by Brenda Hiatt
Aunt Theresa filed in with the choir and I watched her eyebrows practically disappear into her hairline when she saw the Stuarts sitting with us. She frowned then, but only for a second, because the music started and she had to sing. I hoped she wouldn't say anything to embarrass me when she joined us later.
Usually I enjoyed the music, but today I couldn't seem to focus on it very well, even when the congregation was singing along. I felt really self-conscious with Rigel standing next to me, especially when I noticed that he had an excellent singing voice. Mine was nothing special, so I sang much more quietly, partly so I could listen to him—and to his parents, who also had very good voices.
That got me wondering about why they attended church at all, and what kind of religion people on Mars might have, if any. It was a fascinating line of speculation, and made me miss most of the sermon—not that that was anything new. I frequently daydreamed in church. It had always been less likely to get me in trouble with my aunt than fidgeting.
Though she'd shot a suspicious glance toward the Stuarts when she joined us in the pew just before the sermon, Aunt Theresa's old-fashioned courtesy forced her to smile a greeting before sitting down. That reassured me a little, but when the service ended and we all rose to leave, I was suddenly nervous again.
Dr. Stuart spoke before Aunt Theresa could. "It's so nice to see you all again," she said, with what sounded like genuine warmth. "Such a lovely little church. The people are so friendly."
What could my aunt say to that, except, "We're glad to have you here"? Which she did, though her tone could have been more welcoming.
"Oh, that reminds me," Dr. Stuart continued, smiling even more warmly. "We're having a few friends for dinner tomorrow night and Rigel would like Marsha to join us, if that will be all right with you? We won't keep her late, I promise."
Aunt Theresa primmed up her mouth, clearly trying to think of some reason to refuse, but Uncle Louie came to my rescue again.
"Well, that's really nice of you folks," he said. "That'll be fine, won't it, Theresa?"
At that point, she'd have needed a really good excuse to contradict him without sounding rude. So, since she didn't have an excuse and wouldn't dream of being out-and-out rude in church, she gave a stiff little nod.
"Of course. You're very kind. Would you like her to bring anything?"
Dr. Stuart shook her head. "Just herself."
We all said our good-byes, but a moment later the choir director came over to say something to Aunt Theresa, so I snatched the chance for some private conversation with Rigel.
"Your mom handled that perfectly," I told him quietly. "Thank her for me, okay?"
He grinned. "I'll thank her for myself. But yeah, she's good at that kind of thing. It should help—" He broke off, like he'd almost said more than he meant to.
There wasn't time to cajole him into explaining, unfortunately, so I just asked, "When does your grandfather get here?"
"Late this afternoon—in time for dinner, my dad said."
"So . . . do you know who all he's bringing with him yet?"
He hesitated, making me think he wasn't going to answer—and then he couldn't, because my aunt and uncle joined us. I grumbled, but only to myself, and managed a fairly cheerful parting smile.
Monday morning I woke up with a sense of anticipation bordering on dread. Bri had never returned my call, so I still had that problem to deal with, plus whatever awaited me at Rigel's house tonight.
No sense borrowing trouble, I told myself as I boarded the bus. Dinner might be great—a whole new group of people I could relate to. Like the family I'd never had. I tried to keep that positive attitude as Bri and Deb got on the bus a few minutes later. I put on a bright smile and waved, scooting over to make room on my seat. "Hey, guys!"
But Bri walked right past me, not even making eye contact. I couldn't believe it. I looked up at Deb, who was behind her. "Deb?"
She paused, looking uncertainly at me, then at Brianna's retreating back, then at me again. Then she shrugged and mouthed, "Sorry," and followed Bri to a seat further back.
A few people followed Trina's lead and tittered, but no one said anything. I stared out the window, trying to pretend I didn't care, that I hadn't even noticed, but my eyes were stinging with unshed tears. I blinked and bit my lip, determined not to cry. I would not give Trina—or Bri— that satisfaction.
It felt weird, in a terrible way, to lump those two together: my nemesis and my best friend. To avoid thinking about it, I tried to go back to worrying about dinner at Rigel's tonight, but it was hard to work up the same apprehension I'd had before. It was like I couldn't hold all those conflicting emotions at once. Still, it distracted me enough that I didn't cry.
I tried again as we all got off the bus, standing up right in front of Bri so she couldn't ignore me—or at least, couldn't get past me.
"Bri, I apologized. What else do you want me to do?" I asked her, point blank.
She had to stop, but she didn't have to look me in the eye, and she didn't. "Nothing, Marsha. I don't expect anything from you. You made it pretty clear I shouldn't."
"What do you mean?"
"Hey, who's blocking the aisle?" came a boy's voice from further back.
Reluctantly, I started moving toward the door, glancing back at Bri, waiting for her answer. But the second we were off the bus, she hurried into the school without another word to me. Deb did look back at me once, but followed Bri inside. Grumbling with frustration, I went to my locker, then to class.
"Hey," Rigel greeted me when I got to Geometry. He was leaning against the wall, just inside the door and his gorgeousness—and the soothing tingle I always got from his presence—made me momentarily forget my issues with Bri.
"Hey," I responded. Last week, it would have sounded lame, like I couldn't think of anything better, but now it just felt normal. Comfortable. Much better.
But then I noticed a tightness in his expression.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking. You look nice." His eyes were approving now, as he glanced at my dark green broomstick skirt and yellow eyelet top. But I couldn't help feeling like he was being evasive.
"Thanks. You're sure everything's okay?"
Now he shrugged, which I considered almost an admission. "Yeah, I guess. You're still good for tonight, right?"
I nodded, eyeing him uncertainly. "Any reason I wouldn't be?"
"No, no, just making sure. Oops, there's the bell," he added unnecessarily, since I'd obviously heard it, too.
Clearly he didn't want to talk any more right now, so with a last, confused frown at him, I headed for my seat. Whatever was bothering him, I'd make him tell me at lunch.
Right now, I'd use this chance to confront Debbi.
"So what's the deal?" I asked as I sat down. "What horrible thing does Bri say I did?"
She gave a little shrug, not quite looking at me. "Look, I really don't want to be in the middle of this. Don't make me take sides, okay?"
"I'm not asking you to. I just want to know what she's saying."
Again, that half shrug. "She just . . . thinks you're acting kind of stuck up now that you're with Rigel. Her feelings are hurt, that's all. Give her a little time to—"
"Stuck up?" I hissed, outraged. "What have I said or done that was stuck up? She wanted me to set you guys up with football players, and I don't know any! And then she—"
"Miss Truitt, would you like to teach class today?" Mr. Benning's acid tone made me suddenly realize class had started and I was the only one talking.
I gulped and slumped down in my seat. "No, sir," I said meekly. "Sorry."
Giving me one last quelling glance, he turned around and started the lesson, leaving me fuming silently about Bri. Stuck up? How dared she? She knew me better than that. She was the one giving me the silent treatment, which meant she was the one acting all stuck up! And I'd tell her so, the first chance I got.
But I didn't get a cha
nce. Not in English, where she waited until the bell was ringing to hurry straight to her seat. And not at lunch, where she and Deb went to sit with some girls from the chorus without even stopping at our usual table. I nearly followed her, but chickened out. I didn't want to confront her in front of a crowd.
Besides, I needed to figure out what was going on with Rigel. He wasn't avoiding me, exactly, but he seemed . . . guarded around me, like he was afraid of saying or doing something he shouldn't. I'd been half afraid he'd come up with some reason not to sit with me at lunch, but to my relief, he didn't.
Frustrated by Bri's behavior as well as Rigel's, I set down my tray with a thump. "Okay, what's up? You're acting really weird today."
Like he'd already done a couple of times today, he just shrugged, not quite meeting my eye. "Everything's fine."
"It's not. You're not acting like yourself at all," I insisted. "Am I scheduled for execution tonight, and you're not allowed to tell me?"
His beautiful hazel eyes snapped to mine, both stunning and stunned. "What? Of course not! Why would you say something like that?"
"At least I got you to look at me. Come on, Rigel. Tell me what's going on."
To my relief, his lips twitched. Which surely meant it couldn't be that bad. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just worried I've . . . well, tried to push things too fast. Push you too fast."
I tensed. I wasn't sure I could take it if he was going to apologize again for kissing me. "What do you mean? I haven't felt pushed. At all."
"It's just—" He glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot "—you've had so much thrown at you so fast. I feel like maybe I've taken advantage of that. Of you. Of the confusion you must be feeling about all this."
"I don't feel taken advantage of, either." I didn't untense. Was he about to break things off, after practically declaring us a couple on Friday?
Now his look was pleading, which scared me even more. "I like you, M. A lot. But that might not be . . . I mean, I might . . . we might be reading more into this, um, connection we have than we should."
Even though his words confirmed my fears, I jutted out my chin stubbornly. "Are you saying you don't think we have something special between us? Because I don't believe you."
"That's not—" He broke off, shaking his head. "This is why I didn't want to talk about it yet. I'm not sure exactly what I mean. Just wait until after you've talked to my grandfather tonight. He'll be able to explain it better. I hope."
Those last two words were spoken so low, I wasn't sure I was supposed to hear them. He looked so unhappy now, I felt an instinctive need to cheer him up.
"Hey, it's okay, really," I said, forcing a heartiness I didn't feel into my voice. "I know how families can be. They've got their own ideas about what's good for us, no matter how wrong they might be. I mean, my aunt isn't exactly thrilled about me seeing you, either." I let that last bit turn into a question.
To my relief, he smiled—really smiled. "True. I guess maybe it's not all that different. Anyway, let's not worry about it before we have to, okay?"
"Deal," I agreed. But though I smiled back, I was more nervous about tonight than ever.
14
Coronal attributes
THE REST OF the day seemed to pass at super speed, right when I needed more time to prepare myself for whatever lay ahead at Rigel's that night. Bri and Deb continued to give me the cold shoulder—Deb a little apologetically—and Rigel continued to act more formally toward me than he had last week. All of which gave me plenty to worry about, but not enough time to think.
I wasn't staying after for football practice, since I didn't want to give Aunt Theresa any excuse to change her mind about dinner at the Stuarts'. Plus, Rigel mentioned on the way to History that he thought just having me there once or twice a week would be enough to help him compensate for my presence at the games. I tried to tell myself he was being considerate, so I wouldn't get into trouble.
When I reached the bus after school, I was cranky enough to welcome the chance to confront Bri again about what a brat she was being. She and Deb were ahead of me, and of course they sat together, but I surprised myself almost as much as I surprised them by sitting right behind them—next to jerk-face Bobby Jeeter, of all people.
"Okay, Bri, give," I said, before the bus even started moving. "You've been treating me like I have a disease or something ever since Friday night. There's got to be more to this than a party invite."
For several long seconds, she didn't say anything, didn't even act like she'd heard me. But then she whipped around to lean on the back of her seat, facing me. Glaring at me.
"Oh, don't play innocent, Marsha," she said. "I know what you've been saying behind my back. Just because you're dating the quarterback doesn't mean you're better than me, you know."
I blinked, honestly confused. "What? I haven't said anything behind your back. What are you talking about?"
She flicked a quick glance at Deb, then at Bobby next to me, before answering. "About not needing to hang with losers anymore?"
"Bri, I would never say anything like that! Ever. But . . . I'll bet I know who told you I did," I added, remembering something from Friday night.
The fact that she wouldn't look at me, and that her cheeks went suddenly pink, confirmed my guess.
"Seriously, Bri?" I asked, and she reluctantly—guiltily—met my eyes, but only for a second. "You really believed something Trina of all people would say?"
She gave a little shrug, looking down now. "She said she heard you. Then she and Nicole were talking about it, like everybody knew. And you had been—"
"I'd been ignoring you and . . . stuff." I didn't need to give Bobby Jeeter any extra fuel for gossip. "I know. And I am sorry about that. But come on, like I'd talk bad about you to Trina? Or talk to her at all?"
She shrugged again. "She said she overheard you, but . . . yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry. Oh, our stop. I'll, um, call you later, M, okay?" she said, getting to her feet and heading to the front of the bus without another glance my way.
"Okay. Later," I said, still not sure she believed me. "Bye."
"Bye, M," Deb said over her shoulder, looking relieved.
Not until they were off the bus did I remember I wasn't going to be home most of the evening. I hoped Bri would call before I left for Rigel's or after I got back, since I really didn't want to explain it to her.
"So, Marsh," said Bobby Jeeter as the bus lurched forward again. "Lookin' good these days."
"What?" I glanced at him, startled—and distrustful. "Um, thanks?"
His smile looked genuine, but it couldn't undo all the years of him being obnoxious. "Just sayin'. Y'know, if the thing with Stuart doesn't work out . . ." He let that hang there. So did I, glad mine was the next stop.
I didn't say goodbye.
Once home, I dove right into my homework, determined to finish it before five-thirty, when Rigel's mom was supposed to pick me up. When my aunt got home an hour later, I was nearly done.
"I don't suppose you've sorted your laundry?" she asked me, by way of greeting.
"Um, not yet, but I'll do it before I leave," I said, closing my history book and opening my French. "Did you have a nice day today?"
"I suppose." She gave me a long, speculative look, then went upstairs to her room.
I wondered what she suspected me of now. I knew she didn't approve of me going to Rigel's tonight, but she had given her permission, and I didn't think she'd go back on that—unless I gave her an excuse. Which I definitely wouldn't, no matter how nervous I was.
Five-thirty arrived sooner than I expected, somehow. I was still looking for my other seashell earring—I'd decided at the last minute that those were more sophisticated than the daisies I'd been wearing all day—when Aunt Theresa called up the stairs that Dr. Stuart was in the drive.
I hurtled down the stairs to the front door, the just-found earring in my hand. "I'll see you later tonight," I said to my aunt, yanking open the door before Dr. Stuart rang
the bell. "Hi!" I greeted her.
"Hello, Marsha," she said, looking only the slightest bit startled at my abrupt appearance. "Are you ready?"
I swallowed and closed the door behind me. "I hope so."
"You're nervous." It wasn't a question. "Please don't be. Tonight is just a formality. Everything will be fine, I promise."
A formality? "Um, just what is happening tonight?" Now I had visions of some kind of tribunal, with me in the spotlight.
She opened the passenger door of the car for me, then went around to the driver's side and got in before answering. "There are a few people, including Rigel's grandfather, who want to meet you. They're understandably . . . interested . . . to hear your story. If you need a break, just give me a nod. I won't let them do anything to make you uncomfortable."
That was obviously impossible, since I was already uncomfortable just thinking about it. But she was trying to be kind and I appreciated that, so I changed the subject.
"Do Rigel and his grandfather, um, get along? He seemed a little, I don't know, preoccupied at school today."
She glanced at me as she pulled away from the curb, but so quickly that I couldn't decipher her expression. "They've been fairly close in the past. At least, I thought so. But as Rigel gets older, I suppose such relationships are bound to change."
It wasn't really an answer, but I couldn't think how to pursue it without sounding nosy. Besides, in a few minutes I'd be able to draw my own conclusions. We made the rest of the drive in near silence.
"Here we are," she said unnecessarily as we pulled to a stop in their long driveway, next to a large gray van. Was it my imagination, or was she a little nervous herself?
I felt my palms sweating as we approached the front door, though I didn't know exactly why. Dr. Stuart opened the door and stood back to let me enter first, calling out, "We're here!" before ushering me through an archway on the left.
The living room was large but cozy, with a sofa, loveseat and several overstuffed chairs, along with several antique-looking tables—and a whole lot of people. I counted seven as they all leaped to their feet, five men and two women. I was pretty sure seven qualified as "several" rather than "a few." Mr. Stuart, the only one I recognized, came forward.