by Brenda Hiatt
CHAPTER 5: Heavenly bodies
"Meet me back here fifteen minutes after the game ends," Uncle Louie said as we walked through the stadium gate a few hours later.
"I will," I promised, trying not to grin at the sight of my pudgy, balding uncle in his tight, faded, black-and-yellow Jaguars jersey.
He disappeared almost before I got the words out, in a hurry to join his buddies. When I thought about it—which wasn't often—it struck me as kind of weird that a bunch of men in their fifties still liked to hang out at high school football games. Maybe they were reliving their youth or something. Shaking my head at the incomprehensibility of old people, I went to find Bri and Deb.
"We thought you were never going to get here!" Deb greeted me from the second row of the metal bleachers, close to the fifty yard line.
"Yeah, we've had to fight people off to keep a seat for you," Bri said. "We got here way early—figured you'd want a good view of Rigel."
"And where he'd be able to see you," Deb added. They both grinned at me.
I grinned back. My earlier excitement, dampened for a while by all of Aunt Theresa's grumbling about Uncle Louie and me going to the game, bubbled back up. "Thanks, guys! I really appreciate it. My aunt made me do the dishes and stuff before she'd let me leave."
Aunt Theresa didn't exactly treat me like a slave, but I definitely had more chores to do than my friends did. Of course, they both had siblings to help out and I didn't.
"So, Rigel actually asked you to come to the game?" Bri apparently needed to verify what I'd told her on the bus that afternoon. Not that I blamed her. I could still hardly believe it myself.
"Pretty much. He asked if I was going and said he'd see me there."
"Oh, man, I can't wait to see the look on Trina's face!" Deb gave an evil grin of anticipation. "She doesn't know yet, does she?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so. She was still looking smug in Health class."
"Besides, you don't think Rigel would just come out and tell her, do you?" Bri laughed. "No guy is that brave! By the way, M, you're welcome." She winked at me.
Now I laughed, though I still squirmed a little inside at the memory of what she was referring to. "Yeah, I definitely owe you—both of you. Though I pretty much wanted to kill you when you first jumped down his throat."
"He just needed a reality check," Deb said with a shrug. "Most guys do every now and then, according to Maggie."
"Look, the team is coming out to warm up," Bri squealed, pointing. "There he is!"
Of course I looked, and of course I zeroed in on Rigel immediately, even though his uniform and black helmet made him look like everyone else. Only not.
I watched him jog across the field in form-fitting gold pants and a black jersey with a gold 7 on the back (I hadn't known his number until this moment). What made him stand out from the others, I wondered? He wasn't the tallest player, or the biggest. How had I instantly known which one was him?
Maybe it was the way he moved—just a little more smoothly, more confidently, than anyone else. Or maybe it was just that I was so obsessed that I'd have been able to locate him with my eyes closed, in a crowd of hundreds—or thousands. Or millions.
"Not bad," Deb murmured beside me.
I sure couldn't disagree. He was plenty hot in regular clothes—jeans and t-shirts. But in spandex pants, I felt like he ought to be a controlled substance. I actually felt my skin flushing as I watched him moving fluidly across the field. He might as well have been the only player out there—or the only other person in the whole stadium—as far as I was concerned.
Just then, I saw him glance up into the stands as though he was looking for someone. Me? I lifted my chin and smiled and was almost positive he smiled back, though it was hard to tell with his helmet on. Still, it was enough to send a delicious shiver through me.
"—Marsha?" Bri's voice brought me back to myself.
"What?"
"So you are in there after all! Geez! I've been trying to get your attention for like five minutes! Not that I really blame you." She glanced toward the field, then back at me. "I was asking if you want me to get you a Coke or something before the game starts."
"Huh? Oh, um, yeah, sure." I dug a couple of dollars out of my shorts pocket. "And a bag of M&Ms. I'll share."
I barely noticed her leaving. Or returning, several minutes later, though I absently took my drink and candy from her. But then the players were called off the field for a last minute pep talk or something. As soon as Rigel was out of my sight, I was suddenly able to focus on my friends again.
"Geez, guys, I'm sorry!" I felt like I was waking up or something. "I don't know what's wrong with me tonight."
Deb snickered. "You don't? I think it's pretty obvious!"
I felt myself reddening. "Well, yeah, but still. I didn't mean to ignore you like that."
Bri just shook her head. "Man, have you ever got it bad, M! I thought the thing you had for Jimmy was . . . well, okay, probably no worse than my thing for Gary. But this! This must be True Love." She said it with capital T, capital L.
I forced a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. Yeah, I seem to have some kind of weird attraction for the guy—okay, not weird exactly, since he's hotness personified—but love? I don't even know him yet!"
"Love at first sight," Deb sighed, fluttering her lashes. I managed to refrain from smacking her. "How romantic is that?"
Though I wanted to say I didn't believe in love at first sight, the words wouldn't quite come. If what I was going through didn't fit that description, what did? "Maybe it's just lust at first sight," I finally said.
To my relief, my friends laughed instead of arguing with me. I'm not sure I'd have won.
A whistle brought our attention back to the field for the kickoff. Elm Grove had the ball first, which meant Rigel wasn't on the field. Which meant I mostly watched him warming up on the sidelines instead of the game. Unfortunately (for our school, anyway), it didn't take long for Elm Grove to score, putting Rigel in the game for the first time. Suddenly, football had my attention in a way it never had before.
Rigel was amazing. Well, that goes without saying, but I mean in the football sense. I didn't know much about the game, but from Bri's comments, he was playing on the level of a college quarterback—a good college quarterback.
"Did you see that?" she squealed for like the tenth time, just before halftime.
I had, of course. I'd barely taken my eyes off Rigel since he came out of the locker room before the game. But I couldn't blame her for squealing. He'd totally faked out the Elm Grove defenders and run the ball in for a touchdown. Again.
Since the rest of our team played like the pack of losers they were, Rigel was running the ball a lot. He'd also made some amazing throws, really zipping the ball down the field, but even the most catchable ones had been dropped more than half the time. With a decent team to back him up, he'd be almost unstoppable.
It made me wonder why on earth he was here instead of at some 5A school, where he obviously belonged. All I could figure was that one or both of his parents had landed a really great job in Jewel. Better than they could find in Indianapolis? It seemed unlikely, but I guessed it was possible.
I was hoping I might get a chance to talk to Rigel at halftime and had been racking my brain for something to say to him besides "great game." But as soon as the whistle blew, the team headed off for the locker room at a run. If I'd ever paid attention to a football game before, I probably would have known that would happen and could have saved myself all that mental preparation.
"Look! Just look at that!" Bri exclaimed.
I dragged my eyes away from Rigel's retreating back to see her pointing at the scoreboard, which showed us tied with Elm Grove, 21-21.
"Last year, we were behind by four touchdowns at the half. Man, what I wouldn't give for a defense that could match Rigel's offense."
Bri continued analyzing the game but I stopped listening to everything except the frequent mention of Rigel's name. I didn't und
erstand any of the complexities of football—though I was starting to think it might be worth my while to learn them.
"So, has he seen you yet?" Deb asked when Bri paused for breath. She wasn't much more into football than I was, except for the opportunity it gave her to watch cute boys in tight pants.
"I think so?" In fact I tingled, remembering the brief moment when our eyes had met, but I still felt a defensive need to play down any interest he might show after the way he'd acted this morning. I didn't want to be humiliated again.
"Anyway," Bri continued, almost like we hadn't spoken, "if Jaworski or Mullins can fix their slippery hands and not drop everything, we could—"
"Come on," Deb interrupted her. "Let's go get something from the snack bar before the game starts again."
Indignant, Bri started to protest, but then laughed. "Okay, guys, I'll stop. It's not my fault. I get this stuff every night at the dinner table from my dad."
We got more Cokes and some popcorn to share during the second half. On the way back from the concession stand, I couldn't help noticing that Rigel was the main topic of almost every conversation. It made me feel proud of him, but it also underscored just how far out of my league he was.
By the time we made it back to our seats, the team was already warming up on the field. I'd missed a whole two minutes of Rigel-watching! After another couple of minutes, the teams headed back to their respective benches for last-second instructions before kickoff.
Trina, down on the track with the other cheerleaders, made a point of running over to say something to Rigel. I saw him smile and nod. Then, as he headed onto the field for the start of the half, Trina turned to give me a syrupy-sweet smile. No question she knew where I was sitting.
The second half of the game seemed to go faster than the first, though it didn't go quite as well for our team.
"Looks like the Eagles' coach worked out a strategy over halftime," Bri commented after our first couple of possessions—with no score. "They're triple-teaming Rigel, which I've never even seen before, since it leaves so many other players open. Unfortunately, it seems to be working."
It did. With Rigel at least partly neutralized, more of the burden fell on our pathetic defense to keep the game even, and they weren't up to the task. When the game finally ended, the score was Elm Grove 38, Jewel 28.
"Still, 28 points against Elm Grove is great," Bri insisted as the stands started to empty around us. "Last year, we only managed a field goal against them the whole game."
I barely heard her, because Rigel had taken off his helmet and was now looking right at me. I smiled, but didn't quite have the nerve to wave. Instead, I held my breath. Would he really follow up on his half-promise and talk to me?
Almost before I finished the thought, he put up a hand and actually beckoned me down to the field. I glanced behind me to make sure he didn't mean somebody else, but when I looked back at Rigel, he motioned again—to me.
Bri was still talking about the game, but Deb noticed.
"We'll talk to you later, M," she said, with a significant look that told me she expected a full report. "Come on, Bri, we'd better go find my mom."
Immediately catching on, Bri agreed and they hurried off as I made my dazed way down to the track.
A bunch of cheerleaders—including Trina, of course—were gathered around the players, along with a whole lot of other people, both students and parents. Nobody paid any attention as I wormed my way through the crowd toward Rigel. Though I lost sight of him in the press of people, I could tell exactly which direction to go and then, suddenly, he was right in front of me.
He grinned down at me, his hair all tousled, his uniform dirty and sweaty . . . in other words, totally gorgeous.
"Hey, M!" he said, causing several heads to turn my way, their owners wearing various expressions of surprise. Trina was the only one who actually looked outraged, but I only got a fleeting glimpse of her face before I was completely caught in Rigel's gaze—again.
"Hey," I echoed. "Great game!" It was trite, but true.
His grin widened. "Thanks. Too bad we still lost."
A few people around him protested, repeating what Bri had said about the improvement over last year's game against Elm Grove, but Rigel didn't seem to be paying attention to them. He kept his eyes on me for a long moment, stealing my breath, and then turned to a man and woman just behind him.
"Mom, Dad," he said, "this is M. Um, Marsha Truitt."
I gulped—not visibly, I hoped. I definitely hadn't expected this.
Nor did I expect what I saw when I looked past Rigel to his parents, a polite smile on my lips. They were both nearly as gorgeous as Rigel. His mom looked more like a movie star than an obstetrician, with auburn hair and perfect skin. His dad was as tall and dark as Rigel, and way, way too handsome for a computer tech.
Though I desperately wanted to make a good impression, all I managed was a weak, "Hi."
They made up for my lack, coming forward to greet me with delighted smiles that warmed me even before they spoke.
"Marsha!" his mother exclaimed. "I'm so honored . . . I mean, I'm very pleased to meet you."
Honored? I blinked. Why would anyone, especially this beautiful, brilliant woman, be honored to meet me?
She looked a little embarrassed, which surprised me further, then she glanced at her husband, who quickly spoke up.
"We're both pleased to meet you," he said. His voice was deep and pleasant, though it didn't affect me the way Rigel's did. "It's nice to see Rigel making friends here already."
At that, Trina stepped up, practically shouldering me out of the way as she extended her hand. "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, I'm Trina Squires. I was actually Rigel's very first friend here at Jewel High, wasn't I, Rigel?"
He hesitated for an instant but then nodded. "Yes, Trina was very helpful my first day here."
"Nice to meet you, Trina," Rigel's mother said with a cool, polite smile. Then she immediately turned back to me. "Marsha, can we offer you a ride home?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trina's mouth fall open—literally fall open—but I resisted the urge to smirk at her.
"That's really nice of you, Dr. Stuart—" I stressed the "doctor" just a tiny bit, so Trina would know she'd screwed up there— "but my uncle is here. In fact, he's probably waiting for me at the gate by now."
"We can all walk that way and make sure you find each other," Rigel's dad said with a smile as warm as his wife's. "Unless you're in a hurry to go change, Rigel?"
"No, I'm fine." Rigel was looking at me again. "M?"
At that, Trina stalked off in a huff. Rigel didn't even seem to notice.
Practically in a daze, I walked next to Rigel toward the main gate, with his parents on his other side, talking quietly together. I didn't hurry, wanting this moment to last as long as possible, feeling strangely energized by having Rigel so close to me.
Soon, though, I saw Uncle Louie up ahead, chatting with three other men I recognized as friends of his, though they rarely came to the house because Aunt Theresa disapproved of them. I tensed a little as we got close. Something in the way they held themselves, and in their slightly-too-loud voices, suggested they'd been drinking.
Uncle Louie never drank at home, but I'd overheard more than one argument between him and Aunt Theresa about him stopping off at bars on his way home from work and it wasn't that unusual for him to come home a little tipsy.
Alcohol wasn't allowed on school grounds, of course, but it was common knowledge that some people snuck it in. I just hoped he and his buddies wouldn't do or say anything too embarrassing in front of Rigel's parents.
"Hey, Uncle Louie," I said loudly, to get his attention before we were too close. "Ready to go?"
He swung toward me with a big smile. "There you are, Marshmallow! Sure, sure, whenever you want."
One of his friends muttered something I couldn't hear and the other two chuckled. Before I had time to wonder about it, Rigel's father stepped in front of me.
<
br /> "Mr. Truitt?" he said, extending his hand. "I'm Van Stuart and this is my wife, Ariel. Our son Rigel, here, is a friend of your niece's."
Uncle Louie's eyebrows shot up as he shook Mr. Stuart's hand. "The new quarterback? Really? Great game, son, really great game!"
His friends echoed his congratulations, coming forward to slap Rigel on the back and pepper him with questions about various plays. He answered a couple of them, but his parents were frowning and after a glance at them he stepped back.
"Mr. Truitt, would you mind terribly if we gave Marsha a ride home?" Dr. Stuart asked suddenly. "She and Rigel wanted to discuss a class assignment." She accompanied her words with a breathtaking smile that rocked Uncle Louie back on his heels.
"Um, sure, sure, that would be great," he stammered. Then, with a glance at his buddies, he added, "In fact, uh, Marsha, why don't you tell your aunt that I'll be home in an hour or two. Tell her I, ah, ran into some potential customers and I'm hoping to close a deal."
I usually refused to lie for Uncle Louie, but since this time it meant riding home with Rigel, I nodded. "See you later, Uncle Louie."
I followed Rigel and his folks toward the school. "It will only take me a minute to change," Rigel said. "I can shower at home."
"Don't be silly," his mother said. "You'll stink up the car, and we can't do that to poor Marsha. Get a quick shower and then get dressed. We'll keep her amused until you get back."
He nodded, though I thought the look he gave her before he loped off held a hint of suspicion. Was he afraid she'd tell me embarrassing stories about him? I could only hope. As it was, left alone with his parents, I felt pretty darned embarrassed myself. What on earth could I talk about?
"I hope you don't mind that I told a little fib to your uncle," Dr. Stuart said before the silence became awkward. "And of course, you and Rigel can talk about some assignment or other, so it will be true. It was just that . . . " She hesitated, and it wasn't hard to guess why.
"No, no, thanks," I said quickly. "When Uncle Louie gets together with his friends, well . . . I didn't exactly want to ride with him anyway."
"Nor should you have had to." Mr. Stuart's anger startled me. "I'm sorry, Marsha," he said. "But that's inexcusable when he's responsible for your safety. I hope this isn't a regular occurrence."
I shook my head emphatically, feeling an unexpected impulse to defend my uncle. "Oh, no, not at all. Especially not when he's going to drive me anywhere. I mean, my Aunt Theresa doesn't even allow alcohol in the house. It's just that it was the first game of the season, and he and his buddies, well . . ." I shrugged, running out of steam.
Rigel's mom patted me on the shoulder. To my surprise, I felt a very muted version of the jolt I got from Rigel's touch. How odd.
"It's all right, Marsha. I'm sure your aunt and uncle are fine people. Everyone has an occasional lapse in judgment."
I looked up at her uncertainly, wondering whether her words had a deeper meaning. Maybe she thought Rigel making friends with me was a lapse, too?
"So, what classes do you share with Rigel?" she asked then, and we stuck to the safer topic of school until Rigel rejoined us ten minutes later.
"Sorry," he said, jogging over to us. "I tried to be quick."
His hair was still wet from his quick shower and his scent—equal parts clean and Rigel—went to my head like some kind of illegal drug. Or, at least, how I imagined one might feel. I tried to inhale both deeply and discreetly.
"We were fine," his mother assured him. "Just getting to know each other a little. But now we should probably get Marsha home before her aunt starts to worry."
On the way to the car, I walked next to Rigel again, my arm almost but not quite brushing his. I wondered if I was maybe dreaming all of this. That made more sense than Rigel and his parents really being so concerned about me, so interested in me. No one ever had been before, except my two best friends. Even my aunt and uncle never seemed particularly interested, though I was sure they cared about me, in their way.
Sitting in the dark back seat of the Stuarts' spiffy Audi with Rigel, that dreamlike feeling increased. Certainly, I'd fantasized about something very much like this.
"Where do you live, Marsha?" Rigel's dad asked, bringing me back to reality with a thud.
"Oh! Um, pretty much right downtown. I'm just a couple blocks from the post office, on Garnet."
I cringed a little at the thought of Rigel and his parents seeing our house. They probably lived someplace a lot newer and nicer, what with his mom being a doctor and all.
Almost like she understood my worry, his mom said, "How nice to live within walking distance of everything. Downtown Jewel is so quaint, with the streets named after gemstones, and all the little artisan shops. It's one of the things we liked about this town."
"Yes, I guess so." Since I'd grown up here, it seemed more ordinary than quaint to me. Just a small, insignificant Indiana town. "It's kind of a long way from school, though."
"The school is clearly a lot newer than the town," Mr. Stuart commented. "I assume it replaced an older one?"
"Yes, about ten years ago. The old school was right downtown, but I guess it was falling apart, so they tore it down and built the new town hall there, with the courthouse and police station and everything."
I'd sometimes thought it would be nice to be able to walk to school and avoid the bus. But according to my uncle, the land was cheaper out in the cornfields, where our school was now.
"So, um, where do you guys live?" I asked, partly to fill the silence and partly because I wanted to know.
Rigel answered—the first words he'd spoken since we got in the car. "We're in a renovated old farmhouse, a couple miles south of downtown."
"Oh, nice." So not one of the ritzy new neighborhoods after all. I felt a little less inadequate and wondered if that had been Rigel's intent.
A minute or two later we turned onto my street, the ride over before I'd thought of a single interesting thing to say. I was dying to ask Rigel the real reason he'd avoided me this morning, but I couldn't do it with his parents in the car.
"It's the gray house on the left," I said, pointing. Somehow, it looked even shabbier than usual under the dim streetlights.
Mr. Stuart swung the car into the gravel drive. "Rigel, why don't you walk Marsha to the door?"
I felt my face flame. "Oh, that's not . . . I mean, you don't have to . . ."
Rigel touched my arm and his touch wiped my mind clear. "It's okay. I don't mind at all."
He got out and I did the same before I realized he'd been coming around to open my door. It flustered me—no one had ever done that, so I hadn't expected it. Embarrassed again, I turned to thank his parents again for the ride.
"It was our pleasure, Marsha," his mother assured me like she really meant it.
Trying to shake off the weirdness of that, I headed up the walk and Rigel fell into step beside me.
"So, I guess I'll see you Monday?" he said. I got the impression it was mainly just to say something.
"Sure," I said, then couldn't help asking, "So . . . you won't suddenly ignore me again?"
He paused for a second, then continued up onto the porch before facing me. In the porch light, his eyes were nearly black. Mysterious. "I really am sorry about that, M. And no, I won't. I promise."
With a little half-smile that made my heart flip sideways, he reached up and brushed my cheek with one finger, leaving a trail of energy—or something—in its wake. It was almost as good as a kiss (or so I imagined, having no experience with the real thing).
"G'night," he said softly.
I desperately wanted to say something clever or profound, something that would make him think about me, just a little, over the weekend, but nothing came to mind. "G'night, Rigel. See you at school," was all I managed as he turned away.
"Who were you talking to?" Aunt Theresa asked the moment I opened the door. "Where's your uncle?"
So instead of watching the Stuarts' car pull away
through the little curtains flanking the front door, I turned with a sigh to repeat Uncle Louie's story about a customer. I could tell she didn't believe me, but all she did was harrumph.
"And you accepted a ride from a boy you just met?" was her next question.
"From his parents," I clarified. "They're really nice people. And Rigel is our new quarterback, so Brianna's dad knows him."
She arched a skeptical eyebrow. "The quarterback? You made friends with the quarterback?"
I might have felt insulted if I didn't find it at least as unlikely as she did.
"Well . . . yeah. He's in several of my classes." I started to add that we had a lot in common, but realized that wasn't really true—at least, not beyond that bizarre electrical thing or whatever it was, which I certainly wasn't going to mention to my aunt.
She gave another little harrumph. "Well, don't put too much stock in his attention, Marsha. If he's new here, he probably hasn't had time to meet many people. I wouldn't want you to—"
"Don't worry, Aunt Theresa," I said quickly, her warning hurting more than I expected. Did she have to make it quite so obvious she considered me a loser? "I don't expect him to ask me out or anything. But . . . he's nice."
"I'm sure he is. But if you think primping and wearing makeup will—"
I cut her off again. "I don't, okay? I'm kind of sleepy. I think I'll go to bed."
Somehow, Aunt Theresa always made me feel small without ever actually saying anything mean. I wasn't quite sure how she did it, but I wanted to escape before she could totally destroy my good mood.
As I fell asleep half an hour later, I caught myself stroking my cheek where Rigel had brushed it but I didn't make myself stop. What was the harm in fantasizing a little? Tomorrow, or even Monday, would be soon enough to face reality.