by Brenda Hiatt
"Hey, M. I’m . . . I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you sooner, but—"
"You sound terrible." And he did. He sounded as bad as I felt, his voice raspy and tired.
"Yeah, about that. Look, I know you can’t talk privately, so just listen, okay?"
Though I had a whole lot I wanted to say to him, my aunt and uncle were both unabashedly eavesdropping, so I just said, "Okay."
"We really, really need to talk, face to face, but it has to be some way nobody will see us. Especially a particular somebody. Do you think there’s any chance you can sneak out of the house tonight, after your aunt and uncle are asleep? Just say yes or no."
"Um, probably." I wasn’t going to let him order me around like that, after what he’d put me through. But I was also desperate to see him—to talk to him.
He gave a ghost of a chuckle. "Okay, good enough. If you can get away, meet me at the arboretum at midnight. But be super careful, and if I’m not there, don’t wait. It’ll mean I either couldn’t sneak past my folks or I was being followed. And if you see anything suspicious at all, run right back home. Got it?"
"Yeah, but—"
"The rest will have to wait till later. See you in a few hours—hopefully."
"Hopefully," I echoed. And then he hung up. Aware of my listeners, I waited a moment, then said, "Okay, bye, then."
"And what was that about?" Aunt Theresa asked the moment I hung up. "He didn’t give you a chance to get a word in edgewise."
I shrugged, not having had time to think up a good cover story. "He was mostly just apologizing." It was how he’d started, anyway. "So it seemed better to just let him talk."
"Apologizing?" Her voice was sharp. "Apologizing for what?"
Oops. "He, um . . . well, we were kind of starting to be a couple at school but then he started flirting with a cheerleader." She’d probably learned that much from gossiping with her friends, anyway. "But he didn’t really mean anything by it." I hoped that part was true.
"Hmph. Or so he claims now. Don’t let him string you along, Marsha. Show some self-respect."
Stung, I felt my chin tilt upward automatically. "I have. That’s why he called me."
She was still frowning and looking sour, but apparently couldn’t think of anything else to say beyond another snort. That was fine with me. I needed to figure out how I was going to slip out of the house without being heard . . . and what I was going to wear when I did it.
The sneaking out part turned out to be easy. Aunt Theresa and Uncle Louie were in bed by ten-thirty, and by eleven I could hear Uncle Louie snoring. That was definitely enough noise to cover me tiptoeing down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door.
Which gave me a whole hour to decide whether I should dress in something black and espionage-y or something alluring and feminine. Finally after some excruciating angsting, I split the difference and pulled on my black jeans and a dark green—but flattering—top. And my old gray sneakers, because they were my quietest shoes.
The fine mist was still falling when I stepped outside, more than fog but not quite rain. Autumn in Indiana. It gave the night an eerie quality, making halos around the lamppost lights in everyone’s front yards. Reminding myself that no one had any reason—yet—to suspect who I really was, I headed for the arboretum, peering into every shadow just in case there really was anyone watching me.
Even though I still felt horribly tired and achy and ill, excitement bubbled up inside me as I walked at the thought of seeing Rigel again. I imagined I could feel him as I reached the stone wall of the arboretum and stepped through the archway. But, peering through the mist, I didn’t see anyone and the excitement started to leak out of me. Maybe he hadn’t been able to get away. Worse, maybe he’d been followed or even caught by—
A shadow suddenly moved at the base of a huge sycamore tree just inside the entrance and I fought to stifle a scream. Then, as adrenaline kicked in, I tried desperately to remember a defensive taekwondo move or two.
And then I heard Rigel’s voice say, "M? Everything okay?" and I practically went limp with relief.
"Hey," I whispered back, my heart gradually slowing. "I’m fine. No trouble getting away at all. How about you?"
"A little dicey—I didn’t think my parents would ever go to bed. And my bike was stuck in front of my dad’s car, but I managed to get it out without making too much of a racket. C’mon."
He led the way and a moment later we stood face to face by "our" bench. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, but I didn’t quite dare after all that had happened the last couple of weeks—and especially last night at the game.
"So?" I said when he didn’t immediately speak. "What's going on, exactly?"
"Let’s sit down," he said, taking my hand.
The jolt was even stronger than the very first time we’d touched. Gasping, I clutched at his hand like someone drowning, feeling the connection, the healing, flowing through me. He stared at me for a long moment, gripping my hand tightly in his, and then, without warning, he gathered me into his arms.
"Is it just me?" he murmured, "or can you feel everything wrong righting itself?"
"I feel it. Oh, I definitely feel it," I assured him. "It’s like . . . your touch is curing me, or something."
He nodded. "I hoped, but I wasn’t sure . . ." He gripped me by the shoulders for a moment, then swooped in for a kiss, which I enthusiastically returned. "M," he said when he finally released me, "let’s not stay apart like this again, if we can help it."
"Sounds good to me," I said shakily. And it really, really did. During that too-short kiss, my aches had lessened noticeably and my queasiness had completely disappeared.
I sank down onto the metal bench beside him, not even noticing the soft mist anymore. "So, what did you want to tell me?"
"So much," he said with a sigh. "One thing I only guessed, but now I know—being apart hurts us both. And the last thing I ever want to do is to hurt you."
Instantly, my thoughts went to last night, to the sight of Rigel kissing Trina. He seemed to realize it before I could say anything. He took my hands again and held them tightly, willing me to look him full in the face in the dim, misty light.
"Last night—that was an awful, awful thing I did to you, M. But . . . I didn’t know what else to do. Smith was behind you in the stands, looking right at me, and then Trina, well, she kind of threw herself at me. Please, please believe that I didn’t enjoy a second of it, that I only did it to keep you safe. When I saw you leaving and knew I’d hurt you, it practically killed me."
The grief in his eyes compelled me to accept what he said—and to forgive him.
"I heard you lost the game," I said, "and that the coach benched you."
His mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a smile and he nodded. "Like I said. After you left, well, I was kind of a disaster. Worst game I've played since sixth grade. I don’t blame the coach for pulling me out. Even Farmer did a better job."
"So—" I wanted to make sure I really understood. "This being apart thing. It was as awful for you as it was for me?" I intentionally used the past tense.
"Oh, man, I really hope you haven’t been feeling as bad as I have, M. It was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning. Couldn’t stand the sight of food, and during football season I usually eat about twice my weight every day—or so my mother claims."
I nodded. "And headaches, and aching muscles . . . Sounds like we had it about the same. I don’t want to see how much more I can take without it killing me. Even if it’s to keep someone else from killing me."
I meant it as a joke, but he didn’t laugh. "Exactly. What’s the point of saving you by killing you? Killing us both. Though we'll need to be super careful."
"How careful? I mean, your folks must have noticed how sick you’ve been, and the whole school saw you lose a game. And I . . . I flunked my taekwondo belt test this morning. My aunt’s going to be pissed when she finds out. Almost as pissed as—" I broke off, realiz
ing I did not want to tell him about her suspicions earlier.
"You flunked your belt test? Oh, man, M, I’m sorry. I’ve really messed us both over, haven’t I? And maybe for nothing."
"Nothing? What do you mean?"
"Well . . . My folks talked to my grandfather, like I told you in my note, and Smith is definitely not the guy his people have been watching in California. That guy is still there. Then at the game last night, I pointed him out to my parents. They went and sat right behind him, and they didn’t get any vibes off him at all."
I thought Rigel looked a little uncomfortable as he continued. "The weird thing is, I didn’t get any vibes off him either—last night, I mean. I definitely did Thursday. I thought maybe it's just because I’ve been feeling so lousy. I figured maybe my . . . my brath sensing was messed up, too. Anyway, after last night, I think my folks are chalking the whole thing up to overactive teenage imaginations. That we’re just seeing—or feeling—what we expect to."
I was already shaking my head. "No, there's no way we both imagined it. And I didn't just get a Martian vibe off him, I got a definite bad guy vibe. Like I did from Flynn. Plus, he's been watching you like a hawk. But it's so weird that your parents—and you—didn't feel his brath last night. Do you think he could have a way to disguise it or something?"
He shrugged. "I don’t know what to believe now. I’ve never heard of anybody being able to do that, but then I’ve never heard of anyone wanting to, either. So who knows?"
I definitely didn’t. For a long time—at least ten minutes—we just sat there saying nothing, Rigel's arm around my shoulders. I suspected he was drawing as much strength and health from me as I was drawing from him.
Finally, reluctantly, I asked, "So, what do we do now?" Even though what I wanted to do was just sit here together for as long as we possibly could.
Rigel tightened his hold on me for a second, then released me—also reluctantly, I thought. Hoped. "I’ve been thinking about that," he said. "We both need to be alert—and strong—whether Smith is really after you or someone else shows up who is."
"So we can’t very well stay completely apart," I said hopefully.
"Right. But we also don’t want to tip Smith off. We'll have to meet secretly, like tonight. Or even after school, if we're sneaky—sometimes I can duck out of practice early. Maybe that will be enough."
It didn’t sound like enough to me. "I guess. So when do we meet again?"
"After school on Friday, maybe? I won't have practice, since it's a game day, but I can stay after, if you can come up with a reason to hang around that doesn’t look like it has to do with me."
"I’ll come up with something."
He took my face between his hands and kissed me—still too short a kiss, but very satisfying all the same. "You’re amazing, you know that?" he murmured.
I shook my head, partly because I wasn’t but also because I didn’t mind hearing more flattery.
"You are. You’re the bravest person I think I’ve ever known, to handle everything that’s been thrown at you without freaking out."
But I knew I wasn’t really brave. I was just selfish, wanting more Rigel time. It was no credit to me that my need for him was stronger than any fear could ever be. "I’ll try to maintain that record," I said. "But no promises if the bad guys show up with laser guns."
He laughed and hugged me. "C’mon. Let’s get you home. You go first and I’ll follow about twenty yards behind. That way, if anyone did manage to follow one of us—"
"I’m sure they didn’t, but okay," I said, half enjoying all of this cloak and dagger stuff.
We left the arboretum separately, him walking his bike a block behind me. But once I turned the corner onto my street, he caught up to give me one last kiss— though I very much hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
"Be safe," he whispered. "I’ll see you soon."
He rode off and, feeling much, much better than I had in two weeks, I walked—or rather, drifted—the last half block alone.
21
Stellar discoveries
I WAS STILL feeling pretty good when I got to school Monday morning, even though I wasn't sure exactly what to expect.
Rigel and his folks had come to church yesterday, and even though they didn't sit with us, they at least nodded a greeting afterward—and Rigel and I managed to exchange a look and a smile when they weren't watching. I didn't think my aunt and uncle noticed, either, though I half wished my aunt had, after the stuff she'd said.
They definitely had no clue I'd snuck out Saturday night, and that was something I was completely fine with. Especially since I was hoping to do it again—soon and often. I was careful not to act too chipper on Sunday morning, even though I felt like singing. No point inviting questions I couldn't answer.
I caught myself chewing the inside of my cheek as I got to Geometry class, the way I sometimes did when I was nervous. Rigel had said we should still pretend to ignore each other, but what if I couldn't pull it off? What if he couldn't? What if he could? Taking a deep breath, like I would before jumping into deep water, I entered the room.
The pull I always felt toward Rigel was stronger than I could ever remember it being before—so strong, it took an actual physical effort to keep my feet from moving his way. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him sway just a little as I walked past and hoped it meant he was feeling the same unusual pull. I also hoped I'd get a chance to ask him later on.
I was pretty proud of myself that I managed to take my seat without looking at him. Well, not right at him, though I was so aware of him it felt like cheating. Still, if no one noticed, it didn't count, right?
Deb was watching me closely, though. "Bri was right. You look about two hundred percent better today than you did Friday," she said, referring to our conversation on the bus. "It's great that you've bounced back so well."
I just smiled. I'd told them I'd gotten a lot of sleep over the weekend, but they both chose to see my improvement as proof that I was finally over Rigel. Which was the safest thing to let them assume, even if the truth was exactly the opposite.
A couple of hours later, in English class, I made a point of trying to pick up that Martian vibe from Mr. Smith, after what Rigel had said Saturday night. Now, though, I wasn't sure I was feeling it—not that I'd ever felt it very strongly from anyone other than Rigel. It was like his vibe was so intense—to me, at least—that it drowned out anyone nearby. With him sitting right in front of me, it was especially hard for me to focus on anything else.
Trina kept swiveling around—pretty much every time Mr. Smith's back was turned—to flirt with Rigel, but I noticed he wasn't responding nearly as much as he had last week. I hoped it was because he knew now that he could hurt me emotionally as much as physically and was trying not to do that.
I thought Rigel seemed a little . . . twitchy during English, but it wasn't until Science that I understood why. Now he was sitting behind me, the way I'd sat behind him last period—and I could feel him back there, more strongly than usual. It was really, really hard not to turn around. So hard that about ten minutes into class, Will asked if I was sitting on a tack or something. I tried harder to sit still after that.
But just a few minutes later, a delicious tap on my shoulder sent a wakeup call ricocheting through my body and I did turn.
"Can I borrow a pen?" Rigel whispered. "Mine's out of ink." He kept his expression neutral but I could see amusement flickering deep in his eyes and knew it was just a ruse—an excuse to touch me. The thought made me giddy.
"Oh! Um, sure." I rummaged in my bag and panicked for a second when I couldn't find a pen right away, but then I did and handed it to him, making sure my fingers touched his. "Here you go."
"Thanks." This time he allowed himself just the smallest smile—enough to approximately double my heart rate.
As I turned back around, I heard Trina hiss, "Couldn't you have borrowed one from someone else? Anyone else?"
I was willing to bet she'd
be carrying several extra pens tomorrow.
At the end of class, Rigel returned my pen, which gave us another excuse to brush fingers. It was nowhere as good as a kiss, or even holding hands, but it was massively better than no touching at all. I headed for lunch with an extra bounce in my step.
"So, M," Bri said as she and Deb and I sat down with our trays. "Now that you're past the meltdown-rebound stage, how about the three of us triple-date to the movies next week? Nate Groundwater told Matt Mullins to tell me to tell you that he's interested. Or there's Jimmy Franklin. I mean, I know he's just on the JV team, but you've liked him forever, and he's been telling everybody you guys are going out sometime soon."
"What?" My attention had strayed to Rigel—surrounded by cheerleaders as usual—but that snapped me back. "I never told him that."
"But he asked?" Deb demanded. "Tell me he asked!"
I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, actually, he asked me to Homecoming but I said no. I guess I might have said something like, 'maybe some other time.'"
"Well, there you go." Bri made it sound like everything was settled or something.
"But I—" I stopped. I couldn't very well say I didn't want to go out with Jimmy because Rigel and I were back together, since that was a huge secret. "I don't think I'm really ready for that," I ended lamely.
Bri and Deb launched into a lengthy tag-team lecture on why I needed to move on, not only for my sake but for the sake of all dumped girls everywhere, but now my attention was diverted by the sight of our new English teacher patrolling the lunchroom. Because he was most definitely patrolling.
As I always did when he was in the room, I tried to make myself more inconspicuous. I knew I gave off enough of a vibe for other Martians to pick up, and I absolutely didn't want Mr. Smith noticing. He hadn't seemed to yet, though I'd been careful not to speak up in his class, remembering how Rigel's voice had affected me the first day of school—and pretty much every day since.
He wandered the cafeteria, seemingly aimlessly, though I could tell it was anything but aimless. His gaze kept coming back to Rigel and whoever was talking to him.