. Probably,” I add, realizing too late that they don’t know we’ve been emailing each other and I wasn’t supposed to have heard those conversations between the bigwigs. Stupid fuzzy brain.

But it will all be better as soon as I see M.

“I’m ready,” I tell my dad. “Let’s go.”

Miochan
(mee-OH-kan):
healing; curing; a major Martian
fine

Even though I hadn’t been able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time all weekend, when my alarm went off Monday morning I had
no
desire to go back to sleep. Finally,
finally,
I was going to see Rigel again! School couldn’t happen soon enough.

But first I’d have to convince Aunt Theresa I was well enough to go.
 

The “cure” from Sean’s touch at Thanksgiving was only temporary, wearing off before the O’Garas left that evening. Maybe I could have gotten another boost if I’d touched him again, but I didn’t. It felt too much like betraying Rigel . . . and using Sean.
 

Even when the O’Garas came by after church yesterday (I stayed home, with Aunt Theresa’s reluctant blessing), I was careful not to let Sean touch me. They acted so worried, though, I said I was sure I’d feel better within twenty-four hours. I could tell they didn’t believe me.
 

I painfully peeled myself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth and put on way more makeup than usual, hoping it would make me look healthier than I felt. Squinting critically into the mirror, I added more blush, then went back to my room to put on a bright pink sweater on the theory it would impart some perkiness.

“Good morning,” I greeted my aunt with all the cheerfulness I could muster when I reached the kitchen.

She frowned at me for a long moment, then smiled slightly. “You must be feeling better.”

“I am!” I assured her, and proceeded to pour myself a big glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal. I sat at the table and pretended to eat while she puttered around, finishing her coffee. When she left the kitchen a moment later to get her tote bag for school, I quickly dumped the cereal in the trash and half the orange juice down the sink and sat back down before she came back.

“I’m glad to see you have your appetite back,” she said, glancing approvingly at my empty cereal bowl. “Are you up to taking the bus, or would you like me to drive you this morning?”

Trying not to let my relief show—or my surprise, since the elementary school was in the opposite direction from the high school—I smiled. “I’ll be fine on the bus, but thanks, Aunt Theresa.” I wasn’t sure I could keep up the healthy act all the way to school, and did
not
want her changing her mind about letting me go.

Luckily, she left ten minutes before I did, so she didn’t see me shuffle and wobble my way to the bus stop. Both of the O’Garas did, though.

“You’re not seriously going to school today, M!” Molly exclaimed before I even reached them. “You’re so sick!”

Sean was also frowning in obvious concern. “Yesterday you were practically at death’s door and you still look awful—though I see you tried to hide it with makeup.”

I was surprised he noticed. Exhausted from the effort of walking half a block, I just said, “I won’t get better until I see Rigel again, so I
have
to go to school.”
 

Molly gave a sigh that sounded sympathetically romantic (though it might have just been exasperated) but Sean glowered even more fiercely.
 

“That’s ridiculous. Mum said Dr. Stuart is bringing in some top-notch Healer friends of hers today, and they’ll take care of you while they’re here. They’ll probably want to see you first, in fact, so you should go back home.”

“Healers?”
 

“Yeah. Stuart’s acting sick, too, I guess.”

“It’s not an act,” I ground out, sudden panic making me feel even sicker. What if this meant Rigel wouldn’t be at school today after all? I knew he’d come if he possibly could, though, and no way was I giving up my only chance to see him if he did. “If I’m not . . . not better by the end of the day”—I paused for breath—“your precious Healers can see me then.”
 

Which was exactly what Rigel would have told his mother. I hoped.

“You’re kidding, right?” Sean argued. “You look like you’re about to fall down.” He reached for me, maybe just to steady me, but I stepped away. Especially now, I didn’t want Sean’s touch doing anything to detract from my reunion with Rigel. Immediately, he dropped his hand. “Sorry. It’s just . . . we’re all worried about you, M.”

An odd, unfocused sense of guilt made me snappish. “About me? Or about losing . . . your precious Sovereign?”
 

“Both,” he snapped back.
 

Before I could pull a good retort from my sluggish brain, the bus came around the corner, along with the other two kids from our stop, at a jog. Climbing onto the bus was harder than I expected but after the way I’d just acted, I didn’t dare ask for help.
 

I did, however, take the very first empty seat instead of heading toward the back of the bus, like I usually did. The freshman girl I sat next to gave me a curious look but didn’t say anything. Neither did I.
 

Bri and Deb glanced questioningly at me when they got on at their stop, too, but since there weren’t any empty seats near me, all we exchanged was a quick “Hi.” I had to fight to stay awake for the rest of the bus ride, but I managed it.

We finally pulled up in front of the school and there, waiting for me on one of the benches in front of the school, was Rigel! He was shockingly thin and pale, and he swayed when he stood up, but he was still the most glorious sight in the world. I couldn’t get off the bus fast enough. (Literally, since even though I was hurrying, I was moving like I was about ninety years old.)

By the time I reached him, everyone else on the bus had passed me and gone into the building, Bri and Deb with a backward glance or two. Just as well, since non-Martian witnesses to this reunion might be a bad idea. Not surprisingly, Sean and Molly didn’t go in, but lingered, off to one side. I followed Rigel’s glance and saw Sean looking skeptical, Molly eager, both of them curious.

But then, I only had eyes for Rigel.

“You’re here,” I said as I tottered forward, which was
so
not what I’d planned as my first words to him.