by Brenda Hiatt
Shaken, I looked to Rigel for confirmation—or a return to sanity. "They're . . . they're really not kidding?"
Slowly, he shook his head. I thought his eyes held a touch of sadness, which seemed strange. "They're really not. That's why it was so important to find you. I'm not much on the politics, but my folks say there's still a lot of resistance to the new leaders."
"Yes," Dr. Stuart said. "And it's growing. The new regime is growing more and more oppressive and even some of its most ardent original supporters are becoming disillusioned, wondering if they made a mistake."
"Which they did," Rigel's father said forcefully. He obviously had very strong feelings about all of this.
But to me, it sounded more and more like a dream—or maybe a science fiction novel. Shying away from the whole politics/royalty thing, I focused on the part I really cared about. "So . . . what exactly happened to my grandfather?"
There was another one of those speaking silences between Rigel's parents before his mother answered. "Though we Martians, as a people, are nonviolent, I'm afraid—"
Mr. Stuart interrupted her. "Those now in power have found a way to overcome our natural—and adaptive—aversion to killing. I'm ashamed to claim them as brethren."
"Are . . . are you saying that my grandfather was . . . murdered?" Their bleak expressions answered me. I felt a sudden sense of loss that surprised me, given that I'd never known him—or even known of his existence until a few minutes ago.
"And what about my parents?" I almost whispered the words.
Dr. Stuart took my hand again, with a reassuring squeeze. "We have no reason to believe their deaths were anything more than an unfortunate accident."
"How?" Somehow, it was important that I know this.
"An automobile accident," Mr. Stuart told me, his voice gentler than I'd yet heard it. "Their car went off an embankment into a river and they were drowned. At the time, it was assumed that you drowned with them. But then, just a few years ago, my father came across evidence that you had survived and set us on our search."
I was both relieved and saddened to know the truth. All my life I'd made up stories about what had happened to my parents, from the mundane to the bizarre. I was glad it was closer to the mundane. I opened my mouth to ask about the evidence he'd mentioned when Dr. Stuart let go of my hand with a start.
"Oh, goodness, look at the time!" she exclaimed. "We need to get going immediately if we're to keep Marsha from getting into trouble at home."
I glanced down at my sundae, but it was just brownish-green soup. I had no appetite now, anyway. We all stood and I tossed it into the nearest trash can without regret.
"You okay?" Rigel murmured to me as we got back into the car, just as he had earlier that day in his kitchen, right after I'd learned I was from Mars.
"Yeah. At least . . . I think so. I'm probably going to have really weird dreams tonight, though."
But then, remembering what a big part he'd been playing in my dreams lately, I lapsed into embarrassed silence. No way I wanted him to know that. Even if I thought maybe he wouldn't mind.
More and more questions kept occurring to me on the drive back. At one point, I asked, "Do all the other Earth Martians, um, Echtrans, know about me?"
But instead of answering, Rigel's dad said, "My father called during the game and said that he'll be flying in on Sunday. Why don't we wait until he gets here to go into any further explanations. He's much better equipped to answer your questions than we are."
I wanted to ask why, but something in his tone—or maybe just my own cowardice—kept me from doing so. Instead I asked another question that had only just occurred to me.
"What is my real name? Do you know?"
It was Rigel who answered me, to my surprise. "Emileia," he said with a smile that made my heart thump.
"Emileia?" I repeated, pronouncing it like he had, rhyming with Himalaya. I liked it. Way better than Marsha.
He spelled it for me. "So M works really well as a nickname," he added. We both laughed over that.
All too soon, we pulled up in front of my house. I was vividly reminded of last Friday, when the Stuarts had driven me home from the first game of the year. Was it really only a week ago? My whole world had changed irrevocably since then.
As he had last week, Rigel walked me to the door. All the way up the short walk I tried to prepare myself for a goodnight kiss, and for the disappointment if I didn't get one. After all, his parents were right there in the car—
The front door swung open just as we reached the porch, dashing any chance whatsoever.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Aunt Theresa demanded.
Rigel spoke up before I could, which was really brave of him. "I apologize, Mrs. Truitt. We won the game, so my parents stopped for ice cream on the way home to celebrate."
She frowned up at him—even though she was a step above us in the doorway, he was still taller than she was. "Why are you bringing her home at all?" she asked. "I thought—"
"Um, Bri and I kind of had a fight," I jumped in, before she could finish. "It would have been super awkward to ride home with her, so Rigel and his folks offered me a ride again."
My aunt looked suspiciously from me to Rigel and back, while I sent a pleading glance his way so he wouldn't contradict me. Finally she harrumphed, but to my relief, she didn't ask any more questions.
"You'd best get to bed, missy," was all she said. Then, grudgingly, to Rigel, "Please thank your parents for bringing her home."
"Yes, ma'am, I will." He gave me a quick smile of sympathy and a wink that she didn't see, and headed back to the car.
I'd have stayed on the porch to wave, but Aunt Theresa herded me into the house immediately and closed the door. I braced myself for the lecture I knew was coming. She didn't disappoint me.
"Didn't I warn you about your infatuation with that quarterback?" she began. "It's past eleven-thirty. A boy doesn't bring a girl home that late if he respects her."
I pointed out that his parents were driving, not Rigel, but of course she already knew that. And it didn't matter.
"You should have tried harder to patch up your little spat with Brianna. There are too many ways a girl can get into trouble these days," she continued, at which point I pretty much tuned her out.
As her tirade went on, I started to feel a weird sense of disorientation. Barely an hour ago, I'd learned that I was a very important person—royalty!—to a whole civilization, and here I was being chastised like a child by a woman who wasn't even related to me. The thought made me stand a little taller, helped me distance myself even more from the hurtful things my aunt was saying.
I didn't try to defend myself. After all, I had basically lied to her, even if she didn't know it, so I wasn't exactly blameless. Instead, I told myself that nobly enduring my suffering would only make me stronger. And that maybe I would need that strength in the days, the years, to come, if everything the Stuarts had told me was true.
With no protests from me to fuel her, Aunt Theresa ran out of steam more quickly than usual. "Just go to bed," she finished. "And see you make wiser decisions in the future."
I nodded—regally, like the wronged princess I was—and headed to my room without another word.
For the next two hours I lay awake, thinking over every single thing the Stuarts had told me that day—and all the things they hadn't. It seemed like I'd barely scratched the surface of all there was to know about Mars and about myself, but they'd promised to tell me more once Rigel's grandfather got here. I just hoped Aunt Theresa wouldn't forbid me to see Rigel outside of school, or anything.
The thought first panicked me, then made me giggle. Just as I had while she'd been scolding me earlier, I reminded myself that I was heir to a throne. I didn't have to answer to her whims anymore. At least, not if I could break a lifetime of habit.
I expected to have wild dreams, but when I finally did fall asleep, I never dreamed at all.
The next morning, though, I di
d wonder if I'd dreamed everything from the day before when Aunt Theresa rousted me out of bed early so I could get the lawn mowed before it rained.
I snarfed down a bowl of cereal and headed outside, finding it harder and harder to believe yesterday's revelations could have been real. But if it hadn't happened, if it had just been an extra-realistic dream, I didn't have any alternate memories of the day—so it probably had. Probably. I wouldn't feel completely sure until I talked to Rigel again.
As I restarted the mower for the fifth time—it was old, and the rain earlier this week had made the grass thicker than usual—I wondered when the glamorous part of being a princess would kick in. An hour later, slogging to taekwondo in the rain, I decided it couldn't be soon enough.
I made a real effort to focus in class this time, remembering that I might need to be strong someday. Paying attention made a surprising difference. Some of my kicks were better than even the black belts' and I had the best session of sparring I'd ever achieved, keeping my older, red belt opponent on the defensive the whole time. Again, Master Parker made a point of complimenting me after class, and I couldn't help feeling like I deserved it.
On the way home I rehearsed in my head what I was going to say to Bri when I called her. She'd way overreacted, of course, but I would be magnanimous and apologize anyway. I had been neglecting my friends ever since, well, Rigel. And they'd been really supportive, what with the makeover, and making up excuses to leave us alone at lunchtime. I was being a bad friend.
With that firmly in mind, I went straight to the phone when I got home and dialed Bri's number. Her mom answered.
"Hi, Mrs. Morrison, it's M. Is Bri there?"
"Hello, Marsha. Just a minute." There was a pause, during which I could hear Bri's voice in the background, then her mother came back on the line. "I'm afraid she's not here right now," she said, her voice now sounding stilted. "I'll tell her you called."
For a second I was tempted to say I knew Bri was there and demand to talk to her, but I chickened out. Flat contradicting a parent was more than I was up to, though I was surprised Bri's mom would actually lie for her.
"Um, okay, thanks," I finally said, after an awkward pause. "Bye."
I hung up the phone, deflated. I couldn't believe Bri was still pissed at me for not offering to set her and Deb up with football players. I'd been sure that once she cooled down, she'd realize how unreasonable that was. Deep down, though, I knew there was more to it than that. Still, if she wasn't willing to talk to me, there wasn't much I could do about it.
With a sigh, I went upstairs to shower and do my homework.
Late that afternoon, my aunt and uncle left to go to a big flea market in Kokomo. I was just as glad they didn't ask me to come, since I knew it would mainly be quilting booths for Aunt Theresa and fishing lures and weird collectibles for Uncle Louie. Plus, this would give me lots of time to do online research without worrying someone might look over my shoulder.
About a minute after their car pulled out, I headed to the computer, only to be stopped by the phone. Had Bri decided to let me grovel after all? I hurried to answer.
It was Rigel. "Hey, M. Can you talk for a few minutes now?"
Though my heart automatically thudded at the sound of his voice, I couldn't help thinking his timing was a little suspicious. "Yeah, I can. But . . . you knew that, didn't you?"
His warm chuckle sent delightful little shivers through me. "Okay, yeah. I'm on my cell, and I just saw your aunt and uncle leave."
"You mean you've been watching my house all day?" I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
"No! Well, not all day. I had some stuff to do in town this afternoon and sort of wandered past once or twice, that's all. And I saw their car turn down Diamond a minute ago, heading out of town."
"Then you're not going all stalker on me?" I teased. "That's good to know." Except I wasn't totally positive I'd have minded. "Can you come over, then?"
There was a pause on the other end, then he said, "I'd better not. Especially after you, ah, fudged to your aunt about going to the game with me last night."
Oops. "You, um, caught that, huh?"
"It was kind of obvious. So why did you feel like you had to lie to your aunt? Doesn't she like me?"
"It's not that." I struggled to explain in a way that wouldn't insult him—or make me sound like too much of a loser. "She's just . . . protective. She doesn't want me to get hurt."
"I don't want you to get hurt, either. Or in trouble, if I can help it. I did ask if they were okay with you coming over and all, and you said they were." There was a hint of accusation in his voice, and I totally deserved it.
"I know. I'm sorry. I was just so excited, and I didn't want to risk—"
He interrupted me. "Hey, it's okay. But I really want you to feel like you can trust me. With anything." The sudden tenderness in his voice made me melt on the spot.
"I do. I mean . . . thanks."
"So," he said, suddenly businesslike. "The real reason I called. My folks want to invite you to dinner Monday night—to meet my grandfather and a couple other people."
That sounded intimidating. "Other people?" I asked cautiously.
"Friends or, I guess, colleagues of his. That's what my dad said, anyway. Don't worry, nothing scary, I promise." Again, it was like he knew just what I was feeling.
"I'll have to ask. My aunt—"
"Yeah." There was a thoughtful pause. "Maybe my mom should call her. Think she'd prefer that?"
I was pretty sure she wouldn't like that, either, but it probably had a better chance of a yes than me asking. "She is kind of old fashioned." Huge understatement! "That might work."
"Okay, I'll talk to my folks, then. Oops, looks like my order is ready. Talk to you soon!"
"Bye." As I hung up, I realized he hadn't said a word about all the bizarre stuff his parents had told me last night. After spending the next several minutes going over every word of our conversation in my head, I suddenly remembered what I'd been about to do and went to the computer.
For the next three and a half hours I Googled every permutation of "humans on Mars" and "Martians on Earth" I could think of, along with "Martian colony," "Martian politics" and even "lost Martian princess" and "Princess Emileia." Like before, ninety percent of what I found was fictional and the other ten percent looked like the blogs and websites of crazy people with wild conspiracy theories. None of it bore the slightest resemblance to anything the Stuarts had told me.
Next I tried to research "genetic engineering," but the most plausible stuff was way too technical for me to understand and the less technical stuff was either about the Nazis or again either sci-fi or conspiracy ramblings.
Finally, I gave it up. My eyes were starting to ache and it sounded like more thunderstorms were rolling in. Plus, my aunt and uncle would be back soon. With a frustrated sigh, I purged the browser cache, deleted all cookies to be extra safe, and shut down the computer. I tried calling Bri again, but this time the machine answered. I wondered if they were really out or if she'd talked her parents into screening their calls.
"Hey, Bri, it's M," I said after the recording. "I'm really, really sorry about last night. Call me so I can apologize properly, okay?" I waited a few seconds just in case she was standing by the phone listening, but no one picked up.
My aunt and uncle came home shortly after that, with Chinese takeout for dinner. Sweet and sour pork wasn't one of my favorites, but I ate it without complaining, not wanting to do anything that could possibly antagonize Aunt Theresa before Rigel's mom called.
All evening I was tense, waiting for the phone to ring. When it finally did, at a quarter past nine, I held my breath as Uncle Louie answered, but it was only one of his friends calling to talk about fishing plans for next weekend.
By ten, it was obvious she wasn't going to call tonight, so I excused myself and went to bed, disappointed and grumpy—and wondering again whether I really had imagined all the Martian princess stuff from the night before.
Maybe I just wanted to believe in my fantasy so badly I'd hallucinated it.
I started to think back over every detail from Friday again to reassure myself, but before I got past the ionic sterilizer, the sound of rain on the roof lulled me to sleep.
The next day was as bright and sunny as the day before had been gloomy—at least, the weather was. My mood, not so much. But then I remembered that Rigel and his parents had come to our church last Sunday, which meant they might be there again today. That perked me up a little and, after spending more time than usual deciding what to wear to church, I went down to breakfast in a slightly more hopeful frame of mind.
Sitting in our usual pew with Uncle Louie an hour later, I couldn't help darting anxious glances toward the door. I knew it was silly—and kind of pathetic—but I felt an actual physical longing to see Rigel again and hoped I wouldn't have to wait until tomorrow at school. Even my unobservant uncle noticed my preoccupation.
"What has you so jumpy?" he asked when I looked over my shoulder for the dozenth time.
"I, um, just hate sitting still, indoors, on such a nice day," I improvised. After that, I forced myself to keep my eyes forward, though I didn't relax.
I felt him before I saw him—like last week, only stronger. The moment I felt that now-familiar tug, I relaxed a little. It was all true. It must be. And he was here.
Of course I had to peek, just to be positive, and sure enough, there he was, coming up the center aisle with his parents. This time, instead of sitting on the opposite side of the sanctuary, they joined us in our pew with whispered greetings. Rigel sat beside me, with his parents on his other side. Again, I felt something inside me shift and settle, almost like I was completed by his nearness.
"Everything okay?" he whispered, his eyes holding mine for a long, delicious moment.
"Fine," I replied, silently adding, now. I wished I could touch him, just brush his hand with mine, but since it was church and Uncle Louie and his parents were right there, I didn't dare. I was going to have a hard enough time trying to pay attention when the service started as it was.