Starstruck (7 page)

So I just nodded, grabbed a granola bar and a glass of milk and went to my room to do my homework. Unfortunately, most subjects reminded me of Rigel and his unexplained absence, which slowed me down.

I was finally finishing up with Geometry when the phone rang. Aunt Theresa had already gone and Uncle Louie wasn’t home yet, so I ran down to the kitchen to answer it, wishing yet again I could have my own phone, or at least an extension in my room.

It was Bri. “My dad just got home, and I knew you’d want the scoop on Rigel,” she began without even a hello. Since I was as eager to hear as she was to tell, that was fine.

“And?”

“He’s not gone, just sick, and his dad said he’d
probably
be at school tomorrow. Coach Glazier called to find out.”

“So what’s wrong with him?” I wasn’t sure if I was more worried about Rigel’s health or that it really could be my fault somehow.

“No clue, but it can’t be too serious if he’s only out one day. We can ask him at lunch tomorrow.”

The thought of sitting with Rigel at lunch again sent my spirits bobbing up, making me realize just how depressed I’d been about his absence, how worried I might never see him again.

“Yeah, we’ll do that. Thanks a lot, Bri!” I was practically gushing in my relief. Which was silly, but I couldn’t help how I felt.

We chatted for a few more minutes, then I hung up and started dinner, humming to myself as I browned the hamburger and drained it.

The next morning I again spent
way
too much time deciding what to wear, discarding outfit after outfit before deciding on the white baby-doll top with peach embroidery and my favorite jeans (again). One bonus, my skin looked even better than yesterday; I’d gone from at least two dozen zits on Wednesday to maybe three or four. Excellent!

On the way to school, Bri and Deb sounded almost as excited as I felt at the prospect of seeing Rigel again. I didn’t say much, afraid to jinx his attendance by assuming anything before I actually saw him. Like yesterday, I hurried to Geometry and chose a desk near the center of the room. And waited.

Finally, less than thirty seconds before the bell rang, Rigel arrived, with Trina clinging to his arm. Even with that drawback, I felt my whole body relax as he approached, as though something that had been askew had suddenly righted itself. I summoned my very best smile and looked up at him.

Only to watch him walk right past without making eye contact.

I sat there, all the air leaving my lungs, as he moved to a desk in the front row, the one that was geographically farthest from mine. Trina sat beside him, and though she sent one spiteful glance my way, Rigel never turned around.

So much for wanting to be my friend.

I spent the whole class working up the nerve to waylay him in the hall—to at least say hi, and maybe to bring up the weirdness of Wednesday. When the bell rang, I jumped up before I could chicken out, but Rigel was out of his seat and moving toward the door so quickly that Trina had to practically sprint to keep up with him.

Hurt, confused, and at least a little bit pissed, I stared after him. Could he really want to avoid me
that
much? I headed to Computer Apps, telling myself I’d try to talk to him again in English. Though the way Rigel was acting today, that might take more courage than I usually had on hand.

I was so distracted that I forgot to ground myself on the table leg and sparked my computer badly, even though it was a pretty humid day. Sure enough, a few minutes later it crashed and wouldn’t wake back up.

“Um, Mr. Morrison?” I waved my hand apologetically.

He came over and fiddled with my machine for a few minutes before finally shaking his head. “I don’t know how you do it, Marsha, but you’ve killed another one. Let me get another disk with the assignment. You can move to the next station.” He pointed at one of the other old computers.

Grimacing, I scooted over one place. Maybe I really was a freak.

When I reached English, Rigel—and Trina—were already seated, with no empty desks within two rows. Bri was gesturing to me from across the room, so with a sigh, I joined her. Trina shot a mean glance my way as I passed but, just like in first period, Rigel refused to make eye contact.

“So what’s the deal?” Bri whispered as I sat down. “Did you guys have a fight or something? I started to sit over there—” she nodded in Rigel’s direction—“but both he and Trina froze me out. I expect that of Trina, of course, but—”

I shrugged. “No, we didn’t fight. We haven’t talked at all. I can’t even get him to look at me! It’s like . . . like he’s decided I don’t exist anymore.”

Bri frowned across the room at him. “Coward. I thought better of him than that. Well, if he’d really rather hang with Trina and her posse than with you, M, it’s definitely his loss.” She even managed to sound like she meant it, which forced a smile from me.

“Thanks, Bri. But it’s frustrating. I can’t even explain about the static thing.” Remembering what had just happened in computer class, I wondered if that problem was getting worse. Maybe that explained the jolt on Wednesday?

In Science, I half expected Rigel and Trina to sit somewhere else even though Mr. Ferguson had assigned us all to our original seats. They did hesitate when they walked in, but then headed to their usual table behind me. Rigel, especially, looked really reluctant and that hurt me more than I would have believed possible, considering I’d only known him a couple of days.

When he sat down, it was the closest he’d been to me all day and I could swear I felt his . . . vibes or whatever . . . more strongly than I ever had. It was like he was radiating energy in my direction. Except it wasn’t really in
my
direction, of course. Rigel just radiated energy in general and I was bizarrely attuned to it.

Almost too late, I realized that right now, before class started, might be the best chance I’d have all day to talk to him. Before I could psych myself out, I twisted around in my seat.

“Hey, Rigel,” I started, surprising myself with my own boldness.

But before he made eye contact, Trina shushed me—loudly. “Class is about to start, Marsha,” she whispered. “Do you want to get us all in trouble?”

I almost laughed. Like Trina cared if she got caught talking in class? I glanced back at Rigel to see if he caught the irony. This time he did meet my gaze for a split second before looking away, but the expression in his eyes startled me speechless.

He almost looked . . . scared.

Of me?

I’d never scared anybody in my life. I cleared my throat, trying to reorder my thoughts to say what I’d planned to say, but Mr. Ferguson called class to order and I had to turn back around.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Will was watching me curiously, but I didn’t have room in my brain to worry about it. What on
earth
was going on with Rigel? Surely that touch Wednesday afternoon couldn’t have spooked him
that
badly?

I spent the class wondering if Trina had made up some awful story about me that he believed. That I was some kind of monster? That I had some horrible, contagious, incurable disease? That my last boyfriend (not that I’d ever had one) had turned into a frog? I just
had
to ask Rigel what was going on.

Resolved, I stood and turned to him the moment the bell rang, but just like in Geometry and English, he headed straight for the door without looking at me.

“Fine,” I muttered to myself as I stuffed my textbook into my backpack, feeling more and more determined and less and less nervous. “I’ll just have to corner you in the cafeteria—in front of the whole school. That’ll teach you to be such a scaredy-cat.”

I rushed to the cafeteria while my courage was high and took my seat facing the room so I couldn’t miss him. But he never appeared.

“Do you think he got sick again?” Bri asked worriedly when the lunch period was almost over. “We won’t have a prayer against Elm Grove if he doesn’t play tonight!”

“I guess we’ll know in ten minutes,” Deb said when I didn’t answer.

I had that hollow feeling again, the one I’d had all day yesterday.

“Yeah.” Bri sounded glum. “If he’s not in History that’ll mean he won’t be at the game either.” From her tone, you’d have thought losing a football game was the biggest disaster in the world—like our team ever did anything else.

When we got to class a few minutes later, Rigel was there in his usual seat and Brianna blew out her breath in audible relief. “He must have spent lunch in the media center. He probably had to catch up on assignments and stuff from yesterday.”

But I was positive that he’d really been avoiding me. It was almost like he’d known what I’d planned to do. I tried to summon my earlier courage, but it had deserted me for the moment. If Rigel Stuart, star quarterback and hottest boy in school, wanted nothing to do with me, who was I, Marsha-the-Nobody, to challenge him about it? I’d known all along his interest in me was way too good to be true.

It looked like I’d been right.

My friends had other ideas, though. I heard them whispering together during class, though I only caught bits of what they said.

“—some explaining to do!” Deb hissed at one point.

“Both of us. Be ready,” Bri muttered a couple minutes later.

So at least I wasn’t totally unprepared when the two of them leaped out of their seats the second the bell rang and dashed to the door, cutting off Rigel’s attempted escape. I hung back, almost as curious as I was horrified, to see what they would do.

Bri didn’t beat around the bush. “Okay, Rigel, what kind of game are you playing?”

“Game?” His glance flicked to me for an instant, then away. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what we mean,” Deb chimed in. “Two days ago, you were coming on to M like nobody’s business, you know you were. And today, well, are you really that humongous a jerk?”

“Or is this all some nasty plot to make her a laughingstock?” Bri demanded. “I don’t care how good a quarterback you are, nobody treats my friends like that.”

He glanced at me again and now I just wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground and die. Didn’t my friends realize they were embarrassing me way more than anything Rigel could do? I told myself I was
not
going to cry—that would be even more humiliating. But just in case, I turned away and stared out the window. I was going to be late to French class, but right now that was the least of my worries.

Taking deep, slow breaths, I fought the prickling behind my eyelids by counting to one thousand by tens. I’d reached 130 when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I knew before I turned that it was Rigel. The same incredible
zing
went through me as when he’d touched me after school on Wednesday. I felt his hand tense but he didn’t snatch it away this time.

After one more deep breath, I turned. He was frowning, but not like he was mad. More like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he let his arm drop to his side. It took some self-control, but I managed not to reach up and touch the still-tingling spot where his hand had been.

“Hey,” he said with a crooked smile that went straight to my heart.

I wanted to give him the brush off, the way he’d done to me all day, but I couldn’t do it. Not when he was looking at me like an apologetic puppy. A totally gorgeous apologetic puppy.

“Hey,” I replied.

“Walk you to class?” he offered.

I nodded, not quite willing to trust my voice. I glanced toward my friends but they were gone. In fact, Rigel and I were the only ones left from our class, though some kids were already trickling in for sixth period.

Together, we headed for my French class and a moment later he murmured, “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk today.”

Hurriedly gathering the tattered shreds of my courage, I blurted out, “So what was going on, exactly? Why the deep freeze?”

He hesitated for a long moment. “It was, well, kind of a mistake.”

“A mistake? What, like you just forgot that you said you wanted to be my friend?” It was as close as I dared come to mentioning what had happened when he’d touched me Wednesday.

“No! I, uh . . . thought people would gossip less if I backed off.” He didn’t look at me, and spoke carefully, almost like he’d rehearsed, so of course I didn’t believe him. Strangely, that gave me more courage.

“I don’t think that was it at all. I think you were freaked by that . . . jolt, or whatever it was, Wednesday afternoon.” When he still didn’t meet my eye, I asked, point-blank, “Were you really sick yesterday?”

Now he did look at me. Only for a moment, but long enough for me to tell I’d startled him. After a second, he said, “No. And you’re right. I was . . . kinda freaked. I’m over it now, though.” He finally looked at me for real, his eyes pleading with me to believe him.

I gave a little shrug. “I was a little freaked, too, but, well . . . I’ve always had this weird static thing. It’s just not usually that strong.” I still didn’t believe that was all it had been, but it made more sense than anything else.

He stared at me for a long moment, then smiled. “Yeah? You mean you short out computers and stuff? Raise sparks when other people don’t?”