Starfall: A Starstruck Novel

by Hiatt, Brenda

  Huh. If I was supreme ruler of Nuath, especially after living my whole life in a podunk town like Jewel, I’d want to enjoy it for more than a few months. Guess that means I’m not exactly Sovereign material.

  Finally, I ask the question that bothers me most. “So, if Sean and the Sovereign are both on board with that Consort thing, why aren’t they a couple now? Sean says they’re not, though they’re obviously friends. Isn’t that a little strange?”

  Another long look between my parents. And when Mom answers, she doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “Whatever their reasons, I imagine it’s personal, Rigel, and something they’ll need to work out between themselves. I’d, ah, recommend against getting involved.”

  Dad nods. “The last thing you’d want to do is interfere with a pairing that will go so far to restore confidence among our people, both here and back on Mars.”

  In other words, if they do know what’s going on with M and Sean, they’re not telling. Maybe they’re right that it’s none of my business. But I still want to know.

  * * *

  Though my memories of the last year are as stubbornly elusive as ever, over the next few days at school I do my best to fill in more blanks. The guys on the team help by answering some questions about what happened at school and Sean gives me a little more info about non-school stuff when we manage to pair up in Weight Training.

  Friday I have to go light on the weights since tonight’s our first game. Not till class is half over do I get a chance to talk privately with Sean. “Hey, tell me about when you and your family were in hiding and stuff. Must have been scary?”

  He does another incline press. “Only the last week or so, when we had to bug out in a hurry. Before that, we just lived like Ags—farmers—in a little village. Mum and Dad snuck out to secret Resistance meetings, and a few times we even had them in our house, but they never let me or Molly sit in on them. Then a meeting got raided. Our older sister was captured and the rest barely escaped. They seized a lot of records, so it wasn’t safe to stay after that. We were lucky a ship captain was willing to smuggle us out.”

  I guess that part was exciting enough. “What, um, happened to your sister?”

  His mouth twists, making me sorry I asked. “She’s…mostly okay now. Still back home—in Nuath, I mean. They’re still treating her for mem— uh, for what Faxon’s people did to her.”

  “What, did they torture her?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much.” He’d obviously been about to say something else, though, and stopped himself. Something else I’m not supposed to know about?

  No, I’m being paranoid. Probably just something he’d rather not talk about, which is totally fair.

  “My folks consider your whole family heroes,” I tell him, hoping to lighten his mood. “Sounds like all our people do.”

  “Nah. Here, help me with this.” I guide the weights back onto the rack, even though he doesn’t really need my help. “You’re more a hero than I’ve ever been, what with that big battle last fall and everything after. Like on Mars.”

  I snort. “Yeah, well, I’ll take your word for it, but—”

  “Doesn’t seem quite real? I guess it wouldn’t. But the news stories then said you and your family helped fight off a whole bunch of Faxon’s people, that you risked your life to protect the Princess. That much is common knowledge, even if I can’t say much about the other.”

  Meaning whatever happened on Mars isn’t common knowledge? So maybe they don’t want me remembering it? “Thanks, man. My folks have barely even let me read news stories. Something else the Healers warned against even though it seems like it would help. Might jog something loose, you know?”

  Now Sean looks uncomfortable, like maybe he said too much again. “Yeah, you’d think. But maybe they have their reasons.”

  “Right.” Now my mood is souring. Not knowing stuff is getting really old. Which reminds me to ask about all those other Echtrans at school—our Chemistry teacher and the new vice principal, who sometimes patrols the cafeteria at lunchtime.

  “Oh, yeah. There was another one last year, too, a Ms. Harrigan, but I think she’s gone. Not sure about Mr. Abbot. I think M said he’s a friend of your grandfather’s? But Mr. Cormac—Cormac’s actually his first name, by the way—is M’s official Bodyguard. Came here from Mars with us. Guess they decided putting him in charge of school discipline would make it easy for him to do his job without raising suspicions. You’ve got to admit, he looks the part. Way more than Mr. Pedersen did—the guy everybody used to call ‘The Warden.’”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Retired, I think. Anyway, pretty sure that’s all of us. At the moment, anyway.”

  I want to ask Sean more questions but class is nearly over. Besides, what I most want to ask—what the deal is between him and M these days—is basically off-limits. When I hinted about it to Molly yesterday, she just said she “hopes everything will work out.” But the way she said it made it even more obvious Sean still has it kind of bad for M.

  On my way to last period, it occurs to me one way I can repay Sean for telling me so much stuff might be to help get the two of them back together. M’s been acting a lot more friendly in general in the classes we have together, though we haven’t really talked much since that once at the computer. If I get a chance, maybe I’ll mention Sean to her, kind of nudge her his way.

  The past couple afternoons Ms. Raymond had us all working separately, on different stuff. A good thing, since I still get kind of jumpy and tongue-tied around M. But today we’re both at the same computer as before, fact-checking stories for our first online newspaper of the year. Which means I can start my campaign to help Sean right away.

  I skim the print-out of the first article and read the highlighted bits out loud to M, who starts typing search terms into Google. When one of the pages takes a while to load, I plunge in.

  “So. Sean O’Gara. Great guy, huh?” I try to keep my voice super casual but realize as the words come out how stupid I sound.

  And, yeah, the look she gives me is startled and a little suspicious. “What?”

  “Sean. You know. Molly’s brother?”

  “Yes. I know who Sean is. What about him?” Definitely suspicious now.

  “Um, just that he’s been helping a lot, filling me in on some stuff my parents didn’t bother to tell me. He seems like a really nice guy.”

  M tilts her head back to look me straight in the eyes—which makes her look like a Sovereign. I try not to squirm under that direct gaze.

  “Did Sean tell you to say that?”

  “What? No! Of course not. He’d never— I mean, I know you guys used to date. But aren’t now. And I know about that whole, um, Consort thing…”

  “Sean must have mentioned that part.”

  I quickly shake my head. “I already knew. Found out back in Ireland. My parents talked about it some, too. Sean, not so much. But he’s… You should probably talk to him. Work things out. Or something. Don’t you think?” Jeez, I sound lame!

  M tenses up and frowns. Then she narrows those incredible eyes, like she’s trying to bore right into my brain. But after a long, nervous moment she relaxes and even smiles.

  “So Sean’s been nice to you, helping you? I’m glad. Because I actually, um, asked him to do that. I always hoped you two would become real friends, but—”

  “But I never liked the Consort thing? No, Sean didn’t tell me that,” I add quickly when her perfect eyebrows go up. “But I figured, from a couple things he did say—”

  She holds up a hand and I immediately shut up. I mean, she is the Sovereign. “Rigel.” Her voice is softer now. Gentler. “I really hoped once we were in the same room together, especially once we had a chance to talk, you might start to understand. But I guess it’s going to take, well… Don’t freak out, okay?”

  “Freak out?” Even though I have no idea what she’s going to tell me, my heart starts to slam against my chest. No matter what it is, it’s got to be something I ne
ed to know. “Okay. I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  I wait, bracing myself for whatever it is she’s about to say. But instead of revealing something shocking, like I expect, she just reaches over with her hand and touches my forearm.

  16

  Spark test

  A jolt, like some combo of electricity and adrenaline, shoots up my arm and through my whole body until I swear the hair on my head must be standing straight up. I scramble backward so fast I nearly fall off my chair.

  “What was that?” I whisper wildly. “What did you just do?”

  I’m shocked to my core by what just happened—whatever the hell it was. But she just looks…expectant. Like she’s waiting for something important to happen.

  Funny thing is, I do feel like I might be on the verge of some kind of breakthrough. Or maybe a breakdown. I hold my breath, also waiting, though I have no clue for what. But the seconds lengthen and her expression slowly changes from eager anticipation to uncertainty and finally disappointment.

  “You don’t… You’re not…?” She doesn’t look or sound regal now. More like helpless and confused. I feel a weird urge to comfort her.

  “What did you do?” I repeat instead, needing some kind of explanation. Surely her mere touch doesn’t affect everybody like that, every single time? Or is that how the Sovereigns keep people in line? Except it didn’t hurt, exactly. More like it…energized every cell in my body or something. I feel more awake than I can ever remember being.

  Pressing her lips together like she’s trying not to cry, she swallows, hard, and looks away. “I, um…I seem to have fried another computer.”

  Sure enough, the screen is black. I try tapping the space bar, in case it just went to sleep, but no. “Did you say another computer?”

  She nods. “I’m kind of a disaster around electronics. Always have been. It’s a, uh, static thing.” Her voice is slightly shaky. Again I get that bizarre urge to comfort her, even though I have no idea why she’s so upset.

  “Yeah, I think it’s an Echtran thing. I sometimes do that, too.” I try to convince myself that’s all that freaky adrenaline zap was, though I know better. Despite my own static issues, I’ve never felt anything remotely like that before.

  Still unnerved, I reach for the computer. “Here, let me see what I can do.” I unplug it and plug it back in, try turning it back on. Nothing. Finally I go to Ms. Raymond and tell her the computer conked out.

  She comes over, does all the same stuff I just did, then frowns at M. “Mr. Morrison did warn me about you, Marsha—your propensity to short out computers, I mean. Apparently he was right.”

  “If you let me take it home, I can probably fix it over the weekend,” I volunteer. “I really am good with computers. So’s my dad. His job is troubleshooting computers and software.”

  Ms. Raymond’s worried expression clears. “I’d very much appreciate that, Rigel, if you really think you can. The publications budget has been cut so much, a new computer or even an expensive repair would put a serious dent in it.”

  M and I spend the last ten minutes of class packing up the computer, a clunky old desktop. I’m careful not to brush against her in the process.

  Just before the final bell rings, I whisper, “Seriously, what was that…thing you did, where you touched my arm? What did you think would happen, when you told me not to freak out?” Which I totally did anyway, I realize.

  “It doesn’t matter, since it didn’t work. Have a great game tonight, Rigel. I’ll come cheer, if my aunt lets me.”

  With a sad sort of smile, she picks up her backpack and walks out of the room.

  * * *

  By halftime, there’s no doubt about it—I’m playing the best game of my life. Or, at least, that I can remember. My arm has never felt so good and it’s like I know exactly where my receivers will be before they’re even there. I’m faster, stronger, more agile than I’ve ever been in practice. It’s like I can do no wrong.

  Once or twice, while the defense is on the field, I wonder if my exponential improvement could possibly have anything to do with that bizarre zap I got from the Sovereign this afternoon. She obviously expected it to do something. I kind of doubt giving me rad football skills was what she had in mind, but who knows? Maybe she’s a really rabid fan or something.

  In the locker room, Coach Glazier is ecstatic. “I didn’t want to mess with your head earlier, Stuart, but now I can admit that last week you had me worried. Especially after the town pitched in to help us double the size of our stands. But seeing what you did this half, I don’t think we’ll have any trouble filling those new bleachers. Looks like you’re back a hundred and ten percent. Keep up the great work, son, and we’ll be looking at an undefeated season!”

  The other guys hoot and holler their agreement, then Coach launches into his halftime talk, mostly about getting the defense up to the same level as our offense. When we head back to the field for the second half, I look up at the supposedly new stands. Hard to believe they were even smaller last year. My gaze drifts over to where M was sitting earlier, on the fifty yard line.

  Her friends Bri and Deb are still there, but she’s gone. Squashing down a stupid prick of disappointment, I look a few rows higher to wave at my parents—and there’s M, talking to them. Arguing with them? My mom shakes her head and says something and Dad nods agreement with whatever Mom is saying. M leans in like she’s arguing again, then heads back to her friends, frowning. My folks watch her go. They both look worried. What the—?

  Before I can even start to come up with a theory, the whistle blows. I shove my helmet back on and run onto the field. Another mystery that’ll have to wait. Time to get my head back in the game.

  At the final whistle, it’s Jewel 41, Frankton 13 and the crowd explodes. Fans stream onto the field to congratulate the team—to congratulate me. I catch a glimpse of M through the crowd, just behind her friends, heading my way. Then I get a flash—deja vu?—of exactly this scene, excited fans coming toward me after a big win. And M. M is…

  Suddenly another flash crowds out the first, this one even clearer. A memory of Trina running up to me in her skimpy cheer outfit, just like she’s doing now. Of Trina and me…kissing.

  The relief of finally remembering something adds to my high from winning the game. So when Trina reaches me, I return her hug and swing her around. “I remember this!” I tell her exultantly. “My first memory!”

  “Oh, Rigel!” she squeals and plasters her mouth on mine. I let her. We must have kissed last year, since I remember it. But it still feels…off, somehow. So when she lets go of me, I turn half away to talk to other people—like my parents, who’ve just reached me.

  “Great game, son, just great,” Dad says. He and mom are smiling now, not looking worried at all. Then, over Mom’s shoulder, I see Molly O’Gara, who’s also on the cheer squad, staring at me.

  Molly looks upset, almost outraged. About Trina? Crap, I never went out with Molly, did I? Like in Ireland or something? I scan the crowd for M but now I don’t see her, even when her friend Bri runs up. She hugs me like Trina did. I’m glad she doesn’t try to kiss me.

  “What an incredible game, Rigel! Even better than last year’s opener!” She goes on gushing, while other people move in to slap me on the back and offer more congratulations.

  I nod but I’m not listening because I’ve finally spotted M. She’s not heading my way anymore. Before I can figure out her expression from here, she spins around and walks quickly away. Huh. The guys did tell me she and Trina don’t like each other…

  Another memory is starting to niggle when I’m suddenly hit by a second clear one—M and Jimmy Franklin, dancing together, a slow dance. And me dancing with Trina. Homecoming, maybe? I turn to Trina, who’s still hovering by my shoulder.

  “Did…did we go to a dance together last year?”

  She dimples up at me and nods. “I told you we were on the Homecoming Court together. Oh, Rigel, you do remember!”

  Bri f
rowns across me at Trina. “But—”

  “Can’t you see other people want to talk to Rigel, Bri? Give them a chance,” Trina snaps.

  Bri glares at her, but moves off. I wonder what she was going to say, but then my attention is claimed by a bunch of people still wanting to congratulate me before I head to the showers.

  In the car on the way home, I tell my parents about those two flashes of memory, my first since waking up in Ireland. “So I guess Trina was telling the truth about us dating last year, at least first semester. From what some of the guys said, I figured she was exaggerating.”

  “Oh, yes, you and Trina were fairly close for a while,” Mom says lightly. “Though it never became terribly serious, of course.”

  “Of course?” I echo.

  “Well, she is Duchas. It’s not as though you could ever tell her about, well, us.”

  “Oh. Right. Yeah.” I guess keeping such a big secret would make a relationship kind of hard. Which reminds me. “How about Molly O’Gara? Did I ever go out with her?”

  Mom glances back at me in surprise. “I don’t believe so. Oh, you did take her to the Winter Formal, but I had the impression you just went as friends.”

  Because Sean took M? Wasn’t that what the guys told me? But if Molly and I were just friends, why did she look so upset when Trina kissed me? Then I remember the other thing I wanted to ask about.

  “So what were you guys and the Sovereign talking about at halftime?”

  My parents exchange one of their looks, then Mom smiles at me over her shoulder. It looks forced. “She just wanted to know how you’re doing. How you’re adjusting.”

  “Nothing else? You’re sure?”

  “She did mention the emigration effort,” Dad adds. A little too quickly. “Wanted suggestions on ways to help the newcomers make a smoother transition. I must say, it’s good to see her taking such a personal interest rather than simply delegating everything.”