Starstruck

Chapter 8b: Resolving patterns (part 2)

"Hey," he said. "I would have called last night, but I remembered how tricky it is for you to talk on the phone at home. Didn't want to get you in any trouble or anything."

Relief blossomed in my chest--along with the intense thrill of being near him again. "That's okay. We still on for lunch?" I glanced out the window, where rain was falling in sheets.

"You bet. We'll find someplace dry," he promised.

We had to separate then, since class was starting, but my nervousness was gone. Everything was going to be fine.

It was still pouring when the lunch bell sounded, three and a half hours later. Like yesterday, Rigel and I left Science class together, while Trina walked off like she didn't know either one of us. Which was just fine with me.

"So, where's a private place to talk other than the courtyard?" Rigel asked as we went out into the hallway.

"I've been thinking about that," I admitted. In fact, I'd kind of been obsessing about it. "Why don't we go to the courtyard anyway? That alcove on the south side where we sat yesterday should be dry. And for sure, nobody else will be out there on a day like this."

He laughed. "True enough. Okay, lead on." His fingers brushed my arm but he didn't try to hold my hand or anything. I decided that was probably just as well--and not only because of the attention it would get in the hall.

When we reached the courtyard door, the rain was still sluicing down, with an occasional rumble of thunder.

"You sure about this?" he asked, squinting into the mist that swirled into our eyes as we stood in the doorway.

"Look." I pointed at the bench, under an overhang on the opposite side of the open space. "We'll get a little wet on the way, but the seat looks dry. I think."

He looked down at me with one eyebrow quirked in amusement, then shrugged out of his Center North letter jacket and threw it over my shoulders. It was deliciously warm. "Okay, let's make a dash for it," he said.

Rigel grabbed my hand and, laughing together, we ran across the brick path to the stone bench, which was set well back in its alcove, maybe six feet from where the rain cascaded down. The spot was both secluded and romantic. To me, anyway.

But as soon as we sat down, Rigel's first words were, "I need to apologize for kissing you yesterday. I shouldn't have done that."

I felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the rain--or the fact that the temperature had fallen by about twenty degrees since this time yesterday. I should have known I'd been deluding myself, that it was all a mistake--that it hadn't meant anything to him.

"It's . . . That's okay," I mumbled, suddenly unable to look him in the eye, afraid of what I'd see in his expression. "I understand."

I wondered if he'd experienced the same thing I had at school, only in reverse--if his social status had suffered the same way mine had soared. No wonder he--

"No, I don't think you do." He put a finger under my chin, tilting my face up so I had to look at him. There was no revulsion, not even any regret in his eyes. Rather the opposite. My breath caught.

"But you said--"

"The reason I shouldn't have kissed you is that you still don't know the truth about . . . about me. So it wasn't fair. To you."

"Oh." It came out more like a sigh than a word.

I braced myself for another kiss, ready to really enjoy it this time, to show him with my lips what he meant to me, but he took his hand away and gazed across the drenched courtyard.