Starstruck

Chapter 8a: Resolving patterns (part 1)

Not until class was ending did it occur to me to wonder why Rigel would have looked upset, like Bri told me. If his plan was to embarrass me, it had certainly worked. So shouldn't he be happy? I felt a thread of doubt, of hope, that maybe that hadn't been his intent after all. Though what else it could have been, I had no clue.

When the bell rang, I gave Rigel a big head start before leaving the room myself. But he was lurking just outside the door, and I didn't see him in time to avoid him. I tried to duck around him, but he was faster than me--a lot faster. He moved to block me and then, too quickly for me to prevent him, he snagged one of my hands. His touch jolted me with that same sense of rightness it always did, calming me against my will.

"M! Please listen to me, okay?" He spoke softly but urgently. "None of this was a plot, and I wasn't making fun of you. I promise. I was telling you the truth."

A reluctant sense of relief started to creep through me, but it might have just been the result of his hand on mine. That, plus wanting so very desperately to believe he wouldn't intentionally hurt me like that. But that very desperation made me mistrust my instincts.

"The truth." I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "That you're a Martian? Come on, Rigel. What does that even mean?"

"If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. I did say you wouldn't believe me."

He gave me a sad sort of smile and now I looked, really looked, into his eyes and saw an echo of the pain I'd been feeling since I left him in the courtyard. Like I'd actually hurt him with my accusations. Could he really be that good an actor? Could anyone?

Much as I longed to believe him, I was afraid to lower my guard completely, the image of Trina laughing at me lingering in the back of my mind. "I . . . I have to get to class. Maybe we can talk later."

I tried to pull my hand away, but he tightened his grip. "You did say you wanted an explanation," he reminded me.

"Well, yeah, but--"

"Okay, how do you explain what happened yesterday with Farmer? And there's other stuff you've wondered about, too, isn't there?"

He was right, of course. There definitely was something different about him. Something . . . better. How had he zapped Bryce Farmer like that? And I knew those jolts when we touched weren't just static electricity. Then there was the stuff he knew that he shouldn't . . .

"Okay," I finally said, "I'll listen. I'm not promising to believe anything, though."

"Great. That's all I'm asking--that you listen." He smiled his relief and I couldn't help smiling back. "So, can you come to practice again today?"

Reluctantly, I shook my head. "My aunt was kind of upset about it yesterday. Plus, I have taekwondo class this afternoon. I missed last Wednesday, so I really should go."

"You know taekwondo? Cool!" He looked impressed, which was flattering.

"Yeah--though I'm not very good yet."

That reminded me of my dramatic improvement at Saturday's class, then the other improvements I'd noticed--my skin, my eyes. Could it possibly all be linked to Rigel somehow?

Before I could think of a way to ask, he looked at the clock in the hallway. "The bell is going to ring in a minute. You'd better eat something." He held up my lunch, which I'd left behind in the courtyard when I'd stormed out.

"I'm not hungry," I said automatically. "So, why did you want me to come to football practice?" I figured I didn't have anything to lose by asking that now.