by Brenda Hiatt
CHAPTER 8: Resolving patterns
I stared at him for a long time, probably a whole minute, while his words ricocheted around in my brain. Finally, positive I'd misunderstood, I simply said, "Wait. What?"
"I'm a Martian," he repeated.
My brain finally came unstuck and his words penetrated. In spite of the sweltering heat, a cold wash of horror drenched me from head to toe. I pulled my hands out of his and jumped to my feet.
"Oh, my God. Oh, my God," I breathed. "Trina put you up to this!"
Now he was standing too, trying to grab my hands again. I backed away. The depth of his betrayal left me reeling. "Have you two been plotting this all along?" I demanded.
"No! Trina has nothing to do with this, I swear."
I didn't believe him. "I don't know anyone else mean enough to do this to me. Are you trying to tell me this was your plan? Why? Because I told you about that stupid fantasy back in second grade? Why should that even matter to you?"
"M!"
He took a step toward me but I turned away quickly. I could feel my eyes prickling, and there was no way on earth I was going to let him see me cry. Imagining Rigel and Trina laughing together about me, I ran from the courtyard I'd entered two minutes ago with such high hopes.
As I hurried blindly down the hall, I heard him call my name again. Afraid he'd catch me, make me face him, I ducked into the nearest girls' room and locked myself into a stall. Then, finally, I let the tears come—first in great, racking sobs, then gradually slowing to a hopeless flow down my cheeks. A couple of people came into the bathroom, but they didn't ask who was crying and I wasn't about to let them know.
After ten minutes or so, I'd pretty much cried myself out. My lips had that icky numb-tingly feeling and my nose was all stuffed up, but I was finally calm enough to think.
I still couldn't believe Rigel would do such an awful thing, making fun of the most embarrassing thing from my past that I'd shared with him. And I absolutely didn't want to face him—or anyone—right now. But the bell was going to ring soon and I couldn't spend the rest of the day in here. Eventually Bri or Deb or even a teacher would come looking for me.
So, after a few deep breaths, I waited till I was sure the bathroom was empty and emerged from the stall to splash cold water on my face from the sink. My eyes were puffy and red, but the cold water helped a little, and some extra eye pencil helped a little more. I could do this. I just wouldn't look at anybody.
The warning bell rang but I waited a minute, so I wouldn't get to class too soon. Then, with another fortifying breath, I left the bathroom and walked fast, with my head down.
When I reached the classroom, I didn't even glance toward Rigel, but made a beeline for my own desk. I didn't look at Bri or Deb either, but of course they both immediately started asking what was wrong.
"Rigel looked upset when he came in, too," Bri said. "Did you guys fight?"
"Sort of," I mumbled. "I'm fine."
"But M, what—"
I cut Deb off. "Just leave me alone, okay? For now, I mean. Please?"
Class started and they backed off.
Though I couldn't concentrate on anything but my own misery, pretending to pay attention gave me a good excuse to avoid pitying glances from my friends—and everyone else.
Not until class was ending did it occur to me to wonder why Rigel would have looked upset, like Bri told me. If his plan was to embarrass me, it had certainly worked. So shouldn't he be happy? I felt a thread of doubt, of hope, that maybe that hadn't been his intent after all. Though what else it could have been, I had no clue.
When the bell rang, I gave Rigel a big head start before leaving the room myself. But he was lurking just outside the door, and I didn't see him in time to avoid him. I tried to duck around him, but he was faster than me—a lot faster. He moved to block me and then, too quickly for me to prevent him, he snagged one of my hands. His touch jolted me with that same sense of rightness it always did, calming me against my will.
"M! Please listen to me, okay?" He spoke softly but urgently. "None of this was a plot, and I wasn't making fun of you. I promise. I was telling you the truth."
A reluctant sense of relief started to creep through me, but it might have just been the result of his hand on mine. That, plus wanting so very desperately to believe he wouldn't intentionally hurt me like that. But that very desperation made me mistrust my instincts.
"The truth." I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "That you're a Martian? Come on, Rigel. What does that even mean?"
"If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. I did say you wouldn't believe me."
He gave me a sad sort of smile and now I looked, really looked, into his eyes and saw an echo of the pain I'd been feeling since I left him in the courtyard. Like I'd actually hurt him with my accusations. Could he really be that good an actor? Could anyone?
Much as I longed to believe him, I was afraid to lower my guard completely, the image of Trina laughing at me lingering in the back of my mind. "I . . . I have to get to class. Maybe we can talk later."
I tried to pull my hand away, but he tightened his grip. "You did say you wanted an explanation," he reminded me.
"Well, yeah, but—"
"Okay, how do you explain what happened yesterday with Farmer? And there's other stuff you've wondered about, too, isn't there?"
He was right, of course. There definitely was something different about him. Something . . . better. How had he zapped Bryce Farmer like that? And I knew those jolts when we touched weren't just static electricity. Then there was the stuff he knew that he shouldn't . . .
"Okay," I finally said, "I'll listen. I'm not promising to believe anything, though."
"Great. That's all I'm asking—that you listen." He smiled his relief and I couldn't help smiling back. "So, can you come to practice again today?"
Reluctantly, I shook my head. "My aunt was kind of upset about it yesterday. Plus, I have taekwondo class this afternoon. I missed last Wednesday, so I really should go."
"You know taekwondo? Cool!" He looked impressed, which was flattering.
"Yeah—though I'm not very good yet."
That reminded me of my dramatic improvement at Saturday's class, then the other improvements I'd noticed—my skin, my eyes. Could it possibly all be linked to Rigel somehow?
Before I could think of a way to ask, he looked at the clock in the hallway. "The bell is going to ring in a minute. You'd better eat something." He held up my lunch, which I'd left behind in the courtyard when I'd stormed out.
"I'm not hungry," I said automatically. "So, why did you want me to come to football practice?" I figured I didn't have anything to lose by asking that now.
He handed me the paper sack. "Eat. I'll answer all of your questions, I promise, but I can't do it in the next minute—or where people can hear us."
I really wasn't hungry but because he was waiting, I opened my sack and pulled out the peanut butter sandwich I'd slapped together this morning and took a bite. Then another. "Okay?" I asked around my mouthful.
Rigel laughed. "Come on. You can finish it on the way to class."
Luckily, the stuff we were doing in French was really easy—subjunctives—since I spent the whole period mulling over Rigel's every word, every look. I decided there were only three options: he was lying, which meant he probably was in cahoots with Trina, or he was telling the truth, or he was crazy.
As much as I wanted to believe option number two, I'd read enough about Mars to know it wasn't possible. The gravity was too low, the atmosphere was too thin, the temperatures were too extreme. There was no way that humans could survive there without pressure suits, or that any real "Martian" would be able to function on Earth.
Which left option three—which I still preferred over the first one.
When I got to Health, I scrutinized Trina, trying to figure out whether she had anything to do with all of this. She didn't look particularly smug or secretive. In fact, she didn't look at me at all, until on
e of her friends whispered something to her.
"What?" she demanded as I took my seat in front of her. "Were you staring at me?"
"Me?" I asked innocently. "Why would I stare at you?"
She looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then shrugged and went back to talking to her friends. I listened, but they were just discussing clothes and their next shopping trip.
Even if Rigel was an amazing actor, I knew Trina wasn't, so I was finally convinced that whatever was going on, she wasn't involved. That made me feel better, even if it meant Rigel was crazy. There were degrees of crazy, after all, and crazy was better than mean. Crazy I could work with. Maybe.
Besides, he couldn't just be crazy. He—we?—had zapped Bryce Farmer somehow. Plus the other stuff. Maybe . . . maybe "Martian" was a code word for something else? That must be it! A wave of relief swept through me at such a viable alternative to Rigel being insane.
On the way to the bus, I stopped at my locker to swap out some books and when I closed it, Rigel was standing there.
"Hey," he said, his eyes searching my face, like he was gauging my mood.
"Hey," I replied. "Don't you have practice?"
He nodded. "I just wanted to see you for a sec. And ask if we can try lunch in the courtyard again tomorrow?"
"Um, sure. I, uh, promise not to run away this time." I could kick myself now for freaking out. If I hadn't done that, I'd already know whatever he was planning to tell me.
"And I'll try not to upset you."
I frowned at his phrasing. "So . . . you think I'm likely to get upset—again?"
For just a second he hesitated. "I hope not. Oh, and one more thing. Can you, um, not tell anybody what I've told you so far?"
I almost laughed, but not quite. "No worries there. But why—?"
"Just . . .trust me, M. Please."
Without warning, he leaned in and kissed me—kissed me!—right on the lips. It was super quick, but his lips gave me almost double the jolt his touch normally did, leaving me breathless and reeling. I stared up at him, too stunned to form a thought, much less any words.
For a second he stared back, looking nearly as startled as he'd been by that first touch a week ago—but not upset. In fact, he actually smiled.
"Gotta run," he said, and I thought he sounded a little bit breathless, too. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun at taekwondo!" With a wink, he turned and sprinted off down the hallway.
Still dazed, I watched him go, then suddenly realized I'd better hurry or I'd miss the bus. The hall was empty by now, but from the few curious looks I noticed on my way outside, I knew my face must be giving away how overwhelmed I felt. No, more than overwhelmed—euphoric. Like I could walk on clouds or fly to the moon.
My first kiss!
I worked hard to control my expression before Bri and Deb saw me. I wasn't ready to tell anybody, not just yet. I wanted to keep it my own precious secret, to savor and relive and dream about all night.
Unfortunately, the "secret" part of my precious secret lasted about two minutes.
"Omigod, M, look at you!" Deb exclaimed when I plunked down into the seat she and Bri had saved for me, the last person onto the bus. "You're, like, practically glowing!"
"She's right," Bri agreed. "And you were such a mess in History. What happened?"
"Rigel Stuart kissed her," Heather James answered from two rows up before I could even try to think up a story. "Mallory Adams saw it and told Jennifer, who told Allison and me. So Marsh, is he as good as he looks?" Heather waggled her eyebrows at me.
Before I could do more than gasp and stare at her, Deb and Bri squealed in unison.
"And you didn't tell us?" Brianna was clearly offended. "I thought we were your best friends!"
"You are! And I would have. It . . . it only happened a couple minutes ago. I swear!"
They both leaned in toward me so we could talk without the whole bus hearing. "Okay, tell us everything," Deb said in an excited whisper. "What did he say? What did you do?"
I was still in a daze, both from the kiss and from finding out the whole school already knew about it. "I . . . there's not much to tell, except it was amazing. But quick—just a peck, really." I started to relive it, but Bri yanked me right back to the present.
"On the lips?" she demanded. I nodded and they both squealed again, making heads turn all over the bus. "I guess you guys made up then?"
"Um, yeah, I guess we did. We're going to talk more tomorrow at lunch." Everybody near us was obviously listening, so with a significant look around, I changed the subject. "Can one of you tell me what we went over in History today? I wasn't paying much attention."
They got what I was doing and played along, though I knew they'd go back to demanding details the first chance they got.
If I hadn't been so distracted, this taekwondo class would have been even better than Saturday's. The few times I managed to focus on what I was doing, I was awesome—at least by my admittedly low standards. I was able to back kick the bag right into the wall, something most of the guys could do, but which I never had. And in sparring practice, I landed more kicks than I received, for a change. But all I could think about most of the time was that kiss . . . and what it meant.
Or if it meant anything at all.
That was the question that plagued me all through dinner, then the whole time I was trying to do my homework—which definitely suffered from my distraction.
Rigel had seemed to be nearly as affected as I was by that surprise kiss. At least, it was a huge surprise to me, and I'd almost swear he hadn't planned it. But with boys, who could tell? If my aunt was to be believed, they were all after just one thing, so that kiss could have been part of a plan to get into my pants. But I didn't think so.
Needless to say, I didn't breathe a word about it to my aunt and uncle. Especially since I wasn't sure I objected even if that was Rigel's motive. I felt guilty even thinking that, but by now I was crushing so hard on him that nearly all rational thought had deserted me.
As I got ready for bed, I tried to resurrect my earlier doubts about Rigel—how impossible the literal truth was about Mars and that he might be crazy or something. But by the time I lay down I realized it hardly mattered anymore. Unless he turned out to be a serial killer . . . and maybe even then . . . I was totally willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I was in love.
That truth hit me with a flash of light—then an audible boom. And some distant rumbling.
Oh. It was just a thunderstorm. But I couldn't help feeling like it was fate or an omen or something, arriving at the same moment as my epiphany.
I fell asleep to the sound of thunder and it wove its way into my dreams, where Rigel and I walked hand in hand through an exotic landscape. Spectacular explosions were going off all around us but somehow never quite touched us. Together, we were invincible.
Despite nearly blinding rain, the bus couldn't go fast enough for me the next morning. I was dying to see Rigel again, to see how he'd act toward me today. I was also eager to hear his explanation, but I had to admit that was secondary. For now.
Bri and Deb tried to pry more details out of me about yesterday's kiss—they'd known better than to call me at home—but I didn't say much. Until I knew what was really going on with Rigel, I didn't want to talk about it. Bri was clearly ticked, but I'd worry about that later.
On the way to class, I got an inkling of how my social status had improved now that word had gotten around about Rigel and me. People who had never made eye contact before went out of their way to say hi. I even got asked to a party Saturday night—definitely a first.
"I'll come if I can," I answered Missy Gillespie, who was a junior and really popular. And who'd never spoken to me before.
"Cool! Hope you can make it, M!"
I knew there wasn't a chance Aunt Theresa would let me go, but it was still amazingly flattering to be asked. And she'd called me M, like my best friends did!
A sudden attack of nerves hit me
when I got to Geometry. For a second I was scared Rigel would ignore me like he had a week ago, but the moment he saw me, he smiled and came over.
"Hey," he said. "I would have called last night, but I remembered how tricky it is for you to talk on the phone at home. Didn't want to get you in any trouble or anything."
Relief blossomed in my chest—along with the intense thrill of being near him again. "That's okay. We still on for lunch?" I glanced out the window, where rain was falling in sheets.
"You bet. We'll find someplace dry," he promised.
We had to separate then, since class was starting, but my nervousness was gone. Everything was going to be fine.
It was still pouring when the lunch bell sounded, three and a half hours later. Like yesterday, Rigel and I left Science class together, while Trina walked off like she didn't know either one of us. Which was just fine with me.
"So, where's a private place to talk other than the courtyard?" Rigel asked as we went out into the hallway.
"I've been thinking about that," I admitted. In fact, I'd kind of been obsessing about it. "Why don't we go to the courtyard anyway? That alcove on the south side where we sat yesterday should be dry. And for sure, nobody else will be out there on a day like this."
He laughed. "True enough. Okay, lead on." His fingers brushed my arm but he didn't try to hold my hand or anything. I decided that was probably just as well—and not only because of the attention it would get in the hall.
When we reached the courtyard door, the rain was still sluicing down, with an occasional rumble of thunder.
"You sure about this?" he asked, squinting into the mist that swirled into our eyes as we stood in the doorway.
"Look." I pointed at the bench, under an overhang on the opposite side of the open space. "We'll get a little wet on the way, but the seat looks dry. I think."
He looked down at me with one eyebrow quirked in amusement, then shrugged out of his Center North letter jacket and threw it over my shoulders. It was deliciously warm. "Okay, let's make a dash for it," he said.
Rigel grabbed my hand and, laughing together, we ran across the brick path to the stone bench, which was set well back in its alcove, maybe six feet from where the rain cascaded down. The spot was both secluded and romantic. To me, anyway.
But as soon as we sat down, Rigel's first words were, "I need to apologize for kissing you yesterday. I shouldn't have done that."
I felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the rain—or the fact that the temperature had fallen by about twenty degrees since this time yesterday. I should have known I'd been deluding myself, that it was all a mistake—that it hadn't meant anything to him.
"It's . . . That's okay," I mumbled, suddenly unable to look him in the eye, afraid of what I'd see in his expression. "I understand."
I wondered if he'd experienced the same thing I had at school, only in reverse—if his social status had suffered the same way mine had soared. No wonder he—
"No, I don't think you do." He put a finger under my chin, tilting my face up so I had to look at him. There was no revulsion, not even any regret in his eyes. Rather the opposite. My breath caught.
"But you said—"
"The reason I shouldn't have kissed you is that you still don't know the truth about . . . about me. So it wasn't fair. To you."
"Oh." It came out more like a sigh than a word.
I braced myself for another kiss, ready to really enjoy it this time, to show him with my lips what he meant to me, but he took his hand away and gazed across the drenched courtyard.
Though it wasn't easy, I forced my mind back to the real reason we were out here in the rain. "Then I guess you'd better tell me the whole truth, huh?" I tried for a cheerful, conversational tone. "You said you were a . . . a Martian." I stumbled just a little over the word. "So, is that like a code word for a secret government experiment or something?"
He turned and grinned at me. "That's a pretty good theory. I see you've spent some time thinking about this. But no."
"Then—"
He took my hands in his and his touch zinged through me, making me willing to believe anything he told me. "I meant it literally. Martian as in 'from Mars.'"
Okay, I was willing to believe almost anything. I started shaking my head, all the reasons it couldn't be true crowding back. I'd been so sure Rigel had some logical explanation, that he wasn't insane, but—
"I know it sounds crazy. I do. I didn't believe it either, when my parents finally told me a few years ago."
That startled me. "Wait. You . . . you're telling me your parents are Martians, too?" I remembered how rational and intelligent his parents had seemed. Like Rigel. I wondered if they were aware that their son was delusional.
"Yep. In fact, they were both born on Mars. I wasn't—I was born here, on Earth. So I guess in the strictest sense I'm not exactly a Martian." He sounded perfectly sane, apart from the words he was speaking.
But I shook my head again. "No. There can't possibly be people on Mars," I said. "At least, not humans. Or . . . aren't you really human?"
Strangely, that prospect didn't horrify me nearly as much as the idea of him plotting with Trina had.
"I'm human. We all are. Though, as you've noticed, we are a little bit different. That's because we've evolved separately from the humans on Earth for centuries. Or, at least, that's part of the reason."
As much as I wanted to believe him—or at least to believe he wasn't crazy—I couldn't just reason away what I knew about the conditions on Mars. No way humans could survive there, much less evolve there. But because he seemed so sincere, I felt like I had to tread cautiously. There was no knowing what he might do if I attacked his delusion directly.
"Okay, so you're human. But different. The gravity on Mars is like one third of Earth's. How do the people there cope with that? And even if they could, what about when they come here, like you say your parents did? Anyone who grew up on Mars would have a really hard time dealing with our gravity here."
He let out a breath, like I'd passed some kind of test and he was relieved. "I knew you'd be able to come at this reasonably," he said, not realizing I was humoring him. "The colony on Mars is underground, with artificial gravity and atmosphere, all climate-controlled. So the conditions there are almost exactly the same as on Earth, except for the underground part."
That answered what would have been my next two questions. He'd really thought this thing through! Of course, I'd made up all kinds of details for my own Martian fantasy back in second grade, too. Like a lavender sky with purple clouds and a castle made of pink space diamonds.
Unlike me at age seven, Rigel knew enough science to make his details a little more plausible, that was all. I tried again.
"Okay, how did this, er, colony end up on Mars in the first place?"
He hesitated. Had I stumped him? But then he said, "That part is as hard to believe as the first. According to my parents, over two thousand years ago an advanced alien race, um, kidnapped a bunch of humans and took them to Mars."
"Of course they did." I accidentally said it out loud.
"So you don't believe me after all." He was obviously disappointed, and his disappointment bothered me more than I expected it to. "I thought this was going a little too well."
"I want to believe you. I do—so much. But come on, Rigel. Think about what you're saying! Some alien master race grabs a bunch of Earthlings and whisks them off to their specially-prepared underground facility on Mars for . . . what? To experiment on them?"
"Yeah, pretty much." But he sounded a little sheepish. "Look, I warned you it would sound crazy."
I didn't disagree. I just sat there, looking at him. I'd been so happy since he'd kissed me yesterday, thinking I'd found someone who liked me, who understood me. Even now, knowing he was probably crazy, I couldn't help loving him. I knew I needed to get my feelings under control, something I couldn't seem to do with him touching me. Gently, I started to extricate my hand from his.
"Wait." He tightened his grip. "Before you completely make up your mind and get a restraining order or something, talk to my parents. I warned them you might not believe me, but they can—"
"Your parents?" I stopped trying to pull away. "They know you believe all this stuff?"
"Like I said, they're the ones who told me. And it's true. All of it." His eyes willed me to believe him.
For the first time, I almost did. Almost.
"Okay, okay, let's just say I do believe you. If there are . . . Martians on Earth, it's a huge deal, and it would have to be kept really secret so people—the government, even—wouldn't freak out. So why are you telling me?"
"A couple of reasons," he said slowly, like he was carefully choosing his words. "First, you asked—because you were noticing things. I figured it was better to tell you the truth than to let you make up your own theories, and maybe talk about them to your friends and family—and my parents agreed."
"Which is why you didn't want me telling anybody anything about this."
"Exactly."
"You said a couple of reasons. What's the other one?"
Now he smiled at me, that smile that always squeezed my heart. "Because you're special, M. But you knew that, didn't you?"
I swallowed. "I . . . am I?" I'd certainly never felt special, unless you counted the static thing. I kind of hoped he meant special to him, but I didn't dare assume that.
"You're more special than you know, M— especially to me," he said, making my heart stutter.
His eyes held mine until I gave a little nod. Incredible as it still seemed, I knew he was telling me the truth about this. I didn't understand how I—plain Marsha Truitt—could be so special to the most amazing guy I'd ever met, but I reveled in it. How could I not?
Whether he was really a Martian or really crazy barely even mattered. He was still incredible. And I was head over heels in love with him.