[Starstruck 01.0] Starstruck

by Brenda Hiatt

  "Wasn't that the point of getting back together?" I whispered back. "I mean, publicly. So he'd figure it out? He was being so dense, I decided he needed a nudge."

  He kept frowning, even though his eyes admitted I was right. "I don't like it," he muttered. "We were doing okay. I was starting to think—"

  "I know. That we could have it all. I kind of hoped the same thing, but then I kept remembering the invasion plan. We can't just ignore that—can we?"

  There was a long, long pause while he thought about it, but finally he admitted, "No, I guess not. But maybe he still didn't realize—"

  "He realized. You were out the door already, but trust me, he realized."

  Rigel looked even more worried then, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  I wasn't particularly surprised to see Mr. Smith in the cafeteria again at lunchtime, watching our table. Rigel noticed, too, and clearly didn't like it. I half expected him to move away from me, but he didn't. If anything, he sat even closer, as though Smith was going to attack me right here in the lunchroom and Rigel could somehow protect me with his body.

  "I said, good luck at Homecoming tonight, Rigel," Bri said for the third time as the lunch period ended.

  I nudged him, since he clearly hadn't heard her, and he blinked, dragging his glowering gaze away from the corner where Mr. Smith was standing.

  "What? Oh, thanks, Bri. I'll do my best."

  She gave him a slightly sour smile as she left, but he didn't notice. Instead, he turned to me. "Here, I want you to hang onto this," he said, pressing his cell phone into my hand. "If anything, uh, happens between now and the end of school, call my dad—he's at the top of my contacts. I'll meet you at your locker right after seventh period."

  "So I can give your phone back?" I asked, confused. I couldn't imagine anything bad enough happening right here at school to make me call his dad.

  "No, so I can ride home with you on your bus. Don't argue," he nearly snapped, when I opened my mouth to protest. "I'm your bodyguard, remember? And now that Smith knows, I plan to do my job."

  Though I still thought he was overreacting, I nodded. "Fine. But if my aunt gets pissed and won't let me go to the dance tomorrow—or the game tonight—it's on you."

  "Agreed." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Those were still worried.

  His edginess infected me more than I wanted to admit. When he reluctantly left me at the door to French class, I couldn't quite quell a growing suspicion that I might have bitten off more than I could chew.

  I hoped I wouldn't choke on it.

  23

  Astral burst

  I WAS SO preoccupied I barely heard Trina's barbs in Health, but I reached my locker—and Rigel—after the final bell without any hint of danger or any sign of Mr. Smith. Rigel greeted me with a quick kiss, then took my hand to lead me toward the buses.

  "Just a sec," I said, pulling against him. "I need to swap out some books first. On the off chance I live through the weekend, I want to be able to study for the Geometry test on Monday."

  I thought my hyperbole might make him smile, but it didn't.

  "I'm not sure you realize just how much danger you're in, M," he whispered as I stuffed my Geometry book into my pack, the corners of his mouth still pointing down. "I know you haven't grown up hearing about Martian politics, but—"

  "Neither have you," I pointed out just as quietly. "You said yourself your parents didn't tell you the truth until you were nearly eleven and that even then you never paid attention to the political stuff. I learned about what's at stake at the same time you did. I just refuse to give them the satisfaction of running scared, that's all."

  "Well I'm scared. For you. And for me. I can't lose you, M. Not now."

  Something in his voice frightened me, even as his words touched me. "I don't want to lose you, either," I said softly. "I promised to be careful, remember?"

  He smiled then, though it looked like it cost some effort. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being an overprotective pain. But I have good reason. Ready?"

  I nodded and hitched my backpack over one shoulder but then a vibration in my pocket startled me. "What the—? Oh, it's your phone." I'd forgotten I still had it. Now I dug it out and handed it to Rigel so he could answer it.

  "Hey Dad. Yes, she's right here." There was a pause while his dad talked and Rigel looked more and more serious. "Yeah, yeah, got it," he finally said. "Right." He snapped the phone shut. "Change of plans. We're going to my house instead."

  "What? Why? I thought we weren't going to tell them anything else until—"

  "Too late, I think." He glanced around at the other students still lingering in the hall. "We'll find out more when we get there. Come on."

  He grabbed my hand and we headed for the buses. For his bus. I saw Bri staring as we passed my bus, then mouthing a question I couldn't hear. Since I obviously couldn't explain, I just waved and shrugged, making a mental note to come up with some story or other before the game tonight.

  Assuming Rigel would even let me go to the game, I thought sourly. It wasn't like Smith had done anything the least bit threatening. What could be going on that his dad would know about before we did?

  We barely talked to each other on the bus even though I had a zillion questions, since it was way too easy to be overheard. Instead, Rigel talked to some of the guys about football and I tried to act interested in the girls' conversation about tomorrow night's dance.

  Since this was the very first time I'd have a date to a school dance, I should have been totally into their discussion of dresses and decorations and which songs they might play. But right now worry was crowding all that normal girlie stuff out of my head. Besides, it wasn't like I even had a new dress for the dance. I was borrowing an old one of Bri's.

  The ride to Rigel's seemed quicker this time. "So why exactly am I here?" I asked as we walked up the long drive to his house. "Not to hide, I hope."

  "I don't know yet. My dad just said things are moving and to bring you home, that he'd explain everything once we got here."

  I swallowed, anticipating how upset they'd probably be that Rigel and I . . . okay, mostly I . . . had intentionally made things more dangerous. Maybe for all of us?

  His parents met us in the foyer, their expressions serious.

  "Okay, I brought her," Rigel told them unnecessarily. "So, what's up?"

  They exchanged a glance—one of those communicating glances—before his mother said, "Come into the kitchen. It appears we, ah, may have a situation."

  Rigel and I exchanged a glance of our own and I found myself wishing we could talk telepathically the way his parents did. It would have been really convenient right now. I'd be asking him if they could somehow know what I'd done. Then, almost as though he did know what I was thinking, he gave a tiny shake of his head. At least, I hoped that was the question he was answering.

  "Son, I'm going to give you an opportunity to say, 'I told you so,'" his dad said before we even sat down at the table. "It looks like you—the two of you—may have been right about your Mr. Smith."

  We exchanged another glance, Rigel now looking as confused—and worried—as I felt.

  "What do you mean?" he asked his father. "What has he done?"

  "He's contacted Boyne Morven, and Morven has already booked a flight from Los Angeles to Indianapolis. Your grandfather called the moment he heard."

  My heart leaped into my throat. I hadn't expected that quick a response! "What did Smith tell Boyne Morven?" I tried to keep my voice steady.

  "We have no way to know," Mr. Stuart replied. "He used a secure line—though not as secure as he obviously thinks it is. Shim's people have been watching Morven's calls all along, of course, though it's been a tricky business to get around the blocks he has set up. When he booked that flight, they immediately combed through his recent calls and discovered three they were able to identify as Smith's cell phone—one only half an hour earlier."

  "Then we don't have much time," I said, surprising mys
elf. "We need to get the word out—to the other Martians here on Earth, I mean."

  All three of them turned to me, though only Rigel looked like he knew what I meant. He started nodding, but his parents seemed puzzled.

  "The word out?" Dr. Stuart asked after a startled pause. "About Morven?"

  "No, about me," I said.

  Mr. Stuart frowned and shook his head. "Quite the opposite, Marsha. We need to get you into hiding—and as quickly as possible. It was a real stroke of luck that Rigel was with you when I called."

  "Luck had nothing to do with it, Dad." Rigel's voice was firm now. Committed. "Smith realized today who M really is, and we both knew it. In fact—"

  "In fact, I kind of got in his face so he'd figure it out," I broke in, not wanting Rigel to take the blame for what I'd done. At their shocked expressions, I quickly added, "There's something else you need to know."

  I related the phone conversation I'd overheard last Friday, just as I'd described it to Rigel. At first I could tell they were pissed we hadn't told them any of this before, but by the time I finished, they didn't just look pissed or even shocked. They looked scared.

  Dr. Stuart turned to her husband, her eyes wide. "Do you really think that plan could be—?"

  "The invasion?" he said. "I can't imagine what else. We know the factions on Mars have become more and more polarized over the past few years. I've always said the Council wasn't taking the invasion threat seriously enough, but even so, I thought we had more time."

  Unexpectedly, I found myself getting angry. "So why didn't any of you tell me anything about this invasion plan? Especially if my staying hidden was going to make it more likely to happen?"

  Mr. Stuart didn't hesitate. "Because we didn't want you to do exactly what you've done, Marsha, which is to put yourself at risk. You're only fifteen. No matter what the stakes, we can't ask you to do that. Not yet."

  "Shouldn't that be my choice?" I looked from one to the other and even glanced at Rigel to make sure he wasn't going to go all protector on me again. "Anyway, I've made that choice now. It's done. Smith knows about me, and apparently so does this Morven dude. So the obvious thing is to make sure everyone else—everyone Martian, that is—does, too."

  Mr. Stuart was still shaking his head, but now Rigel spoke up. "She's right, Dad. Think about it. What's the main reason these guys would want to . . . to hurt M?" I could tell he'd flinched away from the word kill. "To keep our side, and everyone back on Mars, from finding out she's alive," he continued before his father could answer. "Am I right?"

  Though he was still frowning, Mr. Stuart was no longer shaking his head. "I suppose . . ." he said slowly, as though he was thinking hard.

  "They may be right, Van," Rigel's mother said. "If we could spread the word quickly enough, convince enough people, it might be enough to stop them—both from coming after M and from attempting any kind of invasion."

  Relief started to seep through me. For a few minutes there, I'd been terrified they really might haul me off to that bunker in Montana against my will until I was thirty.

  "Don't you . . . isn't there some kind of contact network? That MARSTAR thing people talked about that night I did the blood test, that Shim was so against?"

  Rigel's dad looked at me in surprise. "Why, yes, of course. MARSTAR is a secure broadcast e-mail list that's only to be used for emergency communications."

  That sounded perfect. "I'd call this an emergency. Can you access it?" I asked Mr. Stuart hopefully.

  He gave a bark of humorless laughter. "I created it. But I'd need clearance to do something like this, and I doubt—"

  "Call him," Dr. Stuart said. "We may not have much time."

  They exchanged another one of their looks, lasting several seconds this time, then he finally nodded and pulled out his cell phone.

  It seemed to ring several times at the other end before someone picked up. "Shim? Yes, we've— No, no, she's here, with us. Wait, before you do that, listen." Quickly, he repeated everything I'd heard Smith say, then the argument Rigel and I had just used for spreading the word. "And I have to admit that she has a point. She should have a say in this," he concluded. Another silence while Shim spoke, during which Mr. Stuart's expression became even more concerned.

  "Yes, she might be safe there," he finally said, "but for how long? We'd have to turn it into a fortress. (pause) No, I don't agree. I think the time for secrecy is past. (pause) MARSTAR, of course. It's the only thing fast enough. But I need your okay. Yes, all right." He hung up.

  "What did he say?" I asked breathlessly. It was only my whole future on the line, after all.

  "He's going to confer with the rest of the Council—they're already convening because of the emergency. He'll call me back shortly."

  The next half hour seemed to last days. Dr. Stuart tried to distract us all by setting out sandwiches, brownies and milk, but none of us—not even Rigel, the eating machine—seemed to have much appetite. Even though we'd been expecting it, when Mr. Stuart's phone finally rang, we all jumped.

  "Yes?"

  I sat on the very edge of my chair while Shim—presumably—talked. I was already practicing arguments in case the decision went the wrong way, since I was not agreeing to the walled-up-in-Montana-without-Rigel scenario. But then Mr. Stuart gave me a little smile and my tension started to ease even before he clicked off his phone.

  "They've agreed. In fact, they'll send the message themselves, since that will carry more authority, and they'll include a full account of last month's formal test to convince the skeptics. And there will be skeptics. After all, you've been presumed dead for thirteen years."

  Rigel gripped my hand so tightly he nearly cut off my circulation. "And that will make Morven and Smith back off, right?" He was urgent. "Once that message goes out?"

  His father hesitated before answering. "I hope so. It depends on how committed—and how desperate —they are. Some of those people are fanatics for their cause, and we don't know exactly how many of them are on Earth. Only a few, the Council claims. I hope they're right. But even if the message goes out at once, it could be a day or two before most read it. Not everyone will have immediate access to their e-mail."

  "But Morven's people are the important ones, right?" I asked, some of my nervousness returning. "I mean, once they know the word has gone out, they'll have to change their plans. Won't they?"

  "I hope so," he said again. "Still, the next day or two will be critical. All of us—and especially you, M—will need to be on our guard against, well, anything."

  "We will be." Rigel was definite—and he didn't loosen his grip on my hand. "We'll stay right here, if we have to."

  I stared at him. "But the game! It's Homecoming tonight. You can't miss that!"

  "Do you think that matters to me, compared to your safety? If I have to make a choice, it's no contest." His eyes burned into mine but I could see anguish there as well as concern for me. The game did matter to him.

  "But Morven's not even on his way to Indy yet, right? It takes hours to fly from California, then he has to drive to Jewel. There shouldn't be any real risk tonight. Besides, it's not like they're going to stage some big attack in the middle of a high school football game. Or would they?" I turned to his parents.

  "No, probably not," Mr. Stuart conceded. "Anything they do will likely be covert."

  Dr. Stuart was watching Rigel, her brow furrowed, compassion in her hazel eyes. Clearly, she knew how important tonight was to him. "I don't think you need to skip the game, Rigel. It wouldn't be fair to your teammates. And M is right that the risks this soon, and in that setting, should be minimal. We can keep a close eye on her while you're on the field."

  I nodded vigorously. "And if Smith comes anywhere near me, I'll scream. How's that?"

  He didn't smile, but some of the tension left his mouth and eyes. "Promise?"

  "Promise. I'll be fine. And you'll be fantastic. On the field, I mean," I clarified, not wanting his parents to get the wrong idea.


  I thought I heard a muffled chuckle from his dad, but then his mom said, "All right, that's settled. How about some of these sandwiches, kids? And M, why don't you call your aunt and uncle and let them know you'll be going to the game with us."

  Though Aunt Theresa wasn't happy—when was she ever?—she didn't insist I come home first, which I'd half expected she might. But she did say that she and Uncle Louie would drive me back from the game.

  "Both of you are coming to the game?" I asked in surprise. I couldn't remember Aunt Theresa attending a football game before.

  "It's Homecoming," she said without any other explanation. "We'll meet you at the car as soon as the game is over."

  We got to the game early, of course, since Rigel had to warm up. After a few last, totally unnecessary, words of caution from both Rigel and his parents, he went to join the team and they went to sit at the top of the stands, so they could keep an eye on things (meaning me). I went to sit with Bri and Deb, near the fifty yard line, as usual.

  "So, you're back in with Rigel's folks, too?" Bri asked, glancing up the stands to where they were sitting, a dozen rows behind us. "Guess you weren't going back to his place for smoochies after all, huh?"

  "Bri!" I punched her in the arm, but I also laughed. It was nice to pretend gossip was the worst I had to worry about for a little while. "Thanks again for the dress, by the way. It saved me having to ask my aunt to take me shopping—and actually going with her, if she'd said yes."

  "It fits you better than me anyway," she said.

  "And that sea green is a great color on you, M," Deb chimed in. "I can't wait till tomorrow night!"

  "Me, either," I said, trying not to think about what might happen before then. I'd be really pissed if the bad guys kept me from going to the Homecoming dance!

  I did my best to focus on the game, but other than appreciating the hotness that was Rigel on the field, I can't claim I was really following it. I was aware of my aunt and uncle at the left-hand end of the bleachers and even more aware of Mr. Smith at the right-hand end. Though I never caught him watching me, I was sure he was. Even the Homecoming parade at halftime, with its absurd tissue-paper floats, barely registered. Except for the Homecoming Court.