Starstruck (17 page)

From: AstroGrrl

To: JagFanB

Subject: Tomorrow

B—please don’t hate me, but R asked if I’d ride to the game with him and his folks and I said I would. I’ll def see you there, tho! Sit together?

—TTYL, M

I hit send and started to close the browser, but then paused. I
had
said I needed to look stuff up, and it might look suspicious if I was done so fast. Which meant this was a perfect chance . . .

I opened Google and typed “Mars” and “new discoveries.” Clicking on the first couple of pages of headlines—out of nearly eighty thousand hits—didn’t reveal anything I didn’t already know, so I tried “Martians on Earth.” That netted me less than 700 hits, including a Wikipedia article. But when I read it, it was all about fictional Martians, not real ones. All of the hits on the first few Google pages also dealt mainly with fiction—books, movies, comics, stuff like that. I found a couple of conspiracy-type blogs, but when I opened them, neither dealt with human Martians.

I was typing in “human Martians” when I heard someone coming. I immediately closed the window and emptied the cache, then quit from the browser just as Aunt Theresa came in.

“Still researching, Marsha? It’s late.”

“Just finished,” I said. I stood up and was surprised to find I was stiff—and even more surprised to glance at the clock on the computer and see that it was almost midnight. I’d been Googling for close to two hours!

She shook her head at me as I picked up the notebook I’d brought to back up my cover story. “Doesn’t anyone use the library anymore?”

I shrugged. “Online is quicker.” Plus, no library would have the kind of info I really wanted to find.

I said a quick good night and headed back to my room, feeling guilty again—both for deceiving her about Rigel and for trying to check up on Rigel’s story behind his back. He had promised to tell me more tomorrow. If I trusted him as I claimed to, that should be good enough.

Shouldn’t it?

CHAPTER 10

Extraterrestrial origin

Bri and Deb were less talkative than usual the next day but I didn’t really notice until lunchtime. I was too excited about what new revelations Rigel—and his parents?—might have in store for me that afternoon.

When Rigel and I got to the cafeteria after Science class, I automatically headed toward our usual table, where my friends were already sitting. But just as I got there, they started picking up their trays like they were going to leave. Again.

“Wait,” I said. “Where are you guys going?”

Not that I didn’t want the time alone with Rigel, but I felt like I should say
something
.

“We, um, have stuff to do,” Bri said without looking at me.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked. “About the game?” I was still feeling a little guilty about that.

She shook her head. “No, no, it’s fine. No biggie.” But she still didn’t quite meet my eye. Deb sent me a quick, apologetic glance, but didn’t say anything.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Deb and I just need to do some more chorus stuff. See you tonight.”

And then they were gone.

Rigel frowned after them. “You, um, didn’t say anything to them, did you? About the, ah, stuff we talked about yesterday?”

“Of course not!” I was hurt he would even suspect it. “They probably still think we want to be alone.” I hoped that was all it was. I
had
been ignoring them a lot lately.

“Don’t we?” he asked with a smile that made me forget all about my friends again.

I nodded shyly. “I guess maybe we do.”

“Sit down,” he said then. “If they’re feeling left out, you can make it up to them later. So, your aunt and uncle are okay with you coming home on my bus today?”

It was the second time he’d asked me that today. I almost asked him if he was sure he couldn’t read my mind, but stopped myself in time. “My aunt did make me promise to come straight home after the game,” I said by way of a partial confession.

“She still doesn’t trust my motives?” He was grinning now.

“Well . . .” I half-shrugged. “It’s not like she really knows you. And you
are
the first boy who’s ever—I mean, um, this is kind of new territory for her.”

He did
not
need to know that no boy had ever shown even the remotest interest in me before. Pathetic was not how I wanted him to think of me. I wanted him to see me as fun and interesting and pretty and . . . desirable. All the things I’d never been. But somehow, with Rigel, they seemed almost possible.

“We’ll just have to win her over,” he said, “since I don’t plan on going away anytime soon.”

His words sent a delicious thrill through me, but I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound sappy, so I took a bite of my pizza.

“Eat all of it,” he said when I set it back down. “I’ve noticed you don’t eat very much—at least, when you’re around me. You’ll need your strength today.”

I nearly choked. “Wh—What? Why?” I sputtered as soon as I could.

He laughed and handed me a napkin. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just . . . it’s going to be a long day, what with an away game and all.”

But I could tell that wasn’t what he’d originally meant. “Your parents do know I’m coming over, don’t they?”

“Definitely,” he assured me. “They’re really looking forward to it.”

He clearly meant it, which confused me, especially since he’d asked me not to tell them about our
graell
thing. I’d figured even if they didn’t freak, they probably wouldn’t approve. Besides, Rigel must have always had girls—better looking, more popular girls than me—flocking around him. Why would his parents care about getting to know
me
better?

Speaking of good looking, popular girls, I quickly realized that a real, private conversation here in the cafeteria was impossible. Every single cheerleader, plus what seemed like half the other girls in school, stopped by our table over the next twenty minutes to tell Rigel how much they were looking forward to tonight’s game and to wish him luck. A few guys came by, too, to slap him on the back and talk football.

I might as well have been invisible to most of the girls, though a few gave me quick, perky smiles. But to my surprise, a couple of the guys made a point of saying hi to me and even tried to include me in the conversation. When Pete Warner left after a brief discussion of offensive strategies, Rigel frowned after him.

“What?” I said.

“Didn’t you notice the way he was looking at you?”

I shook my head. When Rigel was around, I honestly couldn’t seem to notice much of anyone else. No wonder my friends were getting pissed at me.

Rigel looked into my eyes for a long moment, then shrugged. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?” he said with a sudden grin.

“No,” I admitted, still drinking in his eyes, his amazing face. I never seemed to get enough of that. “It really doesn’t.”

I did my best to concentrate on my classes for the rest of the day, but anticipation—and a nagging worry about what Rigel had meant by “needing my strength”—kept distracting me. It was a huge relief when the final bell rang. I didn’t even stop at my locker to drop off extra books, but hurried straight to the buses to meet him.

Though it wasn’t a surprise to see him surrounded by girls, it did annoy me a little. Not that he was my property or anything, I reminded myself.

But then he looked over their heads and smiled at me, and all negative emotions evaporated, replaced by simple joy.

“Hey, M!” He beckoned me to his side and the press of cheerleaders reluctantly parted to let me through. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I replied, though truthfully I couldn’t be all that nervous when I was close to him. A very nice side-effect of that enhancement thing, if that’s what it was.

He ushered me onto the bus ahead of him, barely nodding in response to the chorus of goodbyes and “see you tonights” from the girls. We sat together in the first empty seat, and though a few people looked at me curiously, no one spoke to me. Like at lunch, several people—guys and girls—talked to Rigel about tonight’s game, again making private conversation impossible.

By the time the bus turned onto the farm road south of town, I was starting to get nervous again, in spite of Rigel’s calming effect. Then the bus stopped and he stood.

“Our stop,” he said. “C’mon.”

I followed him off, then paused, swallowing. “You’re sure—?” I began.

“I’m sure.” He took my hand, giving me instant courage, and led me up a long, winding drive shadowed by towering oak trees toward a yellow three-story farmhouse with a deep, wrap-around porch. A soybean field stretched into the distance behind it with a cornfield behind that. There was a grain silo visible in the distance, but no other houses within sight. A typical Indiana farmhouse, in other words.

Only not, I realized as we got close enough for me to see the three satellite dishes on the roof, along with what looked like a couple of solar panels. There was also a ham radio tower off to the side, though that wasn’t too unusual out in the country. The tiny video screen next to the front door was, though. Rigel ignored it and turned the knob.

“Mom? Dad? We’re home,” he called as we entered the long front hallway.

We’re home.
What a lovely phrase. I heard light footsteps approaching and mentally shook myself.

“Marsha! Welcome!” Rigel’s mother exclaimed, coming out of a doorway down the hall.

She was even prettier than I remembered, her rich, reddish hair piled loosely on top of her head, her hazel eyes—so much like Rigel’s—twinkling within their thick-fringed lashes.

“Come into the kitchen,” she continued. “I’m just about to take a batch of cookies out of the oven.” Even as she spoke, I caught a delicious whiff and my stomach rumbled embarrassingly.

“Thanks,” I managed, grateful that both she and Rigel pretended not to hear. “It’s very nice of you to invite . . . I mean, to offer to drive me to the game and all.” I was nearly as tongue-tied as I’d been when I first met her.

“Nonsense.” She waved my words away with a smile and led the way back to the cozy, old-fashioned kitchen. “We were delighted when Rigel suggested it. Especially now that he’s told you—”

“Mom,” Rigel broke in. “Let’s have some of those cookies before we launch into explanations, okay?” He looked a little worried, which surprised me.

She gave him a curious look. “—about us,” she finished, and Rigel relaxed.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

“Right here.” His father entered the kitchen from the other end. “Welcome, Marsha, it’s great to see you again.”

“Um, thanks. Same here.” I was startled again by their effusiveness. I didn’t feel this welcome in my
own
house.

Dr. Stuart poured four glasses of milk as Rigel and I sat down at the huge, knotted-pine kitchen table. Despite the rustic setting, things felt strangely official. Rigel had said they were going to explain about the Martian stuff, but I couldn’t bring up the subject. Not when the Stuarts were being so nice. So . . .
normal
. Instead, I took a big sip of milk, hoping I wouldn’t have to be the first one to say anything.

I wasn’t.

“So, where to start?” Mr. Stuart said, sitting down and smiling at me with his movie-star smile. “I assume Rigel has given you all of the basics by now?”

“Um . . .” I sent a panicky glance Rigel’s way and after just the briefest hesitation, he put his hand over mine on the table—right in front of his parents. Remembering what he’d said about keeping our bond-thing secret, I tried not to let my reaction to his touch show. But, as he’d undoubtedly intended, it did calm me. A little.

“Actually, there’s a lot I haven’t had time to tell her yet,” Rigel said, again with an uncomfortable edge in his voice. “Maybe we should take it slowly.”

“No, it’s okay, really,” I said. “I mean, I do want to know everything. Everything you’re willing to tell me, anyway.”

Dr. Stuart put the milk back in the fridge, turned and nodded, her expression warm and reassuring. “Of course we’ll tell you everything, Marsha, now that Rigel has let you in on our, ah, secret.”

“That you’re . . .” I swallowed. “Martians?” I felt a rush of embarrassment, a sudden, terrible fear that I’d somehow imagined everything Rigel had told me.

I hadn’t.

“In a manner of speaking,” she said. “Not that we really think of ourselves that way any longer. We came to Earth intending to stay, and this is our home now.”

I thought I’d been ready for this, eager for this, but I really hadn’t been. I’d still half expected this to be some elaborate joke, or for Rigel’s parents to somehow explain away everything he’d told me. It couldn’t
really
be true. But looking at their serious faces, I was finally, totally, convinced that it was. No matter how impossible it seemed.

“How—” My voice cracked slightly and I started over. “How long have you and Mr. Stuart been here? On Earth, I mean?”

She glanced at her husband and Mr. Stuart gave her a little nod. Rigel gripped my hand more firmly and I noticed a tiny, worried crease between his mother’s brows as she replied.