Starstruck

by Brenda Hiatt

CHAPTER 22: Collision course

  "There, you see? This is why I didn't want to tell you any of this when you were younger," Aunt Theresa said, startling me out of what was almost a trance. "It looks like you still weren't ready to learn how unsavory your parents may have been. Just remember that your future isn't determined by your past, and that with hard work and clean living, you can still make something decent of yourself."

  I blinked at her, coming back to the present. "What? Oh. Um, right." I gathered up two more big handfuls of rose clippings, heedless of the thorns now, and stuffed them in the bag before giving it to my aunt. "Thanks, Aunt Theresa. Really. I'd . . . I'd better get started on my homework."

  Leaving her staring after me in concern, or maybe just in confusion, I went back into the house and up to my room to think about what I'd just learned—or what I thought I might have learned.

  Plopping down onto my bed, I stared into space, thinking hard. If my parents had been deliberately killed way back when I was a baby, then Martian bad guys on Earth wasn't a recent thing. Maybe the dictator—Faxon—had sent an assassin because he didn't want any survivors of the Royal family? But if he was popular back then, why would it matter, with my parents already off-planet? Had there been some other nefarious plot even then? Something they were only now planning to move ahead with?

  I wished I had a safe way to contact Rigel to ask if he'd found out any more from his end. Especially since I was starting to think that there was a lot more going on than either of us—and maybe even Shim and his colleagues—were aware of. And that it was really, really bad.

  By dinner time I was getting jittery, worrying about whether I'd manage to sneak out again tonight, like I had last week. And wishing Rigel and I had made some kind of backup plan when we were together yesterday, in the cornfield. Why hadn't we?

  Oh, right. There was a lot of distracting kissing going on.

  "What are you smirking about?" my aunt asked.

  "Um, just remembering something Bri said at the game last night," I improvised. I definitely needed to keep better control of my face when thinking about Rigel.

  My aunt and uncle went up to bed at ten-thirty and I paced my bedroom floor until eleven, my impatience growing. I decided not to wait till midnight. Maybe Rigel would be able to get away early—and even if he couldn't, I was too keyed up to stay in my room. I dressed in black jeans and dark top again, snuck out as quietly as I had last time, and reached the arboretum well before midnight without seeing another soul.

  Voices were coming from Green's Pub, a couple of blocks down Diamond—Saturday was karaoke night—but it was nothing to do with me. Still, I peered carefully down the street in both directions before sidling through the archway into the arboretum. Once there, I made my way to "our" bench and settled down to wait, since it was still only eleven-thirty.

  But it wasn't five minutes before I saw a shadow slip through the entrance, silhouetted briefly against the street lights down the block before it disappeared, moving softly toward me. Restraining my impulse to call out, I first extended my senses to see if I could "feel" Rigel—and I instantly did. No question.

  "Rigel," I whispered as he drew near, and heard his quick intake of breath. I guess he hadn't been focusing his senses the way I had.

  "M? I didn't think you'd be here yet, but I couldn't wait—"

  "Yeah, me either."

  By then he'd reached me, and of course we ended up in each other's arms for a few minutes before we attempted any further conversation. Then, with a sigh, we both sank down onto the bench, Rigel's arm comfortably around my shoulders.

  "So, any luck?" he asked first.

  "Sort of." I told him what I'd learned from my aunt that afternoon, including my sudden memory of my mother and my suspicions about what it meant.

  He was silent for a long moment. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "That must have been really hard for you."

  "Not . . . hard, exactly." I tried to find the right words to describe it. "Strange, definitely. Kind of disorienting, that blast from the past, when I'd never remembered anything about my parents before. But a little bit of a relief, too. Like proof they really did exist, you know?"

  Rigel stroked my arm thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I can see that. You've never had it easy, have you?"

  The gentle sympathy in his voice brought a lump to my throat. No one had ever cared about me like this. At least, no one I'd been able to remember, until today. Before I could get all maudlin about it, I cleared my throat and asked, "What about you? Did you find out anything about this 'plan' Smith mentioned?"

  "Maybe." His voice was husky until he cleared his throat, too. "I got my dad talking about Martian politics—not hard to do, since it's pretty much his favorite subject. I oh-so-innocently asked a few questions to nudge him in the direction I was interested in, and he told me about the factions back on Mars and how they're split over the emigration/invasion issue."

  "Invasion?" I echoed, shivering from a chill I hadn't felt before.

  He noticed and pulled me a little closer against his side as he continued. "Yeah, well, it seems things aren't all that great on Mars these days. The population is pretty close to its limit for the size and resources of the underground ecosystem there, which means strictly enforced birth control, lately, and more willingness to emigrate to Earth—since there's no living on the surface, of course."

  I nodded, remembering a mention of emigration during that awkward dinner party at the Stuarts' a few weeks ago. "So more and more Martians are coming to Earth? Isn't that risky? As far as keeping it secret, I mean."

  "That's just it. It is risky, so they have to be really careful about how, and when, and how many come at one time, stuff like that. But apparently there are some people who think that's crap—that because they're . . . we're . . . technologically and genetically superior, they shouldn't have to sneak in."

  "So they want to . . . invade?" The word brought to mind every scary sci-fi movie I'd ever seen. "But there aren't enough of them to do that, are there?"

  He shrugged. "That's what most people seem to think, but I guess it depends on exactly what they want to do. I mean, there's like a quarter of a million people there, but my dad says only a minority are in favor of actual invasion. He might have been playing it down, though—hard to say. I think he told me more than he meant to, then tried to backpedal a little." He ducked his head to look into my face. "Hey, you okay?"

  "Um, yeah. I still can't wrap my mind around the idea of the Martian colony—on Mars—being at least fifty times the size of the whole town of Jewel. But even so, I don't see how they could . . . conquer all of Earth. Or why they'd even want to."

  "I dunno. That's about where my dad clammed up. Maybe they've been building warships in secret or something? But my dad swears that most people there—and pretty much all of the ones already here on Earth—are in favor of peaceful immigration instead. Doing what my parents did: coming in quietly, in small numbers, and just blending in."

  Even that seemed a little more sinister than it had before. I had to remind myself that these were my people he was talking about, not actual aliens. My grandfather had been their ruler. Which got me thinking about something else.

  "Let me guess. It's this Faxon guy who's in favor of the invasion plan?"

  "Yeah, except my dad says Faxon doesn't come out and say so, he just keeps reminding people how much better they'd have it here. It's his supporters who are doing most of the real invasion talk. It's all politics."

  "Just like here." I sighed. I really didn't want to get involved in all of this—but did I have a choice? "So that plan Smith mentioned is about invading Earth? That's even worse than I thought."

  Rigel shrugged again, and I tried not to be distracted by the way that felt with him sitting right up against me. "I can't think what else it could be. Remember what you heard him say about the Duchas not knowing what hit them? It totally fits."

  I had to admit, it did. "He also made it sound like it would be soon, maybe b
efore the end of the semester," I reminded him.

  He sucked in a breath. "That's right. And when I asked my dad if there were any Martians here on Earth who might be trying to set things up from this side for an invasion, he got all jumpy and changed the subject. Said it was all speculation and nothing to worry about—but he said it the way parents do when they don't want you asking questions, you know?"

  "Yeah, I know." Like the way my aunt had always acted whenever I'd brought up the subject of my birth parents or adoption—until today. Except she used to get angry and hurtful if I didn't let it drop, and I couldn't imagine either of Rigel's parents being like that. "But you didn't tell him anything else about Smith, right?"

  "Not yet. I considered it, but then my grandfather called and I eavesdropped while they talked, and—"

  "And what?" I asked, worried by the hesitation in his voice.

  "It sounded like they're talking again about having you disappear. I heard my dad mention Montana. That compound is apparently in the middle of nowhere, up near the Canadian border. There are like five hundred Echtrans there, and he thinks they could keep you safe there indefinitely."

  "Indefinitely?" I didn't like the sound of that at all.

  "At least until they decide Faxon's people are no longer a threat, one way or the other."

  "You mean until they either invade or they're defeated somehow."

  He nodded.

  "So worst case, Faxon invades Earth. Best case, they'd want me to stay hidden up there for years!" I said, appalled.

  Sure, I'd wanted to get away from Jewel for almost as long as I could remember, but I'd been thinking college, then maybe a career in astronomy. Not spending the best years of my life holed up in some fortress in Nowheresville, Montana.

  Without Rigel.

  I shook my head. "Nope, not going to Montana."

  "Are you sure? You would be safe there." But I thought I detected a note of relief in his voice.

  "Not without you, I wouldn't be. You know as well as I do what that would do to both of us. And even if it didn't," I continued quickly when he started to interrupt me, "I'd hate it there. I've always thought Jewel was a nothing town, but I'm guessing it would seem like a mega-city compared to this . . . compound."

  "Still, safe is good. I want you to be safe even more than I . . . more than anything."

  I rested my hand on his cheek, loving the feel of his skin against my palm. "I want me to be safe too, but not at that price—and I don't just mean what I'd have to give up, or even us having to be apart. Going into hiding would mean leaving the bad guys—Faxon's crowd—free to go ahead with their invasion."

  "Maybe not," he argued, though I really didn't think his heart was in it. "Maybe my grandfather and his people can stop them, once they know what's going on."

  "Maybe," I conceded. "Assuming we can even get them to believe us. And the minute we do get them to take the threat seriously, they're also going to insist I disappear. Which I'm not doing."

  "We—you—should at least sleep on it," he said, covering my hand on his cheek with his free hand—the one that wasn't still holding me against his side. "There's no rush."

  I turned my hand to lace my fingers through his. "Isn't there? They could be getting ready to launch warships or something right now, for all we know! The way I see it, we have three basic choices. We can continue as we are now, pretending not to know each other and letting Smith and his cohorts move ahead with the invasion, risking everyone on Earth. Or we can tell Shim everything and risk them forcing me into hiding—which might have the same effect. Or . . . we can go public."

  His grip tightened convulsively on my hand. "Public? I don't think most Earth people are ready for that. I know my parents don't think they are. There could be a panic. It could end up even worse than—"

  "Not that public," I broke in. "I just meant us—you and me. If Mr. Smith sees us together, sees that we're, um, an item, it'll make him reopen his investigation and delay their plans. And once he figures out who I am, we might as well get the word out to all the other Martians about me, maybe with that MARSTAR thing Nara and Shim mentioned, back when they did that test on me. Then there wouldn't be any reason I'd have to hide, would there?"

  He was already shaking his head. "I'm not going to help you make yourself a target, M. Are you crazy? Do you want them to come after you?"

  "Better me than the whole planet. But no, I'm not crazy. Think about it." I twisted sideways so I could clasp his hand in both of mine. "They're not going to want to go public—really public—any more than our side does. At least, not till they're really, truly ready to invade. So it's not like they'll come after me with guns—or phasers, or whatever—blazing. But they'll probably do something, and that something would prove to Shim and his colleagues that the threat is real, in time for them to stop an invasion."

  Rigel wasn't convinced. "What if that 'something' they do is fatal to you? They might slip you poison, or find a way to kill you that looks like an accident, or . . . or . . . murder you in your sleep or something. It's not like they have to be obvious for you to end up dead."

  "So I'll be careful," I said, refusing to let him see how much his words scared me. I hadn't really thought things through that far. "And you'll just have to be my bodyguard," I added, forcing a grin.

  One corner of his mouth quirked up, though his eyes were still serious. "That part I'm okay with. But I still think it would be safer to stay completely off Smith's radar. You said he was only staying till the end of the semester, right?"

  "Unless they invade first! Don't we have a . . . a duty to prevent that if we can?"

  He hesitated, his struggle obvious. "Maybe, if we thought we really could," he finally said. "But we're . . . well, we're just kids, when it comes right down to it. I won't even be sixteen for another month, and you're a couple months younger than I am. Shim's people—"

  "Don't believe in the threat yet," I reminded him. "And if we do manage to convince them, I get whisked off to some compound where they won't let us be together, maybe for years. Maybe ever. It's not worth that risk, Rigel."

  His eyes bored into mine. "I'd rather risk separation than your life."

  I met his gaze steadily. "I wouldn't. And I won't."

  We sat like that for a dozen heartbeats, staring into each other's eyes, wordlessly arguing our views. I wasn't backing down, though, and finally he sighed and nodded.

  "Okay, you win. We'll try it your way, but I'm going to stick to you like glue whenever I possibly can, and you have to promise to be super, super careful when I can't."

  "Deal." Tension I hadn't even realized I was feeling started to drain out of me. "And as soon as Smith makes his move, we'll bring your folks and Shim into it and let them deal with the dangerous stuff."

  "No question about that."

  "So, starting Monday, we can stop avoiding each other at school?" I just wanted to be sure we were clear.

  Rigel took his arm from around me, but only so he could hold both of my hands with both of his. "I'll go you one better than that. M, will you be my date for Homecoming?"

  I was ridiculously nervous Monday morning as I headed toward my first class. Partly because of whatever Mr. Smith might do once he figured out who I was, but mainly because I wasn't sure exactly how Rigel was going to act toward me now that we'd agreed our fake breakup was over.

  Of course I'd said yes about Homecoming. Duh. But Rigel had walked me home—well, most of the way home—right after that. And we hadn't said more than "hi" to each other in church yesterday, since for obvious reasons Rigel couldn't tell his parents what we were doing. Today would be the first test of our new plan—assuming Rigel hadn't had second thoughts since I talked him into it Saturday night.

  It seemed all too likely he might have, considering I'd had second—and third, and fourth—thoughts since then myself. Some of those times I was ready to admit it really was a dangerous and stupid plan. Even so, every time I thought carefully through my options, this one made the m
ost sense, for me and for everyone else. Which meant even if Rigel decided it was safer to keep ignoring me, I wouldn't let him.

  With that resolve firmly in mind, I walked into Geometry class, my heart hammering like crazy . . . until Rigel looked over at me, smiled his wonderful smile and came toward me. Suddenly I was positive everything was going to be fine. Somehow.

  "Hey." His voice was warm, stroking over my senses until my toes curled from just one word.

  "Hey," I responded, reminding myself to ask him—privately—whether my voice affected him the way his affected me. "How was—?"

  "Rigel!" Trina's voice, even shriller and more irritating than usual, cut across my question before I could finish. "Why on Earth are you talking to her? You said you were over that . . . that aberration."

  He turned slowly to face her, but not before I saw him grimace—an expression I kind of wished she'd seen, too, since it would have told her clearly what he really thought of her.

  "I never said that, Trina," he said carefully, distinctly. "You did."

  She sniffed, reminding me of my Aunt Theresa. "Well, it's not like you denied it."

  "You're right," he admitted. "I should have, even though I knew—everyone knew—it was just your wishful thinking. M is no aberration, and I'm definitely not over her." He glanced at me, the warmth back in his eyes. "I don't think I ever could be."

  Trina took a step backward, her big blue eyes snapping back and forth between us. "But you . . . she . . ."

  I actually found myself feeling just the tiniest bit sorry for her, which was amazing considering how many times she'd made my life miserable. But this time, at least, it hadn't been completely her fault she'd assumed Rigel was her property. He'd done all he could to give that impression to everyone. Especially Mr. Smith.

  "We had a misunderstanding," I told her, proud that I kept all but the tiniest bit of gloating out of my voice. "But we've cleared it up now."

  She glared at me, clearly struggling to come up with the put-down to end all put-downs. Finally, her voice nearly an octave higher than usual, she said, "Well, Rigel, if you'd actually choose her over me, all I can say is that you deserve each other."

  "Thank you," he replied smoothly. "That's a very nice compliment—to me, anyway."

  With another vicious glare at both of us, she made a strangled noise and turned on her heel to stomp off to a desk as far away from us as possible.

  Rigel and I looked at each other and I could tell he was struggling as hard as I was not to laugh—not that Trina really deserved such consideration.

  "C'mon," he said, his voice quivering slightly, and motioned to two empty desks.

  I slipped into the seat next to him, aware of half the class—including Deb—was staring, but not caring about anything at the moment except that Rigel and I were back together. For real. Such a wonderful feeling had to be worth any risk we were taking.

  "So when were you going to tell me?" Bri demanded when she spotted me in the hall right before English class. "Deb says you and Rigel are back together?"

  I had a whole lot on my mind right then what with being moments away from facing Mr. Smith for the first time since changing tactics and Rigel coming down the hall right behind Bri, so I kept my response brief.

  "Yeah, we talked things out over the weekend. I'll tell you more later, okay?"

  "But—"

  Rigel reached us then so she broke off, but with a look that said I'd better dish soon or else.

  "Ready?" Rigel muttered as soon as Bri went into the classroom, his expression as serious as I'd seen it.

  I swallowed. "I think so. Let's do this."

  Mr. Smith was writing on the board when we entered, his back to the room, and he didn't turn around until we were already in our seats. As soon as the bell rang, he launched right into a lecture about the themes Shakespeare had explored in "Julius Caesar" and hardly paused the whole class, except to write some examples on the board. I'd steeled myself to finally answer a question out loud, alerting him to my existence, but I never got the chance.

  "Well, that was anticlimactic," I muttered to Rigel as we shuffled out of the room to head to Science.

  He shrugged. "I guess he's not paying much attention, now he's decided you're not in Jewel. But let's not get careless, okay?"

  Bri was walking just in front of us. I saw her head twitch at his last words—which he'd spoken a little loudly—and groaned to myself, realizing how she might have interpreted them if that's all she heard. I suspected I was going to have to do even more explaining than I wanted to.

  I could almost feel the chill between Rigel and Trina as they sat behind me in Science. It was a shame we weren't allowed to switch partners this late in the semester, though that would have been mean to poor Will. Nobody deserved to be stuck with Trina, especially in her present mood.

  I started getting nervous again when we reached the cafeteria a short time later. This was likely to be when Mr. Smith would finally figure things out, since Rigel and I would be more overtly "together" here than we could be in class. As I followed Rigel through the lunch line, filling my tray almost randomly, I discreetly scanned the lunchroom. Smith didn't seem to be here yet.

  We both went to sit at my usual table, joining Bri and Deb and several others from their—our—new crowd. Everyone there seemed delighted that Rigel and I were back together, making me wonder whether Trina's popularity had more to do with fear of her influence than with people really liking her.

  "Hey, Rigel! Good to see you here again," Bri greeted him.

  "Yeah, looks like you finally came back to your senses," said Dawna Higgs with a big grin. Next to her, Becca Chambers, another JV cheerleader who wasn't quite so sweet, sent a sly glance Trina's way.

  I resisted the urge to follow her gaze. Instead, I did my best to be perky and chatty while waiting for Mr. Smith to show.

  He never did.

  Maybe he'd decided to eat in the faculty room now that he'd given up trying to find me. How long would I have to wait for the other shoe to drop?

  The only other off note during lunch was Jimmy Franklin, who was clearly not happy that Rigel and I were back together. He sat at the far end of our table, shooting sullen glances my way. I felt sorry for him, but there wasn't anything I could do about it even if I'd wanted to. Which I didn't. Still, I couldn't deny it gave my ego a little boost, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. I might need all the boosting I could get, from any source, when Smith finally identified me.

  Bri didn't get a chance to grill me until she called me at home that evening, but by then I'd come up with a plausible story about running into Rigel in town on Saturday and us both admitting how much we'd missed each other. Since Aunt Theresa had left the kitchen after verifying I was talking to Bri and not Rigel, I was free to embellish at will.

  "One thing led to another, and—"

  Bri gasped. "You mean you two actually—?"

  Even though I'd known it was coming, it hurt that she would believe that of me. I thought she knew me better than that. "Of course not! It's not like that, Bri."

  "Then what was that I heard him say today, about being careful?" Her voice held a "gotcha" quality that was really irritating. But I was ready for her.

  "Careful? Oh! You must mean what he said after English. He was talking about Trina—what she might do out of spite because of us getting back together. She's pretty pissed, you know."

  "Oh." She actually sounded disappointed. Then she rallied. "Yeah, you should have heard her in Spanish class, ripping you to shreds. But Rigel was great—he really let her have it. He's right, you probably should watch your back with her. If she can find a way to get you in trouble, she will."

  I hadn't actually given Trina much thought, with everything else on my mind today, but I realized Bri was right. One more thing to worry about.

  Tuesday evening Aunt Theresa gave me yet another thing to stress over when she came home from grocery shopping.

  "Paula Means' daughter told her that y
ou and that football player are together again," she said before she'd even set down the first grocery bag. "Really, Marsha, I thought you had more pride than that, after the way he treated you."

  I so wanted to say that Paula Means should mind her own business, but I didn't dare. "We . . . He's been really sweet lately," I stammered instead. "And he asked me to the Homecoming dance this Saturday."

  She frowned, but I could practically see the gears turning in her head as she tried to decide whether she was more upset or pleased. The high school Homecoming dance was a pretty big deal in Jewel, and she'd be able to brag to all her friends that her niece was going with the star quarterback—who had become a local celebrity of sorts.

  "You just make sure he treats you with respect," she finally said. "Just because he's a hotshot quarterback with rich parents doesn't mean he can take advantage of you."

  "Aunt Theresa!" I intentionally sounded even more shocked than I was, to make her back off. "He wouldn't. Except for that misunderstanding about flirting with Trina, he's always treated me with respect. And I would never allow him not to."

  "See you don't," she said with one of her sniffs. "Now, go bring in the rest of the groceries while I start dinner."

  By the time I got to English class on Friday, I was seriously on edge. Mr. Smith still hadn't noticed me—hadn't even looked at me—droning on and on about Shakespeare and passing out a pop quiz instead of giving me a chance to raise my hand in class. And he'd completely given up coming to the lunchroom, which meant I hadn't seen him at all outside of English.

  If it hadn't been for that phone conversation I'd overheard, I'd have started to wonder whether Rigel and I had been wrong all along about Mr. Smith. Really, though, there was no other way to interpret what I'd heard. He'd even mentioned Rigel by name.

  What might be happening with that invasion plan, since we hadn't done anything yet to slow them down? I worried about that for most of the period, and Mr. Smith's lecture about the bloody conclusion of "Julius Caesar" didn't help a bit. Was I one of the cowardly characters standing by while my people were threatened?

  When the bell rang at the end of class, I made an abrupt decision. Before I could chicken out—and ignoring Rigel's anxious gaze—I walked right up to the teacher, who was shoving some papers into his desk.

  "Mr. Smith, when did you say our essays were due?" I asked in a rush, my heart hammering even though I half expected another fizzle.

  "Next Wednesday," he said without looking up, but then he stiffened and slowly raised his head to look at me. I looked back, trying to keep my expression blank as he continued to stare at me, his eyes widening as realization visibly dawned.

  "Okay, thanks." I managed not to stammer, but my voice might have been a tiny bit shaky.

  Before he could say or do anything, I turned and headed for the door, where Rigel was waiting. He looked like he was trying as hard as I was not to look nervous. Without a word, he put an arm around my shoulders and practically herded me down the hall toward Science—and away from Smith.

  "Why did you do that?" he whispered fiercely as soon as we were well out of earshot, even for someone with enhanced hearing.

  "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.