CHAPTER 7
Seismic shift (part 1)
"Rigel?" I said, my embarrassment forgotten in my concern for him. "Are you okay?"
He blinked, shook his head like he was dazed, then stuck the trays in the slot. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Um--" He glanced over his shoulder at the giggling gaggle of cheerleaders on their way out of the cafeteria. "What . . . did she mean by that?"
It was almost like he was forcing his voice to sound normal, like he wanted to shout or something. I couldn't imagine why, though.
"You mean the 'Marsha the Martian' thing?" I tried for a little self-deprecating laugh, but it came out more like a hysterical titter. "Just something they used to tease me about in elementary school."
The lunchroom was emptying, but he stayed where he was, just out of the way of the last few people dropping off their trays, frowning down at me. "But . . . why? Why would they call you that?" His intensity was unnerving, making me hesitate.
Abruptly, he seemed to realize he was overreacting. He gave a little laugh that sounded as forced as mine had and finally started walking. "I mean, was it just because 'Marsha' sounds kind of like 'Martian'? I know little kids do stuff like that."
Tempting as it was to say that's all it was, I told him the truth. "No, it was mostly my own fault. I had kind of a . . . vivid imagination when I was younger. Back in second grade, I went through a phase where I told everybody I was really a Martian princess in disguise, and that someday my royal parents would come claim me and I'd go back to Mars to marry my prince. Just silly kid stuff, but I got teased a lot for a while."
He was still looking at me kind of strangely. "Wow, that is . . . vivid, as you said. Why do you think you, um, made up something like that?"
I shrugged, trying really hard to make light of it, though I was still unsettled by his reaction. "Why do kids make up anything? I guess I wanted to feel . . . important or something. Special. And since I didn't know who my parents really were, it was fun to imagine they might be special, too." I laughed. "Really, really special."
Now his laugh sounded more natural. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."
"It's still kind of embarrassing," I said as we reached class, trying not to sound giddy from relief, now that I'd confessed what was probably my darkest secret and Rigel was still speaking to me.
Other than a quick good-bye after History, I didn't see Rigel again that day, and I missed him way more than was reasonable. I'd always sneered (mentally, anyway) at girls who needed a boy to be "complete." But I couldn't deny the empty feeling I had when he wasn't around, almost like there wasn't quite enough air to breathe. I didn't like it.
After school, Bri and Deb came over to my house, supposedly to do homework together, but really so they could extract every single little detail of my lunch with Rigel. They were properly incensed at Nicole's attempt to embarrass me, but had no good theories on why Rigel had wigged out at the mention of my dumb childhood fantasy.
"Maybe he just doesn't have much imagination himself?" Bri suggested. "I've heard that people without imagination have a hard time getting it when other people do."
"Or maybe it reminded him of something he read?" Deb offered. "I didn't know you then, but from what Bri told me, it did sound almost like a story you'd read in a book or something."
I shot a glance at Brianna, a little ticked that she'd talked to Deb about that behind my back, but she just shrugged and gave me an apologetic smile. I tried not to be bothered that Deb and Bri seemed closer these days than Bri and I were, but it hurt just a teensy bit.
That night at dinner, there was no hiding from my aunt and uncle that I wasn't wearing my glasses. I'd considered wearing them just to avoid the inevitable questions, but they made everything so blurry I was afraid I'd get sick to my stomach.
"They're in my room," I replied to Aunt Theresa's query. "My eyes seem to be improving or something--I can actually see a little better without my glasses than with them lately."
I wasn't sure why I hedged instead of telling them about the sudden and apparently complete cure of my nearsightedness. Maybe it was because the only person I'd told so far was Rigel and I wanted to keep it our secret for now. That made it somehow precious.
My aunt harrumphed. "I suppose we'll have to take you to the optometrist, even though you've only had these glasses for eight or nine months. Have you checked to see if one of your older pairs will work in the meantime?"
"Oh, good idea, I'll do that."
The next morning at breakfast, I made a point of wearing my glasses from two years ago--which didn't make things quite as blurry as my current ones--and telling her they worked perfectly.
"So there's no rush for an optometry appointment," I said.
She hmphed again but didn't argue, and I thought she looked a little relieved. So was I. Apart from the cost, the eye doctor would probably treat me like some kind of medical curiosity, attention I really didn't want.
Today, Rigel actually walked me to lunch from Science class. I couldn't help feeling like the queen of the world, entering the lunchroom at his side, knowing everyone there was staring at us. For once in my life, I didn't mind being the center of attention. Bri and Deb grinned at us as we approached the table, then scurried off for yet another "project" the minute we sat down.
Rigel and I both chuckled a little as they left, but then he turned to me, suddenly serious.
"Before I forget, M, would you be at all, well, interested in coming to this afternoon's football practice?" He said it in kind of a rush--the way I said things when I didn't want to lose my nerve. Not that I could imagine Rigel ever losing his nerve about anything.
At least as flattered as I was startled, I nodded. "I'd love . . . uh, that is, sure. I mean, I'll need to call home, but I'm sure it'll be okay. I'll use Bri's cell phone after school."
"You can use mine if you want," he offered.
"Oh, um, thanks! So . . . you don't have any problems using a cell phone with the, er, static thing?"
He shrugged, then grinned. "Well, I did fry my first one, but then my dad got me one of these shockproof ones with the rubber casing." He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to me.
I touched the table leg before taking it, still afraid I might manage to destroy it, but it didn't spark at all when I touched it. It was completely covered with a tough, rubbery skin.
"Cool! My aunt won't let me have one until I start driving, but I think she was going to use my electrical problem to put it off even longer. Now I can tell her about this."
"Do you want to call her now?"
I knew she wouldn't be home yet, but I went ahead and left a message on the answering machine at home, saying I was staying after school but would be home in plenty of time for dinner.
Though I wanted to ask him why he'd invited me to practice, I didn't. I knew sometimes girlfriends of the players went to watch, but I didn't think I quite qualified for that status. Yet? And I didn't want to give him any reason to reconsider and maybe decide he didn't want me there after all. That it might be too much of a declaration to the rest of the school that we were . . . friends.
Instead, I asked something I'd been wondering about. "Rigel is kind of an unusual name, at least here in Indiana. Did your parents name you after the star, or is it a family name or something?"
"You know, you're the first person I've met at this school who even knows it is a star."
I felt my face heat and looked away from him, remembering that first day in Science class. "Um, astronomy is kind of a, uh, hobby of mine. So you were named after the star?"
"I guess so, but I think it was mostly that my mom just liked the name."
"That's a good reason." I almost said I liked it too, but thought it would sound forward.
"So how about your name?"
I grimaced. "My name? I dunno--I always assumed my birth parents gave it to me, but I don't actually know that."
"And what was that face? You don't like your name?" He had that intent look again, like he could see inside me or something.
So I told him the truth. "Not much. It wasn't so bad when I was little--well, not until the Marsha the Martian bit." He gave a little twitch but covered it quickly, so I continued. "But now that they're showing 'Brady Bunch' reruns on TV Land, I get a lot of 'Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.' I wish everyone would just call me M. I've even thought about switching to my middle name."
He leaned forward, seeming way more interested than the subject warranted. "So . . . what is your middle name?"
"Prentiss. I did ask my aunt about that once, and she said it was a family name. But when I asked which family, she got all evasive--so that's all I know."
Rigel shook his head. "I can't imagine knowing so little about myself or my family. Does it ever bother you?"
"Sometimes," I admitted. "It bothered me a lot when I was ten or eleven--when I first started to really think about it. I used to ask a lot of questions, but my aunt, well, you met her. She's not the kind of person to pester. My uncle is easier, but he doesn't seem to know a lot. About me, I mean. So now I just . . . try not to think about it too much."
"I guess that makes sense."
"So what about your family?" I asked before he could start feeling sorry for me again. "You don't have any brothers or sisters? What about grandparents?"
"No, no brothers or sisters. My grandfather--my dad's father--lives in Washington, DC. I don't see him very often, but he calls every week."
"How about your other grandparents? Where do they live?"
He got a strange look on his face, kind of an oh, crap look, but then he gave a little half-shrug. "Um, they're dead. Died before I was born, so I never knew them."
"Oh. I'm sorry," I said automatically, confused by his initial reaction. It didn't seem to fit his answer at all, but it wasn't really something I could ask about. "Any cousins?" I asked instead.
"No, at least, not . . . no. No cousins."
Again, I had the feeling he'd nearly said something, then changed his mind for some reason. Was there something awful about his mother's side of the family he didn't want to talk about? If so, it was his business, I told myself. It didn't stop me from wondering, though.
Since he clearly didn't want to talk about his family, I switched to talking about our Science projects for the rest of the lunch period. As we got up after the bell, Rigel gave a sudden jerk of his head, glancing over at Trina's table, then frowned.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
Frustrated and a little bit irritated, I didn't say anything else on the way to History, but he seemed so preoccupied, I wasn't sure he even noticed. Then, just as we reached the classroom, he turned to me.
"You have Trina in your Health class, don't you?"
"Yeah, why?"
For a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer--again. But then he looked at me from under his eyebrows, frowning just like he had in the cafeteria. "Check your seat before you sit down, okay?"
"In Health class, you mean? Why?"
"Just do it. Or don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, he turned away and headed to his seat without looking at me again, leaving me to make my mystified way across the room to Bri and Deb, who were waiting--of course--to hear the latest update. They both squealed when I told them I wouldn't be on the bus this afternoon because Rigel had asked me to come to football practice.
"Shh!" I hissed, glancing over at Rigel, who was looking amused. "It's not like he asked me to prom!"
"Still," Bri whispered, "it's a really big deal, M. I mean, it's one thing for girls with crushes to sneak into the stands to watch practice." She and I had done that more than once last year when Greg and Jimmy were practicing with the JV team. "But for him to actually ask you?"
Deb nodded vigorously. "Only girlfriends--like serious girlfriends!--go to the practices. This is huge, M. Trust us."
I just shrugged. Much as I wanted to believe them, I didn't want to set myself up for a crushing disappointment. Plus, Rigel hadn't made it sound huge at all, more like a friendly invite to pass the afternoon.
Still, I couldn't think about much else for the rest of the school day. History and French went by in a fog of hope, fear and anticipation.
It wasn't until I was about to sit down in my last class that I suddenly remembered that weird warning Rigel had given me after lunch and paused to examine my desk chair. It looked shinier than usual, so I took the precaution of touching it. Sticky, like it was covered with glue.
I glanced at Trina just in time to see her look away with a fake innocent expression. Yep, she'd definitely done something.
There was still a minute or two till the bell, so I went up to the front of the room and stopped next to the teacher, then looked at Trina again. Now she was looking nervous--and so were her minions, Donna and Amber.
Just to mess with them, I asked Mrs. Harklewood a quiet question about yesterday's lesson before going to the paper towel dispenser near the door and grabbing a few sheets, then returning to my desk. Without even a hint of a glance at Trina or her buddies, I calmly spread the towels over my seat, then sat down.
Once class was underway and everyone around us was distracted, Trina leaned across the aisle and whispered, "Okay, which one of you warned her? Nobody else knew I was going to do that!"
I couldn't quite hear their replies, but it was obvious they were both vigorously denying saying a word to me. I smiled to myself.
And wondered how on earth Rigel had known.
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