 
# Starstruck

## Brenda Hiatt

**Starstruck**

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A Starstruck Novel

book 1

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Copyright 2013 by Brenda Hiatt

Cover art by Ravven Kitsune

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All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between actual events or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

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License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Dolphin Star Press

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ISBN: 978-1-940618-01-2

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**Dedication**

_For Bethany, Dawn and Keith, my first readers and greatest encouragers. Thank you._

The Starstruck series by Brenda Hiatt

_Starstruck_

_Starcrossed_

_Starbound_

_Starfall_

_Fractured Jewel: A Starstruck Novella_

_The Girl From Mars_

### Contents

Synopsis

1. Shifting orbits

2. A star is formed

3. Or not

4. Retrograde motion

5. Heavenly bodies

6. Singularities

7. Seismic shift

8. Resolving patterns

9. Eccentricities

10. Extraterrestrial origin

11. Magnetic field

12. Axial tilt

13. Stress-energy tensor

14. Coronal attributes

15. Hypothesis verification

16. Conjunction

17. Event horizon

18. Orbital degradation

19. Implosion

20. Black hole

21. Stellar discoveries

22. Collision course

23. Astral burst

24. Apparent magnitude

25. Absolute magnitude

26. Electromagnetic pulse

27. Resolution matrix

Starcrossed (preview)

A Note from Brenda Hiatt

Also by Brenda Hiatt

About the Author

# Synopsis

**THE MIDDLE OF nowhere just got a lot more interesting!**

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Nerdy astronomy geek Marsha, M to her few friends, has never been anybody special. Orphaned as an infant and reluctantly raised by an overly-strict "aunt," she's not even sure who she is. M's dream of someday escaping tiny Jewel, Indiana and making her mark in the world seems impossibly distant until hot new quarterback Rigel inexplicably befriends her. As Rigel turns his back on fawning cheerleaders to spend time with M, strange things start to happen: her acne clears up, her eyesight improves to the point she can ditch her thick glasses, and when they touch, sparks fly--literally! When M digs for a reason, she discovers deep secrets that will change her formerly mundane life forever...and expose her to perils she never dreamed of.

Book 1 of the award-winning **Starstruck** series, where teen romance blends with science fiction to open a whole new world of action, adventure and discovery!

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## 1

# Shifting orbits

I BOARDED THE bus on the first day of school with a weird sense of anticipation. Even after nine years as the class dork, I couldn't quite squelch a fizzy little hope that this year would be different.

Maybe this year Jimmy Franklin would finally notice I existed. I was fifteen now and marginally less awkward than I'd been last year as a freshman. Maybe I'd do something wild and daring, like, oh, run for treasurer of the French Club. I might even get elected, since last year they'd had to arm-twist someone into doing it.

The familiar sour-stale schoolbus smell—like old french fries that had been baking in the Indiana sun all summer, with maybe a whiff of vomit—took some of the fizz out of my mood. It was the smell of a dozen past humiliations. Still, I clung to what I hoped was a confident half-smile as I headed for an empty seat two-thirds of the way back.

"Wow, Marsha, nice blouse."

It was Trina Squires, of course—my nemesis. Trina was everything I wasn't: pretty, rich, popular, athletic. And we'd more or less hated each other ever since that bracelet incident back in third grade.

"Get dressed in the dark again?" she continued.

My best friend Bri, who had about fifty times more fashion sense than me, had picked out my outfit—a cute white cap-sleeve blouse dotted with tiny blue stars, and denim capris. I totally trusted Bri's taste. Not wanting Trina to think I cared what she said, I passed her before glancing down at myself.

Oh. Crap. Nice blouse, yeah—buttoned one button off. How did I not notice that before I left the house? Hitching my tattered green backpack a little higher, I tried to cover the neckline, where it was most obvious.

And tripped over Bobby Jeeter's foot, which he'd stuck out just for me. I caught myself—barely—before I went sprawling, but that didn't keep half the bus from laughing.

"You know, most guys gave that up back in fifth grade," I informed Bobby, grabbing my glasses before they slipped off my nose.

"What can I say?" Bobby shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. "It's still funny."

More laughter.

Trying to ignore them all, I pushed my glasses back up, sat down in the empty seat and started rebuttoning my blouse as inconspicuously as possible.

Nope, it didn't look like this year was going to be any different.

* * *

Attention shifted away from me and back to other first-day-of-school gossip as the bus left Jewel's shabby historic district, where I lived with my aunt and uncle just a block from Diamond, our "Main Street." I stared out the window as we trundled through progressively newer areas with bigger yards and hardly any fences.

No hills, of course. All of Jewel was flat—and boring. Like most other small towns in north-central Indiana, it consisted of a tiny little "downtown," a few widely scattered clusters of homes, a couple dozen farms, and cornfields. Lots of cornfields. Its only claim to character was an unusual number of artisan jewelry shops capitalizing on the town name, and the annual Jewel Jewelry Festival every May.

Brianna Morrison and Debbi Andrews, my two closest friends, got on the bus a few stops later. "Oh good, you wore it," Bri said, sliding in beside me. Debbi sat right across the aisle. "I really like that top, M."

I didn't see any point in telling her about my screwup. "Thanks, Bri. You look great, as always—you too, Deb."

Brianna was a little more popular than me and a lot more outgoing. A bit on the geeky side, like me, but with more style. Though neither of us could claim to be pretty, Bri had thick, curly brunette hair, while mine was limp and mousy brown, with a tendency to frizz. We'd known each other pretty much all our lives and had been BFFs since kindergarten.

When we were all in fifth grade, Debbi moved in next door to Bri and became a third star in our tiny constellation. While Bri was almost as stick-figured as I was, Deb was just the opposite—barely five feet tall with curves bordering on chubby, but with a blonde, baby-doll cuteness that tended to make guys kind of protective of her. Though none of us had ever had an actual boyfriend, Debbi sometimes got asked to dance at school mixers, which was more than Bri or I could claim.

"Did you hear?" Bri looked at Deb, then me, then back at Deb, letting the suspense build. "We have a new quarterback! My dad told me at breakfast this morning."

Bri was kind of a sports nut, since her dad was an assistant football coach. He also taught some computer and gym classes, since at a school as small as Jewel High, most of the teachers wore multiple hats.

"Who is it?" Deb asked. "Ooh, is it Gary?" Bri had had a crush on Gary Chambers nearly as long as I'd had one on Jimmy Franklin.

But she shook her head, making her dark curls bounce. "No, it's a new guy—a transfer from Center North. He _just_ moved here, like last week."

Now Brianna had the attention of everyone within earshot. New students were rare enough at our little rural high school, but a new boy coming in to quarterback our pathetic football team? That was big news!

"Whoa, Center North? Seriously?" Joe Thomas hung over the back of his seat. "If he played for them, he's gotta be way better than any of our losers. Did he quarterback there?"

"Backup quarterback," Bri said. "Rigel Stuart? Anyone hear of him?"

"Like the star?" I blurted out without thinking. A few people gave me weird looks.

Joe frowned at me. "There's a star named Rigel? What has he been in?"

Feeling even more like a dork, I shook my head. "Not that kind of star. Rigel is the seventh brightest . . . oh, never mind," I mumbled.

Astronomy had been a hobby of mine for years and everyone knew it. Back in middle school, when we'd taken a class trip to the planetarium, I'd played nerdy know-it-all, raising my hand and showing off. I cringed, remembering that, and wished I hadn't reminded everybody all over again.

Luckily, nobody seemed as interested in making fun of me as they were in hearing about the new quarterback. That topic obsessed everyone as the bus drove through endless cornfields along the state road. I didn't pay much attention, since I wasn't into football. Unless Jimmy Franklin made the team this year. I considered asking Bri, but decided that would be too obvious.

Instead, I retreated into a pleasant fantasy where Jimmy, seeing me for the first time since spring, suddenly realized how much I meant to him. He'd stare, then smile, then hurry toward me, arms outstretched, to sweep me into a hug and tell me how much he'd missed me over the summer. I'd shyly admit I'd missed him, too, then we'd walk down the hall holding hands, making me the envy of every girl in school. If only.

* * *

The bus pulled up in front of one-story Jewel Senior High, three miles out of town. Jewel Junior High, a smaller but similar yellow brick building, was right across the street. Nothing else was nearby but more cornfields. Bri, Deb and I followed the others into the school and across the skylighted atrium to the hand-lettered signs taped to the opposite wall telling us which homeroom to report to.

"See you at lunch," Bri said as she and Deb headed off to the left. I turned right, to the S through Z room.

I didn't hurry. The bell wouldn't ring for almost ten minutes, and I was hoping for a glimpse of Jimmy in the still-crowded hallway. Besides, if they seated us alphabetically again—Squires, Truitt—I'd be right behind Trina, who probably already had some new humiliation planned for me.

A familiar voice made me turn, and there he was—Jimmy Franklin. Just as hot, blond and unattainable as he'd been last spring, but with a tan. He was laughing with two other boys and heading my way. I tried to screw up my courage to say hi, but all I managed was a little twitch of my hand as he passed.

He didn't notice. I hoped nobody else had.

When I walked into homeroom, Trina slanted a glance at me then turned to Donna Smith, one of her hangers-on. "My dad's getting me a car for my birthday," she said in a carrying voice. "He was going to buy one at the place here in town, but everyone knows the service sucks so we'll probably drive down to Indy instead."

Trina knew very well my Uncle Louie sold cars at the local dealership—and business had been so slow this last year his job was in danger. I tried to tell myself she was just acting out because her dad traveled a lot, but since he made up for it by showering her with stuff like cars and designer clothes, I didn't really believe myself.

Her father owned Squires Electronics and probably made ten times what my aunt and uncle did. My Aunt Theresa taught third grade. Trina's mom served on committees and stuff.

And even if her dad was gone a lot, at least Trina lived with both her parents. I didn't even know who my real parents were. Plus, Aunt Theresa made it clear in a hundred little ways that she resented the fact that I'd been left on her hands by Uncle Louie's "reckless" brother and sister-in-law, and that she fully expected me to turn out just as wild and irresponsible as they'd been. Which wasn't fair at all, considering I wasn't even related to them. Besides, it's not like they'd _meant_ to fall off a mountain just a couple years after adopting me.

Just like on the bus, I tried to ignore Trina as I walked past, though this time I made sure no one had a leg out to trip me. I was about to take my usual seat behind her when I noticed that the schedule on that desk wasn't mine. It was labeled "Rigel Stuart"—the new quarterback everyone had been talking about. I hadn't realized he was only a sophomore.

I was just sliding into the next desk back when he walked into the room. It had to be him, since he was the only one here I didn't recognize. In a school of barely four hundred students any new kid was a standout but this guy would have turned heads anywhere. No wonder he was named after a star. Even in a plain white shirt and jeans, he was utterly gorgeous—tall, dark-haired and broad shouldered, with a face that belonged in a magazine fashion ad. His hazel eyes had lashes most girls would kill for, but his perfectly chiseled features and strong jaw were totally masculine. He was hands-down the best looking guy I'd ever seen.

The hum of voices muted as everyone turned to watch him but he didn't seem to notice. He just moved confidently to the desk Mrs. Cummins indicated—the desk in front of mine. I absolutely couldn't help staring but it really didn't matter, since every other girl in the room was doing the same. Trina was the first to speak to him. Of course.

"Hi! You must be Rigel. I'm Trina Squires. I'll be happy to show you around and everything today." Her tone implied that if he was interested, "everything" might include a lot more than just the school.

He paused, one hand on his desk, and looked at her with an odd, arrested expression. Trina's big blue eyes and strawberry blonde waves sometimes had that effect on boys, but I'd have thought a guy this hot would be so used to pretty girls throwing themselves at him he'd be immune. Apparently not.

"That would be nice," he replied, and his voice shot through me like an electric current, snapping my nerves to attention and leaving me breathless. "Maybe at lunchtime?"

I blinked and gave my head a little shake. He had a pleasant voice, low and smooth, but why should that make every single hair on my arms stand on end? I was no stranger to static electricity—in fact, I got teased for my weird ability to generate sparks year round, and for frying electronics on a regular basis—but this felt different. Plus, Rigel hadn't touched me. He hadn't even _looked_ at me—and probably never would.

He sat down and it was like I couldn't stop staring at the back of his head—which was more than a little disturbing.

Pete Warner leaned across from the next row. "Hey, Rigel, right?" He pronounced it like "regal," with a hard G.

"Rigel," the new guy corrected him, pronouncing it Ry-jel. Like the star.

Pete nodded, unfazed. "I hear you're gonna be our new quarterback?"

"Coach Glazier seems to think so," Rigel said with a shrug, his voice jolting me again. "But he's only seen me at one practice so far."

"Yeah, well, if you played at CN that's probably all he needed to see. Especially after last year's game."

"Huh. I'll bet Bryce is pissed," Nate Villiers commented.

Bryce Farmer was a senior now and had been our quarterback last year. He had also, not-so-coincidentally, dated Trina. I wondered what had happened there, since she was now coming on to Rigel. The new quarterback. So predictable.

A few of the other boys joined the football discussion and I tried to tune them out, but every time Rigel spoke my whole body thrummed to his voice. What was _wrong_ with me? I forced myself to read through my schedule, desperate to distract myself, but it was pretty much what I expected. With just twenty-two teachers at Jewel, there wasn't a lot of room for surprises.

Finally, Mrs. Cummins called us to order. "First period will start in five minutes. Everyone look over your schedules. If there's a problem, ask me for a slip so you can stop by the office for adjustments."

The noise level dropped as everyone else checked their classes. Trina immediately turned to face Rigel. "So, what classes do you have?" she asked, leaning toward him so he could get a peek at her cleavage.

I rolled my eyes and felt a spurt of amusement when she noticed and had to work to hide her irritation.

"They said my schedule was tentative," he replied. "What do you have? Maybe I can—"

"Switch a couple? I definitely have some of the best teachers this semester."

This time I couldn't suppress a snicker. Trina dropped her syrupy-sweet routine long enough to glare at me. Then, before Rigel could turn his head to see what she was glaring at, she switched her high-powered smile back on and leaned further over the back of her chair until she was practically lying across his desk.

In a fake, breathy voice, Trina started naming her classes in order. I glanced back down at my own schedule and winced. I was going to share more than half my classes with her this year. Maybe I could get _my_ schedule changed!

But then I heard Rigel murmur something about switching an elective to coordinate with her schedule and decided maybe I could live with Trina in the same room if it also meant listening to Rigel's deliciously disturbing voice several times a day.

He rose smoothly and went to the front to get a change slip from Mrs. Cummins, and suddenly, like someone had flipped a switch, I was able to think rationally again. I took the opportunity to remind myself that I should be more interested in Jimmy Franklin's schedule than Rigel's. Jimmy didn't know I existed either, but it still seemed disloyal to have temporarily forgotten about the boy I'd been crushing on for almost two years.

Besides, if Trina planned to snag Rigel for herself, Jimmy was probably more within my reach. Kind of like how the moon was more within my reach than the sun. I stifled a sigh.

Rigel came back and I immediately had trouble focusing again, even before he spoke. I was definitely _way_ more aware of him than was reasonable, gorgeous or not. I tried—hard—not to look at him as he sat back down in front of me and Trina resumed her over-the-top flirting.

A minute later the bell rang. Rigel and Trina left together, of course. I hung back, not wanting to get too close, but then, without really meaning to, I found myself quickening my pace. I caught up to them in time to see a slightly confused expression on Rigel's profile, which suddenly cleared. I wondered what stupid thing Trina had been saying to him.

I stayed two steps behind them until Rigel turned to go to the office to change his schedule. It was like I was caught in his orbit—a funny metaphor, I realized, since he was named after a star.

And he still hadn't so much as glanced my way.

* * *

In Geometry, determined to get Rigel out of my head, I made a point of sitting only two seats away from Jimmy. Who still didn't notice me. Probably just as well, since I caught myself pasting a stupid, soppy smile on my face every time he turned in my direction. Why was I such a spazz around guys?

"Hey, M!" Deb's arrival was a welcome distraction until she continued, "Have you seen the new guy, Rigel?" I nodded. "What a hottie, huh?"

"Yeah, he's pretty cute." I didn't mention the strange effect he had on me. "I think Trina's already staked him out."

Deb made a sour face. "Figures. But unless he's an idiot, he'll realize soon enough that her beauty is only about one skin cell deep. Her bitchiness goes all the way to the bone."

Rigel came in ten minutes late with his change slip and even across the room I felt that bizarre twanging of my nerves again. He went to sit next to Trina, who had saved him a seat.

Because of homeroom, Geometry was ten minutes shorter than normal. That suited me fine, since I was wearing myself out trying not to sneak glances at Jimmy _or_ Rigel. If I didn't somehow control my attention better, I'd be kissing my scholarship dreams goodbye.

When the bell rang, I hung back with Deb, afraid I'd give myself away if I got too close to Rigel. "What's your next class?"

"English," she said. "How about you?"

"Computer Apps." It was one of the few classes Trina—and Rigel?—wouldn't be in. I told myself firmly this was a good thing.

Deb and I compared schedules as we walked. Though I swear I wasn't trying to watch him, I caught a glimpse of Rigel up ahead, just as he turned a corner. The opposite direction I needed to go. Again, a good thing.

"See you at lunch," Deb said when she turned to go the same way Rigel had. I tried very hard not to envy her.

Mr. Morrison, Bri's dad, was my Computer Apps teacher and he smiled when he saw me—until I moved toward one of the gleaming new computers spaced along the tables that ran the width of the room.

"Um, Marsha, would you mind terribly?" he asked apologetically, pointing toward one of three older machines near the back, the ones we'd used last year for Keyboarding.

"Sure, Mr. Morrison, no problem," I said lightly, ignoring the snickers.

I couldn't really blame him, since last year I'd killed four computers in one semester of Keyboarding. And it wasn't only computers. I hadn't been able to wear a digital watch for . . . well, ever. They always died within a week. I was practically the only kid in school without a cell phone, for the same reason. My aunt even cringed when I used the microwave, since our last two had gone on the fritz while I was nearby.

I used to joke that the static thing was my superpower—but now I just avoided everyone's eyes as I sat down at my older computer, feeling like a freak.

Bri was in my Honors English next period. So was Rigel. Bri made a beeline for him—not hard to guess why—but I intercepted her.

"C'mon, let's sit by the window."

"But—" Bri looked over her shoulder toward Rigel with intense interest.

"We'll be further from the teacher there," I improvised. Without waiting for her reply, I headed to the opposite side of the room and she reluctantly followed me.

As I sat down, I involuntarily glanced Rigel's way only to find him frowning in my direction. Frantically, I went back over what I'd just said but I was sure I hadn't used his name. Unless he could read my mind, I was safe.

I risked another peek and was relieved to see he had turned away, and was now talking to Trina and Nicole Adams, another cheerleader. He was still frowning slightly, but it obviously had nothing to do with me.

"So, what do you think of our hot new guy?" were Bri's predictable next words. "He was in Spanish last period but that humongous flirt, Trina, barely let him look at anyone else—just like now."

It took a surprising amount of effort, but I managed not to look at him again. "Is that all you and Deb can talk about today?"

Bri shrugged, then grinned. "Can you think of anything more interesting?"

I absolutely couldn't, but I wasn't going to admit that. My silence was enough encouragement for Bri to continue.

"I'm going to pry every detail about him out of my dad tonight," she said. "By tomorrow I should have all kinds of juicy stuff to share."

I pretended I wasn't even more eager for those details than she was. "What if there isn't anything juicy? Besides, it's not like any of us have a shot, with Trina all over him."

"Yeah, well, a girl can dream." Bri gave me a sly grin and waggled her eyebrows. "You used to be really good at that."

"Shh!" I glanced around to make sure no one had heard her. I kept my flights of fancy to myself these days, but I did _not_ want anyone reminded of the ridiculous stuff I'd made up back in elementary school.

Other kids might have had imaginary friends, but I'd invented a whole imaginary life. I'd told everyone in second grade that I was really a Martian princess whose parents would one day fly me back to their beautiful palace in the stars. No doubt it was my way of dealing with the fact I was adopted and knew nothing about my birth parents. I'd told other outlandish stories, too, but that one had been my favorite—and I got teased mercilessly for it.

I did wise up enough to stop talking about it by third grade, but the teasing went on for years. "Marsha the Martian" was a nickname I _never_ wanted to hear again. In fact, it was the main reason I tried to make people call me M instead of Marsha. Bri and Deb cooperated, but nobody else did.

"Okay," Bri said. "But you've obviously noticed him if you want me to shut up so bad."

"Of course I've noticed him," I whispered. "He sat right in front of me in homeroom. But Trina sat in front of him—Squires, Stuart—so he never even saw me. So I don't see any point in torturing myself over him."

Bri looked over at him again and I gave into temptation and risked a brief glance. He wasn't talking to Trina now. He seemed to be slowly scanning the room, like he was looking for something—or someone. I looked away before he could catch me staring.

Bri wasn't so inhibited—she actually caught his eye and smiled. Since I refused to look I didn't know he'd smiled back until she turned to me with stars in her eyes. "Wow, he's even cuter when he smiles! I'm at least going to say hi to him after class. No harm in that, and it might piss off Trina."

"Yeah, bonus," I agreed glumly, wishing I had Bri's courage.

"Is this the worst reading list ever, or what?" Bri complained as we got up to leave forty-five minutes later.

I scanned the titles and synopses, trying to pay attention to something other than Rigel leaving the room with Trina. "The most depressing, anyway. _Lord of the Flies_ and _The Bell Jar_ in the same six weeks? They'll be lucky if we don't all slit our wrists."

"Seriously. Oh, there he goes! Come on."

Even though I'd meant to hang back, somehow I found myself right behind Bri as she tried to catch up with Rigel. But Trina had him by the elbow, with Nicole flanking his other side, and by the time we reached the door, they were halfway down the hall.

"Crap! Oh, well, we can introduce ourselves at lunch," Bri said, staring after him.

"Yeah, we'll do that."

She looked at me. "Come on, he won't bite. Worst that can happen is he'll laugh at us." That sounded pretty awful to me, but Bri never worried about looking stupid like I did. "I've got Health next," she said then, pulling out her schedule. "How about you?"

"Earth and Space Science." Trina was also in that class, which probably meant Rigel would be, too. "See you at lunch?"

"Yeah, whoever gets there first, save seats. Later!"

I purposely got to class late enough that everyone, including Rigel, was seated—only to discover the only empty spot left was at the table in front of him. Trying not to panic, I scanned the room hoping another seat might magically appear, but the class was full. Steeling myself against any kind of reaction, I moved to the empty chair as nonchalantly as I could.

"Hey, Marsh," Will Chesterton said as I sat next to him. He was shorter than me, and nerdy, but not a bad guy. His main fault was thinking he was way cooler than he actually was.

"Hi, Will. Have a good summer?" I tried hard not to be _too_ obsessed by the fact that Rigel was only three feet from my right elbow. There was no way I actually felt a tingling in that elbow! That was just silly.

"Yeah, we went to Indiana Dunes a couple times and spent a week in Saugatuck," Will said, and I had to focus to remember why he was telling me this. "How about you?"

I could hear Rigel murmuring something to Trina, but I couldn't make out the words. "What? Oh, um, we were going to go to Florida for a week, but Uncle Louie couldn't get off work long enough so we just went to the lake for three days instead."

Rigel's voice stopped so abruptly, I wondered if Trina had poked him or something.

Will dragged my attention back from behind me by saying, "Hey, I'm glad you're gonna be sitting here. You can help me out when we get to the space stuff next semester."

"Oh, yeah, sure, no problem," I agreed absently.

Behind me, I heard Trina start to say something, then it sounded like Rigel shushed her. I glanced at the teacher, but he wasn't looking our way. Huh. I wondered what that was about—and how Trina liked being shushed. It was all I could do not to turn around to see her expression.

I was still trying to think of some totally legit reason to look behind me when Mr. Ferguson started calling the roll. None of the other teachers had bothered. They knew everyone by name already, but this was only Mr. Ferguson's second year at Jewel. I started doodling in my notebook, since I'd be one of the last people called.

As he made his way through the alphabet, sketches of constellations appeared under my pencil, inspired by Will's reminder and the star charts above the whiteboard.

Mr. Ferguson was almost done with the roll. "Trina Squires?"

"Here," she responded.

I braced myself for Rigel's voice.

"Rigel Stuart?"

"Here."

It was one word. _One word_ and it still went through me like a rush of adrenaline. What in the world was wrong with me? Even Jimmy Franklin had never affected me like this.

"Marsha Truitt? Are you here?" Mr. Ferguson sounded impatient and I realized I'd missed my own name.

"Oh, um here!" I answered, feeling my cheeks burn.

Then I looked down at my doodling and they burned even hotter. Not only had I drawn the constellation Orion, I'd been drawing circles around Orion's left foot—the star Rigel. I slammed my notebook shut, hoping no one had noticed.

I peeked sideways at Will, but he was watching the teacher, who had finished roll and was writing on the whiteboard. Slightly reassured, I forced myself to do the same.

It was an intense relief when the bell finally rang for lunch. No matter how I tried, I hadn't been able to ignore my awareness of Rigel behind me. If anything, it had increased as the class wore on. I was out of my seat before the bell stopped, eager to get away from his disturbing influence. But as I reached the door, I felt my feet slowing, like I wanted him to catch up.

Disgusted at my weakness, I sped up, practically jogging to the cafeteria. Not till I'd gone through the lunch line did I glance back and sure enough, there was Rigel. Trina was right behind him, wearing a smug smile, clearly hoping everyone was noticing who she was with.

With a snort aimed as much at myself as at Trina, I went to an empty table near the windows and deliberately sat with my back to the room. I was opening my juice box when Bri slipped into the seat across from me. "Hey! You're into window seats today, aren't you?"

I shrugged. "Sunshine is good for my mood."

"Can I have your banana?" she asked as Deb joined us with her tray.

"Sure. That's why I got one." I never ate bananas, as my friends well knew.

"So, how was—" Bri began, when she was interrupted by a hiss from Deb, who was staring over my shoulder.

I nearly turned, but stopped myself. "What?"

"Don't look now," Deb whispered, "but Rigel Stuart is headed Right. Toward. Us." Beside her, Bri nodded, wide-eyed.

"Stop staring!" I held perfectly still, trying to be inconspicuous.

But then it didn't matter because he was standing right next to me, his nearness zinging through me again like an electrical current. I swallowed once, convulsively, and looked up past his lean, muscled chest to find him regarding me with those amazing greenish eyes in that impossibly perfect face.

"Marsha, isn't it?" he said.

Unable to form words, I nodded.

"Hi. I'm Rigel Stuart."

## 2

# A star is formed

I CONTINUED TO stare up at him, my brain completely frozen, until either Deb or Bri kicked me under the table. In a lame attempt to cover my idiocy, I coughed, then dredged up a smile. I hoped it wasn't a stupid one.

"I know. I mean . . . Hi. Um, so, how do you like Jewel so far?" It was a normal sort of thing to ask. Much better than _Why is someone as gorgeous as you talking to a nobody like me?_

"More than I expected to." His smile didn't look fake at all. And Bri was right—it did make him look even more amazing, which shouldn't have been possible. That odd electrical pull was stronger than ever and I felt the power of speech leaving me again.

One of my friends gave me another kick under the table. It must have been Bri, because she immediately said, "Hey, Rigel! Welcome to Jewel. I'm Brianna Morrison and this is Debbi Andrews. Have a seat." She indicated the chair next to me.

I felt a stab of panic. I'd never be able to hide the way he affected me if he sat here! Not that I was doing a great job of it now.

"Thanks, but I'm already sitting over there." He motioned toward Trina, Nicole, Amber, and a couple other cheerleaders, a few tables away.

Relief battled with disappointment, but neither lasted beyond his next words.

"Maybe tomorrow? Anyway, I, ah, noticed we have a couple classes together and just wanted to say hi." He was looking at me again—looking at me almost the same way he'd looked at Trina in homeroom. Which was wonderful, but also really weird.

My voice was stuck again, but this time Deb came to my rescue. "It's great to meet you, Rigel. We'll see you tomorrow, definitely!"

"Tomorrow, then." With a last, stunning smile that kept me from getting the polite response I'd composed in my head out of my mouth, he headed back to Trina, who was looking decidedly pissed.

"Omigod, omigod, omigod!" Brianna breathed as soon as he was out of earshot. "Can you believe that?"

I slowly shook my head, because I really, really couldn't.

"M!" Deb's voice was low and dramatic. "He is so totally into you! It's like he couldn't stop staring at you!"

"That's it," Bri said decisively. "After school, Deb and I are giving you an extreme makeover. You are _so_ going to snatch Rigel right out from under Trina's greedy little nose!"

They started chattering about makeup, hairstyles, acne treatments, and even contacts, but their words just washed over me while I relived those magical few moments when Rigel had been standing here, looking right at me. Staring at _me_. Saying he wanted to get to know me.

Us. He'd meant all of us, of course. But still . . .

When we got to U.S. History, Bri and Deb were surprised that Rigel was there already—which surprised me. How could they not have noticed him going into the room just thirty feet ahead of us? I was forced to the conclusion that neither of them were _quite_ as obsessed with his every move as I was.

Though I only allowed myself the briefest glance as I crossed the room, I caught him looking my way, which flustered me so badly I nearly knocked a desk over.

"He's watching you, M," Bri whispered. "He can't keep his eyes off of you!"

Deb nodded vigorously. "Even with Amber coming on to him, he's staring this way. And if he's interested now, just wait till he sees you tomorrow! You'll be gorgeous."

I just smiled noncommittally. Not that I didn't _want_ to believe my friends could perform a miracle, but some basics—like my flyaway mousy brown hair, my bad complexion and my nearsightedness—weren't going to change. The very things that made it so unbelievable that super-hunk Rigel Stuart could want to be my friend.

By the end of class, I couldn't have told anyone whether we were studying the American Revolution or the Civil Rights movement. In fact, I was starting to worry I might flunk every class I shared with Rigel. Not good, since the _only_ way I'd get to college—and out of Jewel—was if I got a scholarship.

I knew he wouldn't be in French since Bri had said he was in Spanish, so I hurried there, anxious to clear my mind of the fog of distraction he seemed to create. But once class started I felt almost . . . empty.

_Stop it_ , I scolded myself. He was a cute new guy, and that was all. Okay, a really _really_ cute new guy, but that was no reason to act like a crazy person all day. I shoved Rigel forcibly from my mind, and by the time the bell rang I'd remembered most of my French from last year. It gave me hope that the damage Rigel had inflicted on my brain might not be permanent.

My final class was the dreaded-but-required Health—a euphemism for "embarrassing sex talks." The good news was, they'd separated the classes by gender. An all-girl class on these topics wouldn't be _quite_ so excruciating. The bad news was that Trina was in this class and my friends weren't.

"Wow, Marsha," she said loudly, slipping into the seat right behind me. "I can't believe they make people like _you_ take sex ed. I mean, it's not like you're ever going to _need_ it!"

The whole class tittered and Trina's friends laughed out loud. I tortured my brain for a snappy comeback but nothing emerged. I'd probably think of the perfect retort at three a.m. Like always. For now, I just slouched down in my seat and waited impatiently for the final bell.

Fifty uncomfortable minutes later, I headed for my bus. I scanned the crowd for one last glimpse of Rigel before remembering (facepalm) that of course he'd have football practice.

Bri hurried over with Deb in tow. "We'll do your makeover at my house," she announced, "since you probably don't have any of the stuff we'll need. You can call your aunt on my cell and my dad can drive you home. Now, here's what I'm thinking we'll do first." She and Deb launched back into the same discussion they'd had at lunch and all through History class.

When we got to their stop, Deb ran next door to let her dog out and get "supplies." Bri poured root beer for the two of them while I made a cup of tea for myself—yet another way I was weird, preferring tea to soda.

Deb came in armed with a straightening iron and a couple of spray bottles. "Maggie swears by this stuff, so I thought we should try it."

"Nothing will give me hair like Maggie's." Maggie was Deb's older sister. She was about to start college and she was gorgeous, with sleek blonde hair that hung to her waist.

"We'll do our best." Bri piled cinnamon grahams on a plate and led the way to her bedroom, which was twice the size of mine, with her very own attached bath. I'd always been jealous of that bathroom, though not of the black and gold Jewel Jaguars banners or the boy band posters all over the walls. I much preferred my own posters and models of planets, galaxies and nebulae, no matter how geeky they were.

Skeptical as I was about the results, it was kind of fun playing Barbie doll while my friends fussed over me, trying different looks. And it _did_ make a difference. I especially liked how sleek and shiny the straightener made my hair, though I was less sure about the makeup.

"I'm glad we went with the purple," Bri said when they were finally done. "I read in Seventeen last month it's the best color with green eyes."

"Yeah, it's okay." Deb squinted critically at me. "But not so much eye shadow." She took my glasses off to smudge it with her finger. "We don't want her to look like a slut."

I suddenly remembered Trina's crack in Health class. "Why don't you teach the class, you're so experienced. That's what I should have said."

"Huh?" Bri and Deb said together.

I explained. "Too bad I never think of a snappy comeback when it would actually be snappy," I finished.

"Yeah, that would have shut her up," Bri agreed. "But you'll get plenty more chances, knowing Trina."

Deb nodded. "Especially if you steal Rigel from her. She'll turn into a raving bitch."

"Think anyone will notice the difference?" Bri asked, and we all laughed.

But then I sobered. "Seriously, guys, you can't think I have any real chance with him? I'll be amazed if he even sits with us tomorrow. It's not like he actually promised."

"Okay, I'll be amazed too," Bri admitted, "but it's not _totally_ impossible. Right, Deb?"

Deb hesitated for an embarrassing second before saying, "Oh, yeah, definitely. Of course it's not impossible."

They were good, loyal friends but they were also realistic. They knew as well as I did that girls like me didn't date guys like Rigel.

Not in this universe, anyway.

"You're late," my Aunt Theresa greeted me when I got home. If anyone ever needed a makeover, it was Aunt Theresa. She was in her mid fifties but looked at least ten years older. Partly because she acted it—she was really old-fashioned—but also because she usually kept her graying hair in a tight bun and only wore frumpy stuff like button-down dresses and cardigans. A little color and style might do wonders for her. Or not.

"What did you do to your hair?" she demanded before I could even say hi.

"We straightened it," Bri explained. She'd come in to pick out my outfit for tomorrow. "Thanks for letting her come over, Mrs. Truitt."

Aunt Theresa hmphed—something she was really good at. "You'd better wash that paint off your face before your uncle gets home, young lady."

"I will," I promised, though I knew Uncle Louie wouldn't notice, or care if he did. He might even tell me I looked nice, which I couldn't imagine Aunt Theresa _ever_ doing. Uncle Louie was as soft, round and easygoing as Aunt Theresa was rigid, angular and uptight. He might not be the sharpest tack in the box, but he was a sweetie most of the time and a pushover compared to my aunt. It was too bad he was hardly ever home.

We hurried to my room before Aunt Theresa could ask any more questions.

"Are you going to tell your aunt and uncle about Rigel?" Bri asked as she rummaged through my closet.

I almost dropped the shoes I'd picked up for her approval. "What? Of course not! It's not like he asked me out or anything. Or like he will."

"Hm. I dunno. I keep thinking about the way he was looking at you. He just might. Ah, here it is!" Bri emerged with a sleeveless paisley dress in different shades of purple that she herself had given me on my last birthday, and that I'd worn exactly once.

"Are you sure?" I eyed it skeptically. "It's awfully, um, noticeable."

"Well, duh. Noticeable is exactly what you want. Trust me, it's perfect. And it'll go with that eye shadow I'm lending you."

"You may as well keep it. You heard what Aunt Theresa said. She won't let me out of the house wearing it."

Not that she'd noticed my blouse buttoned wrong this morning. She really didn't look at me all that much, come to think of it.

Bri shrugged, unconcerned. "You can put it on in the bathroom before school. I better head, before my dad honks and pisses off your aunt. See you tomorrow. I can't _wait_ till lunch!"

"Me either." It was only half a lie. I definitely couldn't wait to see Rigel again, but I wouldn't be astonished if he completely ignored me. Today had to be either a fluke or a prank. Shoot, Trina might even have put him up to it, to embarrass me. It was exactly her style.

After Bri left I went into the tiny bathroom I shared with my aunt and uncle to wash my face, pausing to examine myself in the watery mirror. The eye pencil did emphasize my eyes, which wasn't a bad thing. They were probably my best feature, an unusually deep green (greener than Rigel's), with reasonably thick lashes.

But the powder Bri had applied only made the pimples on my forehead look worse—and probably _would_ make them worse, if I left it on my skin. I took off my glasses, turned on the water and picked up the soap.

The next morning I dithered before finally putting on the purple dress at the last minute. Most girls wouldn't have thought twice about wearing this to school, but it was so . . . Not Me.

Okay, then, I decided, I would be Not Me for one day, just to see what happened. What did I have to lose?

I half expected smart-ass comments from the other kids on the bus, but no one noticed me at all until Bri and Deb got on.

"I brought the makeup," Bri informed me as she sat down.

"And I've got the straightener in my backpack," Deb added.

"Seriously?" Were there even outlets in the bathroom? "We'll only have, like, five minutes."

Deb waved a hand in the air. "Plenty of time. Don't worry."

When we got to school, Bri and Deb hustled me into the girls' bathroom before I could even look around to see if Rigel was within sight. Deb plugged in the straightening iron (there were outlets after all) while Bri dug makeup out of her pack.

They both worked at super speed and pronounced me good enough with a whole minute to spare. Deb fanned the straightener to cool it, Bri stuffed all the makeup back in her backpack and I took a critical look in the mirror. My friends had achieved a muted version of what they'd done yesterday afternoon and I liked it better—though the eye shadow was still a bit much.

"Thanks, guys. Whether it works or not, I appreciate it."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Bri grinned and peeled off for Bio II, while Deb and I headed to Geometry. My first class with Rigel.

My stomach clenched as we neared the classroom and I found myself hoping his weird effect on me had just been a one-day thing. He—and Trina—were already there when we entered the room just as the bell rang. He looked up and my breath caught as our eyes met. If anything, that zing from yesterday was even stronger today. My feet pulled me irresistibly in his direction before I noticed that there wasn't an empty seat anywhere near him.

Feeling stupid, I managed a half smile—which he actually returned!—before following Deb to the same seats as yesterday. To my surprise, Jimmy Franklin glanced up at me as I passed—the first time I could remember that happening. Gratifying as that should have been, I was definitely more interested in Rigel's reaction. So much for my two-year crush.

"He's staring again," Deb hissed as we sat down.

"Shh!" Not until we were well into the throes of complementary angles did I allow myself a quick peek. Luckily, he wasn't looking my way right at that moment, but I noticed he was sitting a row closer to me than yesterday. I pretended it was intentional.

I knew no good would come from this sort of fantasizing, that I was only setting myself up for disappointment, but it didn't stop me. Though I dutifully copied the problems Mr. Benning wrote on the board, at least two-thirds of my brain was occupied with elaborate scenarios where Rigel and I became friends and more—much more. I could pretend until lunch, anyway, since he couldn't dash my hopes (or _maybe_ confirm them?) before then.

I was wrong. When class ended, I was so absorbed in not watching Rigel that I didn't notice he'd paused by the door until I almost ran into him.

"Hey, Marsha," he said, startling me into speechlessness. Again.

I stared up at him, trying to force my lips into a smile since words weren't coming. Again.

"I like that dress," he continued, shocking me even further. He looked impossibly fine in a gray t-shirt that subtly emphasized his sculpted chest and biceps. I started to hyperventilate.

Finally, assisted by Deb's deft pinch to the back of my arm, I forced out, "Um, thanks. Rigel." There was just enough of a pause before his name to make my simple reply awkward.

He pretended not to notice. "Where are you headed now?"

"Oh. Ah . . . Computer Applications," I remembered before a whole minute passed.

"Cool. I've got Spanish. Do you take Spanish?"

"Uh, no. French," I managed in a slightly more timely manner this time, still flabbergasted that he was actually trying to make conversation.

He nodded as though I'd said something intelligent. "French, huh? I've thought about taking French. It seems, I don't know, more sophisticated than Spanish, don't you think?"

Rigel Stuart was asking me, _me_ , Marsha Truitt, what I thought?

"Well, yeah, I guess so. Not that there's anything wrong with Spanish," I added hastily.

"Come on, Rigel, we're going to be late!" Trina had been standing at his shoulder all this time, I suddenly realized. As her face came belatedly into focus, I could see that she was barely concealing her fury—at me.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Um, talk to you later, Marsha?" He actually sounded apologetic, though I was sure that was for Trina's benefit rather than mine.

I nodded helplessly. "Sure. Of course. Later. Um, bye." Luckily, he walked away before I launched completely into babble mode.

"Holy crap," Deb breathed at my elbow. "I can't wait to tell Bri our makeover worked!"

"Er, yeah." Gradually, the Rigel-fog in my brain dissipated. "I guess maybe it did."

"There's no 'maybe' about it! And the look on Trina's face! Man, she was pissed. That was _so_ rich!"

But I couldn't spare a single thought for Trina. My head was too full of Rigel: the way he'd looked at me, talked to me, every nuance of his voice and expression . . .

After Computer Apps, I raced to English and sat near the middle with plenty of empty desks around me, so it would be Rigel's choice whether to sit near me or not. He arrived just a moment later—and Trina wasn't with him. Even more amazingly, he walked right over and took the desk next to mine.

"Hi again," he greeted me with a devastating grin. "Long time, no see."

Hoping he couldn't hear the thundering of my heart, I fought desperately to act like a normal person. I never would have believed a guy—any guy—could affect me like this. Sure, I'd always been nervous around boys, especially cute ones. Jimmy Franklin in particular tended to put me deeper into dork mode. But this was different. A whole order of magnitude different.

"Hi," I forced out, along with an answering grin. (At least, I hoped it looked like a grin.) "How was Spanish?"

" _Así-así_ ," he said, rocking a hand back and forth. "So-so. It's all review so far."

Now that I had an actual topic to seize on, a little of my panic subsided. "Same with French yesterday. How many years of Spanish have you taken?"

"Just one. But I'm . . . I seem to be pretty good with languages."

"Really? Me too. It's funny how some people can—"

"Gee, thanks for waiting, Rigel!" Trina's sarcastic voice cut me off. She sailed across the room with Nicole in her wake and stopped next to Rigel, radiating annoyance. "I told you it would only take us a minute to tell Alice she didn't make the cheerleading squad."

Rigel turned to her with a smile that smoothed away the worst of her frown. "Sorry, Trina. I figured Alice wouldn't want any spectators, since she was bound to be disappointed."

Trina shrugged. "She had to know she didn't have a chance after the way she screwed up at tryouts. And let's face it, she's really not pretty enough to be a cheerleader."

She let her gaze slide past Rigel to include me in that assessment. Like _I'd_ ever try out for cheerleading? I had enough humiliation in my life without actively seeking it out.

Rigel followed her gaze and frowned—but not at me, exactly. "So, Marsha, what were you saying about languages?" he asked.

I'm not sure whether Trina or I was more surprised, but she found her voice first.

"Wow, you really must have been bored, Rigel, but I'm here now, so you don't have to torture yourself anymore."

Brianna came up behind Trina as she was speaking and I saw her open her mouth to defend me. Rigel beat her to it.

"There was no torture involved, Trina. I find Marsha very interesting."

Bri's mouth fell open and mine would have too, if Rigel hadn't been looking right at me. Instead, I managed a smile of gratitude. He was lying, of course, since I hadn't said anything remotely interesting, but it was still really nice of him.

Trina stared for a moment, then put on a superior, patronizing expression. "Of course you do. Everyone knows Marsha is the most scintillating conversationalist in the whole school. So tell us, Marsha, what fascinating thing _were_ you about to tell Rigel?"

Of course my mind went completely blank, as Trina knew it would. It was beyond irritating that she knew my weaknesses so well. To my intense relief, Ms. Garner chose that moment to call the class to order.

"You all should have read _Jane Eyre_ over the summer," she said. "Let's see how many of you actually did." She started going down the rows, asking random questions.

As it happened, I knew that particular book almost by heart—I guess the whole orphan-raised-by-an-aunt-who-didn't-want-her thing resonated with me. Which was lucky, since most of my mind was occupied with the miracle that had just taken place.

Rigel, the hottest guy in the whole school, who I was more attracted to than any boy I'd ever met or even imagined, had said I was interesting. And whether he meant it or not, he had defended me against Trina, which made him as heroic as he was gorgeous.

So much for keeping my fantasies under control.

## 3

# Or not

AS SOON AS the bell rang, Trina tried to drag Rigel out of the room. For a moment he almost looked like he was going to resist, glancing my way, and I held my breath. But then Bri grabbed me by the arm and started whispering excitedly.

"Tell me everything that happened before I got to class," she breathed, glancing over her shoulder at Rigel and then giggling. "Absolutely everything!"

Rigel's mouth turned up at one corner, like he was amused, then he turned and left with Trina. I restrained a sudden impulse to shake Bri. Instead, I took a deep breath and filled her in.

"And he actually came to sit by you and started a conversation, just like that?"

"I'm not sure it quite rose to the level of conversation, but he came over and said hi, yeah. So, did you find out anything from your dad? I forgot to ask before school, what with the five-minute makeover and all." And because I didn't want to sound too obviously obsessed. Forgetting had nothing to do with it.

She shrugged. "Hardly anything. He was second string quarterback at Center North last year—which is pretty impressive for a freshman, you know."

I nodded. Everything about Rigel was impressive.

"And then, late in the season, he took over as starting quarterback after having one amazing half when the regular quarterback was messing up. It was their game against _us_ , believe it or not! That's one reason Dad was so excited when he moved here—because of that game. We saw him too, though I didn't remember until Dad mentioned it."

All I remembered about last year's season was that the Jewel Jaguars lost every single game. "Was it here, or there? I only went to the home games."

"Here. But maybe you were helping with concessions or something."

"Probably." I'd only gone to the games at all because Bri insisted, so I'd usually worked the concession stand to have something more interesting to do than watch football. Now I regretted that.

"Center North," I muttered. Was that the game where I'd felt almost supercharged, filling orders at record speed, then making that miraculous save when Mrs. Farris dropped the vat of nacho cheese? Maybe.

"So, about lunch," Bri started, then looked up at the clock. "Oh, crap! See you after class!"

We sprinted off in opposite directions and I reached Science just as the bell rang. Will smiled as I hurried to my seat, but I noticed Trina was doing her best to keep Rigel's attention completely on her. Probably just as well. I sure didn't need Will noticing my obsession. He was one of the biggest gossips in school.

Afraid to assume anything, I went straight to the cafeteria after class rather than hang back and wait for Rigel. I'd rather be sitting down before he even got to the lunchroom, so it would be his choice whether to sit with me or not. I couldn't think of anything more humiliating than me trying to go sit by him, only to have everyone—including Rigel—laugh at me. I told myself he wasn't like that, but I still went through the lunch line at top speed, the third person to get my card scanned.

This time I sat with my back to the windows so I'd have fair warning. If he did come to my table, I was determined not to be a basket case again. I was going to be calm, pleasant, maybe even witty. Okay, maybe not witty—that was asking too much—but at least coherent. Still, knowing how nervous I'd be, I took a few big bites of my turkey sandwich, since I probably wouldn't eat anything else once he sat here. _If_ he sat here. I alternated furious chewing with trying to look cool, collected and normal.

That lasted until Rigel entered the lunchroom, about thirty seconds later, with Bri and Deb just behind him—whispering and giggling. Did they have to make it _quite_ so obvious that it was a huge deal a guy like Rigel had gone out of his way to talk to me? To his credit, Rigel pretended not to notice, though he had to hear them.

I was just wondering where Trina was when she came in. She tried to cut in front of Bri and Deb to get next to Rigel in line, but Bri oh-so-casually moved to block her.

Bri's finesse made me grin—she was so much better at that kind of thing than I was—but then she stepped forward to say something to Rigel, and my grin disappeared. I couldn't hear what she said, but both of them glanced over at me and then he replied. My face burned. Was she actually _reminding_ him of his half-promise to sit with us?

Sure enough, a moment later he and my friends headed my way. But now, instead of feeling lucky, I felt more like a charity case. I faked a smile as they reached the table, trying to pretend I didn't know what had just happened. Then I saw Trina hovering indecisively a few yards behind them and my smile became real. What would she do?

"Hi, guys," I said to all three of them, which was easier than speaking to just Rigel.

"Hey," he responded with an easy smile and sat down—right next to me. I was glad I'd scarfed down those few bites of lunch since my stomach was now doing backflips at his nearness. My entire body felt electrified.

As Bri and Deb sat down across from us, Trina apparently made her decision. Stepping close—but not too close—to the table, she said, "Hey, Rigel, I'll have to catch you later. I just remembered I promised to work out the cheerleading practice schedule with Amber and Nicole over lunch." With a smile for Rigel and a glare for the rest of us, she walked off in a poorly-disguised huff.

Amazingly, Rigel didn't even glance after her. Was it possible he hadn't been guilted into sitting here after all?

"So," he said, opening a carton of chocolate milk, "I know your names, but nothing else. Where are you from? What are you into?"

His words included all of us, but he was looking at me. Maybe it was the new eye makeup. For a moment I got lost in his gaze, then remembered that he'd asked a question. Looking down, I fumbled with my napkin for a second or two, hoping Bri or Deb might step into the breach. They didn't. So after an almost-awkward pause, I answered.

"Well, um, I've lived in Jewel most of my life, and Brianna was born here. Debbi moved here about five years ago, right, Deb?"

I sent a pleading glance at my friends, having used up my supply of words for the moment.

"Right." Deb rescued me. "I moved here from Fort Wayne just before fifth grade. I live next door to Bri."

Rigel must have noticed I'd gone nonverbal again. He turned to Bri. "And your dad is Coach Morrison, right?"

She nodded. "He says you transferred here from Center North? Must be pretty different, huh? I mean, that's like a huge school, isn't it?"

I was grateful she'd thrown the ball back in his court, since I was dying to learn a little bit about him.

"Yeah, my freshman class there was twice the size of this whole school. But I think I'm going to like it here. Lots easier to get to know a hundred people than a thousand." His gaze swung back to me.

Deb spoke before I could think of anything to say. "Hey, Bri, remember we were going to go over that, um, thing for chorus during lunch, so it would be ready this afternoon?"

Bri looked confused. "What? What thing?" Then she apparently caught something significant in Deb's expression because she seemed instantly enlightened. "Oh! Oh, yeah, that _thing!_ You're right. Let's go do that. We can sit over there in the corner."

They stood up and grabbed their trays. "Sorry, M," Deb said, though her blue eyes were dancing, not at all apologetic. "We'll talk to you later."

Then they were gone and I was alone. With Rigel.

I thought I just might die from embarrassment. I mean, could they have _been_ any more obvious?

"Look, I'm sorry my friends are so—"

"Perceptive?"

"Huh?" Smooth. So smooth.

Rigel smiled, which incapacitated me further. "I really do want to talk to you. Thank them for me."

For _him?_ "So, um, what did you want to talk about?" I fervently wished I weren't so completely devoid of flirting skills.

"About you, among other things. You said you've lived in Jewel most of your life. Where did you live before?"

That was so not what I was expecting. Why in the world would Rigel Stuart be interested in the details of _my_ life? The worst part was, I couldn't even supply all of them.

"I . . . don't know, actually. My aunt said that my parents moved around a lot."

"You live with your aunt?"

I nodded. "And my uncle. They were both born here in Jewel, just like their parents. I . . . I guess my dad was, too."

Frowning a little, he took a bite of his pizza. "So . . . what happened to your parents?"

"It's kind of complicated, actually," I hedged.

His amazing hazel eyes locked on mine like I was the only other person in the whole cafeteria. I tried to remember to breathe. "I don't mind hearing if you don't mind telling."

"Um, okay. I was adopted when I was a baby—not quite two, anyway—someplace other than Jewel. Out west, I think. But then my adoptive parents died when I was four and I came here to Jewel to live with my aunt and uncle after that. My dad—my adoptive dad—was my Uncle Louie's younger brother. My Aunt Theresa never exactly approved of them—I guess because of all their moving around and stuff—so they hardly ever talked about them." I said it all in a rush.

He looked a little confused. I couldn't blame him. "So . . . wait. You mean your aunt didn't approve of your adoptive parents? What about your real parents?"

I shrugged. "I don't know the first thing about them and neither do my aunt and uncle. I used to pester them about it when I was younger, but they claimed even my adoptive parents never knew who they were."

"So you're, like, a double orphan?" Now his eyes held sympathy, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"I guess so, yeah. But it all happened so long ago. I don't remember very much about my adoptive parents and nothing at all about my birth parents. It's not like I . . . I miss them or anything." I knew I sounded defensive, but I didn't want his pity. Exactly what I did want, I didn't know—or didn't want to admit to myself.

"No wonder you remembered so many details from _Jane Eyre_. I guess it hit a little too close to home, huh?"

I stared at him, amazed that he'd picked up on that from my two or three answers in class. "Yeah, that's probably why I like it so much."

"Really? I'd have thought it would be hard for you to read."

"Oh, no, not at all! Because Jane wins in the end. She's the best in her school, she turns out better than any of her mean cousins and she—" I broke off before I could say, _marries the love of her life_. I could feel my face getting hot.

"Besides," I hurried on, "my life isn't anything like Jane's, not really. My aunt and uncle have always taken good care of me and all. It's not like they're mean to me or anything."

To my relief, he smiled. "So no lunatic in the attic or anything like that?"

I grinned and shook my head. "You've read it, then? I figured you wouldn't have had the reading list, since you just transferred here."

"I got it yester— I mean, when I registered last week. I'm a fast reader. I thought Mr. Rochester was kind of a jerk, but at least there was lots of action."

I wondered if he really had just read it last night, but it seemed rude to ask since he'd changed what he almost said. Instead, remembering that _Seventeen_ article Bri had read to us about boys liking girls who encourage them to talk about themselves, I asked, "So how about you? Did you grow up in Indiana?"

Rigel shook his head. "Nah, I've lived all over. We've only been in Indiana a couple of years."

"Really? What do your parents do?" I hoped I didn't sound too nosy.

He didn't seem to mind. "My dad is a sort of computer consultant, works for a bunch of different companies. And my mom is a doctor—an OB/Gyn."

"Oh." I was impressed but tried not to be obvious about it. "So it's your dad's work that makes you have to move a lot?"

"Um . . . yeah." I got the feeling there was more he wasn't saying.

"It must be hard, always being the new kid at school, huh?"

He shrugged again. "I guess, but I'm used to it. Moving every year, I mean. I don't usually get picked on or anything."

No, I couldn't imagine that he ever would, being so tall and athletic, not to mention good looking.

"But still, it has to be hard to make friends all over again every year."

"Yeah, I guess it is," he admitted. "It helps that I've always played sports, but it's not like I've ever had a _best_ friend or anything."

Now it was my turn to feel sympathy. At least I'd always had Bri and, more recently, Deb. It sounded like for all his popularity, Rigel had led a pretty lonely life.

"So where—?" I began, when the warning bell for fifth period cut me off. "Oops, I didn't realize it was so late!"

"Me either." His smile warmed me, though I worried there might still be a trace of pity in it. "Talk to you later. And, um, is it okay if I call you M, like your friends do?"

I nodded, probably too enthusiastically. "Oh! Uh, yeah, sure! Absolutely."

"Cool. I'd better go find Trina before class. Don't want her plotting any nastiness."

He was gone before it sank in that any nastiness Trina might plot would surely be against me, not Rigel. I had no doubt he was well aware of that, too.

I made my way to History in a daze, still half convinced I must be imagining all of this. It just seemed so . . . bizarre.

Rigel entered just as the bell stopped ringing. He glanced my way, but we were on a seating chart now, so he had to take the same seat as yesterday, near the door. Trina wasn't in this class, and I wondered if he'd found her, to explain sitting with me at lunch—and what he'd said.

As soon as class was over my friends started bombarding me with questions, but I just told them Rigel had asked about my past and I'd asked about his, but we hadn't had time for much detail. And that he'd definitely said he would talk to me again.

"So he's going to sit with us again tomorrow?" Bri asked excitedly.

I shrugged. "He didn't say that. Maybe?" I refused to obsess about it. For now. I wouldn't see him again until tomorrow anyway. Probably just as well. I needed a chance to catch my breath, emotionally.

At the start of Health, Trina came over to me with a nasty gleam in her big blue eyes. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, pestering Rigel Stuart, but you'd better stop it," she hissed.

Though I was startled, I managed an innocent stare. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Trina." I spoke in a normal voice, not whispering as she had. "Are you actually worried Rigel might like me? How interesting."

She glared at me for a moment, then turned away with a toss of her perfect hair. "I was just trying to spare you embarrassment, Marsha," she said, no longer whispering. Then, even more loudly, "It's so pathetic when a girl gets all starry-eyed about a guy when it's perfectly obvious to everyone else that he just feels sorry for her."

Even though she didn't get as big a laugh as yesterday, I felt my face turning red as I took my seat. Though I knew Trina was just being spiteful—and jealous—I couldn't help worrying she was right.

Maybe Rigel _was_ just being nice to me because he felt sorry for me. But he hadn't even known about my parents before he came to talk to me. Had he? I realized I had no way of knowing what Trina might have told him about me.

I felt more and more depressed as class dragged on. It just made so much more sense that Rigel felt sorry for me than that he was attracted to me.

After the final bell I trudged toward the buses, not nearly as excited now at the prospect of talking to Rigel again tomorrow. I'd half convinced myself that I was some kind of charity project to him—like some stray at the pound. And no matter how much I liked him, I definitely didn't want—

"M! Hey, Marsha!"

It sounded like Rigel's voice. Was I hallucinating? Shouldn't he be at football practice?

I turned and sure enough, there he was, sprinting toward me.

"Hey, I'm glad I caught you," he said, joining me as I reached the bus line. "I only have a sec—have to be at practice—but I wanted to make sure Trina didn't pull anything."

Even though his words supported my theory, I couldn't help feeling a rush of warmth at his concern. Still, I refused to be an object of pity, so I suppressed the smile that tried to break free and shrugged.

"She wasn't much worse than usual."

He looked relieved. "Good. I sure don't want to make things worse for you, especially—"

"I can take care of myself, Rigel." I spoke more sharply than I'd intended, but I didn't want him to feel like he had to _protect_ me—from Trina, of all things. "I'm not some puppy that needs rescuing." Oops, definitely more than I'd meant to say, but now it was out there.

When he didn't immediately refute my words, I turned away before he could see my disappointment. "Have a good practice," I called over my shoulder.

"M, wait! I was going to say, especially when I'm hoping we can be . . . friends."

On that last word, he put a hand on my arm to stop me—and it definitely worked. When his fingers touched my bare skin, a jolt went through me like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I spun around to face him, startled.

I was used to static shocks since I got them all the time, but this was different. It was more like the surge of adrenaline you get when you almost fall but catch yourself. Only stronger. And not unpleasant. More like every cell in my body suddenly sizzled to life.

From the stunned look on Rigel's face, he must have felt something too. He snatched his hand away like I'd burned him and stared at me wordlessly for what seemed like minutes. It was almost like he was seeing me for the first time . . . or like I'd suddenly turned into some kind of freak.

He backed away, slowly shaking his head, then abruptly turned and ran off without saying another word.

I didn't have a clue what had happened or what I'd done, but I was pretty sure I'd somehow spoiled everything before it even got started.

## 4

# Retrograde motion

BRI AND DEB rushed up to me so quickly I realized they must have been hanging back, watching the whole bizarre exchange.

"Wow, what was that all about?" Bri exclaimed as we all climbed onto the bus.

"Did you say something to piss him off?" Deb asked, looking over her shoulder in the direction Rigel had gone.

I hadn't quite caught my breath yet, but I shook my head. "I . . . I don't know. I don't think so. Maybe?"

"You must have said—or done— _something_ ," Bri insisted. "I saw his face when he ran off. He was _seriously_ freaked."

"Um, well, you know how I sometimes shock people? I mean the static thing," I clarified when they both looked confused, and their expressions cleared.

"Yeah, that's a little freaky," Bri agreed, "but not _that_ strange. I mean, everyone does that in the winter time. You just do it year round. Are you saying you shocked Rigel?"

Even though I knew that wasn't at all what had happened, I nodded. I sure didn't have any other explanation. "He touched my shoulder—" I put my own hand there, on the very spot— "and got a jolt, I guess. It seemed to weird him out."

Deb actually chuckled.

I stared at her. "What?" It didn't seem funny to me at all.

"Maybe he thought it was some special chemistry between you and it scared him." She grinned. "You know how boys are about commitment. Maybe he thought it was, like, destiny or something. I mean, he doesn't know about your, um, electric personality."

Actually, his reaction almost did seem like that, but what I'd felt hadn't been a static charge. Had it? Was I just trying to make it something "special" because of the way I felt about Rigel? Now I wasn't sure.

Bri patted me on the shoulder—the same one—and I noticed there wasn't the slightest spark. "Don't worry, M. Tomorrow we'll explain about your static thing. Especially if Rigel _is_ your destiny, you don't want to scare him off by letting him know it too soon."

I nodded, willing myself to believe that's all it had been. "Thanks, guys. You're right. We'll tell him tomorrow and maybe he won't think I'm such a freak after all."

Except maybe I was.

I tossed and turned that night, and when I did fall asleep, sometime after two, I dreamed about Rigel—and not the good kind of dream. Instead, I kept seeing the horrified look he'd had on his face when he touched me. Only, in my dream, I noticed my hands had gone all scaly, and when I felt my face, that was scaly too—and I'd sprouted horns.

Like I did every morning, I woke up five minutes before my alarm went off. Remembering my creepy dream, the first thing I did was check my hands and face. No scales. No horns. And Rigel hadn't _exactly_ looked horrified. Had he?

Feeling like I'd barely slept at all, I turned off the alarm before it buzzed and rolled out of bed with a groan. If I didn't hurry, Uncle Louie would need the bathroom before I was done with it. Some people might call our nearly hundred-year-old house charming, but I thought a second bathroom would add a heck of a lot more charm than gingerbread trim and dormered windows.

I took my usual quick shower, brushed my teeth and dragged a comb through my wet hair, then flipped open my tube of acne cream. Leaning close to the mirror—I was pretty nearsighted without my glasses—I verified again that I didn't have any scales on my face.

I also didn't seem to have half the zits I'd had yesterday.

Huh.

I looked closer. Yeah, I still had a few, but that nasty one beside my nose was completely gone, along with those two red ones on my forehead. In fact, my skin looked clearer than it had in two years. Nice! After three months, this acne medicine was finally doing its job.

Back in my room, I agonized over what I could wear that would convince Rigel that I was perfectly normal.

After strewing practically the entire contents of my closet and drawers over my bed, I finally chose my favorite, best-fitting jeans and a green sleeveless t-shirt Bri had once said was the exact same color as my eyes. I wished for a second that I'd borrowed that eye pencil of Bri's, then realized I was barely going to have time for breakfast, much less makeup.

* * *

"That's a great color on you," Bri said when she saw me on the bus. "I've still got the makeup if you want it, too."

I was relieved that she approved. "Thanks. I'll just use that purple pencil thing, if that's okay—guess I should get one of my own, huh?"

Bri shrugged. "You can have mine. I hardly ever use that color—doesn't go as well with brown eyes. I can always borrow it back from you if I need it."

"Thanks!" That much makeup I could probably remember on a daily basis.

"Maggie needed her straightener today, so I couldn't bring it." Deb was apologetic, but I didn't really mind.

"No biggie. It's too much hassle for every day anyway. Maybe I'll ask for one for Christmas and use it for special occasions."

Since the eye pencil only took a minute I was early to class, giving me way too much time to obsess about Rigel. Would he sit by me, like in English yesterday? If he did, I could tell him about the static thing right then. If not, I'd tell him after class—or as soon as Trina let me get a word with him. I didn't want to risk Bri or Deb making it sound weirder than it was.

Just before class started, Trina came in—alone. Even though all the seats near me were full now, I kept watching the door for Rigel. But the bell rang, and he never showed up.

"Where's Rigel?" Deb whispered from behind me.

All I could do was shrug. Though I knew it was stupid, I couldn't quite squash a tiny, niggling fear that he'd switched his schedule again after what had happened yesterday. Would they let him change his classes twice in three days?

It looked like Trina didn't know any more about Rigel's absence than I did, since she kept glancing at the door too, and frowning. I got a bit of satisfaction from that, at least.

I spent all of Computer class wondering whether Rigel would be in English, then hurried there to find out.

He wasn't.

"Rigel wasn't in Spanish," Bri said as she slipped into her seat just before class started. "Have you seen him today?"

I shook my head, trying to ignore the lump forming in my throat. "I don't think he's at school. Maybe he's sick or something." At least he wasn't only missing the classes I was in.

"I hope not. Our first game is tomorrow night!" Trust Bri to focus on something as totally unimportant as football.

But she wasn't the only one. Even nerdy Will commented on it in Science class.

"I hear Rigel Stuart's not in school today." He glanced behind us at the spot Rigel usually occupied. "It'll suck if Farmer has to quarterback tomorrow night."

I automatically looked back as well, and accidentally caught Trina's eye.

"This better not be your fault, Truitt," she said spitefully.

I turned back around quickly, trying to ignore the guilty little suspicion that had been gnawing at me since first period. But how could it possibly be my fault Rigel wasn't here? I opened my textbook and tried to focus on tectonic plates.

When Bri and Deb joined me at our lunch table, they looked almost as dejected as I felt.

"What if he's already transferred to another school or something?" Bri practically wailed. "My dad said he's changed schools a lot."

My stomach plummeted at the very thought. "C'mon, that's a pretty big stretch. Isn't it?"

She shrugged and grabbed the banana off my tray.

Deb, who'd been examining me critically since she sat down, said, "You know, I was thinking earlier today there was something different about you. Your skin looks great! Are you using something new on it?"

"The same stuff I've used all summer. I guess it just took this long to make a difference. Whatever it is, I'm not complaining."

Bri went off about some skin care article she'd read somewhere but I didn't pay much attention. I was scanning the cafeteria for Rigel, but of course he didn't show. At least I managed to eat my whole lunch for the first time this year.

The rest of the day dragged by without incident except for a little skirmish with Trina in Health.

"I figured it out. Rigel probably skipped school today to get a break from your mooning after him," she greeted me as I sat down in front of her. Donna and Amber snickered obediently.

I twisted around to face her, stung into speech instead of ignoring her like I usually tried to do. "Or maybe he got tired of you treating him like your own personal property, Trina. Are you really so insecure that you have to cling to him like that? Get a life!"

Her mouth fell open and I turned back around before mine could do the same. I'd actually stood up to Trina Squires, and hadn't sounded like an idiot doing it. Several of the girls within earshot giggled, and for once I wasn't the one being laughed at.

Ginger Ramsey even leaned across the aisle to give me a grinning thumbs up and a whispered, "Good one, Marsh!"

Trina didn't say another word for the rest of the class.

On the bus ride home, Bri asked if I wanted to come over but I had to say no. Tonight was Aunt Theresa's monthly garden club meeting, which meant it was my night to make dinner—unless I could get Uncle Louie to call out for pizza.

"I have some errands to run before my meeting," my aunt greeted me when I got home, "so I'll be leaving in an hour or so. I went to the grocery today and bought what you need for spaghetti and a salad. Tell Louie I said no pizza this time."

She kept trying to force Uncle Louie to eat healthier, even though he ate junk food at work all the time. Spaghetti was easy, though, so I didn't argue—not that it would have done any good. I couldn't remember ever winning an argument with Aunt Theresa in my life.

So I just nodded, grabbed a granola bar and a glass of milk and went to my room to do my homework. Unfortunately, most subjects reminded me of Rigel and his unexplained absence, which slowed me down.

I was finally finishing up with Geometry when the phone rang. Aunt Theresa had already gone and Uncle Louie wasn't home yet, so I ran down to the kitchen to answer it, wishing yet again I could have my own phone, or at least an extension in my room.

It was Bri. "My dad just got home, and I knew you'd want the scoop on Rigel," she began without even a hello. Since I was as eager to hear as she was to tell, that was fine.

"And?"

"He's not gone, just sick, and his dad said he'd _probably_ be at school tomorrow. Coach Glazier called to find out."

"So what's wrong with him?" I wasn't sure if I was more worried about Rigel's health or that it really could be my fault somehow.

"No clue, but it can't be too serious if he's only out one day. We can ask him at lunch tomorrow."

The thought of sitting with Rigel at lunch again sent my spirits bobbing up, making me realize just how depressed I'd been about his absence, how worried I might never see him again.

"Yeah, we'll do that. Thanks a lot, Bri!" I was practically gushing in my relief. Which was silly, but I couldn't help how I felt.

We chatted for a few more minutes, then I hung up and started dinner, humming to myself as I browned the hamburger and drained it.

The next morning I again spent _way_ too much time deciding what to wear, discarding outfit after outfit before deciding on the white baby-doll top with peach embroidery and my favorite jeans (again). One bonus, my skin looked even better than yesterday; I'd gone from at least two dozen zits on Wednesday to maybe three or four. Excellent!

On the way to school, Bri and Deb sounded almost as excited as I felt at the prospect of seeing Rigel again. I didn't say much, afraid to jinx his attendance by assuming anything before I actually saw him. Like yesterday, I hurried to Geometry and chose a desk near the center of the room. And waited.

Finally, less than thirty seconds before the bell rang, Rigel arrived, with Trina clinging to his arm. Even with that drawback, I felt my whole body relax as he approached, as though something that had been askew had suddenly righted itself. I summoned my very best smile and looked up at him.

Only to watch him walk right past without making eye contact.

I sat there, all the air leaving my lungs, as he moved to a desk in the front row, the one that was geographically farthest from mine. Trina sat beside him, and though she sent one spiteful glance my way, Rigel never turned around.

So much for wanting to be my friend.

I spent the whole class working up the nerve to waylay him in the hall—to at least say hi, and maybe to bring up the weirdness of Wednesday. When the bell rang, I jumped up before I could chicken out, but Rigel was out of his seat and moving toward the door so quickly that Trina had to practically sprint to keep up with him.

Hurt, confused, and at least a little bit pissed, I stared after him. Could he really want to avoid me _that_ much? I headed to Computer Apps, telling myself I'd try to talk to him again in English. Though the way Rigel was acting today, that might take more courage than I usually had on hand.

I was so distracted that I forgot to ground myself on the table leg and sparked my computer badly, even though it was a pretty humid day. Sure enough, a few minutes later it crashed and wouldn't wake back up.

"Um, Mr. Morrison?" I waved my hand apologetically.

He came over and fiddled with my machine for a few minutes before finally shaking his head. "I don't know how you do it, Marsha, but you've killed another one. Let me get another disk with the assignment. You can move to the next station." He pointed at one of the other old computers.

Grimacing, I scooted over one place. Maybe I really was a freak.

* * *

When I reached English, Rigel—and Trina—were already seated, with no empty desks within two rows. Bri was gesturing to me from across the room, so with a sigh, I joined her. Trina shot a mean glance my way as I passed but, just like in first period, Rigel refused to make eye contact.

"So what's the deal?" Bri whispered as I sat down. "Did you guys have a fight or something? I started to sit over there—" she nodded in Rigel's direction— "but both he and Trina froze me out. I expect that of Trina, of course, but—"

I shrugged. "No, we didn't fight. We haven't talked at all. I can't even get him to look at me! It's like . . . like he's decided I don't exist anymore."

Bri frowned across the room at him. "Coward. I thought better of him than that. Well, if he'd really rather hang with Trina and her posse than with you, M, it's definitely his loss." She even managed to sound like she meant it, which forced a smile from me.

"Thanks, Bri. But it's frustrating. I can't even explain about the static thing." Remembering what had just happened in computer class, I wondered if that problem was getting worse. Maybe that explained the jolt on Wednesday?

In Science, I half expected Rigel and Trina to sit somewhere else even though Mr. Ferguson had assigned us all to our original seats. They did hesitate when they walked in, but then headed to their usual table behind me. Rigel, especially, looked really reluctant and that hurt me more than I would have believed possible, considering I'd only known him a couple of days.

When he sat down, it was the closest he'd been to me all day and I could swear I felt his . . . vibes or whatever . . . more strongly than I ever had. It was like he was radiating energy in my direction. Except it wasn't really in _my_ direction, of course. Rigel just radiated energy in general and I was bizarrely attuned to it.

Almost too late, I realized that right now, before class started, might be the best chance I'd have all day to talk to him. Before I could psych myself out, I twisted around in my seat.

"Hey, Rigel," I started, surprising myself with my own boldness.

But before he made eye contact, Trina shushed me—loudly. "Class is about to start, Marsha," she whispered. "Do you want to get us all in trouble?"

I almost laughed. Like Trina cared if she got caught talking in class? I glanced back at Rigel to see if he caught the irony. This time he did meet my gaze for a split second before looking away, but the expression in his eyes startled me speechless.

He almost looked . . . scared.

Of me?

I'd never scared anybody in my life. I cleared my throat, trying to reorder my thoughts to say what I'd planned to say, but Mr. Ferguson called class to order and I had to turn back around.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Will was watching me curiously, but I didn't have room in my brain to worry about it. What on _earth_ was going on with Rigel? Surely that touch Wednesday afternoon couldn't have spooked him _that_ badly?

I spent the class wondering if Trina had made up some awful story about me that he believed. That I was some kind of monster? That I had some horrible, contagious, incurable disease? That my last boyfriend (not that I'd ever had one) had turned into a frog? I just _had_ to ask Rigel what was going on.

Resolved, I stood and turned to him the moment the bell rang, but just like in Geometry and English, he headed straight for the door without looking at me.

"Fine," I muttered to myself as I stuffed my textbook into my backpack, feeling more and more determined and less and less nervous. "I'll just have to corner you in the cafeteria—in front of the whole school. That'll teach you to be such a scaredy-cat."

I rushed to the cafeteria while my courage was high and took my seat facing the room so I couldn't miss him. But he never appeared.

"Do you think he got sick again?" Bri asked worriedly when the lunch period was almost over. "We won't have a prayer against Elm Grove if he doesn't play tonight!"

"I guess we'll know in ten minutes," Deb said when I didn't answer.

I had that hollow feeling again, the one I'd had all day yesterday.

"Yeah." Bri sounded glum. "If he's not in History that'll mean he won't be at the game either." From her tone, you'd have thought losing a football game was the biggest disaster in the world—like our team ever did anything else.

When we got to class a few minutes later, Rigel was there in his usual seat and Brianna blew out her breath in audible relief. "He must have spent lunch in the media center. He probably had to catch up on assignments and stuff from yesterday."

But I was positive that he'd really been avoiding me. It was almost like he'd known what I'd planned to do. I tried to summon my earlier courage, but it had deserted me for the moment. If Rigel Stuart, star quarterback and hottest boy in school, wanted nothing to do with me, who was I, Marsha-the-Nobody, to challenge him about it? I'd known all along his interest in me was way too good to be true.

It looked like I'd been right.

My friends had other ideas, though. I heard them whispering together during class, though I only caught bits of what they said.

"—some explaining to do!" Deb hissed at one point.

"Both of us. Be ready," Bri muttered a couple minutes later.

So at least I wasn't totally unprepared when the two of them leaped out of their seats the second the bell rang and dashed to the door, cutting off Rigel's attempted escape. I hung back, almost as curious as I was horrified, to see what they would do.

Bri didn't beat around the bush. "Okay, Rigel, what kind of game are you playing?"

"Game?" His glance flicked to me for an instant, then away. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what we mean," Deb chimed in. "Two days ago, you were coming on to M like nobody's business, you know you were. And today, well, are you really that humongous a jerk?"

"Or is this all some nasty plot to make her a laughingstock?" Bri demanded. "I don't care how good a quarterback you are, nobody treats my friends like that."

He glanced at me again and now I just wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground and die. Didn't my friends realize they were embarrassing me way more than anything Rigel could do? I told myself I was _not_ going to cry—that would be even more humiliating. But just in case, I turned away and stared out the window. I was going to be late to French class, but right now that was the least of my worries.

Taking deep, slow breaths, I fought the prickling behind my eyelids by counting to one thousand by tens. I'd reached 130 when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I knew before I turned that it was Rigel. The same incredible _zing_ went through me as when he'd touched me after school on Wednesday. I felt his hand tense but he didn't snatch it away this time.

After one more deep breath, I turned. He was frowning, but not like he was mad. More like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he let his arm drop to his side. It took some self-control, but I managed not to reach up and touch the still-tingling spot where his hand had been.

"Hey," he said with a crooked smile that went straight to my heart.

I wanted to give him the brush off, the way he'd done to me all day, but I couldn't do it. Not when he was looking at me like an apologetic puppy. A totally gorgeous apologetic puppy.

"Hey," I replied.

"Walk you to class?" he offered.

I nodded, not quite willing to trust my voice. I glanced toward my friends but they were gone. In fact, Rigel and I were the only ones left from our class, though some kids were already trickling in for sixth period.

Together, we headed for my French class and a moment later he murmured, "I'm sorry I've been such a jerk today."

Hurriedly gathering the tattered shreds of my courage, I blurted out, "So what was going on, exactly? Why the deep freeze?"

He hesitated for a long moment. "It was, well, kind of a mistake."

"A mistake? What, like you just forgot that you said you wanted to be my friend?" It was as close as I dared come to mentioning what had happened when he'd touched me Wednesday.

"No! I, uh . . . thought people would gossip less if I backed off." He didn't look at me, and spoke carefully, almost like he'd rehearsed, so of course I didn't believe him. Strangely, that gave me more courage.

"I don't think that was it at all. I think you were freaked by that . . . jolt, or whatever it was, Wednesday afternoon." When he still didn't meet my eye, I asked, point-blank, "Were you really sick yesterday?"

Now he did look at me. Only for a moment, but long enough for me to tell I'd startled him. After a second, he said, "No. And you're right. I was . . . kinda freaked. I'm over it now, though." He finally looked at me for real, his eyes pleading with me to believe him.

I gave a little shrug. "I was a little freaked, too, but, well . . . I've always had this weird static thing. It's just not usually that strong." I still didn't believe that was all it had been, but it made more sense than anything else.

He stared at me for a long moment, then smiled. "Yeah? You mean you short out computers and stuff? Raise sparks when other people don't?"

Startled myself now, I nodded. "Did Bri tell you that?"

"No, nobody told me. I have the same problem myself. So maybe, with both of us staticky—"

"It had twice the effect?" That actually _did_ make sense, much to my relief. "No wonder it freaked us both."

We grinned at each other and I had the impression he was almost as pleased as I was to discover someone like me. In that one respect, anyway. Unfortunately, I couldn't claim Rigel was much like me in any other way, as gorgeous, athletic and popular as he was.

Still, I couldn't help feeling like this might be the start of a beautiful friendship. A really, _really_ beautiful friendship.

The bell rang and we both jumped a little.

Quickly, he asked, "Are you coming to the game tonight?"

"Um, yeah." No way Bri would let me miss it. And now that Rigel was speaking to me again, no way I _wanted_ to miss it.

"Great! I'll see you there."

He sprinted off just as fast as he had after school Wednesday, but this time I didn't feel abandoned. In fact, I suddenly felt great!

And for the first time ever, I was actually looking forward to a football game.

## 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 understand 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.

"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.

## 6

# Singularities

SATURDAY SHOULD HAVE been busy enough to keep my mind off of Rigel. But mowing the lawn—I'd taken that over a couple years ago, since Uncle Louie's health wasn't great—only occupied my body, not my mind. As I maneuvered around Aunt Theresa's rose beds in our tiny back yard, my thoughts kept coming back to the same questions, the same hopes, the same fears.

Taekwondo class was better, since I really did have to pay attention there. Taekwondo had been my aunt's idea, suggested by Master Parker's wife, who happened to be in the church choir with Aunt Theresa. She'd convinced her that martial arts would improve my coordination and my confidence, but I hadn't seen a big change so far. Of course, I'd only started last spring.

Today was the first time I'd attended since school started, so I had a little catching up to do if I wanted to test for my green belt next month. Master Parker liked us to come at least twice a week and I'd slacked off.

As I went through my forms and kicking combinations, though, I was surprised at how well I remembered everything, how strong and in control I felt. The instructor was surprised, too.

"Have you been practicing at home, Marsha?" he asked. "I usually discourage that, but—"

"No, sir," I answered truthfully.

"Well, I have to say, your back spinning kick has improved two hundred per cent since last week. Whatever you're doing differently, keep doing it."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

I'd heard about people being "in the zone," but couldn't remember experiencing it myself. Until today. I liked it.

I walked home, pumped from my success. For once, I hadn't felt awkward or out of place in taekwondo. It was almost like the amazingness from the night before had carried over into today—or maybe it had just boosted my confidence enough to make a difference.

Still jazzed when I got home, I tried sharing my triumph with Aunt Theresa, but she immediately changed the subject. Deflated, I listened to the list of chores she still wanted me to do over the weekend. For someone who'd pushed me to take taekwondo, she never wanted to hear anything about it. She could be a real downer sometimes.

The next day started like any other Sunday, scrambling to get to church on time for Aunt Theresa's choir warm-up. Sitting with Uncle Louie in the sanctuary before the service, I squinted up at the board listing today's hymns. It looked a little fuzzy, so I took my glasses off and polished them on the hem of my skirt.

As I put them back on, I felt a not-quite-physical pull off to my right and turned to see Rigel and his parents walking up the far aisle. They didn't seem to have noticed me, and I didn't quite have the nerve to attract their attention. Everyone in the church had known me since I was little, and I definitely didn't want them all gossiping about how Marsha was chasing after the new boy in town.

So I contented myself with watching Rigel from behind as he and his folks sat down about three rows ahead and off to the right. I wondered if this was their first visit here, or if I just hadn't noticed them before, since I hadn't met Rigel yet last Sunday. Somehow, I couldn't imagine being in the same room, even at this distance, without being acutely aware of him.

The choir started filing in. Before Aunt Theresa could catch me staring at Rigel, I quickly directed my eyes back to the list of hymns on the front wall. It was still fuzzy. Which meant I probably needed new glasses, which was guaranteed to irritate my aunt even more than usual.

"Hey, isn't that the new quarterback and his family?" Uncle Louie suddenly asked, pointing.

Wow, no wonder he sold so few cars. Not terribly quick, Uncle Louie.

"I think so," I whispered back, still trying not to look.

"Do you think I should apologize after church? For, well—"

I shook my head emphatically. The last thing I wanted was him reminding the Stuarts of his lapse Friday night. Especially in front of Aunt Theresa. I _so_ did not want to witness another of their arguments over his drinking and his buddies—in church of all places. Nor did I want anyone else . . . okay, someone in particular . . . seeing that.

"They seemed really happy to drive me. I'm sure they didn't mind a bit."

He looked relieved. "Oh. Well, good. Good." I'm sure he didn't want to remind anyone about Friday night, either. Especially Aunt Theresa.

Even so, when I saw the Stuarts coming our way after church, I held my breath. But Uncle Louie didn't say anything at all as Rigel's parents introduced themselves to my aunt.

While the adults exchanged a very brief sentence or two, Rigel gave me a little smile that made my heart beat faster. Had he noticed how much better my skin was looking? Or did boys even think about stuff like that?

"Are you having a good weekend?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, I had a really good—" I broke off, since telling him about yesterday's stellar taekwondo class would take too much explanation, plus I didn't want him to think I was a jock or anything. "I mean, um, the weather's been nice. Not quite so hot. You?"

He shrugged. "I guess."

He looked like he was going to say more, but just then my aunt put a hand on my arm. No tingle there, definitely.

"Let's go, Marsha. You still have homework to do today." She said a polite—not warm— goodbye to the Stuarts, while the look she gave Rigel was almost suspicious.

I waited until we were out on the sidewalk and well out of their earshot to ask, "Is something wrong, Aunt Theresa?"

She sniffed. "No. But you'd do best not to get too friendly with this new boy before you know more about him—and his family. They did just move to town last month."

Uncle Louie laughed. "Oh, come on, Theresa, they're hardly gypsies. Rigel is the quarterback of the football team. And I heard that Mrs. Stuart is a doctor over at Mercy General."

My aunt slanted a glance down at me, one eyebrow raised. "Even so."

"You mean you think he's—they're—too good for me?" I flared, stung. "Is that what you mean?"

She just primmed up her lips. "Our family has been in Jewel for four generations, Marsha. We're as good as anyone. I just don't want to see you hurt."

So that _was_ what she'd meant, though she wouldn't come out and say it. I fumed all the way home, my anger partly fueled by a worry she was right.

The next morning my alarm actually awakened me, jarring me out of a dream I didn't want to leave, a dream involving Rigel—again. I lay still for a moment, grasping at the retreating shreds of the dream, but it escaped before I could remember any details.

With a sigh, I rolled over and plucked my glasses from the nightstand and put them on, then sat up. And squinted. My vision was blurrier than yesterday—a lot blurrier. I pulled my glasses off to examine them, but they didn't look smudged.

Before putting them back on, I glanced at my clock and blinked. Then blinked again. The numbers were as clear as they normally were with my glasses on. I turned on my bedside lamp and slowly looked around my room. Amazingly, I could read the names of the planets and their moons on my poster of the solar system and easily pick out titles from book spines in my overstuffed bookcase: _A Wrinkle in Time, The Hobbit, The Last Unicorn._ The blurriness was gone.

"No way," I said out loud.

In a disbelieving daze, I got up and headed to the bathroom, my glasses abandoned next to my bed. The whole time I was getting ready for school, I kept expecting my eyes to revert to normal—well, what was normal for me, anyway—but they didn't. My vision stayed a perfect 20/20 without glasses or contacts or anything.

Still, I stuck my glasses in my backpack so I'd have them handy when—if?—my eyes did change back. I drank a quick glass of milk and grabbed a cereal bar to eat at the bus stop, then ducked out of the house before Aunt Theresa could notice and question me about not wearing my glasses. I wanted to see if my lovely new vision would last the day first.

I'd never heard of anyone spontaneously becoming _not_ nearsighted. Was it even supposed to be possible? It was like some good fairy had cast a spell or something—first my complexion, and now my eyes. Would my figure be next? I glanced down at my chest. Was I maybe a teensy bit more buxom? No, that was just wishful thinking.

"M! Did you get contacts over the weekend?" Brianna greeted me on the bus. "That's awesome!"

"Totally!" Deb agreed before I could explain. "Your eyes look amazing without the glasses. Did you get tinted ones? They look even greener than usual."

"Really?" I asked, startled. "Thanks, but—"

"Now I'm glad you decided against the eye shadow," Bri said, studying my face. "It would be too much, I think. Just the pencil is perfect."

Abruptly, I decided not to tell them I wasn't wearing contacts. It would sound so . . . unbelievable. I still wasn't sure I believed it myself.

On the way to Geometry, a few other people noticed my missing glasses.

"Hey, Marsh, looking good," Ginger Ramsey commented as she passed me. The two girls with her, Alicia and Jessica, chorused their agreement.

Startled, I thanked them, a new and unfamiliar sense of confidence giving a little extra spring to my step. Of course, there was only one person whose opinion _really_ mattered, and I was especially eager to see how he'd react to the "new" me.

Before I reached class I passed a few of the other football players, who were busily dissecting Friday night's game. I normally wouldn't have paid any attention at all, but I caught Rigel's name so I slowed down a little to listen.

"Yeah, what was with those passes, anyway?" David Jaworski was saying. "He was rifling them in there like we were in the NFL or something. Who could catch that?"

"No kidding," Matt Mullins agreed. "It just wasn't normal. He sure wasn't throwing like that in practice earlier in the week. It was like he was on steroids or something."

I stopped, ready to defend Rigel, but David was already shaking his head. "Nah, not cool, man. I don't believe that. He was just . . . in the zone. Or something."

Before they could notice me eavesdropping and make some crack, I hurried on down the hallway. Of course they'd be saying stuff like that, I told myself, since they needed some kind of excuse for dropping so many passes. It didn't mean anything. But David's words made me remember how I'd been "in the zone" myself on Saturday.

There couldn't be a connection, could there? Like Rigel and me somehow "electrifying" each other to good effect? No, that was crazy. Impossible. Wasn't it?

When I reached Geometry, Rigel was standing near the door, surrounded by three or four cheerleaders. Trina had one hand on his shoulder, flirting for all she was worth, but the moment he saw me, he sort of shrugged her off and came over.

"Hey," he said, his gaze locking with mine, making me forget everything that wasn't him. "Did you get that homework done?"

"That—? Oh, right, Aunt Theresa." I remembered what she'd said after church.

"I hope she didn't give you a hard time." He was still holding my gaze and stealing my breath.

Helplessly, I shook my head. "No. I mean, she's always strict about homework and stuff." I didn't want him to know she'd been using that as an excuse to get me away from him.

"I'm sure she just wants what's best for you." His knowing smile told me he was fully aware of what she'd been doing.

Trina had stayed quiet as long as she could, apparently. "I know you're into charity cases, Rigel, but there's no need to be rude about it." She put a possessive hand on his shoulder again before turning toward me, her eyes narrowing nastily.

But then she frowned and her eyes widened slightly as whatever barb she'd been about to shoot my way died on her lips. "When—? How—?" She stared at me, clearly confused, but then she recovered her sneer. "Huh. I see your folks finally managed to scrape up enough to buy you contacts."

That stung, but I refused to let her see it.

"Contacts are no more expensive than glasses, Trina." I intentionally said it like I was explaining it to a child. And it was true, an argument I'd used repeatedly to my aunt, even if it had nothing to do with what had happened to me overnight.

She turned her shoulder to me as if I hadn't spoken. "So, Rigel, are you going to sit with _her_ now?"

He slanted an amused glance down at me. "I'd better not. I'm afraid I'd be too distracted to pay attention in class." His half-wink made my mouth go dry.

Though he was probably kidding, it was so _exactly_ what I'd been thinking about him all last week that it was almost eerie. And really, really satisfying that he'd said it to Trina. It kept me from minding—much—when he went to his usual seat next to her.

Though we caught each other staring once or twice in our classes, I didn't get another chance to really talk with Rigel until lunch, when he again came to sit at our table. Like they had last week, Bri and Deb suddenly "remembered" something else they had to do almost as soon as they'd said hi to him, leaving us alone.

"Do you want my banana?" I asked him as soon as they'd gone. I'd taken one automatically, since Bri always ate mine as well as her own, but I'd forgotten to give it to her before she took off.

Rigel shook his head. "Nah, I don't like them. But thanks."

"Really? Huh. I think you're the only other person I've ever met who didn't like bananas. Not that it's a big deal or anything," I added quickly, not wanting to sound like I was groping for another similarity between us, in addition to the static thing.

But he gave me one of his penetrating looks and smiled. "I'm not sure I have, either. One more thing we have in common."

I felt a little lightheaded, then remembered to breathe. "Um, yeah. I guess it is."

"So," Rigel said, settling back in his chair and smiling at me as he opened his chocolate milk. "What's with the new look? Everyone's talking about it."

I set down the forkful of mac and cheese I'd just picked up—not that I ever seemed able to eat with him next to me anyway. "No way. Everyone? Really?"

He shrugged. "I heard a couple people mention it, anyway. They seemed to think it's for my benefit. Is it?" He actually looked hopeful.

I kind of snorted, then wished I hadn't, since it was an unattractive sound. "Like I would admit that, even if it was true? Anyway . . . " I hesitated, wanting to tell him about the bizarre miracle with my eyes but not wanting to freak him out again.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."

Rigel put a hand over mine and his touch sizzled right through me. "Tell me," he said.

Helpless under his touch and gaze, I did, in a rush. "This is going to sound totally weird, but when I woke up this morning, I didn't need my glasses anymore. I mean, it was like magic. Or . . . like someone snuck in and did Lasik surgery on me while I was sleeping or something."

He looked startled, but not as much as I'd expected. When he spoke, he sounded more thoughtful than freaked. "That's really interesting. And weird, of course," he added quickly. "But great, huh?"

"Well, yeah, especially if it lasts. I just don't understand how—"

"Hey, you've heard that saying about don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

I shrugged, still a little surprised at how calmly he was taking this. "Well, yeah, but have you ever heard of this happening to anyone before? Like, ever?"

His eyes slid away from mine and he moved his hand, leaving mine lonely. "I guess not, now that you mention it. Are you going to, um, go to an eye doctor about it or something?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "Money at our house is kind of tight, and it's not like I'd want him to _do_ anything about it. I'm just curious how it happened." I kept watching him, but if he had a theory, he kept it to himself. "Maybe I can research it online or something."

"Good idea." Was it my imagination, or did he sound a little bit relieved? He changed the subject then, asking if I'd read _The Bell Jar_ yet, and we talked about books until the warning bell rang a few minutes later.

Rigel stood and stacked both our trays—mine almost untouched. "Walk you to class?"

A sense of well-being flooded me as I nodded. Strange as it seemed, being with Rigel just felt so . . . so _right_.

We had to pass the cheerleader table on the way to the tray drop and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trina and her posse staring at us.

As Rigel was dumping our trays, one of them—I think it was Nicole—called out, "Look, there goes Marsha the Martian! Looks like she finally found her long-lost prince."

I cringed inside, knowing I'd have to tell Rigel that whole embarrassing story now. But when I glanced up at him, he didn't look curious or amused, like I expected.

He looked more like someone had punched him in the gut.

## 7

# Seismic shift

"RIGEL?" I SAID, my embarrassment forgotten in my concern for him. "Are you okay?"

He blinked, shook his head like he was dazed, then stuck the trays in the slot. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Um—" He glanced over his shoulder at the giggling gaggle of cheerleaders on their way out of the cafeteria. "What . . . did she mean by that?"

It was almost like he was forcing his voice to sound normal, like he wanted to shout or something. I couldn't imagine why, though.

"You mean the 'Marsha the Martian' thing?" I tried for a little self-deprecating laugh, but it came out more like a hysterical titter. "Just something they used to tease me about in elementary school."

The lunchroom was emptying, but he stayed where he was, just out of the way of the last few people dropping off their trays, frowning down at me. "But . . . why? Why would they call you _that?_ " His intensity was unnerving, making me hesitate.

Abruptly, he seemed to realize he was overreacting. He gave a little laugh that sounded as forced as mine had and finally started walking. "I mean, was it just because 'Marsha' sounds kind of like 'Martian'? I know little kids do stuff like that."

Tempting as it was to say that's all it was, I told him the truth. "No, it was mostly my own fault. I had kind of a . . . vivid imagination when I was younger. Back in second grade, I went through a phase where I told everybody I was really a Martian princess in disguise, and that someday my royal parents would come claim me and I'd go back to Mars to marry my prince. Just silly kid stuff, but I got teased a lot for a while."

He was still looking at me kind of strangely. "Wow, that is . . . vivid, as you said. Why do you think you, um, made up something like that?"

I shrugged, trying really hard to make light of it, though I was still unsettled by his reaction. "Why do kids make up anything? I guess I wanted to feel . . . important or something. Special. And since I didn't know who my parents really were, it was fun to imagine they might be special, too." I laughed. "Really, _really_ special."

Now his laugh sounded more natural. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"It's still kind of embarrassing," I said as we reached class, trying not to sound giddy from relief, now that I'd confessed what was probably my darkest secret and Rigel was still speaking to me.

* * *

Other than a quick good-bye after History, I didn't see Rigel again that day, and I missed him way more than was reasonable. I'd always sneered (mentally, anyway) at girls who needed a boy to be "complete." But I couldn't deny the empty feeling I had when he wasn't around, almost like there wasn't quite enough air to breathe. I didn't like it.

After school, Bri and Deb came over to my house, supposedly to do homework together, but really so they could extract every single little detail of my lunch with Rigel. They were properly incensed at Nicole's attempt to embarrass me, but had no good theories on why Rigel had wigged out at the mention of my dumb childhood fantasy.

"Maybe he just doesn't have much imagination himself?" Bri suggested. "I've heard that people without imagination have a hard time getting it when other people do."

"Or maybe it reminded him of something he read?" Deb offered. "I didn't know you then, but from what Bri told me, it did sound almost like a story you'd read in a book or something."

I shot a glance at Brianna, a little ticked that she'd talked to Deb about that behind my back, but she just shrugged and gave me an apologetic smile. I tried not to be bothered that Deb and Bri seemed closer these days than Bri and I were, but it hurt just a teensy bit.

* * *

That night at dinner, there was no hiding from my aunt and uncle that I wasn't wearing my glasses. I'd considered wearing them just to avoid the inevitable questions, but they made everything so blurry I was afraid I'd get sick to my stomach.

"They're in my room," I replied to Aunt Theresa's query. "My eyes seem to be improving or something—I can actually see a little better without my glasses than with them lately."

I wasn't sure why I hedged instead of telling them about the sudden and apparently complete cure of my nearsightedness. Maybe it was because the only person I'd told so far was Rigel and I wanted to keep it our secret for now. That made it somehow precious.

My aunt harrumphed. "I suppose we'll have to take you to the optometrist, even though you've only had these glasses for eight or nine months. Have you checked to see if one of your older pairs will work in the meantime?"

"Oh, good idea, I'll do that."

The next morning at breakfast, I made a point of wearing my glasses from two years ago—which didn't make things _quite_ as blurry as my current ones—and telling her they worked perfectly.

"So there's no rush for an optometry appointment," I said.

She hmphed again but didn't argue, and I thought she looked a little relieved. So was I. Apart from the cost, the eye doctor would probably treat me like some kind of medical curiosity, attention I really didn't want.

* * *

Today, Rigel actually walked me to lunch from Science class. I couldn't help feeling like the queen of the world, entering the lunchroom at his side, knowing everyone there was staring at us. For once in my life, I didn't mind being the center of attention. Bri and Deb grinned at us as we approached the table, then scurried off for yet another "project" the minute we sat down.

Rigel and I both chuckled a little as they left, but then he turned to me, suddenly serious.

"Before I forget, M, would you be at all, well, interested in coming to this afternoon's football practice?" He said it in kind of a rush—the way I said things when I didn't want to lose my nerve. Not that I could imagine Rigel ever losing his nerve about anything.

At least as flattered as I was startled, I nodded. "I'd love . . . uh, that is, sure. I mean, I'll need to call home, but I'm sure it'll be okay. I'll use Bri's cell phone after school."

"You can use mine if you want," he offered.

"Oh, um, thanks! So . . . you don't have any problems using a cell phone with the, er, static thing?"

He shrugged, then grinned. "Well, I did fry my first one, but then my dad got me one of these shockproof ones with the rubber casing." He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to me.

I touched the table leg before taking it, still afraid I might manage to destroy it, but it didn't spark at all when I touched it. It was completely covered with a tough, rubbery skin.

"Cool! My aunt won't let me have one until I start driving, but I think she was going to use my electrical problem to put it off even longer. Now I can tell her about this."

"Do you want to call her now?"

I knew she wouldn't be home yet, but I went ahead and left a message on the answering machine at home, saying I was staying after school but would be home in plenty of time for dinner.

Though I wanted to ask him why he'd invited me to practice, I didn't. I knew sometimes girlfriends of the players went to watch, but I didn't think I quite qualified for that status. Yet? And I didn't want to give him any reason to reconsider and maybe decide he didn't want me there after all. That it might be too much of a declaration to the rest of the school that we were . . . friends.

Instead, I asked something I'd been wondering about. "Rigel is kind of an unusual name, at least here in Indiana. Did your parents name you after the star, or is it a family name or something?"

"You know, you're the first person I've met at this school who even knows it _is_ a star."

I felt my face heat and looked away from him, remembering that first day in Science class. "Um, astronomy is kind of a, uh, hobby of mine. So you _were_ named after the star?"

"I guess so, but I think it was mostly that my mom just liked the name."

"That's a good reason." I almost said I liked it too, but thought it would sound forward.

"So how about your name?"

I grimaced. "My name? I dunno—I always assumed my birth parents gave it to me, but I don't actually know that."

"And what was that face? You don't like your name?" He had that intent look again, like he could see inside me or something.

So I told him the truth. "Not much. It wasn't so bad when I was little—well, not until the Marsha the Martian bit." He gave a little twitch but covered it quickly, so I continued. "But now that they're showing 'Brady Bunch' reruns on TV Land, I get a lot of 'Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.' I wish everyone would just call me M. I've even thought about switching to my middle name."

He leaned forward, seeming way more interested than the subject warranted. "So . . . what _is_ your middle name?"

"Prentiss. I did ask my aunt about that once, and she said it was a family name. But when I asked which family, she got all evasive—so that's all I know."

Rigel shook his head. "I can't imagine knowing so little about myself or my family. Does it ever bother you?"

"Sometimes," I admitted. "It bothered me a lot when I was ten or eleven—when I first started to really think about it. I used to ask a lot of questions, but my aunt, well, you met her. She's not the kind of person to pester. My uncle is easier, but he doesn't seem to know a lot. About me, I mean. So now I just . . . try not to think about it too much."

"I guess that makes sense."

"So what about your family?" I asked before he could start feeling sorry for me again. "You don't have any brothers or sisters? What about grandparents?"

"No, no brothers or sisters. My grandfather—my dad's father—lives in Washington, DC. I don't see him very often, but he calls every week."

"How about your other grandparents? Where do they live?"

He got a strange look on his face, kind of an _oh, crap_ look, but then he gave a little half-shrug. "Um, they're dead. Died before I was born, so I never knew them."

"Oh. I'm sorry," I said automatically, confused by his initial reaction. It didn't seem to fit his answer at all, but it wasn't really something I could ask about. "Any cousins?" I asked instead.

"No, at least, not . . . no. No cousins."

Again, I had the feeling he'd nearly said something, then changed his mind for some reason. Was there something awful about his mother's side of the family he didn't want to talk about? If so, it was his business, I told myself. It didn't stop me from wondering, though.

Since he clearly didn't want to talk about his family, I switched to talking about our Science projects for the rest of the lunch period. As we got up after the bell, Rigel gave a sudden jerk of his head, glancing over at Trina's table, then frowned.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

Frustrated and a little bit irritated, I didn't say anything else on the way to History, but he seemed so preoccupied, I wasn't sure he even noticed. Then, just as we reached the classroom, he turned to me.

"You have Trina in your Health class, don't you?"

"Yeah, why?"

For a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer—again. But then he looked at me from under his eyebrows, frowning just like he had in the cafeteria. "Check your seat before you sit down, okay?"

"In Health class, you mean? Why?"

"Just do it. Or don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he turned away and headed to his seat without looking at me again, leaving me to make my mystified way across the room to Bri and Deb, who were waiting—of course—to hear the latest update. They both squealed when I told them I wouldn't be on the bus this afternoon because Rigel had asked me to come to football practice.

"Shh!" I hissed, glancing over at Rigel, who was looking amused. "It's not like he asked me to prom!"

"Still," Bri whispered, "it's a really big deal, M. I mean, it's one thing for girls with crushes to sneak into the stands to watch practice." She and I had done that more than once last year when Greg and Jimmy were practicing with the JV team. "But for him to actually _ask_ you?"

Deb nodded vigorously. "Only girlfriends—like _serious_ girlfriends!—go to the practices. This is _huge_ , M. Trust us."

I just shrugged. Much as I wanted to believe them, I didn't want to set myself up for a crushing disappointment. Plus, Rigel hadn't made it sound huge at all, more like a friendly invite to pass the afternoon.

Still, I couldn't think about much else for the rest of the school day. History and French went by in a fog of hope, fear and anticipation.

It wasn't until I was about to sit down in my last class that I suddenly remembered that weird warning Rigel had given me after lunch and paused to examine my desk chair. It looked shinier than usual, so I took the precaution of touching it. Sticky, like it was covered with glue.

I glanced at Trina just in time to see her look away with a fake innocent expression. Yep, she'd definitely done something.

There was still a minute or two till the bell, so I went up to the front of the room and stopped next to the teacher, then looked at Trina again. Now she was looking nervous—and so were her minions, Donna and Amber.

Just to mess with them, I asked Mrs. Harklewood a quiet question about yesterday's lesson before going to the paper towel dispenser near the door and grabbing a few sheets, then returning to my desk. Without even a hint of a glance at Trina or her buddies, I calmly spread the towels over my seat, then sat down.

Once class was underway and everyone around us was distracted, Trina leaned across the aisle and whispered, "Okay, which one of you warned her? _Nobody_ else knew I was going to do that!"

I couldn't quite hear their replies, but it was obvious they were both vigorously denying saying a word to me. I smiled to myself.

And wondered how on earth Rigel had known.

* * *

"Hey, M, thanks for coming," Rigel greeted me when I reached the football stadium after class. "I hope it won't be too boring for you—I think we're mostly going to be doing drills. But you can do homework and stuff if you want."

"I'll be fine." I was about to ask him how he knew about Trina and the glue when the coach blew a whistle and he sprinted off to the field.

With a little shrug, I climbed into the stands and sat down. I'd just add that to my list of things to ask later—along with why he really wanted me here today.

There were a few other girls watching the practice, all sitting together at the other end of the bleachers. I toyed with the idea of joining them, then decided it wasn't worth the risk of rejection. Rigel might have asked me here, but that didn't mean I would instantly be accepted into a group several social rungs above my usual one.

Instead, I pulled a couple of books out of my backpack so I could pretend to be working on something, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything except Rigel.

The players were already warming up, running up and down the field. After a moment I decided it definitely was _not_ my imagination that Rigel moved more smoothly than any of the others. He had a strength and grace about him that seemed almost out of place in a high school sophomore—more like something you'd see in a professional athlete. With a happy sigh, I gave myself up to the pleasure of just watching him.

They finished warming up and started drills involving sprinting and throwing and stuff. The ball became a blur when Rigel threw it. Watching Jaworski and Mullins repeatedly dropping passes, I remembered what I'd heard them saying yesterday morning. The coach said something to Rigel and he nodded. It looked now like he was trying to throw softer, so the other guys could catch the ball. It didn't seem fair that he had to lower his level of play for their benefit, but I guess if it would help us win games . . .

Suddenly I saw half the team's heads whip around, so I looked where they were looking and saw the cheerleading squad, including Trina, sauntering up to the field, dressed in teensy shorts and sports bras. They mostly pretended to ignore the players, though a couple of them waggled their fingers at the guys. Then they started practicing, which mostly meant waving their boobs and butts around for the benefit of the team.

Sheesh, no wonder our school sucked at football! I was surprised the coaches even allowed this, as distracted as most of the guys seemed to be. But not Rigel, I noticed with great satisfaction. Whatever attraction he'd felt toward Trina on the first day of school had apparently evaporated once he'd gotten to know her better. Which proved he was smart as well as gorgeous.

Of course, I already knew that. I'd heard his answers in the classes we shared, though he rarely raised his hand. He seemed to know geometry and geology as well as the teachers did, if not better. English was the only class I felt like I might be able to keep up with him, since I'd always been a big reader. Books were so much easier to relate to than people.

As if to prove my point, just then one of the other girls in the stands called over to me, "Hey, Marsha! What did you have to promise Rigel to get him to sit with you at lunch?"

The others laughed, then one said—or rather, yelled— "You know what they say, nerds are really easy, if a guy just pays some attention to them."

Now the cheerleaders joined in. Donna shouted up from the field, "I bet five bucks he's tired of her in a week! Any takers?"

I kept my eyes on Rigel, who was across the field, doing my best to ignore them, though I knew my face must be fire engine red.

One of the players near our side of the field looked over at Donna and made a comment about not betting against a sure thing, getting a laugh. My one consolation was that Rigel was too far away to hear any of this. But just as I was thinking that, Rigel suddenly turned and zipped the football at the guy who'd made the crack, catching him squarely in the stomach.

He doubled over and almost fell down. It took him a minute to get his breath, and then he yelled, "What the hell, man?"

"Sorry," Rigel called, though he didn't sound sorry at all. "I thought you were paying attention. I'll shout 'heads up' next time, okay?"

The other guy turned away muttering and I realized it was Bryce Farmer, last year's quarterback. Rigel probably wasn't his favorite person, even before this.

But . . . what had that really been about? It looked exactly like Rigel had hit him with the ball because he'd laughed at me, but there was no _way_ Rigel could have heard any of those cracks from across the field! Could he? I remembered the glue on my seat in Health class. Had he heard Trina and her pals talking on the other side of the lunchroom? How else could he have known what they were plotting?

So . . . did he have super hearing or something? Along with super strength, at least in his throwing arm? Not that I was complaining, exactly . . .

Speculating about the wonderful weirdness that was Rigel kept me occupied for the rest of practice. The other girls didn't say anything else to me, which was absolutely fine. I needed to think—with the fraction of my brain that wasn't devoted to watching Rigel.

All too soon, practice was over and the players were sent off to the showers. I used that time to finally get some homework done, since I knew Aunt Theresa would ask about it and I didn't want to tell her why I'd been too distracted.

I was almost finished with my Geometry assignment when a shadow fell across me. I looked up with a smile, ready to tell Rigel he'd looked good out there, then saw it wasn't Rigel. Instead, Bryce Farmer stood there, glaring down at me.

"Um, hi?" I said. Bryce and I didn't know each other at all, had never even spoken, since not only was he a senior, but we were at exact opposite ends of the social spectrum. Or had been last year.

"You. Marsha. Tell your boy Stuart he'd better stay out of my way if he knows what's good for him."

I blinked at him for a moment before a spurt of anger surprised me. "Why? Are you afraid to tell him yourself? Why ask a girl to do your dirty work for you?"

The rational part of my brain was astonished that I, Marsha Truitt, was actually standing up to big shot Bryce Farmer, but mostly I was just pissed.

But he looked pissed, too—and a lot more dangerous. "It's your fault he made me look stupid today—in front of Trina."

Bryce was still looming over me, so I jumped to my feet to face him. He still topped me by a foot or more.

"You're making yourself look plenty stupid without anybody's help." Again, the words were out before I could stop them.

Now he looked really, really pissed. "You little— Nobody talks to me that way. Especially a nobody like you. How about I give you a stronger message to take to your _boyfriend_?" He stepped toward me, an ugly smile twisting his face.

Suddenly Rigel was there, stepping between us. "Go home, Farmer. Any beef you have, take it up with me—or the coach. But leave M out of it."

"Yeah? Or what?" Bryce sneered. "Your dorky girlfriend needs to learn some respect. If you won't teach her, maybe I'll just—"

He reached for me and then several things happened at once. I grabbed Rigel's hand just as he moved to block Bryce again, and out of nowhere—or rather, out of _us_ —a blue arc of what looked almost like lightning hit Bryce in the chest, knocking him to his knees. His eyes went super wide for a second, then he slumped down onto the bleachers and passed out.

"Holy crap!" I looked around wildly, expecting to see people rushing toward us, but the bleachers and the field were empty. "What the hell just happened?"

Rigel looked almost as startled as I was—but not quite. At least, I didn't think so.

"I . . . I'm not sure," he said. "Maybe that static thing—?"

"No way. That went way, _way_ past anything static could ever do. You did it, didn't you? You shot lightning at him or something? How did you do that? What if he's—"

Bryce groaned, then struggled to his knees, looking dazedly up at Rigel. "You bastard! You punched me!"

Rigel barely missed a beat. "You deserved it. Leave M alone. Got it?"

Though Bryce still seemed pretty out of it, he glowered. "Yeah, I'll leave her alone. For now. You didn't have to go all caveman on me." With one last glare at both of us, he turned and stumbled back down the bleachers and out of the stadium, still shaking his head.

I waited until he was gone to round on Rigel. "Now, will you please tell me what the hell just happened?"

"I think I . . . _we_ . . . shocked him. Somehow."

"Well, duh. But how?"

He shrugged and shook his head, but I noticed he didn't look me in the eye. He was definitely hiding something and I was determined, this time, to get to the bottom of it, even while I was a little terrified that I might push him away. In just a week, Rigel had become almost as important to me as air. Which was scary all by itself.

So instead of demanding he explain, I tried something more roundabout. In as offhand, nonchalant a tone as I could manage, I said, "Maybe Mr. Ferguson will have some kind of explanation. I'll ask him about it tomorrow."

As I'd hoped, Rigel immediately looked alarmed. "No! I mean, I'm sure it's not worth bothering him about. He'll probably just think we imagined it or something."

I wasn't giving up that easily. "Maybe," I said with a shrug, "but it's worth a try. I'll explain exactly what happened just now. If he doesn't believe me, maybe I can get Bryce to remember and back me up. If . . . if you won't."

He frowned at me for a long, tense moment, and I could tell he was trying to come to some kind of decision. Finally, he said, "Look, I know you need to get home and the late buses leave in about five minutes. But can I call you tonight?"

"Sure," I said eagerly, then remembered— "But I, uh, don't have a phone in my room. So my end might not be very . . . private." I had a feeling that might matter. At least, I hoped it would.

"No cordless?"

I shook my head. "We used to have one, but I, um, shorted it out. The old-fashioned kind seems to be more resistant—or so my aunt says." Personally, I thought it was to make sure I didn't spend too much time on the phone.

"Hm. Well, I'll still call, and then we can talk more at lunch tomorrow or something. C'mon, we'd better hurry."

We headed for the three activity buses in front of the school.

"So you're not even going to give me a hint?" I asked.

"I . . . I'd better not. Not yet."

Even with only three buses, Rigel and I were on different ones, which meant I couldn't keep pestering him for information. But he'd all but admitted there _was_ something to tell. I really hoped I could manage to get some privacy when he called tonight.

* * *

Unfortunately, hoping wasn't enough. Aunt Theresa wanted to know exactly why I'd stayed after school, and she was horrified when I told her the truth. All through dinner I had to listen to a lecture about girls who chase after boys and what that would do to their reputations. No amount of explaining that Rigel had _invited_ me to come to practice made a difference.

"A boy like that is bound to have certain . . . expectations about a girl who goes along with his every whim," she told me as I cleared the dishes from the table and put them in the sink. "It never hurts a girl's stock to play hard to get. Remember that."

I came back for the water glasses. "It's not like that. We're friends—that's all." I definitely _wanted_ it to be more than friends, but for now that was the absolute truth.

She still wasn't buying it. "A girl doesn't stop wearing her glasses and fix up her hair for a 'friend.' You may not believe it, Marsha, but I do remember being young, once upon a time. I know what peer pressure can do to a girl's convictions."

The very idea of stolid Aunt Theresa ever being tempted by a boy almost made me drop a glass. Before I could get past that distraction to argue again, the phone rang.

"I'll get it!" I said quickly, but it was too late. Uncle Louie already had his hand on the receiver.

"Hello? Yes, she's right here." He turned to me with a grin. "It's Rigel," he whispered loudly enough for the next door neighbors to hear. I was sure Rigel had.

"Thanks," I said, ignoring Aunt Theresa's sour look. I took the phone, wishing harder than I ever had before that we still had a cordless, like every single other family in the United States. The best I could do was to stretch the cord its full length, which took me just barely around the corner from the kitchen into the front hall.

"Hello?"

"Hey," Rigel said. His voice didn't have quite as profound an effect over the phone as it did in person, but it was close. "Can you talk?"

"Some." The silence in the kitchen made me fully aware that my aunt and uncle were listening. "Can I have a hint now?"

It took him a moment to answer. "Um, I don't think a hint is a good idea, actually. How about we bring our lunches tomorrow and eat in the courtyard? We should be able to talk there."

"Okay, sure. But can't you at least tell me—"

"I'd better go. See you tomorrow, M."

The line went dead and I was left with the impression that he didn't want to be overheard any more than I did. Interesting.

"That was quick," Uncle Louie said when I hung up the phone. "I used to talk to girls for a lot longer than that when I was your age."

"Louie!" Aunt Theresa snapped. Then, to me, "You'd better finish the dishes, Marsha, then get to your homework, if you don't want to be up half the night."

Of course, I was awake half the night anyway, even though my homework was finished by nine o'clock. I couldn't stop speculating over what Rigel might be going to tell me tomorrow.

Was he the result of some secret government experiment? Or maybe since he was so smart, he'd done some kind of experiment himself that had made him extra strong and given him super hearing. And a static charge like mine, only stronger. No, that sounded lame.

I'd read a few vampire romances, but since he didn't have any trouble being out in the sun, I didn't think that was it. Besides, I was pretty sure I didn't believe in vampires. But maybe he was some other supernatural something?

I fell asleep long after midnight, still puzzling over it, then woke well ahead of my alarm. I rushed through my shower and made myself a sandwich, mumbling an answer when Aunt Theresa asked why I was taking my lunch. I was in such a hurry to get to school that I reached the bus stop ten minutes early and had to wait, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.

When I got to Geometry, I caught Rigel's eye and held up my lunch bag for him to see. He gave me a wry kind of smile and nodded, but didn't come over to talk to me.

"What was that about?" Deb asked me. "You were so mysterious on the bus. What happened at football practice yesterday, anyway?"

I shrugged. "Like I said, nothing much. But we agreed to have lunch in the courtyard today."

"Ooh, that's so romantic! Why didn't you tell us?"

I just shrugged again.

The next three and a half hours seemed to last for weeks, but finally the bell rang for lunch. I grabbed my paper sack and turned to face Rigel, trying not to look too eager.

"So. Lunch?" he said with that devastating grin that always made my knees go weak.

Trina glanced from him to me, then made a disgusted noise and hurried out of the Science classroom. I barely noticed.

"Let's go," I said.

We walked in silence to the courtyard. It was nearly ninety today, so nobody was out there. It could have been a hundred and ten and I wouldn't have cared, so long as I got to be with Rigel—and got to hear whatever his big secret was.

I'd been trying to prepare myself to be disappointed, telling myself it would probably turn out to be some perfectly normal something, after all my wild speculation. But I couldn't help being excited as we sat on the one stone bench in the shade and pulled out our lunches.

"So?" I finally prompted when he didn't say anything right away. "You had something you were going to tell me?"

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and took a big swig from his water bottle. Then, finally, he turned to face me.

"Yes. But I don't think you're going to believe me."

I set down my own water bottle. "Try me. I've known something was different about you since the first day of school. So . . . what is it?"

Rigel drew a deep breath, took both of my hands in his and looked me directly in the eye.

"I'm a Martian."

## 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 one 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.

## 9

# Eccentricities

RIGEL PULLED OUT his cell phone and checked the time. "Oops, lunch is more than half over. We'd better eat." He handed me my paper sack, which I'd totally forgotten.

I pulled out my sandwich and opened my drink, but then set them both down, suddenly reminded of yesterday when he'd handed me my lunch, and the question he hadn't answered.

"You never did tell me why you wanted me at football practice. Or how you, um, zapped Bryce." Or a thousand other things I suddenly wanted to know.

He took a big bite out of his own sandwich, chewed and swallowed before answering. "When you're with me . . . near me . . . you, well, bring out the best in me."

"Huh?" That was totally not what I was expecting. I wasn't even sure it made sense.

"Eat. I'll try to explain, at least a little."

Since he stopped and waited and I really wanted to hear more, I quickly took a bite of sandwich and a swig of juice. "Well?" I asked, then took another bite so he had no excuse not to go on.

"Okay. I know you've noticed that, er, thing when we touch."

To demonstrate, he touched my hand briefly and I felt the now-familiar tingle zip through me. I nodded.

"It's like we have a special, um, resonance. Something in you sort of supercharges something in me. Makes me . . . better. Stronger. Faster."

"And able to shoot lightning bolts?"

He took another bite before answering and this time I was sure it was to give him time to think. "That wasn't just me, you know," he finally said. "There's this thing called _graell_. It's really rare. In fact, most people don't even believe in it any more. But the theory is, or was, that sometimes a person can be a kind of, well, match with another person. And when they are, they somehow . . . enhance each other."

I stared at him, things clicking together in my brain. "Each other? So it works both ways?"

He nodded, but I thought he looked wary. "At least, that's the theory—or legend."

"Holy crap," I breathed. "So that's why I'm suddenly not nearsighted anymore? And—" I stopped talking but kept thinking. And why my acne had miraculously disappeared? And I was so much better at taekwondo? Starting right after he'd touched me the very first time. My crazy suspicion had been right!

"I think so. I know I run faster and throw harder than I used to—especially when you're actually in the stadium."

That certainly explained why he wanted me at football practice . . . and at the games. Shoot, if the coaches knew about this, they'd probably _require_ me to be there! The thought almost made me giggle.

Suddenly, I was giddy with relief. Rigel wasn't crazy. At least, not about this mutual enhancement thing. I should probably reserve judgment on the Mars stuff, but now I couldn't quite dismiss that, either—not when this almost-as-unlikely story was obviously true.

He was still watching me expectantly—anxiously—and I realized he was waiting for my reaction to all of this. I smiled, though I felt more like singing.

"I believe you."

The words seemed inadequate, but apparently they were enough. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"Thank you. I was afraid you'd . . . well, never mind. So, any chance you can make it to practice today?" he asked with a grin, obviously trying to lighten things up a little. "If you're going to come to the game Friday, I need to practice throwing with you in the stadium."

I hadn't thought of it that way, but it made sense. "Is that why the receivers had such a hard time catching your passes during the first game?"

"Yeah, I think so. I . . . didn't realize how hard I was throwing until later."

"Of course, it probably didn't help that our receivers all basically suck."

He laughed. "Maybe, but I did make it worse."

The bell rang, startling me. Quickly, I stuffed another couple of bites of sandwich into my mouth while Rigel did the same, then we stood. The rain had stopped and the sun was starting to peek between gaps in the clouds, making the wet courtyard sparkle. It seemed almost magical—or maybe that was just the way I was feeling right now.

"All right. I'll come to practice today. I'll worry about my aunt later."

Rigel put a hand on my back as we went back into the hallway. It made me feel . . . protected. Cared for. I liked it.

"I don't want you to get in any trouble because of me," he said.

Though it would have been way cool to wear it to class, I shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him. "It's not like she actually _said_ I couldn't go. She just lectured me a little—about what boys like you expect from girls like me." I slanted a teasing glance up at him. What had gotten into me, that I was suddenly so comfortable, so _brave_ , around him?

He laughed out loud, a delicious sound. "Boys like me? You can tell her I don't expect anything at all. Though—" He went suddenly serious— "I may hope, a little."

I discovered I wasn't quite brave enough to ask what he hoped, though the intensity in his eyes gave me a clue. My heart started beating faster.

"I, um, don't think I'll tell her that part." My voice sounded breathless to my own ears.

"No, better not. We don't want her forbidding you to see me." He slung the jacket over his shoulder. "Do we?"

"Definitely not."

Already we were at our History classroom, though I barely remembered walking there. I felt like I could have gone on talking with Rigel—being with Rigel—forever. It was like a little exile to leave him, even to go to the opposite side of the room. My only comfort was that he looked like he hated the separation as much as I did.

"Looks like you guys didn't fight over lunch today," Bri teased me when I reached my seat. "Man, can you two even tell the rest of the world exists when you look at each other like that?"

With an effort, I made myself focus on her, and on her words. "What? I mean, um, no, we didn't fight. And . . . no. At least, I can't."

"Trust me," Deb said with a laugh, "he's not noticing anything else either. So, has he asked you out yet?"

"No. But can I use one of you guys' cell phones to call home after school? And if my aunt asks, can you tell her I was at your house, Bri?"

They exchanged such significant glances that I felt myself blushing.

"It's not like that!" I whispered fiercely. "He just wants me to come to practice again, and my aunt thinks that's the path to sin or something."

"Are you sure it's not?" Bri mouthed at me, then giggled. A sharp look from the teacher shut her up, but a minute later she passed me a note.

"I'm in," it read. "Talk to you after."

* * *

Rigel walked me to French class, though in the crowded hallway we couldn't continue our earlier conversation. Still, it felt good—physically good—just to be by his side again for a couple of minutes. I hoped he felt the same.

Bri and Deb didn't get a chance to assault me with questions again until after school, when I met them outside the bus to borrow Bri's phone for a quick call to the answering machine at home.

"Okay," Bri demanded the second I hung up, "what's the deal? Are you guys 'official' yet?"

I shrugged. "Maybe kinda?" I offered. Bri's eye's narrowed threateningly, so I elaborated—a little. "We haven't really talked about it, but it . . . _feels_ right. Like we're supposed to be together."

"Hm." Bri still didn't look satisfied, but I wasn't sure what else I could tell her without straying into dangerous territory.

"It's not like they've had any alone time except at school," Deb pointed out. I sent her a grateful glance. "What about the game at Springdale tomorrow night? Did he ask you to come?"

"Not yet," I admitted, "but I got the impression he'd like me to." Okay, it was more than an impression, but he hadn't _directly_ asked me to go, so I wasn't lying.

"You can ride with us," Bri offered. "We'll probably go early."

"Um, sure, thanks. Oh, on the off chance my aunt calls, don't answer. I just told her we all stayed after school for a project."

"Yeah, okay. Oops, bus is about to go. Talk later!" I thought she still sounded a little ticked.

As soon as they were on the bus, I hurried to the stadium, eager to see Rigel again, even though we'd only been apart a couple of hours.

He was waiting when I got there, with a blue sheet of plastic in his hands. "Thought you might want this, since the bleachers are still wet. I was starting to worry you couldn't make it. Everything cool at home?"

"Thanks," I said, taking the plastic, touched by his thoughtfulness. "I left a message for my aunt, so it should be fine." I didn't tell him I'd fudged on why I was staying after. "Shouldn't you be out on the field?"

"Yeah. I just . . . wanted to see you first." He smiled into my eyes and touched my cheek, sending an impossibly delicious shiver through me. "We'll talk a little after, okay?"

I nodded. I wasn't going nonverbal around him as often as I used to, but that touch temporarily undid me.

I had the bleachers to myself today, what with the wet and all. Like before, I dug some homework out of my backpack, but since this was the first chance I'd had since lunch to spend any uninterrupted time thinking, that's what I did first.

Some things that had puzzled me made a little more sense now. Like his reaction when Nicole had used my old "Marsha the Martian" nickname. I nearly laughed out loud, remembering how rattled he'd been. How funny was that, someone calling _me_ a Martian, when Rigel really was one!

And the bit with Trina and the glue. He probably did have super hearing, though I hadn't asked him about it yet, since I'd been a little distracted by more important revelations. Then there was the matter of our first touch and the way he'd freaked out about it. I still needed to do some thinking on that one, but the boys were out on the field now, so I spent the next half hour or so feasting my eyes on Rigel in motion, before finally, reluctantly, applying myself to my homework.

* * *

I was nearly finished reading _Lord of the Flies_ —my reading speed had increased, too, which was a nice surprise—when Rigel joined me.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, nodding at the book.

"It's definitely not something I'd read if I didn't have to," I said, stuffing the book into my backpack and standing up. "Not only is it kind of gross, but I don't like thinking humans are naturally so savage—even if it's true."

"Yeah, it wasn't one of my faves either, though I thought some of the jungle stuff was kind of cool." He fell into step next to me as we headed toward the buses.

"That's because you're a guy," I said with a little laugh. But then I frowned up at him. "So, do your, um, people see us that way? As savages?"

He looked a little wary. "Some do," he admitted. "Definitely not all, though."

That reminded me of something else I'd wondered about. "Are there a lot of . . . Martians here? On Earth, I mean. Or in Jewel, for that matter?"

"Not a lot, I don't think. Maybe a few thousand? I'm pretty sure my parents and I are the only ones here in Jewel, though."

"A few _thousand?_ " That sounded like a lot to me. "How did they get here? And how long have they been here?" I found myself starting to doubt again. It just seemed so unlikely.

He seemed to sense that. "It's all kind of complicated. Tell you what—how about you come over to my house tomorrow after school? My parents can explain some of the more technical stuff if you want, and then you can ride to the game with us."

"You don't have to take the team bus?" I asked, partly to hide my excitement that he'd actually asked me to his house. That seemed huge, somehow.

Rigel shrugged. "I'm supposed to, but Coach said if I bring a note from my folks and get there when the team does he could let it slide this once."

I suspected the coach was willing to let Rigel slide on almost anything to keep him happy—and on the team.

"I'll ask. I don't think my aunt and uncle will mind." Especially if I told them I was going with Bri instead, which would avoid awkward questions.

"Cool. Let me know if there's a problem and I can ask my mom to call your aunt."

The way he said it made me wonder if he knew what I was planning. Rather than make any promises, I changed the subject.

"So, that resonance thing you say we have— _graell?_ —when did you figure that out?"

He slanted a slightly embarrassed look down at me. "I, um, sort of suspected it that first time I touched you last week. Definitely not before that."

"Oh, wow, no wonder you freaked. I mean, if it's so super rare even among—you know." I glanced around but no one was close enough to hear us. "Then it's probably supposed to be totally impossible with a regular Earthling, huh?"

Rigel opened his mouth, then closed it, then said, "Probably. Yet here we are." His smile looked a little forced. "Would you, um, mind not mentioning it to my folks when you talk to them tomorrow?" he said then.

"Because they might flip out?" That hurt a tiny bit, but I sure couldn't blame them—or blame Rigel for worrying about it. "No, I won't say anything."

"Thanks. We'll obviously have to tell them sometime, but—"

"No, it's okay, really." We'd reached the buses by then. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah." He touched my cheek like he had before practice, and his smile held a longing that squeezed my heart. "Tomorrow."

As I boarded my bus, I wondered if it was wrong of me to hope he'd miss me as much as I was going to miss him.

* * *

I was relieved that Aunt Theresa was too busy grading papers when I got home to grill me about what I'd done after school. Being vague in a message was one thing, but lying to her face if she asked a direct question was something else, and I doubted I could do it. To stay on her good side—which I sometimes wondered if she even had—I set the table and made the salad for dinner without being asked. Then, for good measure, I asked if she had any laundry she wanted me to throw in with the load of my own stuff I was doing.

"Aren't you little Miss Helpful tonight?" she said, making me worry that I'd overdone it. But then she added, "It's good to see you're developing a sense of responsibility, Marsha."

That caused me a pang of guilt for being less than totally honest—but not a big enough pang that I felt a need to confess. Especially after what she'd said about Rigel the other night.

I waited until after I'd loaded the dinner dishes into the dishwasher to say casually, "Brianna asked if I could ride to the football game with her tomorrow afternoon." Which was perfectly true. "It's at Springdale."

"I suppose this sudden interest in football is because of that boy," she said, as I'd known she would. "You never went to an away game last year."

Rather than admit or deny anything, I just shrugged, not quite meeting her eye.

"Oh, let the girl go to the game, Theresa," Uncle Louie said. "First you worry because she isn't popular at school, and now you worry because a popular boy might like her. Give the kid a break."

It surprised me a little that Aunt Theresa worried about me at all—or that she ever talked to Uncle Louie about me. I'd always kind of assumed she forgot I existed if I wasn't in the same room with her. I waited for her answer, trying not to show how nervous I was.

"Fine," she said after a suspenseful two or three seconds. "You can go. Just . . . be careful."

I almost asked what she thought I might do, but caught myself before I accidentally antagonized her into changing her mind. "I will." I kept my voice meek and respectful. "Thanks." I sent a grateful glance at Uncle Louie and he winked at me.

Now came the tricky part. I'd rehearsed my words all through dinner so I wouldn't have to lie—at least, in the most technical sense.

"They plan to leave early, so it would probably be easier if I just got off the bus there instead of coming home."

She sniffed the way she did when she didn't approve of something but didn't want to discuss it. "Just come straight back after the game. No hanging about with that quarterback and his friends."

I nodded, rather than risk saying something that could be used against me later, then escaped to my room.

I'd done it. I'd cleared the way so I could go over to Rigel's after school tomorrow, then ride to the game with him and his parents. The only touchy thing left would be explaining to Bri tomorrow. Maybe an e-mail would be easier—and more discreet.

Unfortunately, that meant asking to use Uncle Louie's computer, since they refused to buy me a laptop or tablet because of my static thing. Between that and the phone issue, it sometimes felt like a conspiracy to keep me from ever communicating with my friends privately.

I poked my head into the living room, where Uncle Louie was watching some reality show and Aunt Theresa was doing cross-stitch. "Is it okay if I use the computer to look up some stuff for a paper? I'll be careful," I added before my aunt could say it, like she _always_ did.

They both nodded without really looking at me. I went into the tiny formal parlor that Uncle Louie used as his office and logged into my e-mail. I cleared out the spam—I hardly ever got any real e-mail, since my friends knew I couldn't check it often—then typed a quick message to Bri.

* * *

From: AstroGrrl

To: JagFanB

Subject: Tomorrow

B—please don't hate me, but R asked if I'd ride to the game with him and his folks and I said I would. I'll def see you there, tho! Sit together?

—TTYL, M

* * *

I hit send and started to close the browser, but then paused. I _had_ said I needed to look stuff up, and it might look suspicious if I was done so fast. Which meant this was a perfect chance . . .

I opened Google and typed "Mars" and "new discoveries." Clicking on the first couple of pages of headlines—out of nearly eighty thousand hits—didn't reveal anything I didn't already know, so I tried "Martians on Earth." That netted me less than 700 hits, including a Wikipedia article. But when I read it, it was all about fictional Martians, not real ones. All of the hits on the first few Google pages also dealt mainly with fiction—books, movies, comics, stuff like that. I found a couple of conspiracy-type blogs, but when I opened them, neither dealt with human Martians.

I was typing in "human Martians" when I heard someone coming. I immediately closed the window and emptied the cache, then quit from the browser just as Aunt Theresa came in.

"Still researching, Marsha? It's late."

"Just finished," I said. I stood up and was surprised to find I was stiff—and even more surprised to glance at the clock on the computer and see that it was almost midnight. I'd been Googling for close to two hours!

She shook her head at me as I picked up the notebook I'd brought to back up my cover story. "Doesn't anyone use the library anymore?"

I shrugged. "Online is quicker." Plus, no library would have the kind of info I really wanted to find.

I said a quick good night and headed back to my room, feeling guilty again—both for deceiving her about Rigel and for trying to check up on Rigel's story behind his back. He had promised to tell me more tomorrow. If I trusted him as I claimed to, that should be good enough.

Shouldn't it?

## 10

# Extraterrestrial origin

BRI AND DEB were less talkative than usual the next day but I didn't really notice until lunchtime. I was too excited about what new revelations Rigel—and his parents?—might have in store for me that afternoon.

When Rigel and I got to the cafeteria after Science class, I automatically headed toward our usual table, where my friends were already sitting. But just as I got there, they started picking up their trays like they were going to leave. Again.

"Wait," I said. "Where are you guys going?"

Not that I didn't want the time alone with Rigel, but I felt like I should say _something_.

"We, um, have stuff to do," Bri said without looking at me.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked. "About the game?" I was still feeling a little guilty about that.

She shook her head. "No, no, it's fine. No biggie." But she still didn't quite meet my eye. Deb sent me a quick, apologetic glance, but didn't say anything.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Deb and I just need to do some more chorus stuff. See you tonight."

And then they were gone.

Rigel frowned after them. "You, um, didn't say anything to them, did you? About the, ah, stuff we talked about yesterday?"

"Of course not!" I was hurt he would even suspect it. "They probably still think we want to be alone." I hoped that was all it was. I _had_ been ignoring them a lot lately.

"Don't we?" he asked with a smile that made me forget all about my friends again.

I nodded shyly. "I guess maybe we do."

"Sit down," he said then. "If they're feeling left out, you can make it up to them later. So, your aunt and uncle are okay with you coming home on my bus today?"

It was the second time he'd asked me that today. I almost asked him if he was sure he couldn't read my mind, but stopped myself in time. "My aunt did make me promise to come straight home after the game," I said by way of a partial confession.

"She still doesn't trust my motives?" He was grinning now.

"Well . . ." I half-shrugged. "It's not like she really knows you. And you _are_ the first boy who's ever—I mean, um, this is kind of new territory for her."

He did _not_ need to know that no boy had ever shown even the remotest interest in me before. Pathetic was not how I wanted him to think of me. I wanted him to see me as fun and interesting and pretty and . . . desirable. All the things I'd never been. But somehow, with Rigel, they seemed almost possible.

"We'll just have to win her over," he said, "since I don't plan on going away anytime soon."

His words sent a delicious thrill through me, but I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound sappy, so I took a bite of my pizza.

"Eat all of it," he said when I set it back down. "I've noticed you don't eat very much—at least, when you're around me. You'll need your strength today."

I nearly choked. "Wh—What? Why?" I sputtered as soon as I could.

He laughed and handed me a napkin. "I didn't mean to scare you. It's just . . . it's going to be a long day, what with an away game and all."

But I could tell that wasn't what he'd originally meant. "Your parents do know I'm coming over, don't they?"

"Definitely," he assured me. "They're really looking forward to it."

He clearly meant it, which confused me, especially since he'd asked me not to tell them about our _graell_ thing. I'd figured even if they didn't freak, they probably wouldn't approve. Besides, Rigel must have always had girls—better looking, more popular girls than me—flocking around him. Why would his parents care about getting to know _me_ better?

Speaking of good looking, popular girls, I quickly realized that a real, private conversation here in the cafeteria was impossible. Every single cheerleader, plus what seemed like half the other girls in school, stopped by our table over the next twenty minutes to tell Rigel how much they were looking forward to tonight's game and to wish him luck. A few guys came by, too, to slap him on the back and talk football.

I might as well have been invisible to most of the girls, though a few gave me quick, perky smiles. But to my surprise, a couple of the guys made a point of saying hi to me and even tried to include me in the conversation. When Pete Warner left after a brief discussion of offensive strategies, Rigel frowned after him.

"What?" I said.

"Didn't you notice the way he was looking at you?"

I shook my head. When Rigel was around, I honestly couldn't seem to notice much of anyone else. No wonder my friends were getting pissed at me.

Rigel looked into my eyes for a long moment, then shrugged. "Then I guess it doesn't matter, does it?" he said with a sudden grin.

"No," I admitted, still drinking in his eyes, his amazing face. I never seemed to get enough of that. "It really doesn't."

* * *

I did my best to concentrate on my classes for the rest of the day, but anticipation—and a nagging worry about what Rigel had meant by "needing my strength"—kept distracting me. It was a huge relief when the final bell rang. I didn't even stop at my locker to drop off extra books, but hurried straight to the buses to meet him.

Though it wasn't a surprise to see him surrounded by girls, it did annoy me a little. Not that he was my property or anything, I reminded myself.

But then he looked over their heads and smiled at me, and all negative emotions evaporated, replaced by simple joy.

"Hey, M!" He beckoned me to his side and the press of cheerleaders reluctantly parted to let me through. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I replied, though truthfully I couldn't be all that nervous when I was close to him. A very nice side-effect of that enhancement thing, if that's what it was.

He ushered me onto the bus ahead of him, barely nodding in response to the chorus of goodbyes and "see you tonights" from the girls. We sat together in the first empty seat, and though a few people looked at me curiously, no one spoke to me. Like at lunch, several people—guys and girls—talked to Rigel about tonight's game, again making private conversation impossible.

By the time the bus turned onto the farm road south of town, I was starting to get nervous again, in spite of Rigel's calming effect. Then the bus stopped and he stood.

"Our stop," he said. "C'mon."

I followed him off, then paused, swallowing. "You're sure—?" I began.

"I'm sure." He took my hand, giving me instant courage, and led me up a long, winding drive shadowed by towering oak trees toward a yellow three-story farmhouse with a deep, wrap-around porch. A soybean field stretched into the distance behind it with a cornfield behind that. There was a grain silo visible in the distance, but no other houses within sight. A typical Indiana farmhouse, in other words.

Only not, I realized as we got close enough for me to see the three satellite dishes on the roof, along with what looked like a couple of solar panels. There was also a ham radio tower off to the side, though that wasn't too unusual out in the country. The tiny video screen next to the front door was, though. Rigel ignored it and turned the knob.

"Mom? Dad? We're home," he called as we entered the long front hallway.

_We're home._ What a lovely phrase. I heard light footsteps approaching and mentally shook myself.

"Marsha! Welcome!" Rigel's mother exclaimed, coming out of a doorway down the hall.

She was even prettier than I remembered, her rich, reddish hair piled loosely on top of her head, her hazel eyes—so much like Rigel's—twinkling within their thick-fringed lashes.

"Come into the kitchen," she continued. "I'm just about to take a batch of cookies out of the oven." Even as she spoke, I caught a delicious whiff and my stomach rumbled embarrassingly.

"Thanks," I managed, grateful that both she and Rigel pretended not to hear. "It's very nice of you to invite . . . I mean, to offer to drive me to the game and all." I was nearly as tongue-tied as I'd been when I first met her.

"Nonsense." She waved my words away with a smile and led the way back to the cozy, old-fashioned kitchen. "We were delighted when Rigel suggested it. Especially now that he's told you—"

"Mom," Rigel broke in. "Let's have some of those cookies before we launch into explanations, okay?" He looked a little worried, which surprised me.

She gave him a curious look. "—about us," she finished, and Rigel relaxed.

"Where's Dad?" he asked.

"Right here." His father entered the kitchen from the other end. "Welcome, Marsha, it's great to see you again."

"Um, thanks. Same here." I was startled again by their effusiveness. I didn't feel this welcome in my _own_ house.

Dr. Stuart poured four glasses of milk as Rigel and I sat down at the huge, knotted-pine kitchen table. Despite the rustic setting, things felt strangely official. Rigel had said they were going to explain about the Martian stuff, but I couldn't bring up the subject. Not when the Stuarts were being so nice. So . . . _normal_. Instead, I took a big sip of milk, hoping I wouldn't have to be the first one to say anything.

I wasn't.

"So, where to start?" Mr. Stuart said, sitting down and smiling at me with his movie-star smile. "I assume Rigel has given you all of the basics by now?"

"Um . . ." I sent a panicky glance Rigel's way and after just the briefest hesitation, he put his hand over mine on the table—right in front of his parents. Remembering what he'd said about keeping our bond-thing secret, I tried not to let my reaction to his touch show. But, as he'd undoubtedly intended, it did calm me. A little.

"Actually, there's a lot I haven't had time to tell her yet," Rigel said, again with an uncomfortable edge in his voice. "Maybe we should take it slowly."

"No, it's okay, really," I said. "I mean, I do want to know everything. Everything you're willing to tell me, anyway."

Dr. Stuart put the milk back in the fridge, turned and nodded, her expression warm and reassuring. "Of course we'll tell you everything, Marsha, now that Rigel has let you in on our, ah, secret."

"That you're . . ." I swallowed. "Martians?" I felt a rush of embarrassment, a sudden, terrible fear that I'd somehow imagined everything Rigel had told me.

I hadn't.

"In a manner of speaking," she said. "Not that we really think of ourselves that way any longer. We came to Earth intending to stay, and this is our home now."

I thought I'd been ready for this, eager for this, but I really hadn't been. I'd still half expected this to be some elaborate joke, or for Rigel's parents to somehow explain away everything he'd told me. It couldn't _really_ be true. But looking at their serious faces, I was finally, totally, convinced that it was. No matter how impossible it seemed.

"How—" My voice cracked slightly and I started over. "How long have you and Mr. Stuart been here? On Earth, I mean?"

She glanced at her husband and Mr. Stuart gave her a little nod. Rigel gripped my hand more firmly and I noticed a tiny, worried crease between his mother's brows as she replied.

"About . . . seventy-five years."

I felt shock all over again. "Seventy-five—? But how—? I mean, you can't possibly be more than forty years old!" In fact, they both looked much younger than that, not that I was a great judge of parents' ages.

"We age more slowly than most humans," Mr. Stuart explained. "Did Rigel tell you about some of the ways we're different?"

"He . . . he said there were, ah, enhancements." Except he'd implied that was just when I was near him. "He didn't say anything about immortality!"

Dr. Stuart's frown deepened. "No, Marsha, we're certainly not immortal. Our lifespan is a bit more than double what's typical on Earth, that's all."

"All?" I echoed faintly. Then another thought hit me and I rounded on Rigel. "So how old are _you_ , really?"

"Fifteen," he answered promptly. He was smiling again, which for a moment made me want to smack him. It must have shown in my face, because he put up a defensive hand and hurriedly added, "No, really. I'll be sixteen in November. It's not until full adulthood that the aging process slows."

"That's right," his father said. "Rigel is the same age you are, Marsha. Ariel and I arrived here on Earth some sixty years before he was born."

I digested that for a minute while they stayed silent, letting me think. One thing I'd wondered about—meant to ask about—was how ships from Mars had reached Earth undetected. But seventy-five years ago, it probably wouldn't have been difficult.

"Have others come here since? I mean, are people still coming here from Mars, or was it like a one-time thing?"

Again they exchanged a speaking glance before Mr. Stuart answered. "The first ship from Mars came to Earth about five hundred years ago. Those pioneers brought back information and artifacts that proved to even the most skeptical that we had in fact originated here. After that, every few decades, small groups emigrated here, some to study the culture, others to settle and raise families. The pace has picked up over the past century."

"Why?" I hoped if I kept asking questions I wouldn't freak out.

"That's a long and rather complicated story, involving the political climate back on Mars as well as practical concerns. For now, I'll just say that increasing numbers of people have felt motivated to return to our original—well, our ancestors' original—home."

"Then people are _still_ coming here?" That brought me back to my earlier question. "How? I mean, why isn't that all over the news? Wouldn't your ships be picked up on radar or something?"

"It is becoming a concern," he said. "It was much easier before Earth's technology became as advanced as it is now. That's one reason for the increase in immigration, a fear that soon we may not be able to land ships undetected. Fortunately, we use an anti-gravity drive that has been successful in avoiding discovery so far, since it causes little atmospheric disruption."

I wasn't a huge science geek apart from astronomy, but I was pretty sure anti-gravity wasn't something our scientists had figured out. "So . . . just how technologically advanced _is_ Mars?"

Rigel's parents both chuckled a little, but not in a mean way. "That's a big question," his mom answered. "And of course the answer keeps changing as Earth science advances—and so does the science on Mars." The oven timer buzzed. "Oops, the cookies."

She opened the oven and took out a cookie sheet filled with chocolate chip cookies . . . with her bare hands!

"Careful!" I cried without thinking, then, "How did you do that?"

"Reactive ceramic," she explained, setting the pan in the middle of the table. "It only heats where the cookies touch it."

I touched the pan and, sure enough, it was perfectly cool to the touch. "Wow," was all I could think to say.

"Did Rigel tell you about the advanced race that originally took humans to Mars?" Dr. Stuart asked, distracting me from the high-tech cookie sheet.

"Only that they did," I said. "Two thousand years ago? But not anything else about them. Are they still there?"

She shook her head. "They disappeared a long time ago—more than a thousand years ago, from what our records show. No one knows why. But they left much of their equipment behind, as well as the entire infrastructure of our underground habitat. That means we've had a millennium to figure out their technology and adapt it to our needs. And wants."

So . . . pretty technologically advanced, I was guessing. "Rigel said something about them doing experiments?" I glanced at him and he nodded. "What kind?"

"It was so long ago no one knows exactly, but we believe mostly genetic. Which would explain why we're so long-lived, as well as having other . . . advantages over the _Duchas_ —that is, the humans of Earth. In recent centuries, our own geneticists have continued to improve on what those aliens began."

I bit my lip, trying to choose my words carefully and trying even harder not to blush. "So, um, just how far apart _are_ you from regular humans—Earth humans? Genetically, I mean?"

"We don't know, exactly," she replied, "though we have a few scientists here—Rigel's grandfather, for one—trying to figure that out. Discreetly and ethically, of course. Having developed separately for almost three millennia, there are some significant differences."

"Like being faster and stronger and better at football?" I asked, glancing at Rigel. He'd made it sound like that was because of me, but—

"We do tend to be physically superior, yes," his mother answered before he could. "Most genetic weaknesses were eliminated generations ago, while adaptive traits were emphasized, giving us sharper senses, quicker reactions, and yes, more physical strength." She seemed about to say more, but then didn't, which made me wonder if they had other abilities she didn't want to mention.

Not that I could exactly blame her. If I wasn't the reason for Rigel's awesomeness, then it made less sense than ever that they'd tell me _any_ of this stuff.

"All this—Martians on Earth, or even Martians existing at all—is like a huge secret, right? Our government doesn't know anything about it?"

"Certainly not officially," Mr. Stuart said. "We do have a few, ah, highly placed people at NASA and elsewhere, who have helped prevent discovery on a few occasions. Rigel says you study astronomy?"

Mystified, I nodded.

"Then perhaps you're aware of how many Mars missions have had, shall we say, difficulties?"

I gasped. "You mean—"

"Yes. It wasn't exactly an accident that some NASA scientists 'forgot' to convert their figures to metric. And it took quite a bit of spin to play down the discovery of methane plumes recently—exhaust vents from the colony. Keeping our secret is becoming more and more difficult."

Which brought me to the question I really wanted to ask. "So . . . why is it okay for _me_ to know it, since I'm just a regular Earthling—a, uh, _Duchas?_"

Dr. and Mr. Stuart looked from me to Rigel and back with a mixture of surprise and concern. At the same time Rigel's hand tightened almost painfully on mine.

Then his mom said, "So, you didn't even give her a hint?" which confused me more.

I looked at Rigel, who was shaking his head and looking embarrassed. "I was going to, but . . . I thought it might be better for her to hear it all from you." Then, to me, "I didn't want to upset you again, especially at school." His eyes pleaded with me to understand, even though I had no idea what I was supposed to understand yet.

"A hint about what?" What could be _more_ upsetting than finding out Rigel was practically an alien?

His mother reached out and took my other hand, the one Rigel wasn't holding, and I felt calm flowing from her almost as strongly as I felt it from Rigel. Her eyes—so like Rigel's—held mine, her expression both kind and cautious. Despite their combined calming effect, I felt my heart starting to pound, though I didn't know why.

"We know you're adopted, Marsha, and that you don't know anything about your birth parents. The truth is," she said gently, "they were also from Mars. In fact, you were born there."

I looked wildly at Rigel for confirmation and he nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.

"That's right, M," he said. "You're even more Martian than I am."

## 11

# Magnetic field

I JUST SAT there, all the air rushing out of my lungs. Shock didn't even begin to describe what I was feeling. At the same time, a tiny corner of my brain knew—just knew—it was true. It explained so many things.

The rest of my brain wasn't willing to join in, though, and I found myself shaking my head.

"How . . . how can that be?" I finally choked out, with a pleading glance first at Rigel, then his mother. "I've always been so—I mean, I've never been athletic or pretty, or . . . anything special at all." I thought of all the ways Rigel was superior to the average guy. "At least, not until, well . . ."

Dr. Stuart squeezed my hand. "It's not true that there's nothing special about you, Marsha. You've always been special, even if you didn't realize it. It was obvious to us the moment we met you."

That was nice of her to say, of course, but . . . "Wait. Do you mean you suspected I was a . . . a Martian then? A whole week ago?"

Rigel gave a little shrug, looking embarrassed again. "Actually, I told them once I figured it out."

"So when did _you_ realize it? And why didn't you say anything? You told your parents but not me?" Even if I wasn't quite ready to believe it could be true, that upset me.

"I, uh, figured it out the first day of school. And I had to tell them. We'd sort of been, um, looking for you."

This was yet another shock. " _What?_ For me, specifically? Why?"

Dr. Stuart took her hand off of mine to push the high-tech baking pan toward me. "Have a cookie, dear. This has been a lot for you to take in all at once, I'm afraid."

I automatically took one, but didn't eat it. The whole scene felt surreal to me, like I was dreaming it. Which made a lot more sense than it being true. I blinked several times and bit the inside of my cheek. It hurt. Okay, maybe I wasn't asleep.

To give myself more time to think, I took a big bite of cookie and washed it down with a gulp of milk. They were all watching me warily, like they were afraid I'd suddenly freak out. I didn't think I was going to, but I also wasn't sure I believed them yet. Or that Rigel had believed it all along. Feeling both confused and betrayed, I swallowed the last of my milk and tried to focus on one thing at a time.

"Okay, assuming this is somehow true, _why_ were you looking for me? And why in Jewel, Indiana, of all places?"

Rigel gave me one of his heart-stopping half smiles. "Because this is where you live, obviously. But we didn't know that until last year—and even then we weren't sure. It's why we moved here over the summer. To find out."

His whole family had moved to the middle of nowhere because of _me?_ Surely not. "But . . . why were you looking for me in the first place?" I asked again. "How did you know I existed at all? And how did you find out I lived in Jewel?"

When Rigel hesitated, his mother spoke. "Rigel's grandfather is very well connected, both back on Mars, and here on Earth as well. A few years ago he discovered that the—ah, a Martian girl your age had been orphaned in North America, probably in the Midwest. He felt it was important she be found. Since we have a son the same age, it made sense that we be the ones to search for you, as Rigel would have the opportunity to interact with his classmates and discover whether any, ah, resonated."

"Oh." I felt a little rush of disappointment. "You mean—" I glanced back at Rigel— "he'd feel a, um, pull toward anyone from Mars?" I'd thought from what he said that what was between us was unique. Special. But maybe not so much.

"You could say that," his father answered. "We all have a sort of built-in radar—we call it _brath_. It's a genetic resonance that makes us aware of other Martians in close proximity. And we are somewhat dependent on that proximity, though some are more affected than others. Am I right that you've experienced some changes since we moved to town and Rigel began attending your school? I notice you're not wearing your glasses, for example."

I nodded, still looking at Rigel, watching his expression, wondering how much he'd told his parents about me. I got the impression he didn't completely agree with what his dad was saying, though it certainly seemed to explain things. So much so that I finally started to believe, with the rational part of my brain, that they were right about me.

"So that's why Rigel was already so . . ." I almost said _amazing_. "Um, athletic and stuff? Because he's always been around you?"

"It helped, certainly," his mother replied. "For some of us, it's necessary to be near other Martians to develop our talents to their full potential. Something we didn't discover until the first colonists emigrated to Earth and dispersed, living apart from other Martians."

"I hope you'll have an opportunity to meet my father soon," Mr. Stuart said. "He's one of our top geneticists and he'll be able to explain about the _brath_ —the genetic resonance—better than we can."

"But I thought— He doesn't live in Jewel, does he?" I asked, confused.

He shook his head. "No, in Washington, DC. But now that we've found you, I imagine he'll come for a visit very soon."

I gave a shaky laugh. "Wow, no wonder it freaked you out when Nicole called me 'Marsha the Martian' the other day," I said to Rigel. "I figured it was because _you_ were . . . well. But how weird is it that I _pretended_ to be a Martian when I was little, and all along it was actually true?"

"Maybe not so strange," Dr. Stuart said. "Didn't you tell Rigel you weren't adopted until you were two years old? Undoubtedly you retained some memories of your birth parents, if only subconsciously. I'm sure that played into what you thought were fantasies as a child."

That made so much sense, I felt a little foolish for not realizing it myself. Though I guess I had some excuse, since I was still reeling from the truth about where I'd come from.

I had a strong sense that there was more that they weren't telling me, but I honestly wasn't sure I could absorb much more at the moment. Apparently they thought I'd heard enough for now too, since after another glance between them, Rigel's parents both stood.

"Rigel, after you two finish your snack, why don't you give Marsha a tour of the house?" his mother suggested. "We'll need to leave by five if we're going to stop for dinner on the way to Springdale."

They left us alone in the kitchen and Rigel looked at me questioningly. "You okay?" he asked softly.

"I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "Tell me—did you only want to . . . to be my friend because you thought I was this Martian you were looking for?" For some reason, this seemed more important than me _being_ a Martian.

"No!" His denial was instant, but then, meeting my gaze, he gave a little shrug. "Okay, maybe on the first day of school, when I very first figured it out. I needed to make sure. But as soon as I started talking to you, I liked you. For yourself, not just because of . . . you know." He took my hand and looked at me pleadingly. "M, I really did want to tell you myself, but—"

"But after the way I freaked when you told me _you_ were a Martian, you didn't want to risk me going off the deep end if you tried to tell me _I_ was? At school?"

He shrugged and nodded, smiling sheepishly. "Sorta, yeah."

Hugely relieved, I squeezed his hand—something I could never have imagined myself doing just a couple of days earlier. "No, I get it. And I can't swear I wouldn't have. Gone off the deep end, I mean. It's . . . kind of a lot."

"Actually, you took it way better than I thought you would. Way better than I did, in fact."

"That's right—you said you didn't find out until a few years ago. So until then, you just thought you and your parents were like everyone else?"

"Pretty much. I mean, why would I think otherwise? But as I got older, I started overhearing conversations between them, and with my grandfather and others, and I started to think something weird was going on. So I started asking questions. They put me off for a while, but finally decided I was old enough to handle it."

"How old were you?"

"Almost eleven. And man, I was seriously freaked out when they told me. Locked myself in my room for two days, yelling that I didn't want to be raised by aliens. But finally I decided it was kind of cool. And now it just seems, well, normal."

I tried to imagine what he'd gone through, finding out such a thing when he was just ten years old. "I guess I have a little bit of an advantage, being older."

And having the kind of life where anything different, anything special, was bound to be an improvement. But I didn't say that part. It did make me wonder about something else, though.

"I still don't understand how you and your parents found me," I said. "I mean, Jewel is such a nowhere little town . . ." I trailed off, remembering something Rigel had told me during our very first conversation.

"Wait. Is _that_ why you had to change schools every year? Looking for _me?_"

Rigel confirmed my guess with a nod. "Though I didn't know that was the reason until eighth grade."

"I'm surprised you don't resent the heck out of me."

"It's not like it's your fault."

I frowned, still skeptical, and he suddenly grinned. "Okay, I admit that before I met you I might have resented you a little. But definitely not now. Not even a little." His expression, his voice, his touch, forced me to believe him.

"As for the how," he continued, "my dad's a computer whiz. He'd been searching adoption records and stuff and was pretty sure you were in Indiana somewhere—which is why we were here. The lucky break came when Center North played Jewel at football last fall. I was the backup quarterback, had only been off the bench once before in a game, since I was a freshman. But Appleton wrenched his shoulder and the coach put me in while they iced it. And it was like I was supercharged, or something. Played way over my head."

"And you think it was because—"

"Had to be. I told my parents about it after the game and they figured you must have been there. So the next year I transferred to Jewel—and here you are."

No wonder I'd been such a whiz in the concession stand that night! I must have been "supercharged" by Rigel, as well.

"So, you want to see the house?" he asked, standing up.

"Sure. Any cool futuristic gizmos you can show me? Food replicators or a holodeck or something?"

"Funny. It's not _Star Trek_. But here, watch this." He picked up our empty milk glasses, but instead of rinsing them in the sink, he opened a cupboard and put them inside, right next to the clean plates and glasses. Then he closed the door, pushed a tiny button I hadn't noticed and immediately opened the cabinet again. Our used glasses sparkled, without a trace of milk.

"Whoa! What did you do?"

"It's an ionic sterilizer, built into the frame of the cupboard. There's a little one in each of the bathrooms, too, for toothbrushes and stuff. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Extremely cool," I agreed, thinking of the time it would save.

He closed the cabinet and turned back to me, his eyes glinting with suppressed excitement. "Come on. There's something else I think you'll like even more."

Taking my hand, he led me out of the kitchen and up the wide, wooden staircase to the second floor. My heart started to pound again as I wondered if he was going to show me his bedroom. Where had his parents disappeared to, anyway?

But instead of a bedroom, he led me through an archway at the top of the stairs into a small room facing the back of the house. He flipped a switch on the wall and a slit opened, bottom to top, in the opposite wall where a window would normally be, and I saw there was a large telescope set in front of it—just like a real observatory, in miniature.

"Oh, wow!" I breathed. I'd begged my aunt and uncle for a telescope for years and finally, last Christmas, they'd given me a little cheapie one from Wal-Mart. But this—this was a _real_ telescope! I stepped in front of Rigel and put my hand reverently on its smooth casing.

"Go ahead and take a look." He motioned to the telescope.

I was too eager to do just that not to obey. Of course, it was still broad daylight, so I knew I wouldn't see much—or even be able to orient it. At least we were facing away from the sun.

"Just a sec," Rigel said, and punched a code into a keypad on the telescope's mount. The telescope shifted position, a couple of inches to the left and a hair higher. "Okay, now."

"Like a GoTo on steriods," I muttered, feeling a pang of envy as I put my eye to the eyepiece. Even a low end GoTo—programmable—telescope was more than I had any hope of owning anytime soon. Then I really looked. And gasped.

"What planet is that? And how can I see it so well in the daytime?"

"It's actually one of Jupiter's moons. Leda."

I stood straight and stared at him. "No way! Astronomers didn't even discover Leda until 1974, it's so small." I bent for another look. The detail was amazing—I could see actual craters and hills.

"I'd show you Mars, but it's not visible from here right now. Soon, though, I promise."

The feeling that welled up in me at his words startled me with its intensity. It was a longing—not just to see Mars, now that I knew it was my heritage, so to speak, but, even more, to see it with _him_. And maybe not just through a telescope.

"You've never been there yourself, right?" I asked.

"Nope. My folks haven't been back since they moved to Earth, though my grandfather went back once, a few years before I was born. My dad says it's trickier to go that direction without being spotted, so there are just two spots on Earth we're allowed to launch from, and only if it's really important."

I tried to hide my disappointment. "Oh. I guess that makes sense. Still, it would be cool to actually visit there, don't you think?"

"Very cool," he agreed. "You'll probably get to someday." He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as he spoke, which distracted me so much I almost didn't catch the wistfulness in his voice.

"I hope you mean 'we,'" I said.

He nodded quickly, but dropped his hand and took a half step away from me. "Of course. You think I'd let you go without me?" But I thought there was a reserve in his expression that hadn't been there a moment ago.

Before I could ask about it, he punched another set of numbers into the telescope keypad and motioned for me to look. He stood well back as I peered through the eyepiece. I smiled as I recognized the distinctive crater on Europa. "Pwyll," I mouthed soundlessly. At least, I thought I'd been soundless.

"Wow, you can tell at a glance?"

I straightened and looked at Rigel, who was several feet away from me. "You _do_ have super hearing, don't you?"

"We're in the same room, so I hardly need—" He broke off at the look I gave him. "Okay, yeah, kind of, I guess. Most of my senses are more, um, sensitive than the average human. It's just one of those Martian things."

"But you can't, like, read my mind, right?" I really, really needed to know this.

He grinned almost like he did know what I was thinking. "Not yet."

I frowned at him, not sure if he was kidding or not. "Wait. Do you mean—"

Rigel took my hands, his smile more serious now. "Sorry. I don't really know. You might have noticed my parents communicating without speaking."

"So they _can_ read each other's minds?" It had seemed that way, but I hadn't dared to ask. "Do they have that . . . bond, that resonance thing you said we have?" I was completely confused about that after what his parents had said.

"They have something, for sure, but it took them like twenty years to develop it. I asked. And even that's apparently pretty unusual, from what they told me."

"So it's not that _graell_ thing that's supposed to be so incredibly rare? Do you still think—I mean—you don't think this . . . whatever we have . . . is just the usual thing between Martians that your dad mentioned?"

He took both of my hands, his expression melting my heart. "No, I really don't. I think what we have is way more than that. Special."

His look, his touch, dragged a smile out of me. "It feels pretty special to me," I admitted. "But . . . you all say I'm a Martian, too. So why don't you want your parents to know about it?"

Now he looked away. "I guess I was worried they'd get all weird about it. We're only fifteen, after all." I thought he sounded evasive, but then he met my eyes again, pleadingly. "Are you okay with it being our secret, M? For now?"

I nodded. As if I could deny him anything, when he looked at me like that? Though I still didn't really understand.

"Thanks. I'll explain it all soon, I promise."

I wasn't sure if he meant to me, or to his parents. He'd said he couldn't read my mind, but—

"Kids?" came his mother's voice from downstairs. "We need to get going, if we're going to stop for dinner."

"Coming, Mom," Rigel called back.

Still holding my hand, he led me out of the little observatory and down the stairs. I hoped I'd get a chance to see the rest of the house sometime soon.

* * *

On the way to the game, Rigel's parents kept the conversation light—intentionally, I thought. Like maybe they didn't want me asking more questions yet. They talked about some of the places they'd lived before Indiana, which included Colorado and St. Louis and even Australia, before Rigel was born. And they talked a little about other _Echtrans_ —expatriate Martians—they knew, who were scattered around the country. But nothing about my real parents, which was what I most wanted to know.

Halfway to Springdale, we pulled in to Rory's Steakhouse, a little place I'd heard of but never been to. Not surprising, since Aunt Theresa and Uncle Louie went out to eat maybe twice a year, and hadn't taken me along since I was twelve. I felt a little awkward letting them pay for my dinner—one of Rory's famous pork tenderloin sandwiches—but they insisted.

Back in the car, I tried to work up the nerve to ask more questions about my origins, but between the distraction of having Rigel right next to me, sometimes even touching me, and the running dialogue between his parents, now about the upcoming game, I never quite managed it. And then we were at Springdale and the opportunity was over. For now. I told myself there was still the trip back, and that I was definitely going to get more info out of them then.

"Rigel, you'd better go join the team," Mr. Stuart said as we all got out of the car. "I see the bus is already here. Marsha, would you like to sit with us, or will some of your friends be here?"

I was torn, but figured I'd never get anything out of them during the game, so I opted for honesty. "I sort of promised my friend Brianna I'd sit with her."

"That's fine," said Dr. Stuart with her warm smile. "You'll have more fun that way, I'm sure. We can all meet down on the field after the game."

Nodding, I turned toward the stands but Rigel took my hand and stopped me. "Walk with me first?" he asked, and something in his eyes made my heart speed up again.

"Sure."

He led me in the direction of the team bus, over by Springdale's gym, but before we reached it, he swerved off to the right, behind a corner of the building. Another corner jutted out a few yards further down, which put us in a slightly secluded angle—at least, no one was directly in sight at the moment.

Rigel stopped and looked down at me, a tiny frown between his dark brows. "I was, um, wondering . . . That is, would it be okay . . ." He paused and cleared his throat.

"What, Rigel?" I couldn't imagine what could make him so nervous all of a sudden.

"Could I have a . . . a kiss for luck?" he asked in a rush.

_Oh!_ I could tell from the heat in my face that I'd suddenly gone bright red—but I nodded. I'd been wanting this, dying for this, ever since that first quick kiss on Wednesday, and now I was at least as nervous as he was. My heart pounding like a jackhammer, I tilted my face up and waited.

As he lowered his lips to mine—slowly, this time—I let my eyes flutter closed. And at the first touch of his mouth, all my nervousness magically disappeared. He felt wonderful. Amazing. Impossibly fabulous.

Without even thinking about it, I slid my hands up his shoulders, and at the same time I felt his arms come around my waist. His lips were firm, warm . . . perfect. I thought I might just die from happiness.

Even though it was about five times longer than our first kiss, it was still over way too soon. With obvious reluctance, he pulled away, then planted one last feather-light kiss on the corner of my mouth before straightening up.

"If I don't have the best game of my life now, it'll be a miracle." His voice was husky, which kept his words from being as light as he probably intended them. "I'll see you after."

He touched my cheek one more time, then hurried off around the corner to go join the team for warmups.

I stayed where I was for a couple of minutes, waiting for my heart to slow to—well, not normal, but maybe only double speed. Then, in a euphoric daze, I smoothed my hair and headed for the visitor bleachers on the far side of the field to find Bri, already eager for the game to be over so I could be with Rigel again.

## 12

# Axial tilt

"HEY! I WAS starting to wonder if you were coming after all," Bri greeted me when I joined her in the middle of the third row of the visitor stands a few minutes later.

The one small section of metal bleachers on this side of the field was already starting to fill up—probably because Jewel had done so much better than expected last week.

"I mean, the team's starting to warm up," she continued as I sat down. "I'm sure the coaches are getting antsy because Rigel's not—oh, there he is."

Of course my head whipped around when she said that, in time to see him trotting onto the field. I wondered how he'd changed so fast.

"Where's Deb?" I asked, forcing my attention back to Bri.

"She couldn't come. She told us. Both of us, but I guess you didn't hear her. As usual. So," she continued, looking more closely at me, "were you two making out?"

"What?" I was sure I'd waited long enough that it wouldn't be obvious, but of course when she said that, I felt my face heat. I probably looked guilty as sin. Too late to deny it. "Um, not exactly. Just a, um, quick kiss for luck."

"Hey, I'm the last person to blame you," she said, throwing up her hands to stop my stammering. "I mean, who _wouldn't_ want to—" She broke off at the look on my face and shrugged. "Sorry."

I forced a smile, though I was still embarrassed—and a little irritated. "That's okay. We stopped for dinner on the way and it made us a few minutes late, I guess."

"Yeah, well, it's not like Coach Glazier will throw him off the team for it." Now I was sure there was a sour edge to her tone.

"It's not like he was late on purpose. And he did clear it with the coach ahead of time—coming separately, I mean."

"So you could ride with him?"

I stared at her. "Bri, what is up with you? Are you pissed about me riding with Rigel after all?"

Now it was her turn to blush. Red crept up her neck to her ears as she looked away from me. "Why would I be pissed? I think it's great that Rigel likes you."

"You're not acting like it."

"Sorry," she said again, though she didn't quite look at me. "I guess I'm just not in a great mood today."

"What's wrong?" I wanted to watch Rigel out on the field, but Bri was my friend and if she needed to talk, it was my duty to listen.

"It's just—nah, it's nothing. Just . . . PMS or something."

I frowned at her for a long moment, wondering if I should try harder to make her spill whatever it was, but she turned away to watch the players, so I gave up—for the moment. Besides, it meant I could turn my own attention to the field . . . and Rigel.

The pull I felt toward him was stronger than ever. In fact, it was nearly impossible for me _not_ to stare at him. I knew, intellectually, that should bother me, but somehow it didn't. I just feasted my eyes on him with pure pleasure, enjoying the way he moved. A little sigh escaped me when the coach called them off the field before the start of the game. Unfortunately, Bri heard it.

"I'm starting to worry about you, Marsha," she said, again with that edge in her voice. "I mean, I know Rigel is your first boyfriend and all, but it's like he's got you hypnotized or something. You're not acting like yourself at all lately."

I had to stifle an urge to laugh. Not myself? If only she knew! But of course I couldn't tell her anything I'd learned. Probably ever. That thought suddenly sucked all the humor out of the situation. Would I ever be able to have close friends again? Non-Martian friends, anyway?

"Sorry," I said, after too long a pause. "I know I've been kind of wrapped up in him. It's, well . . ." I chose my words carefully. "This is all so new, so different." That was definitely true, in more ways than one.

"Yeah, I guess." She half turned her shoulder to me. "I wouldn't know."

So that was it. Bri was jealous. Maybe not about Rigel specifically, but that I had a boyfriend and she didn't. Not something I could fix, unfortunately.

Before I could think of anything to say that wouldn't sound patronizing, the whistle blew and the game started. I was relieved, then immediately felt guilty for that relief. Bri had been my best friend for most of my life. If I was somehow making her unhappy, I should want to do something about it, shouldn't I? Even if I didn't know what I could do.

That worry dimmed my pleasure in watching Rigel, for a few minutes, anyway. But soon I pretty much forgot everything except the amazingness of his playing. He'd been right, I realized. He really was having his best game ever. Even Bri couldn't hold onto her snit in her excitement over how well our team was doing with Rigel at the helm.

"What a pass!" she exclaimed at one point. "Did you see how he threaded it between those two defenders to land it right in Jaworski's hands? And he made it look so easy. He's playing even better than he did last week!"

I couldn't disagree. I wondered if that "good luck" kiss had made the difference. Was that cheating? And . . . should I feel used? But remembering his look, the tone of his voice, I couldn't believe he'd kissed me just to improve his game.

"Our receivers seem to be doing better, too," I said, mostly to take Bri's focus off Rigel.

"Yeah, they are," she agreed, "though I think it's mostly because Rigel's figured out how to compensate for them. He's not throwing as hard this game—though he's still throwing plenty long. I don't know quite how he does it, but it's definitely working."

At halftime, Jewel was ahead by ten points, something Bri claimed hadn't happened in years.

"I really think we might win tonight," she said excitedly when the whistle blew. "And if we do, we're bound to beat Alexandria next week. What a great party there'll be, if that happens! Oh, hey, can you swing an invite for me? And Deb, if she can get out of the house?"

I blinked at her in confusion. "Invite? To what?"

"The after party," she explained with a "duh" expression. "There's one after every home game, but when we lose, it's just the players and their girlfriends. Where will it be next week, do you know?"

I shook my head. "I didn't even know they had parties. Wouldn't your dad know?"

She gave me a pained, patient look. "Like he'd tell me, even if he did? The _coaches_ don't go—it's not official or anything. But Deb and I were thinking you could get us in—and maybe set us up with a couple of the players?"

"My aunt would never let me go to a party that late," I reminded her. "And . . . I haven't gotten to know any of the other players."

"But you've been going to practices and stuff. You have to be talking to them."

"Two practices. And no, I really haven't." Unwillingly, I remembered Bryce Farmer. "Just Rigel."

"So I guess it's true. You really are out of our league now that you're dating the hot quarterback." Now she wasn't even trying to hide her sour tone. "Lunches in the courtyard, riding his bus home. Now you're all that, you're embarrassed to introduce his teammates to your best friends. Or maybe I should say _ex_ best friends."

I gaped at her, but before I could think of anything to say, she stood up.

"I'm getting a Coke." She stalked off to the concession stand. And she didn't come back. Instead, she went down and stood behind the Jaguar bench, near her dad.

I stared at her back, tears prickling behind my eyelids, trying to figure out what I'd done to make her so mad. All I'd done was tell the truth—but it obviously wasn't what she wanted to hear. Should I have fudged and made some kind of half promise that I'd try to get her a date with one of the football players? Maybe. But then she'd have expected me to follow through, and I had no clue how to do that.

"Fine," I muttered. If she didn't want to be my friend unless I could get her a football player for a boyfriend, then she wasn't really much of a friend anyway. At least, that's what I told myself.

I was glad when the game started again a couple minutes later. When I could watch Rigel, I could block everything else out.

Almost everything.

I couldn't help noticing when Trina broke away from the other cheerleaders between cheers to go say something to Bri, down on the sidelines. They both turned to look up at me and then Trina laughed and said something else before skipping back to the squad. I didn't know what it was, but it made Bri glare at me for several long seconds before she went back to watching the game.

Whatever it was, I'd fix it later, I promised myself as my eyes automatically snapped back to Rigel—just in time to see him run the ball down the field for another touchdown.

Bri's prediction was right—we did win the game, and by a resounding 33-17. The visitor stands went wild, of course, since it was our first win in almost two years. I saw Bri jumping up and down on the sidelines and thought this might be a good time to go talk to her, while she was in such a good mood. It took some effort to squeeze past the students and parents celebrating in the stands, but I made my way through the happy crowd and down to the field.

Then I saw Rigel coming toward me with a huge grin and all thoughts of Bri went right out of my head. I sped up, almost against my will, like a scrap of metal drawn to a powerful magnet.

"You did it!" I cried as we met on the track. "You won!"

Before I had time to think, he grabbed me and swung me around in a tight bear hug. "I couldn't have done it without you," he murmured in my ear as he set me back down.

I wasn't sure I believed that, but it was still wonderful to hear. Almost as wonderful as that unexpected hug had been. Belatedly, I became aware of the crowd around us, all eager to congratulate Rigel on the amazing game he'd played.

And then I remembered Bri.

Reluctantly, I let some of the other Jewel fans have their chance to talk to Rigel and turned to look for her—only to see her staring at me from several yards away. I smiled and waved as I started toward her, but before I'd taken three steps, she suddenly whirled around and headed for the parking lot.

I stopped, hurt all over again. She'd definitely seen me, and just as clearly didn't want to talk to me. It looked like I was going to have to chase her down and force her to listen, even though I didn't know what I'd say.

"Where are you going?" Rigel asked from behind me. "Mom and Dad are over here." He draped an arm over my shoulders as he gestured to where they stood with the coaches and some other parents.

At his touch, nearly every other thought left my head—as always. But I managed to focus long enough to say, "It's Bri. She's mad at me and I thought I should try—"

"What's she mad about?"

I shrugged, since there was no way I was telling him the truth. "Just girl stuff."

He gave my shoulders a little squeeze. "You can call her tomorrow. Come on." He led me back to his admiring throng.

Normally I would have felt hugely out of place surrounded by cheerleaders and football players and other super-cool types, but with Rigel's arm still around me, I felt only the tiniest bit awkward. Everyone was raving about him, patting him on the back, saying it was the best quarterbacking they'd ever seen. A couple of the players smiled at me, but none of the cheerleaders did. Not that that surprised me.

"C'mon, Rige, you gotta ride the bus home," David Jaworski yelled over to him. "It's gonna be a party all the way!"

"Yeah," said Michael Best, another sophomore player. "It won't be half as fun without our star QB. We need our miracle man to help us celebrate."

Heather, the head cheerleader—a gorgeous brunette senior—joined in. "He's right, Rigel. We'll be on the bus, too, and you _know_ cheerleaders know how to party."

There was a shrill chorus of agreement from the rest of the squad. Trina gave me a mean smile, then whispered something to Bryce Farmer, making him laugh. It made me wonder again what she'd said to Bri earlier.

But Rigel shook his head. "Sorry, guys, can't, but you all have fun. You all did a great job out there. And so did you," he added to the cheerleaders. "You kept us motivated."

There was a flurry of protests, but he just smiled and steered me back toward his parents.

"You can take the bus if you want to," I told him with what I thought was admirable selflessness. "You deserve to celebrate with the team after that game."

He grinned down at me. "You really wouldn't mind me partying with the cheerleaders all the way back to Jewel?"

"Okay, I might mind a little," I admitted. "But it's not like I have any right to—"

"Hey." He stopped me with a little squeeze. "You do have a right. I hereby give you the right to mind. But I really don't want to go with them, anyway. All that—" He tilted his head in the direction of the hilarity still going on behind us— "is a little too over the top for me. Not my style. Anyway, I'd much rather be with you."

My heart turned over at the look in his eyes. I still didn't get—at _all_ —how I could matter so much to somebody like Rigel, but I loved that I did.

"Thanks," I managed, just as we reached his parents.

"Ready to go?" his mom asked. "I thought we'd stop for ice cream on the way back, and I know Marsha's aunt and uncle won't want her out too late."

"That was a great game, son," his dad said as we all headed toward the parking lot. "You're an even better player than I realized. We won't have to worry about college tuition, if you keep this up."

Rigel squeezed my shoulders again and I knew it was his way of giving me part of the credit.

"We're very proud of you," his mother added. "We noticed that you've figured out how to pull back a little so you don't overwhelm your receivers."

"Yeah, I, uh, worked on that at practice all this week." Rigel gave me a little half-wink.

I kept my smile mostly to myself, not sure if he wanted his parents to know about the role I was apparently playing in his improvement.

When we reached the car, Rigel threw his helmet, jersey and pads into the trunk, toweled off, then slipped on a fresh t-shirt before sliding into the back seat next to me. Even more than last week, I was hyper aware of him. Of course, he was sweaty, making him harder to ignore, but I didn't think that was the main reason. My heart kept doing little dances every time I relived that wonderful kiss before the game.

But I was determined to find out more about the whole Martian thing—about myself—before we reached home. I didn't know when I'd have another chance to ask questions that maybe only the Stuarts knew the answers to. They were still discussing the game as we left Springdale and turned onto the state road that would take us back to Jewel. I didn't participate much, trying to screw up my courage to ask the question that mattered most to me.

About fifteen minutes out, Mr. Stuart pulled into a custard stand just off the main road and we all went up to the counter to order. We sat at one of the little stone tables to eat our ice cream, the three of them still talking football.

I had just taken the first bite of my hot fudge sundae with mint-chip ice cream when there was a lull in the conversation. No one else was nearby, so I grabbed the opportunity and blurted out, "What do you know about . . . my parents? My real parents?"

Before answering, Rigel's parents looked at each other—for so long that I was sure they were reading each other's thoughts again. Finally, his mother turned to me, her expression so kind, so concerned, that I braced myself for yet another shock, though I had no clue what it might be.

"We weren't sure we should tell you this yet, Marsha—we were going to wait until Shim—Rigel's grandfather—got here. You've already had so much to absorb today."

I felt my heart, my breathing, speed up. They _did_ know! "Tell me. Please!"

She nodded slowly. "Since you've asked us directly, I think we must. You'll need to know before long, anyway."

"I think she'll be fine with this," Rigel said, putting a hand on my arm, calming me.

I put my hand over his and squeezed it in gratitude. "Please?" I said to his mother.

"Your parents were . . . very important people on Mars," she told me. "In fact—"

"In fact," his father interrupted, "they were two of the _most_ important people on Mars, before they came to Earth."

I looked from one of them to the other. "I don't understand."

"Earlier today, I mentioned the political situation on Mars," Mr. Stuart said. "To give you a bit of background, ours has been a remarkably peaceful society, by human standards. Part of the reason is that an aversion to violence—and specifically to killing—was genetically programmed into us by our alien, ah, abductors, all those centuries ago."

"But things have changed now?" I ventured.

"More than I believe most Martians realize," he replied. "Though it may sound odd to someone raised in the United States, we've had a functional monarchy for our entire recorded history. One reason it was successful was that the, ah, royal class was originally chosen from the most intelligent, most talented leaders among us, and those characteristics have persisted through countless generations."

He was right. It did sound strange that such an advanced people would have something as backward-seeming as a monarchy.

"And?"

"Your ice cream is melting, dear," Dr. Stuart gently reminded me.

I took a few quick bites, barely tasting it even though it was my favorite. "And?" I asked again.

Mr. Stuart smiled at my eagerness, but it was a sad smile. "A few decades ago, a particularly charismatic man named Faxon began fomenting unrest, bringing charges of elitism—among other things—against the Royal class. Over the years, discontent grew, carefully nurtured by Faxon and his agitators, until there was an active uprising and, finally, a coup. The monarchy was overthrown."

Though I still didn't see what this could possibly have to do with me, I was caught up in the story. "What did the deposed king—was he called a king?—do?"

"The nearest English translation is 'Sovereign.' He called for a referendum of the people to decide the matter, as was our custom when any general disputes arose. But that wasn't good enough for Faxon. He and his followers stormed the Royal Palace and took our Sovereign and his wife captive, then assumed the powers of government, claiming popular acclamation."

He paused and I noticed that both of Rigel's parents looked unhappy. Clearly, their sympathies had been with the Sovereign.

"But . . . you were already here on Earth when all this happened, weren't you?"

Rigel's mother nodded. "We're able to get fairly regular news from Mars, though we've had to take more precautions to mask our communications in recent decades."

I supposed that made sense, given their advanced technology.

"I still don't understand," I said when neither of them continued the story. "What does all of this have to do with my . . . my parents?"

Dr. Stuart sighed, her expression troubled. "Your grandfather, Leontine, was our last Sovereign before the uprising," she said. "Your father, Mikal, was his heir. On the advice of the Council, he left for Earth when things started to get ugly—with his wife and their infant daughter. You."

"Wait." My mind hadn't quite caught up with what she was saying. "You mean—?"

"Yes, Marsha." She put a hand over mine on the stone tabletop. "You are the direct heir to the Martian throne."

## 13

# Stress-energy tensor

MY WORLD HAD been knocked askew several times over the past couple of days, but now it tilted even further on its axis. Surely there must be hidden cameras somewhere? Though I'd nearly managed to accept that I was Martian in origin, the idea that I might really, truly be a Martian _princess_ was just too outlandish.

"But . . . didn't you just say there isn't a throne anymore? I mean, if the monarchy was overthrown, that means I'm just—" _Just a regular person after all_. Well, a regular person from _Mars_ , but still.

"You're not 'just' anything, Marsha." Mr. Stuart's voice was unexpectedly stern. "For countless generations, we've looked to the royal family, and particularly the Sovereigns, for leadership. The respect, the reverence, our people have for that office and the person holding it is deeply ingrained. A mere dozen or so years under an upstart despot hasn't changed that."

Shaken, I looked to Rigel for confirmation—or a return to sanity. "They're . . . they're really not kidding?"

Slowly, he shook his head. I thought his eyes held a touch of sadness, which seemed strange. "They're really not. That's why it was _so_ important to find you. I'm not much on the politics, but my folks say there's still a lot of resistance to the new leaders."

"Yes," Dr. Stuart said. "And it's growing. The new regime is growing more and more oppressive and even some of its most ardent original supporters are becoming disillusioned, wondering if they made a mistake."

"Which they did," Rigel's father said forcefully. He obviously had very strong feelings about all of this.

But to me, it sounded more and more like a dream—or maybe a science fiction novel. Shying away from the whole politics/royalty thing, I focused on the part I really cared about. "So . . . what exactly happened to my grandfather?"

There was another one of those speaking silences between Rigel's parents before his mother answered. "Though we Martians, as a people, are nonviolent, I'm afraid—"

Mr. Stuart interrupted her. "Those now in power have found a way to overcome our natural—and adaptive—aversion to killing. I'm ashamed to claim them as brethren."

"Are . . . are you saying that my grandfather was . . . murdered?" Their bleak expressions answered me. I felt a sudden sense of loss that surprised me, given that I'd never known him—or even known of his existence until a few minutes ago.

"And what about my parents?" I almost whispered the words.

Dr. Stuart took my hand again, with a reassuring squeeze. "We have no reason to believe their deaths were anything more than an unfortunate accident."

"How?" Somehow, it was important that I know this.

"An automobile accident," Mr. Stuart told me, his voice gentler than I'd yet heard it. "Their car went off an embankment into a river and they were drowned. At the time, it was assumed that you drowned with them. But then, just a few years ago, my father came across evidence that you had survived and set us on our search."

I was both relieved and saddened to know the truth. All my life I'd made up stories about what had happened to my parents, from the mundane to the bizarre. I was glad it was closer to the mundane. I opened my mouth to ask about the evidence he'd mentioned when Dr. Stuart let go of my hand with a start.

"Oh, goodness, look at the time!" she exclaimed. "We need to get going immediately if we're to keep Marsha from getting into trouble at home."

I glanced down at my sundae, but it was just brownish-green soup. I had no appetite now, anyway. We all stood and I tossed it into the nearest trash can without regret.

"You okay?" Rigel murmured to me as we got back into the car, just as he had earlier that day in his kitchen, right after I'd learned I was from Mars.

"Yeah. At least . . . I think so. I'm probably going to have really weird dreams tonight, though."

But then, remembering what a big part he'd been playing in my dreams lately, I lapsed into embarrassed silence. No way I wanted him to know _that_. Even if I thought maybe he wouldn't mind.

More and more questions kept occurring to me on the drive back. At one point, I asked, "Do all the other Earth Martians, um, _Echtrans_ , know about me?"

But instead of answering, Rigel's dad said, "My father called during the game and said that he'll be flying in on Sunday. Why don't we wait until he gets here to go into any further explanations. He's much better equipped to answer your questions than we are."

I wanted to ask why, but something in his tone—or maybe just my own cowardice—kept me from doing so. Instead I asked another question that had only just occurred to me.

"What is my real name? Do you know?"

It was Rigel who answered me, to my surprise. "Emileia," he said with a smile that made my heart thump.

"Emileia?" I repeated, pronouncing it like he had, rhyming with Himalaya. I liked it. Way better than Marsha.

He spelled it for me. "So M works really well as a nickname," he added. We both laughed over that.

All too soon, we pulled up in front of my house. I was vividly reminded of last Friday, when the Stuarts had driven me home from the first game of the year. Was it really only a week ago? My whole world had changed irrevocably since then.

As he had last week, Rigel walked me to the door. All the way up the short walk I tried to prepare myself for a goodnight kiss, and for the disappointment if I didn't get one. After all, his parents were right there in the car—

The front door swung open just as we reached the porch, dashing any chance whatsoever.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Aunt Theresa demanded.

Rigel spoke up before I could, which was really brave of him. "I apologize, Mrs. Truitt. We won the game, so my parents stopped for ice cream on the way home to celebrate."

She frowned up at him—even though she was a step above us in the doorway, he was still taller than she was. "Why are you bringing her home at all?" she asked. "I thought—"

"Um, Bri and I kind of had a fight," I jumped in, before she could finish. "It would have been super awkward to ride home with her, so Rigel and his folks offered me a ride again."

My aunt looked suspiciously from me to Rigel and back, while I sent a pleading glance his way so he wouldn't contradict me. Finally she harrumphed, but to my relief, she didn't ask any more questions.

"You'd best get to bed, missy," was all she said. Then, grudgingly, to Rigel, "Please thank your parents for bringing her home."

"Yes, ma'am, I will." He gave me a quick smile of sympathy and a wink that she didn't see, and headed back to the car.

I'd have stayed on the porch to wave, but Aunt Theresa herded me into the house immediately and closed the door. I braced myself for the lecture I knew was coming. She didn't disappoint me.

"Didn't I warn you about your infatuation with that quarterback?" she began. "It's past eleven-thirty. A boy doesn't bring a girl home that late if he respects her."

I pointed out that his parents were driving, not Rigel, but of course she already knew that. And it didn't matter.

"You should have tried harder to patch up your little spat with Brianna. There are too many ways a girl can get into trouble these days," she continued, at which point I pretty much tuned her out.

As her tirade went on, I started to feel a weird sense of disorientation. Barely an hour ago, I'd learned that I was a very important person—royalty!—to a whole civilization, and here I was being chastised like a child by a woman who wasn't even related to me. The thought made me stand a little taller, helped me distance myself even more from the hurtful things my aunt was saying.

I didn't try to defend myself. After all, I _had_ basically lied to her, even if she didn't know it, so I wasn't exactly blameless. Instead, I told myself that nobly enduring my suffering would only make me stronger. And that maybe I would need that strength in the days, the years, to come, if everything the Stuarts had told me was true.

With no protests from me to fuel her, Aunt Theresa ran out of steam more quickly than usual. "Just go to bed," she finished. "And see you make wiser decisions in the future."

I nodded—regally, like the wronged princess I was—and headed to my room without another word.

For the next two hours I lay awake, thinking over every single thing the Stuarts had told me that day—and all the things they hadn't. It seemed like I'd barely scratched the surface of all there was to know about Mars and about myself, but they'd promised to tell me more once Rigel's grandfather got here. I just hoped Aunt Theresa wouldn't forbid me to see Rigel outside of school, or anything.

The thought first panicked me, then made me giggle. Just as I had while she'd been scolding me earlier, I reminded myself that I was heir to a throne. I didn't have to answer to her whims anymore. At least, not if I could break a lifetime of habit.

I expected to have wild dreams, but when I finally did fall asleep, I never dreamed at all.

* * *

The next morning, though, I did wonder if I'd dreamed everything from the day before when Aunt Theresa rousted me out of bed early so I could get the lawn mowed before it rained.

I snarfed down a bowl of cereal and headed outside, finding it harder and harder to believe yesterday's revelations could have been real. But if it _hadn't_ happened, if it had just been an extra-realistic dream, I didn't have any alternate memories of the day—so it probably had. Probably. I wouldn't feel _completely_ sure until I talked to Rigel again.

As I restarted the mower for the fifth time—it was old, and the rain earlier this week had made the grass thicker than usual—I wondered when the glamorous part of being a princess would kick in. An hour later, slogging to taekwondo in the rain, I decided it couldn't be soon enough.

I made a real effort to focus in class this time, remembering that I might need to be strong someday. Paying attention made a surprising difference. Some of my kicks were better than even the black belts' and I had the best session of sparring I'd ever achieved, keeping my older, red belt opponent on the defensive the whole time. Again, Master Parker made a point of complimenting me after class, and I couldn't help feeling like I deserved it.

On the way home I rehearsed in my head what I was going to say to Bri when I called her. She'd way overreacted, of course, but I would be magnanimous and apologize anyway. I _had_ been neglecting my friends ever since, well, Rigel. And they'd been really supportive, what with the makeover, and making up excuses to leave us alone at lunchtime. I was being a bad friend.

With that firmly in mind, I went straight to the phone when I got home and dialed Bri's number. Her mom answered.

"Hi, Mrs. Morrison, it's M. Is Bri there?"

"Hello, Marsha. Just a minute." There was a pause, during which I could hear Bri's voice in the background, then her mother came back on the line. "I'm afraid she's not here right now," she said, her voice now sounding stilted. "I'll tell her you called."

For a second I was tempted to say I knew Bri was there and demand to talk to her, but I chickened out. Flat contradicting a parent was more than I was up to, though I was surprised Bri's mom would actually lie for her.

"Um, okay, thanks," I finally said, after an awkward pause. "Bye."

I hung up the phone, deflated. I couldn't believe Bri was still pissed at me for not offering to set her and Deb up with football players. I'd been sure that once she cooled down, she'd realize how unreasonable that was. Deep down, though, I knew there was more to it than that. Still, if she wasn't willing to talk to me, there wasn't much I could do about it.

With a sigh, I went upstairs to shower and do my homework.

Late that afternoon, my aunt and uncle left to go to a big flea market in Kokomo. I was just as glad they didn't ask me to come, since I knew it would mainly be quilting booths for Aunt Theresa and fishing lures and weird collectibles for Uncle Louie. Plus, this would give me lots of time to do online research without worrying someone might look over my shoulder.

About a minute after their car pulled out, I headed to the computer, only to be stopped by the phone. Had Bri decided to let me grovel after all? I hurried to answer.

It was Rigel. "Hey, M. Can you talk for a few minutes now?"

Though my heart automatically thudded at the sound of his voice, I couldn't help thinking his timing was a little suspicious. "Yeah, I can. But . . . you knew that, didn't you?"

His warm chuckle sent delightful little shivers through me. "Okay, yeah. I'm on my cell, and I just saw your aunt and uncle leave."

"You mean you've been watching my house all day?" I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"No! Well, not all day. I had some stuff to do in town this afternoon and sort of wandered past once or twice, that's all. And I saw their car turn down Diamond a minute ago, heading out of town."

"Then you're not going all stalker on me?" I teased. "That's good to know." Except I wasn't totally positive I'd have minded. "Can you come over, then?"

There was a pause on the other end, then he said, "I'd better not. Especially after you, ah, fudged to your aunt about going to the game with me last night."

Oops. "You, um, caught that, huh?"

"It was kind of obvious. So why did you feel like you had to lie to your aunt? Doesn't she like me?"

"It's not that." I struggled to explain in a way that wouldn't insult him—or make me sound like too much of a loser. "She's just . . . protective. She doesn't want me to get hurt."

"I don't want you to get hurt, either. Or in trouble, if I can help it. I did ask if they were okay with you coming over and all, and you said they were." There was a hint of accusation in his voice, and I totally deserved it.

"I know. I'm sorry. I was just so excited, and I didn't want to risk—"

He interrupted me. "Hey, it's okay. But I really want you to feel like you can trust me. With anything." The sudden tenderness in his voice made me melt on the spot.

"I do. I mean . . . thanks."

"So," he said, suddenly businesslike. "The real reason I called. My folks want to invite you to dinner Monday night—to meet my grandfather and a couple other people."

That sounded intimidating. "Other people?" I asked cautiously.

"Friends or, I guess, colleagues of his. That's what my dad said, anyway. Don't worry, nothing scary, I promise." Again, it was like he knew just what I was feeling.

"I'll have to ask. My aunt—"

"Yeah." There was a thoughtful pause. "Maybe my mom should call her. Think she'd prefer that?"

I was pretty sure she wouldn't like that, either, but it probably had a better chance of a yes than me asking. "She is kind of old fashioned." Huge understatement! "That might work."

"Okay, I'll talk to my folks, then. Oops, looks like my order is ready. Talk to you soon!"

"Bye." As I hung up, I realized he hadn't said a word about all the bizarre stuff his parents had told me last night. After spending the next several minutes going over every word of our conversation in my head, I suddenly remembered what I'd been about to do and went to the computer.

For the next three and a half hours I Googled every permutation of "humans on Mars" and "Martians on Earth" I could think of, along with "Martian colony," "Martian politics" and even "lost Martian princess" and "Princess Emileia." Like before, ninety percent of what I found was fictional and the other ten percent looked like the blogs and websites of crazy people with wild conspiracy theories. None of it bore the slightest resemblance to anything the Stuarts had told me.

Next I tried to research "genetic engineering," but the most plausible stuff was way too technical for me to understand and the less technical stuff was either about the Nazis or again either sci-fi or conspiracy ramblings.

Finally, I gave it up. My eyes were starting to ache and it sounded like more thunderstorms were rolling in. Plus, my aunt and uncle would be back soon. With a frustrated sigh, I purged the browser cache, deleted all cookies to be extra safe, and shut down the computer. I tried calling Bri again, but this time the machine answered. I wondered if they were really out or if she'd talked her parents into screening their calls.

"Hey, Bri, it's M," I said after the recording. "I'm really, really sorry about last night. Call me so I can apologize properly, okay?" I waited a few seconds just in case she was standing by the phone listening, but no one picked up.

My aunt and uncle came home shortly after that, with Chinese takeout for dinner. Sweet and sour pork wasn't one of my favorites, but I ate it without complaining, not wanting to do anything that could possibly antagonize Aunt Theresa before Rigel's mom called.

All evening I was tense, waiting for the phone to ring. When it finally did, at a quarter past nine, I held my breath as Uncle Louie answered, but it was only one of his friends calling to talk about fishing plans for next weekend.

By ten, it was obvious she wasn't going to call tonight, so I excused myself and went to bed, disappointed and grumpy—and wondering again whether I really _had_ imagined all the Martian princess stuff from the night before. Maybe I just wanted to believe in my fantasy so badly I'd hallucinated it.

I started to think back over every detail from Friday again to reassure myself, but before I got past the ionic sterilizer, the sound of rain on the roof lulled me to sleep.

* * *

The next day was as bright and sunny as the day before had been gloomy—at least, the weather was. My mood, not so much. But then I remembered that Rigel and his parents had come to our church last Sunday, which meant they might be there again today. That perked me up a little and, after spending more time than usual deciding what to wear to church, I went down to breakfast in a slightly more hopeful frame of mind.

Sitting in our usual pew with Uncle Louie an hour later, I couldn't help darting anxious glances toward the door. I knew it was silly—and kind of pathetic—but I felt an actual physical longing to see Rigel again and hoped I wouldn't have to wait until tomorrow at school. Even my unobservant uncle noticed my preoccupation.

"What has you so jumpy?" he asked when I looked over my shoulder for the dozenth time.

"I, um, just hate sitting still, indoors, on such a nice day," I improvised. After that, I forced myself to keep my eyes forward, though I didn't relax.

I felt him before I saw him—like last week, only stronger. The moment I felt that now-familiar tug, I relaxed a little. It was all true. It must be. And he was here.

Of course I had to peek, just to be positive, and sure enough, there he was, coming up the center aisle with his parents. This time, instead of sitting on the opposite side of the sanctuary, they joined us in our pew with whispered greetings. Rigel sat beside me, with his parents on his other side. Again, I felt something inside me shift and settle, almost like I was completed by his nearness.

"Everything okay?" he whispered, his eyes holding mine for a long, delicious moment.

"Fine," I replied, silently adding, _now_. I wished I could touch him, just brush his hand with mine, but since it was church and Uncle Louie and his parents were right there, I didn't dare. I was going to have a hard enough time trying to pay attention when the service started as it was.

Aunt Theresa filed in with the choir and I watched her eyebrows practically disappear into her hairline when she saw the Stuarts sitting with us. She frowned then, but only for a second, because the music started and she had to sing. I hoped she wouldn't say anything to embarrass me when she joined us later.

Usually I enjoyed the music, but today I couldn't seem to focus on it very well, even when the congregation was singing along. I felt really self-conscious with Rigel standing next to me, especially when I noticed that he had an excellent singing voice. Mine was nothing special, so I sang much more quietly, partly so I could listen to him—and to his parents, who also had very good voices.

That got me wondering about why they attended church at all, and what kind of religion people on Mars might have, if any. It was a fascinating line of speculation, and made me miss most of the sermon—not that that was anything new. I frequently daydreamed in church. It had always been less likely to get me in trouble with my aunt than fidgeting.

Though she'd shot a suspicious glance toward the Stuarts when she joined us in the pew just before the sermon, Aunt Theresa's old-fashioned courtesy forced her to smile a greeting before sitting down. That reassured me a little, but when the service ended and we all rose to leave, I was suddenly nervous again.

Dr. Stuart spoke before Aunt Theresa could. "It's so nice to see you all again," she said, with what sounded like genuine warmth. "Such a lovely little church. The people are so friendly."

What could my aunt say to that, except, "We're glad to have you here"? Which she did, though her tone could have been more welcoming.

"Oh, that reminds me," Dr. Stuart continued, smiling even more warmly. "We're having a few friends for dinner tomorrow night and Rigel would like Marsha to join us, if that will be all right with you? We won't keep her late, I promise."

Aunt Theresa primmed up her mouth, clearly trying to think of some reason to refuse, but Uncle Louie came to my rescue again.

"Well, that's really nice of you folks," he said. "That'll be fine, won't it, Theresa?"

At that point, she'd have needed a really good excuse to contradict him without sounding rude. So, since she didn't have an excuse and wouldn't dream of being out-and-out rude in church, she gave a stiff little nod.

"Of course. You're very kind. Would you like her to bring anything?"

Dr. Stuart shook her head. "Just herself."

We all said our good-byes, but a moment later the choir director came over to say something to Aunt Theresa, so I snatched the chance for some private conversation with Rigel.

"Your mom handled that perfectly," I told him quietly. "Thank her for me, okay?"

He grinned. "I'll thank her for myself. But yeah, she's good at that kind of thing. It should help—" He broke off, like he'd almost said more than he meant to.

There wasn't time to cajole him into explaining, unfortunately, so I just asked, "When does your grandfather get here?"

"Late this afternoon—in time for dinner, my dad said."

"So . . . do you know who all he's bringing with him yet?"

He hesitated, making me think he wasn't going to answer—and then he couldn't, because my aunt and uncle joined us. I grumbled, but only to myself, and managed a fairly cheerful parting smile.

* * *

Monday morning I woke up with a sense of anticipation bordering on dread. Bri had never returned my call, so I still had that problem to deal with, plus whatever awaited me at Rigel's house tonight.

No sense borrowing trouble, I told myself as I boarded the bus. Dinner might be great—a whole new group of people I could relate to. Like the family I'd never had. I tried to keep that positive attitude as Bri and Deb got on the bus a few minutes later. I put on a bright smile and waved, scooting over to make room on my seat. "Hey, guys!"

But Bri walked right past me, not even making eye contact. I couldn't believe it. I looked up at Deb, who was behind her. "Deb?"

She paused, looking uncertainly at me, then at Brianna's retreating back, then at me again. Then she shrugged and mouthed, "Sorry," and followed Bri to a seat further back.

A few people followed Trina's lead and tittered, but no one said anything. I stared out the window, trying to pretend I didn't care, that I hadn't even noticed, but my eyes were stinging with unshed tears. I blinked and bit my lip, determined not to cry. I would _not_ give Trina—or Bri— that satisfaction.

It felt weird, in a terrible way, to lump those two together: my nemesis and my best friend. To avoid thinking about it, I tried to go back to worrying about dinner at Rigel's tonight, but it was hard to work up the same apprehension I'd had before. It was like I couldn't hold all those conflicting emotions at once. Still, it distracted me enough that I didn't cry.

I tried again as we all got off the bus, standing up right in front of Bri so she couldn't ignore me—or at least, couldn't get past me.

"Bri, I apologized. What else do you want me to do?" I asked her, point blank.

She had to stop, but she didn't have to look me in the eye, and she didn't. "Nothing, Marsha. I don't expect anything from you. You made it pretty clear I shouldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Hey, who's blocking the aisle?" came a boy's voice from further back.

Reluctantly, I started moving toward the door, glancing back at Bri, waiting for her answer. But the second we were off the bus, she hurried into the school without another word to me. Deb did look back at me once, but followed Bri inside. Grumbling with frustration, I went to my locker, then to class.

"Hey," Rigel greeted me when I got to Geometry. He was leaning against the wall, just inside the door and his gorgeousness—and the soothing tingle I always got from his presence—made me momentarily forget my issues with Bri.

"Hey," I responded. Last week, it would have sounded lame, like I couldn't think of anything better, but now it just felt normal. Comfortable. Much better.

But then I noticed a tightness in his expression.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking. You look nice." His eyes were approving now, as he glanced at my dark green broomstick skirt and yellow eyelet top. But I couldn't help feeling like he was being evasive.

"Thanks. You're sure everything's okay?"

Now he shrugged, which I considered almost an admission. "Yeah, I guess. You're still good for tonight, right?"

I nodded, eyeing him uncertainly. "Any reason I wouldn't be?"

"No, no, just making sure. Oops, there's the bell," he added unnecessarily, since I'd obviously heard it, too.

Clearly he didn't want to talk any more right now, so with a last, confused frown at him, I headed for my seat. Whatever was bothering him, I'd make him tell me at lunch.

Right now, I'd use this chance to confront Debbi.

"So what's the deal?" I asked as I sat down. "What horrible thing does Bri say I did?"

She gave a little shrug, not quite looking at me. "Look, I really don't want to be in the middle of this. Don't make me take sides, okay?"

"I'm not asking you to. I just want to know what she's saying."

Again, that half shrug. "She just . . . thinks you're acting kind of stuck up now that you're with Rigel. Her feelings are hurt, that's all. Give her a little time to—"

"Stuck up?" I hissed, outraged. "What have I said or done that was stuck up? She wanted me to set you guys up with football players, and I don't know any! And then she—"

"Miss Truitt, would you like to teach class today?" Mr. Benning's acid tone made me suddenly realize class had started and I was the only one talking.

I gulped and slumped down in my seat. "No, sir," I said meekly. "Sorry."

Giving me one last quelling glance, he turned around and started the lesson, leaving me fuming silently about Bri. Stuck up? How dared she? She knew me better than that. _She_ was the one giving _me_ the silent treatment, which meant _she_ was the one acting all stuck up! And I'd tell her so, the first chance I got.

But I didn't get a chance. Not in English, where she waited until the bell was ringing to hurry straight to her seat. And not at lunch, where she and Deb went to sit with some girls from the chorus without even stopping at our usual table. I nearly followed her, but chickened out. I didn't want to confront her in front of a crowd.

Besides, I needed to figure out what was going on with Rigel. He wasn't avoiding me, exactly, but he seemed . . . guarded around me, like he was afraid of saying or doing something he shouldn't. I'd been half afraid he'd come up with some reason not to sit with me at lunch, but to my relief, he didn't.

Frustrated by Bri's behavior as well as Rigel's, I set down my tray with a thump. "Okay, what's up? You're acting really weird today."

Like he'd already done a couple of times today, he just shrugged, not quite meeting my eye. "Everything's fine."

"It's not. You're not acting like yourself at all," I insisted. "Am I scheduled for execution tonight, and you're not allowed to tell me?"

His beautiful hazel eyes snapped to mine, both stunning and stunned. "What? Of course not! Why would you say something like that?"

"At least I got you to look at me. Come on, Rigel. Tell me what's going on."

To my relief, his lips twitched. Which surely meant it couldn't be _that_ bad. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just worried I've . . . well, tried to push things too fast. Push you too fast."

I tensed. I wasn't sure I could take it if he was going to apologize _again_ for kissing me. "What do you mean? I haven't felt pushed. At all."

"It's just—" He glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot "—you've had so much thrown at you so fast. I feel like maybe I've taken advantage of that. Of you. Of the confusion you must be feeling about all this."

"I don't feel taken advantage of, either." I didn't untense. Was he about to break things off, after practically declaring us a couple on Friday?

Now his look was pleading, which scared me even more. "I like you, M. A lot. But that might not be . . . I mean, I might . . . we might be reading more into this, um, connection we have than we should."

Even though his words confirmed my fears, I jutted out my chin stubbornly. "Are you saying you don't think we have something special between us? Because I don't believe you."

"That's not—" He broke off, shaking his head. "This is why I didn't want to talk about it yet. I'm not sure exactly what I mean. Just wait until after you've talked to my grandfather tonight. He'll be able to explain it better. I hope."

Those last two words were spoken so low, I wasn't sure I was supposed to hear them. He looked so unhappy now, I felt an instinctive need to cheer him up.

"Hey, it's okay, really," I said, forcing a heartiness I didn't feel into my voice. "I know how families can be. They've got their own ideas about what's good for us, no matter how wrong they might be. I mean, my aunt isn't exactly thrilled about me seeing you, either." I let that last bit turn into a question.

To my relief, he smiled—really smiled. "True. I guess maybe it's not all that different. Anyway, let's not worry about it before we have to, okay?"

"Deal," I agreed. But though I smiled back, I was more nervous about tonight than ever.

## 14

# Coronal attributes

THE REST OF the day seemed to pass at super speed, right when I needed more time to prepare myself for whatever lay ahead at Rigel's that night. Bri and Deb continued to give me the cold shoulder—Deb a little apologetically—and Rigel continued to act more formally toward me than he had last week. All of which gave me plenty to worry about, but not enough time to think.

I wasn't staying after for football practice, since I didn't want to give Aunt Theresa any excuse to change her mind about dinner at the Stuarts'. Plus, Rigel mentioned on the way to History that he thought just having me there once or twice a week would be enough to help him compensate for my presence at the games. I tried to tell myself he was being considerate, so I wouldn't get into trouble.

When I reached the bus after school, I was cranky enough to welcome the chance to confront Bri again about what a brat she was being. She and Deb were ahead of me, and of course they sat together, but I surprised myself almost as much as I surprised them by sitting right behind them—next to jerk-face Bobby Jeeter, of all people.

"Okay, Bri, give," I said, before the bus even started moving. "You've been treating me like I have a disease or something ever since Friday night. There's got to be more to this than a party invite."

For several long seconds, she didn't say anything, didn't even act like she'd heard me. But then she whipped around to lean on the back of her seat, facing me. _Glaring_ at me.

"Oh, don't play innocent, Marsha," she said. "I know what you've been saying behind my back. Just because you're dating the _quarterback_ doesn't mean you're better than me, you know."

I blinked, honestly confused. "What? I haven't said _anything_ behind your back. What are you talking about?"

She flicked a quick glance at Deb, then at Bobby next to me, before answering. "About not needing to hang with losers anymore?"

"Bri, I would never say anything like that! Ever. But . . . I'll bet I know who told you I did," I added, remembering something from Friday night.

The fact that she wouldn't look at me, and that her cheeks went suddenly pink, confirmed my guess.

"Seriously, Bri?" I asked, and she reluctantly—guiltily—met my eyes, but only for a second. "You really believed something _Trina_ of all people would say?"

She gave a little shrug, looking down now. "She said she heard you. Then she and Nicole were talking about it, like everybody knew. And you _had_ been—"

"I'd been ignoring you and . . . stuff." I didn't need to give Bobby Jeeter any extra fuel for gossip. "I know. And I _am_ sorry about that. But come on, like I'd talk bad about you to Trina? Or talk to her at all?"

She shrugged again. "She _said_ she overheard you, but . . . yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry. Oh, our stop. I'll, um, call you later, M, okay?" she said, getting to her feet and heading to the front of the bus without another glance my way.

"Okay. Later," I said, still not sure she believed me. "Bye."

"Bye, M," Deb said over her shoulder, looking relieved.

Not until they were off the bus did I remember I wasn't going to be home most of the evening. I hoped Bri would call before I left for Rigel's or after I got back, since I really didn't want to explain it to her.

"So, Marsh," said Bobby Jeeter as the bus lurched forward again. "Lookin' good these days."

"What?" I glanced at him, startled—and distrustful. "Um, thanks?"

His smile looked genuine, but it couldn't undo all the years of him being obnoxious. "Just sayin'. Y'know, if the thing with Stuart doesn't work out . . ." He let that hang there. So did I, glad mine was the next stop.

I didn't say goodbye.

Once home, I dove right into my homework, determined to finish it before five-thirty, when Rigel's mom was supposed to pick me up. When my aunt got home an hour later, I was nearly done.

"I don't suppose you've sorted your laundry?" she asked me, by way of greeting.

"Um, not yet, but I'll do it before I leave," I said, closing my history book and opening my French. "Did you have a nice day today?"

"I suppose." She gave me a long, speculative look, then went upstairs to her room.

I wondered what she suspected me of now. I knew she didn't approve of me going to Rigel's tonight, but she _had_ given her permission, and I didn't think she'd go back on that—unless I gave her an excuse. Which I definitely wouldn't, no matter how nervous I was.

Five-thirty arrived sooner than I expected, somehow. I was still looking for my other seashell earring—I'd decided at the last minute that those were more sophisticated than the daisies I'd been wearing all day—when Aunt Theresa called up the stairs that Dr. Stuart was in the drive.

I hurtled down the stairs to the front door, the just-found earring in my hand. "I'll see you later tonight," I said to my aunt, yanking open the door before Dr. Stuart rang the bell. "Hi!" I greeted her.

"Hello, Marsha," she said, looking only the slightest bit startled at my abrupt appearance. "Are you ready?"

I swallowed and closed the door behind me. "I hope so."

"You're nervous." It wasn't a question. "Please don't be. Tonight is just a formality. Everything will be fine, I promise."

A formality? "Um, just what _is_ happening tonight?" Now I had visions of some kind of tribunal, with me in the spotlight.

She opened the passenger door of the car for me, then went around to the driver's side and got in before answering. "There are a few people, including Rigel's grandfather, who want to meet you. They're understandably . . . interested . . . to hear your story. If you need a break, just give me a nod. I won't let them do anything to make you uncomfortable."

That was obviously impossible, since I was _already_ uncomfortable just thinking about it. But she was trying to be kind and I appreciated that, so I changed the subject.

"Do Rigel and his grandfather, um, get along? He seemed a little, I don't know, preoccupied at school today."

She glanced at me as she pulled away from the curb, but so quickly that I couldn't decipher her expression. "They've been fairly close in the past. At least, I thought so. But as Rigel gets older, I suppose such relationships are bound to change."

It wasn't really an answer, but I couldn't think how to pursue it without sounding nosy. Besides, in a few minutes I'd be able to draw my own conclusions. We made the rest of the drive in near silence.

"Here we are," she said unnecessarily as we pulled to a stop in their long driveway, next to a large gray van. Was it my imagination, or was she a little nervous herself?

I felt my palms sweating as we approached the front door, though I didn't know exactly why. Dr. Stuart opened the door and stood back to let me enter first, calling out, "We're here!" before ushering me through an archway on the left.

The living room was large but cozy, with a sofa, loveseat and several overstuffed chairs, along with several antique-looking tables—and a whole lot of people. I counted seven as they all leaped to their feet, five men and two women. I was pretty sure seven qualified as "several" rather than "a few." Mr. Stuart, the only one I recognized, came forward.

"Welcome, Marsha," he said. A couple of the strangers—the taller woman and one of the older men—flinched visibly. "Let me introduce you to everyone."

Before he'd even finished speaking, the smaller woman hurried forward, both hands outstretched. She was shorter than I was, maybe five feet tall, and clearly older than the Stuarts, with curly reddish-gray hair and crinkles around her eyes and mouth. She looked about sixty, but since Martians lived so long, I figured she could easily be twice that.

"No introduction is necessary for _me_ ," she cried. "Princess Emileia is the very image of her mother—but with her grandfather's eyes. My dear _Banfriansa_. . . Excellency . . . this is _such_ a tremendous honor!" She paused to sink into a deep curtsey. "I never thought I would live to see the day . . . that is—"

"Nara," snapped the taller woman, her voice surprisingly deep. She looked maybe fiftyish in Earth years. "I thought we were agreed that the tests would be performed before—"

"Oh, but just _look_ at her, Kyna! Feel her _brath._ How can you doubt it?" The little woman, Nara, looked back and forth between us, her expression radiant.

"This is Nara Gilroy," Mr. Stuart said. "Nara is a pediatrician, microbiologist and specialist in childhood diseases. She was well acquainted with your grandmother back on Mars."

Though I appreciated her effusive welcome, my smile was completely forced. _Tests!?_ No one had said anything about tests! And where was Rigel?

"Kyna is right, Nara," said the older man who had flinched when I first came in. Moderately tall, with a squarish face and salt-and-pepper hair, he had an air of authority about him. "While it's clear the girl is of Martian blood, we can't allow ourselves to be swayed by emotion."

He turned to me then, practically dissecting me with his pale, blue-green eyes before he bowed. "Allister Adair, ranking Royal member of the _Echtran_ Council. No disrespect intended, your—ah—Miss Truitt, but we must be sure."

"Sure?" I echoed, growing more confused by the second. Ranking Royal? _Echtran_ Council? What did that mean?

Now the tallest—and oldest—man in the room stepped forward. "You must forgive my colleagues, Marsha. They are understandably skeptical, though hopeful, as we all are." His voice was deep, resonant and pleasant.

He crossed the room with a measured, deliberate pace, studying me as he approached. He was an imposing man, completely apart from his height, with a sweeping shock of pure white hair above a long, deeply lined, aristocratic face. His eyes, the same clear gray as Mr. Stuart's, seemed almost supernaturally intelligent—or maybe that was just my inferiority complex. I felt like a silly child under his knowing gaze.

But then he extended a hand and smiled, and the smile transformed his face into something kindly, wise . . . and utterly trustworthy. I found myself smiling in return, my momentary panic subsiding.

"Hello, Marsha." His voice calmed me as well. "I am Shim Stuart, Rigel's grandfather. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last."

"The . . . the pleasure is mine," I stammered, shaking his hand. The tingle was similar to what I felt when Dr. Stuart touched me—in other words, about a tenth of what Rigel created.

His smile deepened and my nervousness lessened further. Though he looked at least seventy—easily the oldest-looking person in the room—he was amazingly charismatic. "I doubt that, but thank you."

I had to think back to what I'd just said to make his words make sense.

"Please, have a seat." He released my hand to gesture toward the biggest, most comfortable-looking chair in the room and my nervousness immediately flooded back.

"M!" Rigel's voice came from behind me and I turned to him with intense relief. He gave me a quick, reassuring smile, then frowned at the others. "I asked you not to start before I joined you."

His hair was still damp from the shower and I had to restrain myself from too-obviously inhaling his unique scent.

"Young man, I told you that we would proceed as we think best," said the man who had introduced himself as Allister Adair. He frowned at the Stuarts, who stood together near the doorway. "Are you certain—?"

"Yes." Dr. Stuart's voice was definite. "She'll be much more comfortable if Rigel is here for this."

Mr. Adair raised a skeptical eyebrow but didn't argue.

My nervousness began to border on panic, and it was all I could do not to reach for Rigel's hand. I desperately needed the courage I knew his touch would give me. But after what he'd said earlier and the way he'd been acting today, I didn't dare, especially in front of everyone.

"Marsha?" Shim motioned again to the chair.

Trying not to look as scared as I felt, I moved to the big chair and sat down, half expecting shackles to materialize. They didn't. Rigel took a step toward me, but his father put a hand on his shoulder, restraining him. Still, knowing he wanted to be closer to me made me feel a little better.

"So, what is this all about?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

One of the other men now stood. He was the youngest one in the room, except for Rigel and me—he looked about twenty, though of course with Martians there was no knowing. Whip thin, he was shorter than the other men, about Kyna's height, with carefully combed sandy hair. I tried to control my instinctive dislike.

"Certain claims have been put forth," he said. His voice was thin, too, and higher than I expected. "We are here to verify them—or not."

"Claims?" I assumed he meant the royal lineage the Stuarts said I possessed. With a fortifying glance at Rigel, I lifted my chin. "And you are?"

The haughtiness in my tone seemed to startle him almost as much as it startled me. "Flynn. Flynn Kellen. Genetics researcher at the World Health Organization here on Earth, and member of one of the leading scientific families on Mars." There was a grudging deference in his tone that hadn't been there before.

"A colleague of mine," Shim clarified. "He is here at Allister's request to help with any, ah, tests that might be necessary."

Again with the tests! I sent another panicked glance toward Rigel. His lips were pressed together in a thin, angry line that didn't reassure me at all.

" _I_ need no tests," declared the little woman, Nara. "I'm perfectly satisfied of her lineage." Then, to me, "As far as I'm concerned, my dear, you are my born Sovereign and I will treat you as such."

Though her exaggerated deference made me feel really, really strange, I was also grateful for her support, so I managed another smile. "Uh, thanks . . . Nara."

To my acute embarrassment, she rose again and sank into another deep curtsey before sitting back down.

"Can we please get on with it?" the other woman, Kyna, said testily. "I'd like to know whether leaving my research at such a critical juncture was justified."

"Kyna Nuallan is one of NASA's leading astrophysicists," Rigel's father explained in an undertone.

I was about to ask if most of the top scientists on Earth were really Martians, but Shim spoke again.

"We'd first like to ask you a few questions, Marsha." I swallowed at the word _first_. "I understand that you were adopted at an early age, correct?" I nodded. "Please tell us everything you remember from your earliest childhood."

"Um . . ." I gulped, trying to marshal my thoughts. "I don't remember a whole lot, actually." Again I glanced at Rigel, remembering our first conversation in the cafeteria. He gave me a little nod, which reassured me. A little. So, with a lot of embarrassing pauses and stammering, I told them basically what I'd told him, about being adopted, then orphaned again, then raised by my aunt and uncle.

"So you remember nothing—nothing at all—about your birth parents?" Allister asked, even though I'd already said that.

I shook my head, wondering why it should matter so much. "I wasn't quite two when they, um, died. So, no."

Now the only man who hadn't yet spoken leaned forward in his chair. "And yet, from what Ariel Stuart tells us, you seem to have retained some vestiges of memory, though you apparently didn't realize it."

"This is Bain Quinlan, a NASA psychiatrist," Shim informed me. "He is fully qualified to evaluate certain qualities considered necessary for sovereignty."

"Qualities?" I looked to Rigel and his parents in confusion.

His mother stepped forward. "But not before dinner," she said firmly. "And I won't have Marsha questioned over her meal, either. That can wait. She has had multiple shocks these past few days and I won't have her upset further—particularly on an empty stomach. Come along into the dining room, everyone, Marsha."

She put a hand on my shoulder and I was grateful, not only for her words but for the faint echo of Rigel's calm that flowed through me at her touch.

As we all moved toward the dining room, Rigel stepped to my side, which calmed me further, though I noticed he was very careful not to actually touch me. On impulse, I moved closer to him—only to have him move the exact same distance away from me.

"What?" I whispered.

He looked at me with those amazing eyes and gave his head a small shake. "Not now," he muttered, for my ears alone. "I'll explain later."

## 15

# Hypothesis verification

DINNER WAS DELICIOUS—baked salmon with apricot glaze, asparagus, and tiny red potoatoes—but super awkward, especially at first.

Rigel started to sit next to me at the long table, but Allister Adair cleared his throat and he paused. Shim motioned Rigel further down the table, then sat next to me himself. Dr. Stuart sat on my other side before Allister could, to my relief. There was something about the way he watched me that made me nervous.

Nara sat right across from me and kept smiling and bobbing her head every time I looked her way. That kind of weirded me out, so I tried to avoid her eye. Also Kyna's, since she still looked critical. Flynn and Bain both seemed to be analyzing me like I was some kind of curiosity. So I mostly kept my eyes on my plate.

At first no one seemed to know what to talk about, since Dr. Stuart had forbidden them to question me over dinner—which made me feel like I shouldn't ask questions, either. But then Rigel's dad asked Shim something about the political situation back on Mars. Shim answered, then Kyna offered an opinion, and soon everyone except Rigel and me began to weigh in on the subject. I didn't understand a fraction of it, but it was fascinating all the same—when I listened.

"Faxon has postponed elections again," Mr. Stuart said at one point. "He claims to need more time to recruit polling inspectors, but no one believes that excuse."

"Isn't this the third time they've been postponed?" Nara asked.

"The fourth," Kyna said. "They're six years overdue now. The man is nothing but an _unbaen_ –a dictator," she clarified with a glance at me,"—at this point."

There was a lot more, stuff about eroding the rights of the people and military tribunals and how Faxon and his followers were able to overcome the genetic taboo against killing. They also talked about an underground resistance, and it sounded like everyone present had friends or family who were members. Allister mentioned a sister in the resistance who had been forced to emigrate to Earth less than a year ago to escape Faxon's purges.

He gave me another one of those odd, probing looks as he spoke and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Maybe he thought I should be voicing an opinion if I was really who the Stuarts claimed I was? But even though I knew this was all important stuff I should try to learn about, most of the political talk went right over my head.

Which meant I spent most of the meal trying to catch Rigel's eye further down the table without anyone else noticing—and not having much luck. When would I get that explanation he'd promised, and what was it? This whole not-touching thing was starting to bother me a lot more than I wanted to admit. I tried a little harder to listen to the conversation so I wouldn't have to think about it.

"Even if we knew how many followers Faxon has here on Earth," Shim was saying, "we have no way of identifying them. If we could, I'm confident we could persuade them to our cause. Especially now that—" He glanced at me and broke off.

"Can there possibly be more than a handful?" Nara sounded a little fearful. "Once here, away from any risk of reprisal from Faxon's guard, surely they would revert to a civilized way of thinking."

One or two of the others nodded, but Mr. Stuart looked skeptical. "Their families on Mars could still be at risk. I wouldn't be surprised if Faxon has a few hand-picked followers on Earth as spies, since he must know _Echtrans_ are in contact with the resistance back there. We're not nearly as careful as we should be. We've grown complacent in our relative safety here."

There was an uneasy murmur of agreement, then some speculation about who could and couldn't be trusted. Since I didn't know any of the names, my attention wandered back to Rigel.

Dessert was mint chocolate chip ice cream, and I was touched that Dr. Stuart obviously remembered it was my favorite from Friday night—and maybe that I hadn't had a chance to finish the dish I'd ordered then. This time I made a point of eating every bite, since I knew once the meal was over the interrogation would begin again.

Sure enough, the moment the last person—Rigel's dad—set down his spoon, Kyna said, "Now can we finally get back to the matter at hand?" She looked pointedly at me, then at Shim and Allister.

Dr. Stuart gave a little sigh. "Yes, I suppose we had better. We can have coffee and tea in the living room." She rose, squeezed my shoulder reassuringly, then went into the kitchen to get it while the rest of us filed out of the dining room.

I was last, hanging back in hopes of getting Rigel alone for a second or two so I could get at least a hint from him, but his grandfather ushered him out of the room ahead of me. I wondered if he'd guessed what I was trying to do.

A couple of minutes later, I was again seated in what I was coming to think of as the Inquisition Chair, with everyone else ranged around me, coffee cups in hand.

"Now, Miss, ah, Truitt." Allister, the one who intimidated me most, leaned forward. "You say you never had any suspicion that you were anything beyond a _Duchas_ , er, native Earthling until these past few weeks?"

I nodded.

"So you never experienced anything unusual, never had any . . . abilities beyond what the other children around you possessed?"

"Abilities?" I wondered what he was getting at. "Not unless you count the static electricity thing."

His brows went up. "Explain, please."

So I told him about how I fried computers and cell phones and watches. I didn't say anything about that jolt Rigel and I had given Bryce Farmer since I wasn't sure if that was something either of us were supposed to have done. I kept glancing at Rigel as I talked, hoping he'd give me some signal of what I should or shouldn't say, but with so many people watching, he really couldn't. So I played it safe.

When I finished, Allister nodded, though he didn't look completely satisfied. "Bain?" he said.

"Yes. Marsha—or may I call you Emileia?" Bain looked about Mr. Stuart's age and was nearly—though not quite—as handsome. His smile seemed genuine.

"Um, Marsha is fine, or M—that's what my closest friends call me." I shoved away an errant image of Bri.

He nodded. "M, then. How are your grades in school? Any special interests?"

So I talked a little about astronomy and the fact that I was in Honors English, and he seemed pleased that my grades were good. Next he asked several odd questions that seemed like some kind of personality test, then about my life with my aunt and uncle—how they treated me, what my chores were, what our house was like. I couldn't imagine how any of this was important, but I answered everything truthfully.

After half an hour of this, I could see one or two of the others shifting impatiently in their seats. Finally, Kyna spoke up.

"Is all of this really necessary, Bain? We could be here all night while you dance around the edges of things. Clearly she is of Martian ancestry, is of approximately the right age, and seems mentally balanced. What we need is irrefutable genetic proof."

"No!" Rigel stood as he spoke, startling me with his sudden forcefulness. "M, you don't have to let them—"

"Young man," Allister snapped, "if you want to remain, you will control yourself."

But Dr. Stuart stood, too. "Rigel is right, Allister. At her age, the traditional test is out of the question—nor is it necessary. We have far less invasive methods now."

I was really starting to get scared now, but Shim unexpectedly backed her up. "I agree. A standard hair follicle test will tell us unequivocally what we need to know. The ritual, if you still feel it is necessary in this day and age, can be performed once she is an adult."

Allister was frowning, clearly not convinced. "If we're counting on this girl—assuming she proves to be the Sovereign—to galvanize the resistance, our case will be far stronger if we can certify that she has passed the _traditional_ test. That will bring the staunch royalists on board in a way nothing else could, as well as having a better chance of swaying the skeptics."

To my dismay, some of the others were nodding in agreement, though Nara commented in a half-whisper, "If the other Royals on the Council hadn't made excuses not to come tonight, they wouldn't _be_ skeptics!"

Finally, though he didn't look happy about it, Shim nodded as well. "You make a valid point, Allister. It would strengthen our position and reassure the _entire_ Council." He glanced at Nara. "But by requiring such a thing of a child, do we not risk lowering ourselves to Faxon's level? It has been a dozen generations since a minor was asked to undergo the ritual. At that time we didn't have the technology we have now."

I couldn't take it anymore. Before they could begin arguing again, I spoke up, a little more loudly than I intended. "Excuse me, but just what _is_ this ritual? Can you at least tell me that?"

Shim looked startled, but then he smiled. "Of course. I was forgetting that you wouldn't know. Though we can now map a complete genome in moments with a skin cell or a hair follicle, in times past we could only do so by drawing blood—something we haven't had to resort to for generations. It is, however, still a tradition that each new Sovereign be certified the, ah, old-fashioned way."

"In front of qualified witnesses," Allister added. "In this case, a four member majority of the _Echtran_ Council, as well as two highly ranked _Echtran_ scientists." Then, leaning toward me with a more kindly expression than I'd yet seen him wear, he asked, "Your . . . M, would you be willing to have a small amount of blood drawn for a genetic test?"

Nara made an outraged hiss and Rigel's parents looked upset, but I nearly collapsed with relief. I'd been expecting something much, much worse.

"Oh. Um, sure. That is, I don't mind."

Allister reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, elaborately enameled metal case, which he handed to Flynn. I tensed again when Flynn opened the case and took out a syringe—not a regular, modern syringe, but an enormous, old-fashioned thing that looked like it came from some mad scientist's lab.

"Is that the actual _foare rioga_ from Mars?" asked Mr. Stuart with evident surprise. "How do you come to have it here, Allister?"

"As my family has long been tasked with verifying the bloodline of the Sovereign, I took the precaution of bringing it with me when I left Mars."

The others seemed impressed, but all I could do was stare at that wicked needle. It had to be nearly three inches long!

"Good thinking," Kyna murmured. "Faxon's goons would probably have destroyed it, had they found it."

"My thoughts exactly," Allister agreed. "Shall we begin, then?"

With a quick nod, Flynn came toward me. Why did it have to be him?

Dr. Stuart must have noticed my uneasiness, because she quickly came forward. "If you'll allow me? She knows me better."

To my relief, Flynn handed her the syringe without argument. Even using that antique pig-sticker, I didn't think Rigel's mother would hurt me—much.

But as I held out my arm to her, everyone else moved to form a circle around us. Rigel still looked upset, but the others just looked expectant. Then the chanting began.

_" Fuil an thiarna, foaru. Finné anois tabhair ar fad saol rioga. Tastail ionachta go deo."_

Everybody but Rigel said the words together—even Dr. Stuart muttered them as she took a tiny device from her pocket to shine a purple light on the inside of my elbow and then on the needle—I assumed to sterilize them. Though her expression was still kind and her touch was calming, the weird chanting gave me goosebumps. __ What, exactly, had I agreed to?

The chanting stopped and she inserted the tip of the needle, drew out a tiny bit of blood, used the purple light on my arm again and it was over. I'd barely felt a thing.

"Thank you, Marsha," she said. "That was very brave."

I couldn't see what the big deal was—I'd had shots that hurt more—but I smiled at her, wishing there were some way to let her know how grateful I was that she cared. Then I looked over at Rigel, and he was smiling too. He caught my eye and gave me a cheerful thumbs-up that made me almost giddy. Everything was going to be fine.

"Now, Flynn," Dr. Stuart said, handing him the syringe.

Flynn held the syringe up for all to see and Allister intoned—there was no other word for it—"I call you all as witnesses that this is the lifeblood of she who claims Sovereignty. In full view of both Royal and Scientific representatives of the _Echtran_ Council, we perform this test to determine whether she is of the true lineage, genetically predestined to lead our people in peace, in wisdom and in kindness."

" _Finné muid anois._ We so witness," they all answered together. I could see tears in Nara's eyes as she spoke the words.

With a flourish, Flynn injected the blood sample into a complicated little gizmo in the case and pressed a button. It hummed faintly and tiny green and yellow lights flashed on and off repeatedly on one end of the box. Everyone waited tensely.

I knew from TV crime shows that our own labs would take at least a few days to get any kind of genetic results from blood. But Dr. Stuart had barely finished refilling everyone's coffee cups when the gizmo beeped and Flynn made a little "ah" noise.

"Well?" Allister asked him impatiently.

He held up the little silver box, which now displayed a single white light. He had an odd look on his face—relieved, but not what I'd call happy. "She is exactly who we'd hoped—the daughter of Mikal, son of Leontine, and his wife Galena."

"I knew it!" Nara exclaimed, her tears overflowing as she smiled from ear to ear. "It was obvious the moment I saw her. And such bravery, at such a young age!"

They were all talking at once now, sounding both excited and relieved. Kyna, who had been so curt and reserved before, actually grinned at me.

"I'm so sorry I doubted, Excellency," she exclaimed. "You can have no idea what a relief . . . how important this is to everyone, what it will mean for both Mars and—" She broke off abruptly with a glance at Shim, who I saw had raised a warning eyebrow. "That is, we're all very happy," she concluded.

"We are indeed," Shim said quickly. "We do apologize for putting you through this, Excellency, but we had to be sure. Now, we are." He rose and bowed deeply to me his right fist against his chest. Everyone else did the same.

It was all I could do to keep my mouth from falling open. Shim was easily the most impressive person I'd ever met, and he was bowing to _me?_ It seemed so backward.

"I don't get it," I said. "If all you needed was a blood test, why didn't we do that as soon as I got here tonight?" It definitely would have made for a less stressful evening!

Everyone in the room stared at me, various degrees of shock on their faces.

"Oh, but my dear," Nara began, bobbing up and down.

Shim silenced her with a wave. "Again, we forget you have none of the cultural traditions —taboos, if you will— that we take for granted. Are you aware that among Martians, the taking of human life is our greatest prohibition?"

"Yes. The Stuarts told me about that." Though if that taboo really worked, I'd still have grandparents, and maybe even parents, of my own.

"I assume they did not tell you that the prohibition extends to the taking of blood. Blood is tied so closely to life that, even though we are now more scientifically advanced—especially by Earth standards—we still cannot easily overcome our ingrained aversion to spilling it, even for legitimate medical reasons. Because of that, we have gone to great lengths to develop medical tests that do not require removing blood from the body. On Mars, it is so rarely necessary today as to be almost unheard of."

"Except in the case of verifying lineage for each new Sovereign," Allister said. "The ritual you have undergone here tonight has proven indisputably that you possess that lineage. It was necessary."

"Not necessary to all of us," Nara declared staunchly, making me smile. I was really starting to like her, even if she did gush. "My dear, I wish you could understand what it means to me—what it will mean to everyone—that we've found you after all of this time, after believing the ruling line of the Royal class was extinct. It's . . . it's . . ." She gestured with her hands but seemed unable to put her feelings into words.

"An enormous boon to the resistance, at the very least," Kyna finished for her, her expression as approving of me now as it had been skeptical before. "You will be a symbol of hope to them, Excellency. Something to energize them and to focus their efforts."

"Yes!" Nara agreed enthusiastically. "We must get word out at once! The Council can use MARSTAR to notify all _Echtrans,_ while sending—"

Panicked, I put up both hands, stopping her. "Wait! I don't want to be a . . . a symbol. And I'm definitely no political leader! I'm only a sophomore in high school. And I don't know _anything_ about . . . well, Martian history and politics and stuff."

Dr. Stuart put a hand on my shoulder. "She's right. We're moving much too quickly. Though we need to begin planning our next steps, surely there's no need to disrupt Marsha's— Emileia's —life immediately. As she says, she is only fifteen, too young to assume the throne even if all obstacles were removed. She needs to get used to the idea, to be allowed to grow into whatever role she may eventually take."

"I agree," Shim said. "She will have much to learn over the years to come, but as a youth, her normal development should still be permitted. Right now, the most important thing is that she remain safe." He swiveled around, looking seriously at each person in the room, in turn. "That completely rules out MARSTAR. In fact, those of us here must speak of this to no one whose loyalty we cannot trust absolutely. For the truth to be known prematurely could be disastrous in more ways than even I can imagine."

"Agreed," Kyna said, though now she was frowning. "But Shim, you can't seriously mean to leave her here in this unprotected little hamlet, now that her identity is proved? As you say, her safety is paramount. We must relocate her at once to a place where she can be properly guarded."

"I agree," Allister said firmly. "As the one Royal representative of the Council present, I consider myself personally responsible for the Sovereign's safety. Appropriate measures must be taken immediately."

There was a murmur of agreement from a couple of the others. My panic, which had subsided for a moment, surged back in full force. Relocate me? And safe from what, exactly? Before I could ask, Shim put up a hand.

"We can work out such details later," he said. Allister started to sputter a protest, but Shim silenced him with a glance, then turned to me with a kindly smile. "If it should become necessary for you to take any sort of active role, my dear, we will of course let you know, but I don't anticipate that happening just yet."

Relief flooded through me, and I saw Rigel relax visibly as well. Allister looked like he had more he wanted to say, but he didn't dare interrupt Shim.

"Of course," Shim added, "I must caution you not to speak of this to anyone else. I presume none of your, ah, non-Martian friends have any suspicions?"

I shook my head emphatically. "Of course not! They'd just think I was crazy. I definitely won't tell them, or my aunt or uncle, either."

He smiled again and, as before, the contagious warmth of it reassured me. "Good. It is important that you do nothing to draw attention to yourself. Should your existence become generally known, there are those who might seek you for . . . less than benevolent reasons."

Before I could ask what he meant, Dr. Stuart spoke. "We should get you home. I did promise your aunt that we wouldn't keep you late, as it's a school night."

A glance at the antique clock on the mantel showed it was a quarter to nine. Had I really been here more than three hours? I nodded and stood.

"It . . . it was nice meeting you all," I said, the words sounding lame—inadequate—even as I spoke them.

As one, they all rose and bowed to me again, their right fists over their hearts, Rigel's parents included. Even Rigel inclined his head, and that bothered me even more than all these adults treating me like royalty—which definitely weirded me out.

Then they weirded me out even more by chanting, in unison, "Benevolent Sovereign, scion of Sovereigns, steer the future of our people."

At least, the grownups did. Rigel didn't, which was good, because it made me feel like I'd stumbled into some bizarre cult, with me at its center. Almost immediately, though, the weirdness dissipated as they all smiled and acted normal again, and Rigel's mom ushered me out of the room toward the front door.

Rigel came along, though I noticed Allister frowning after him.

I waited until we were out of the house to say, "Okay, so what was _that_ about? Because I'm not sure I've ever felt more awkward."

Dr. Stuart patted my arm. (Rigel, I noticed, still didn't touch me, though I needed it more than ever now.) "I'm sorry about that, dear. It's the traditional farewell to the Sovereign, and none of us _Echtrans_ have had occasion to use it for, well, decades, expatriates that we are. It was a way for us all to reconnect to our heritage. I'm sure it was a bit disconcerting for you, however."

"Um, yeah, a little." That was putting it mildly.

I was still feeling strange and disoriented as we got into the car, but then Rigel slid in next to me in the back and put his hand on mine—for the first time today—and suddenly I wasn't worried anymore. Tentatively, not sure whether this would last or not, I smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then he whispered, so low that I doubted even his mother could hear him, "I'll explain soon, I promise."

With his hand on mine, and that promise to cling to, I felt better than I had all evening.

* * *

They got me home just before nine, which meant Aunt Theresa didn't have any reason to complain. Still, her expression was sour when I greeted her.

"Your friend Brianna called," she informed me. "Twice."

"Oh, thanks." With all that had happened, I'd completely spaced our fight and tentative truce on the bus. "Can I call her back now?"

"I suppose," she said, looking pointedly at the clock on the stove. "Don't talk long."

Nodding, I quickly dialed Bri's number. It rang five times before she picked up, and I imagined her standing there, checking the caller ID and debating whether to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Bri, sorry I wasn't home when you called."

There was a brief silence. "Yeah, your aunt said you were over at Rigel's. You didn't say you'd made it to that stage yet."

"It happened after Friday, and you and I haven't exactly talked much since then," I reminded her. "But I don't know about 'stages.' His grandfather is visiting and Rigel wanted me to meet him, that's all." I felt terrible lying to her when I was trying to patch things up, but what choice did I have?

"All? That sounds pretty big to me," Bri said, some of the old excitement creeping back into her voice.

We talked for another ten minutes or so, and by the end of the conversation, I felt like we'd gotten at least partway back to being best friends. I hoped it would last, but after tonight's events, I was starting to realize that our friendship could never be what it was before. There were just too many things I couldn't tell her. That I couldn't tell anyone.

Ever.

## 16

# Conjunction

THE NEXT DAY at school, I was relieved when Rigel came right up to me before our first class, and even more relieved by his first words.

"Hey. Sorry about yesterday. I was . . . a little messed up in my head." The warmth of his smile was an even better apology than his words. I forgave him on the spot.

Still, I had to ask, "So when do I get that explanation you promised?"

He grinned—it was so good to see that grin again! "Any chance you can stay after school today?"

I nodded. "I told my aunt I had a project to work on in the media center. But you won't have much time to talk during practice, will you?"

Rigel lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "I'll manage something. Maybe we can talk some at lunch, too."

"Okay." I wished now I'd packed a lunch, but if he wanted to go to the courtyard, I'd gladly do without. Dumb, maybe, but true.

* * *

As it turned out, there really wasn't much chance to talk at lunch. Passing the courtyard on my way to the cafeteria, I saw some club was getting pictures taken there, so that was out. Then Bri and Deb actually sat with me for a change, so while I did have lunch with Rigel, we couldn't talk about anything private.

I made a real effort not to neglect my friends while we all ate, but it was harder than I expected. Every time Rigel spoke, my attention was irresistibly absorbed by him, like he was a gorgeous black hole or something. Even watching him eat was more interesting than the boring school gossip Deb and Bri were sharing, though I pretended otherwise.

"So, Trina and Bryce are back together," Bri said near the end of the period, with a pointed glance my way.

"Yeah," Rigel said before I could respond. "They were like this after practice yesterday." He held two fingers together. His tone was completely nonchalant and I didn't think he was faking it for my sake.

Obviously Bri and Deb noticed, too, since they both gave me what I assumed were supposed to be secret grins, though Rigel was sitting right there and had to see.

"Oh, I meant to ask," Bri said as we picked up our trays, "can you come to my house after school, M? My mom took me shopping in Kokomo Saturday and I've got a couple of new outfits. You guys can help me decide what goes with them."

Deb was clearly already on board with the plan, but I had to shake my head. No way was I giving up a chance to get those answers out of Rigel! Not to mention the chance of a little alone time with him, though I knew that was unlikely.

"I can't, sorry. I've really got to work on that science project I've let slide."

I half expected one or both of them to guess what I was really doing, but they let it pass without comments, or even knowing looks. I'd tell them later. Maybe. Depending on what happened.

* * *

As soon as the final bell rang, I hurried to my locker, glad I'd actually finished my science project yesterday before my aunt got home, just in case she asked about it later this evening. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Rigel leaning against my locker, looking more like a movie star or a fashion model than a high school student. How could I possibly be this lucky?

"I'll be quick," I said, throwing the books I didn't need into my locker. "Don't want to make you late for practice."

"No rush," he said with an impish smile that made my heart speed up even more. "I'm ditching."

I nearly dropped my history book—which would have hurt if it had hit my foot. "Really?"

"Sort of. I told Coach I had something really important to do and he let me off, since they're mainly doing tackle drills today."

"So, um, what are you doing instead?"

"You mean _we_ , don't you? C'mon." He offered his hand.

I shut my locker with a snap and took it without question. His touch felt so good, so _right_ , after yesterday's weirdness, I had no choice but to trust him completely.

He led me out the side entrance and then away from the school, out of sight from the stadium. I didn't see anything but cornfields ahead.

"I don't suppose you want to tell me where we're going?" I finally asked after we'd crossed a field and were actually threading our way between green rows of corn that reached well above our heads and limited visibility to a few feet in any direction.

The smile he threw over his shoulder was enigmatic. "Not far. A place we can talk without anyone hearing us, that's all."

I wanted to start asking questions now, but forced myself to wait. Less than ten minutes later, we emerged into a clearing no more than twenty feet across, with an enormous boulder in the center. Though we were screened by corn on every side, the little clearing was strewn with purple ironweed, goldenrod and other late wildflowers. In a couple of months the corn would all be stubble, the harvest complete, but for now, this spot was as secluded as the heart of a forest.

"It's beautiful," I said as he led me through the wildflowers to the boulder.

"I thought you might like it. I found it my first week here, before school started, but haven't had a chance to come back since."

We sat on the boulder in silence for a few minutes, still holding hands. I could have happily spent the rest of my life doing exactly that, but time was passing and I really wanted to hear whatever he had to tell me.

"So," I finally said. "You were going to tell me what was going on yesterday?"

Turning toward me, he took both of my hands in his and met my gaze. When he spoke, I had to concentrate on his words, it was so easy to lose myself in his gorgeous eyes.

"I really am sorry about that. It wasn't fair to you, especially after . . . well, after Friday night."

Did he mean all the revelations, or that amazing kiss? I didn't have the nerve to ask.

"Was it . . . something to do with your grandfather?" I asked instead.

He nodded. "Him and Allister. They talked a lot about how important you are, how you have this great destiny and everything. Allister, especially, went on and on about the alliances you'd need to form, stuff like that. He seemed kinda pissed that you and I were already friends—implied I'm not what you need, or that you're supposed to . . . I mean . . ."

I tightened my grip on his hands. "You're exactly what I need, Rigel. Don't you know that by now?"

"I do," he said. "Now." He leaned in and kissed me gently, incredibly.

I nearly lost myself in that kiss, but something niggled at my mind. Though it nearly killed me, I forced myself to pull away slightly.

"Wait. Do you mean they said this stuff about me _before_ last night? Before all those questions and the blood test and everything?"

He didn't let go of my hands, didn't stop looking into my eyes, so I had to work to focus on his answer. "Yeah. My grandfather, at least, seemed really sure from the start that you were exactly who we'd been looking for. That's why I—and my folks—didn't expect things to be as, well, awkward and difficult as they were last night. Obviously, he was right. But we had no idea Allister and the others would insist on that old ritual for proof."

"Hey, I can't blame them," I said, keeping my voice light, though the memory of my fear last night made it hard. "I mean, look at me. Not really 'Sovereign' material, am I?"

He did look at me, so intently it made my insides melt. "Seriously?" he said. "I was wondering how they couldn't tell instantly how special you are. Because it's incredibly obvious to me."

"It . . . it is?" I asked faintly, wanting to believe but not quite daring.

"Definitely. I'll admit I may be just a little bit biased, but I knew you were special the first time I saw you," he said, leaning down to nuzzle my earlobe.

But I wasn't that easy. "That's a load of crap," I told him, which made him snap upright to stare at me. He opened his mouth to protest, but I continued first. "You know darned well that first day in homeroom, you thought it was Trina, not me. She was all over you, and you definitely weren't doing anything to discourage her. You never even looked my way, even though I was sitting right behind you."

One corner of his mouth turned up. "Okay, you got me. But I did say the first time I _saw_ you. I was feeling those vibes— _your_ vibes—and then when Trina came on so strong . . ." He trailed off.

"And was so pretty, and popular, and sure of herself, and all the stuff you obviously _expected_ me to be?" I supplied.

"Okay, maybe for like half an hour. But by the time she and I got to Spanish class, I knew I had it wrong—and not just because I wasn't feeling your _brath_ anymore. She's so . . . well, I'd rather not think any Martians are like that."

I could have supplied a few adjectives for what he left out, but I didn't really need to. Trina just wasn't worth the trouble, she was so completely off my radar now. Now that I had Rigel.

"So when _did_ you figure out it was me?" I asked instead.

"In science class, when I heard you speak for the first time. This . . . feeling, kind of a shiver, went through me, and I just _knew_. What? Why are you laughing?"

"Because I felt the exact same thing the first time I heard your voice, in homeroom. When you were talking to Trina. Of course, I didn't have any clue what it meant—I just figured I was crushing on the gorgeous new quarterback and kept telling myself how pathetic I was."

He touched the tip of my chin, tilting my face up to his. "Not pathetic at all," he murmured before he kissed me again.

That distracted me for several glorious seconds, but the moment he let me think again, I came back to my questions. "Okay, that's when you guessed I was the Martian you were looking for. But what about the . . . _graell_ . . . the bonding thing?"

"I already told you that, didn't I?" He sounded surprised. "When I first touched you, out by the buses."

"And it freaked you out."

"Well, yeah, I was pretty freaked," he admitted. "Weren't you?"

"Sure, though not for the same reason, obviously. I mostly thought I'd thrown off some extra static charge and scared you away just when you were starting to talk to me." I smiled up at him. "I'm glad I didn't. Scare you away, that is."

He put an arm around my waist and pulled me closer against his side. "Never."

"You still haven't really explained why you were avoiding me yesterday," I reminded him. "Or why you don't want your family to know we've, um, bonded." It sounded so serious, like an engagement or something.

Rigel sighed, though he didn't release his hold on me. "Like I said, Allister and Grandfather were all about your destiny and stuff. My dad had talked about that, too, back when we first found you. I'm not sure you realize yet just how important you are. Not just to me, I mean, but to all the others, here and on Mars."

"So, um, you didn't want to tell your parents about our _graell_ because people like Allister won't approve? Because I'm the Sovereign?" It still sounded bizarre to say it out loud. "Would it really matter to your parents?"

Rigel's eyes held a shadow of that sadness I'd seen on Friday. "It might. It might matter to a lot of people."

I wanted to argue, but instead I just waited. After a moment he explained, haltingly.

"When I got home after the first day of school and told my parents I'd found you, I also mentioned how much stronger your _brath_ felt than any other Martian I'd met. They said it was probably because you were the first Martian girl my age I'd met. My mom explained that there are different degrees of _brath_ between people, from almost nothing to a strong attraction—like between my parents—to the legendary _graell_ , the bonding at first touch. My dad kind of laughed then, and made some comment about how much it would mess things up if _that_ happened."

"Mess things up?" I repeated, not liking the sound of that.

He nodded. "That's why that first jolt freaked me so much. I told my parents about it—I kind of had to, when I refused to go to school the next day." He looked sheepish so I squeezed his hand. "I was worried it was the _graell_ but they insisted it was impossible. That even if it used to happen hundreds of years ago, there hadn't been a documented case in generations. They said that even a gradual bond like theirs only happens to about one couple in a thousand, and never forms until they're in their twenties or even thirties. Sometimes older."

Though I nodded, I didn't interrupt. I couldn't—I was holding my breath.

"But they said it's not uncommon for teenage boys and girls—Martian ones, that is—to have a strong pull toward each other, and sometimes even a quick jolt when they very first touch. That it's sort of a way of checking each other out, genetically. It's why they—and my grandfather—thought I'd have the best chance of finding you. Anyway, after their explanation, I felt pretty stupid. So stupid I tried to avoid you the next day."

My earlier relief ebbed. "Then what makes you think—"

"Let me finish. Instead of going away, like the temporary teenage thing they described, this thing we have seems to be getting stronger and stronger."

I certainly couldn't deny that. It felt that way to me, too.

"Plus, while the more common resonance all Martians have might explain some things on your side, like your eyesight improving, it doesn't explain how I've changed. I mean, I've been around other Martians—my parents, at least—my whole life."

Though I loved the feel of him caressing my face, it was distracting and I really needed to think, so I put my hand over his, stopping him for a moment. "Changed? How have you changed? You mean playing football better?"

"That's just a symptom," he said. "A side effect. I've been testing myself. I'm stronger, faster, my reflexes are better, and sometimes it's like I know what someone is going to do—or even say—before it happens."

That last bit was a little disconcerting. "You mean you _can_ read minds?"

"No, not minds," he said to my relief. "It's more like a _deja vu_ thing in reverse, or an extra sense. It just gives me a split second to prepare, to react faster, or better."

I could definitely see how that might help on the football field. And maybe in the classroom, too.

"And then there was that lightning thing we did after practice last week, which nothing else could possibly explain. What we have between us _is_ different, M. It's not like my parents think. It's special. _Really_ special."

The relief I felt at his words was so intense that I realized I'd been trying to play it all down in my mind, to not hope too much, no matter how desperately I wanted to.

Rigel let go of one of my hands, but only so he could run the tip of one finger along the curve of my cheek. It made me _feel_ special. Cherished. "Don't you think it's special?"

"Well, of course," I said, not trying to hide my smile. "But then I would, wouldn't I? Still," I mused, thinking back, "other Martians have touched me—your mom, your grandfather, a couple of the others last night. And I do feel a little something, different from when a regular person like Bri or my aunt touches me, but nothing even close to what happens when you do." I pressed his hand closer to my face.

"See? That's what I mean. The difference between everyday _brath_ and the bond we have."

He leaned in for another kiss and this time I didn't pull away. I kept thinking I'd get used to the effect he had on me, but it seemed like every time he touched me and, even more, every time he kissed me, it was more intense. More overwhelming. More . . . wonderful.

Finally, we separated with a mutual sigh and I leaned my head on his shoulder. I didn't think I'd ever been so happy in my life.

"So, does this make us . . . official?" I felt shy as I asked it, even as comfortable as I was with him.

"Official?" I could hear the smile in his voice. "Like officially dating, you mean? I guess so—at school, anyway. Um, unless you don't want us to be?" I felt the hint of tension in him as he asked, and I giggled.

"Oh, right, like I wouldn't want everybody to know I'm dating the quarterback, the hottest guy in the whole school? You're kidding, right?"

He shrugged under my cheek. "It might make things a little awkward with your friends. And your aunt."

I pondered that for a moment. "Bri and Deb have already figured it out. As for Aunt Theresa . . . I don't think she needs to know _quite_ yet." I sat up so I could look at him. "If that's okay?"

"That's fine. Especially since I'd rather not tell my folks either, just yet."

"Because they won't approve."

I felt him tense again and it worried me. " _They_ might. But my grandfather, well . . . When my dad mentioned how close we're getting, he suggested we play it down around the others last night, especially Allister. And he warned me not to get too . . . invested, I think was his word. That we didn't know yet what sacrifices might have to be made. I didn't have the nerve to tell him I was already fully invested." He made it sound like an apology.

Reassured about his feelings and intentions, I tried to make him feel better. "Hey, your grandfather's a pretty intimidating guy. I don't blame you for that."

He gave me a little squeeze. "You don't know the half of it, believe me. I'm pretty sure he's the oldest Martian on Earth—my dad is his youngest son—and he's been kind of the unofficial leader of all the expats here for over a century. When I was little, he terrified me—even before I knew anything about Mars. Not that he was ever mean or anything," he hastened to add.

"No, I totally get it," I said, remembering my own first impression. "He's not the kind of man anyone says no to, is he?"

Rigel shook his head. "No one ever has, as far as I know. But Allister did argue with him a lot after you left, still wanting to hide you away somewhere. Not everyone agreed that you were better off here in Jewel."

I didn't like the sound of that, but I just asked, "So, what is that Royal representative thing, anyway? Is it like a political party?"

"I think so. Like I said, I'm not much on Martian politics, but I do know there are—or were—two political groups in the government, the Royalists and the Progressives, kind of like conservatives and liberals. This Allister guy is the ranking Royalist here on Earth, like their spokesman or something, and he's got Royal blood, too, I think. He was even more about your destiny and the good of the people and stuff than my grandfather was."

"But I don't have to do anything right away, right?" I was starting to get nervous again, despite Rigel's touch.

"No, Grandfather finally convinced them to leave you alone for now, that there's no immediate danger. Even if there was, nobody is in a better position than I am to make sure you're safe. And definitely nobody is more motivated. So no matter what anyone says, I'm sticking close to you."

Warmth flooded me, as much from the look that accompanied his words as the words themselves. "I'm glad," was all I had time to say before he was kissing me again, and then nothing else in the world, nothing the future might hold, mattered at all.

## 17

# Event horizon

THOUGH I WOULD have been happy to spend the rest of the day in our private clearing in the cornfield, Rigel eventually reminded me that we needed to get back to the school if we were going to catch the late buses. Still holding hands, we made our way back single file through the narrow rows of corn, then through the school to the waiting buses. Before I got on my bus, Rigel kissed me one last time—in full view of God and everybody.

As long as he was touching me I couldn't feel embarrassed, but when I got on the bus and saw all the stunned expressions, I felt myself flushing—especially when I realized I had bits of corn silk in my hair. I had to fight the urge to explain, to announce to the whole bus that all we'd done was kiss. Of course, that would only make the gossip worse. Besides, even though it was true, it _felt_ like more because everything with Rigel was so . . . _intense_.

Remembering that, my embarrassment faded and I was able to sink back into the happy glow my afternoon with him had created. Who cared what all these kids thought, anyway? I was a princess and Rigel . . . he was my prince, in every way that mattered.

* * *

That glow carried me through the rest of that week and all of the next. At school, Rigel and I were nearly inseparable, spending as much time as possible together between classes and at lunch. He sat next to me in English and convinced our History teacher to let him move next to me there, too, so we could work together on our midterm project. I prepared a series of excuses to stay after school, so even though Rigel couldn't skip football practice again, at least I could be nearby in the stands.

When the gossip made its inevitable rounds after our "tryst" in the cornfield, Bri dropped the last of her resentment to pump me for information, her bruised feelings no match for her thirst for romantic details.

"C'mon," she pleaded on the way to school a couple of days later—for the fourth or fifth time. "You _have_ to tell me what really happened Tuesday."

"How many times do I have to say it before you'll believe me?" I whispered. "We kissed. And talked. That's it."

"Yeah, but there's kissing . . . and then there's kissing," she whispered back. "How serious _was_ this makeout session? On a scale of one to ten?"

I had to laugh, even though I was getting pretty irritated by now. But since I could never share my _real_ secret with her, I gave in on this one.

"Okay, it was pretty serious, about as serious as I can imagine without going past kissing. Which we didn't. But wow, can Rigel ever kiss!"

If that hadn't been enough to earn Bri's forgiveness, the football players stopping by our lunch table on a regular basis definitely did the trick. Soon, she and Deb were on a flirting basis with half the team, which made them happy, which made me happy. Especially since it meant I could spend more time focused on Rigel without them feeling left out.

We decisively beat Alexandria at the home game Friday, and even though I wasn't allowed to go to the after party, Bri and Deb got invitations from some of the players, so all was well. I hoped. I couldn't help worrying just a little that this sudden popularity might cloud their judgment about boys and whatever went on at those parties.

Saturday, after chores and taekwondo, I offered to run some errands in town for my aunt and "accidentally" ran into Rigel at Dream Cream, on Diamond. We spent a blissful couple of hours eating ice cream, hanging out in Jewel's pretty little arboretum, talking, and pretending to window shop. I even remembered to pick up Aunt Theresa's quilting paper before walking home. Sunday we only saw each other at church, but that was still much better than nothing.

During our occasional opportunities to talk privately, like on Saturday, I found out more bits and pieces about my heritage and about the other _Echtrans_ , or Martian expatriates, on Earth. The Stuarts and I were the only ones in Jewel, but there were a few more in Indianapolis, and whole settlements scattered here and there around the world. Since the colonists tended to have Northern European coloring—it was believed the original "abduction" had been from Ireland or Scotland—most of the settlements were in North America and other English-speaking areas. The two largest settlements were in Montana and in Ireland, where there was a whole Martian village. I hoped I'd get a chance to visit it someday.

Spending time with Rigel every single day was addictive. Far from desensitizing me to the zing between us, our resonance seemed to get stronger and stronger the more we were together—and I didn't mind a bit. He didn't seem to mind either.

One thing did keep nagging at me, though.

"So . . . you still haven't told your parents we're dating?" I asked him as we walked to the buses after school on Friday. We'd now been "official" for two weeks—at school, anyway. I tried to keep my voice offhand, but he wasn't fooled.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" he asked, stopping in mid-stride to look down at me in concern. "I just . . . don't want to take any chances with what we have going."

"But they like me, don't they? Do you really think they'd be upset?"

"Of course they like you!" he assured me with a squeeze of my hand. "Duh. It's not that."

He dropped his voice to a whisper that no one else could hear. My hearing had improved noticeably over the past week or two, which made talking privately, even in crowds, much easier.

"It's not so much my parents as the _Echtran_ Council, who might put pressure on them. I figure if they don't know about us, they won't make rules I might not want to follow." He grinned as he said it, and even winked, but I could tell he was serious.

"I get that, I do. But I really don't like hiding this from your parents, after they've been so nice to me and all." I hated the thought of them being disappointed in me, once they found out we'd been keeping secrets.

He still tried to cling to his humor. "But it's okay to hide it from your aunt and uncle?"

"That's different. They don't know _any_ of the truth, and I can't tell them. This is just one more thing. Plus, I know what my aunt would say."

Rigel took my hand and tugged me along toward the buses. "Yeah, 'He's only after one thing,' right?"

"Pretty much." It still made me blush—partly because I wouldn't really mind if Rigel _was_ after what my aunt suspected. But he'd been a perfect gentleman, apart from some amazing kissing.

"Okay," he said as we reached the crowd boarding the buses. "Sometime this weekend, I'll tell them. I promise. I just hope we won't be sorry."

I dropped his hand to hug him. "Thank you. I'll see you at the game tonight."

Like he always did these days, he kissed me goodbye. I no longer minded that half the school saw it. In fact, I secretly reveled in it. "Till tonight," he said.

Bri gave an exaggerated sigh as I sat down next to her. "You must be the luckiest girl in the world."

I couldn't disagree.

* * *

At halftime that night, I looked around at the crowd surrounding Bri, Deb and me and couldn't help marveling at the difference a few weeks made. We were now part of the "in" crowd—JV football players, JV cheerleaders, a few student government types and an assortment of other cool people.

All because of Rigel.

Even though he was only a sophomore, there were already rumors of college scouts coming to our games to watch him play. If any were here tonight, they wouldn't be disappointed—he was having one heck of a game so far. Again.

"You sure you can't come to the party tonight, M?" Alicia Jordan was probably the sixth person to ask, none of whom would have been caught dead speaking to me last year. Almost everyone was calling me M now, since Rigel did.

"Sorry, I really can't," I said again. "I don't want to be grounded for the rest of the year."

Aunt Theresa had to know by now that Rigel and I were a couple, but as long as she didn't directly ask, I wasn't going to volunteer to listen to more of her lectures. She'd started watching me like a hawk, though, and I knew if she got even a whiff that I'd been to one of those wild football parties, I'd be forbidden to see Rigel again. I definitely wasn't willing to risk that.

When the game ended with a satisfying 38 – 17 win for Jewel, I hurried down to the field like I always did now, for the bear hug from Rigel I knew would be waiting for me.

"You were wonderful!" I told him, as though he didn't know that. "You just keep getting better."

"I think we both know why," he murmured in my ear, then released me abruptly as his parents approached. He obviously hadn't told them yet.

"Great game, son," his dad said, then turned to me. "M, good to see you again. Thank you for coming."

"I wouldn't miss it," I said truthfully, giving Rigel a significant look that he did his best to ignore.

His mother gave me a little one-armed hug, then said to Rigel, "We'll be waiting by the car. Unless you want to celebrate with your teammates tonight?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'm not into the parties. I'll be there in a few minutes."

I waited until they were gone to ask, "Do you really not want to go to the party, or is it just because I can't?"

"Well, if you were going I'd probably go, but without you there? I just don't see the point." He held my gaze as he said it, making me believe him. Making my insides melt—again.

He was just leaning in to kiss me when I was bumped—hard—from behind and nearly fell before Rigel caught me. I looked around to see Trina walking away without a backward glance. She hadn't spoken to me since word had gotten around about Rigel and me in the cornfield. Which was just fine with me. We both just shook our heads at her.

"I'd better go," Rigel said. "But tell you what. If you can come over tomorrow afternoon, we'll tell my folks about us. Okay?"

Delight flooded through me. "Really?" Then I felt a rush of embarrassment. I hadn't really figured on being present when he told them! What if—

"It'll be fine," he promised, just like he knew what I was thinking. "Can you come?"

"I'll be there." I made it a vow. "What time?"

* * *

At three-thirty the next afternoon, I told Aunt Theresa I was going for a bike ride. Rigel and I had agreed to meet in front of the Green Market, which was about halfway between my house and his, then ride together to his house. I was so nervous, I thought I might forget how to pedal.

Rigel was waiting for me when I reached the parking lot of Jewel's one "hippie" grocery store, standing next to a slick black racing bike that had probably cost five times what my cheapie one-speed from WalMart had.

"Ready?" he asked, and I could see the nervousness behind his grin. It made me feel better, somehow.

"Ready," I said.

He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss before mounting his bike. "For luck," he said.

I hoped we wouldn't need it.

Fifteen minutes later I followed him up his long driveway, thinking the yellow farmhouse somehow looked more imposing than before. _It's just nerves_ , I told myself, but it didn't help much. Remembering everything Rigel had told me about the Martian dignitaries, I was starting to get cold feet about the whole thing. What if they forbade us to spend time together? Maybe I'd been stupid to insist on this.

Rigel must have sensed my worry. As soon as we were off our bikes, he took my hand to walk with me to the front door, and of course his touch helped, as it always did.

At least for a few seconds.

Just as we reached the door, before Rigel could even touch the handle, it was yanked open from inside and his grandfather, Shim, was standing right in front of us, tension pinching his aristocratic features.

"Get inside, both of you!" He grabbed Rigel's arm and pulled him into the foyer and since I was still holding Rigel's hand, I was pulled in, too. The moment we were in, he shut the door— and locked it.

"Did anyone see you coming here together?" He sounded angry, but when I looked closer at him, I sensed more fear than anger. Shim, afraid?

Rigel, clearly not as intimidated as I was, shook off his grandfather's hand and stepped back. "Probably. Why does it matter? What's going on?"

Instead of answering, Shim called out, "Van! Ariel! They're here, both of them." Then, to us, "Come into the kitchen. It's less visible from the front."

Rigel and I exchanged baffled glances as we followed him to the back of the house and into the kitchen, where the Stuarts were already waiting.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Dr. Stuart exclaimed when we entered, hurrying forward to hug Rigel, then me. "Are you both all right?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" Rigel asked. "Will someone please tell us what's going on? When did Grandfather get here?"

Mr. Stuart came forward and I thought he also looked a little shaken. "About twenty minutes ago. Let's all sit down," he suggested then, putting a hand on Rigel's shoulder and squeezing, in what I figured was a man-version of a hug. "Your grandfather has just brought us some disturbing news."

Rigel and I sat down, side by side, at the kitchen table and looked expectantly at Shim. He pressed his lips together for a moment, as though overcoming some strong emotion, then nodded and began.

"Em . . . Marsha. When I spoke to you before, I mentioned the necessity of keeping the truth of your origin a secret."

I nodded, trying to remember exactly what he'd said. "You said it might not be, um, safe for other people to know."

"Exactly. Perhaps I did not sufficiently impress upon you the risks?" Again, his expression was a mixture of concern and anger.

"I, uh, I don't think you said _exactly_ what the risks were, except that it could mess with Martian politics somehow." I really should have paid more attention during that dinner! "But I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, and I haven't."

"You're sure of that?" Mr. Stuart asked, glancing at his father, then his wife, then back at me. "Not even in an online chat room or someplace seemingly anonymous like that?"

I stared at him. "What? No! I don't go to online chat rooms. I don't even have my own computer. I only get to use Uncle Louie's for homework, and sometimes to check my e-mail."

"Why do you think she's told someone?" Rigel asked, covering my hand protectively with his.

I appreciated the gesture —a lot, actually —but I also noticed Shim staring at our hands before he looked back up at me.

"This morning, I discovered that an individual we've been monitoring, someone we know to be one of Faxon's sympathizers, has been remotely searching computers in this town, trying to track down a specific IP address. Something must have triggered his interest. Are you sure you've done nothing online that might have aroused the suspicions of anyone trying to find you?"

"No! I—" But then I broke off, suddenly remembering. "Um, I guess I did do a lot of Googling a couple of weeks ago, when my aunt and uncle weren't home. Some of it . . . er, most of it . . . might have been about Mars. But that was before I even met you," I added hastily. "And I . . . I emptied the cache when I was done, so my uncle wouldn't see anything. I even deleted all the cookies, just to be safe."

"That must have been it." Mr. Stuart said. "He must have had a hit tracker set up to detect specific searches, maybe even a dummy website or two. Enough hits from the same IP probably triggered an alert. You say that was two weeks ago?"

I nodded. "Two weeks ago today, actually. Is that important?"

Shim answered me. "Perhaps. It's possible the searches alone weren't enough to convince him. But by now, he will also have discovered the visit my colleagues and I made to this area —the day after those searches were performed. Taken together—"

"It could be enough to put M in some kind of danger?" Rigel guessed, tightening his grip on my hand. "Is that what you're saying?"

Now Shim shifted his focus from me to his grandson. "Yes. And, unfortunately, you may be increasing that danger."

Rigel swallowed visibly and I thought he turned a shade paler. I know I must have. "What . . . what do you mean?" he asked, his voice not nearly as strong as usual.

"I mean that you are the obvious link to Princess Emileia. It is known that you and your family live here, as we've never taken pains to hide that—not that we easily could have. Also that you are approximately the same age as the 'lost' princess. It stands to reason that were you and she in the same town, you would find each other, as _Echtrans_ tend to gravitate to other _Echtrans_. Which means you will almost certainly be watched, if you are not being watched already."

I felt a cold dread that I didn't completely understand creeping down my spine, curdling my stomach. "Watched?" I whispered. "But why?"

"Because I would lead them to you." Rigel's voice was a whisper as well. Then, to his grandfather, "What will they do if they find her?"

Shim's face sagged, making him suddenly look much older. "We don't really know. Princess Emileia could be seen as a serious threat to Faxon's hold on power. Just as we are hoping that eventually she will become a rallying point for the resistance, Faxon's adherents will fear exactly that. They could seek to eliminate that threat before her existence can be generally known."

"Eliminate?" I squeaked.

"Yes, my dear, I'm afraid so." Shim's fatherly tone was in direct contrast to his frightening words. "Your very life may be in grave danger."

## 18

# Orbital degradation

THE SILENCE FOLLOWING Shim's statement seemed to last forever. Rigel and even his parents looked as stunned as I felt. To my surprise, I was the first to find my voice.

"But I thought . . . you said Martians had this ingrained instinct against killing?" I glanced at Mr. Stuart.

"Yes," he said heavily. "I did say that. But I also said that Faxon has somehow managed to overcome it, for himself and his followers."

"Still, it's possible I overstated the danger somewhat in order to be certain you take this seriously," Shim told me. "While we can't rule out Faxon's adherents attempting to harm you physically, I believe it far more likely they would try to kidnap you, to persuade you to their cause. In any event, they are unlikely to do anything that would draw attention to themselves."

His voice was soothing now, and I relaxed a tiny bit.

But then Mr. Stuart said, "We can't know what they'd risk. Some of his followers on Mars were fanatical. If—"

"Yes, yes, Van, I know." Shim waved him to silence with a look that made me think he didn't want more said in front of me—probably so I wouldn't get even more scared. "But we have little reason to believe he has more than a handful of followers on Earth. Still, we can't afford to be careless. Rigel, Marsha," he continued, "have either of you noticed anyone following you? Anyone watching you?"

I shook my head at the same time Rigel said, "No."

"No suspicious strangers hanging around the school or trying to talk to either of you?"

Again, we both shook our heads.

"Then it's likely I got here first. I'd have called, but I couldn't be sure the line here was secure. At the close of our last visit, we discovered a security breach within our own circle."

"Flynn?" The guess was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Shim's bushy white brows shot upward. "We clearly underestimated you, my dear. May I ask what Flynn did during your brief encounter to make you mistrust him?"

I felt myself flushing with embarrassment, even though it sounded like I was right. "It was . . . well, I'm not sure. He just creeped me out."

"Then I suggest you trust your instincts in the future," Shim said. "Fortunately, we learned of his divided loyalties before he betrayed your whereabouts. But now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a call on a line that _is_ secure."

He pulled what looked like a tiny, futuristic cell phone from his pocket and left the room. Rigel immediately turned to his parents.

"How long have you known about this?" he demanded.

"About ten minutes longer than you have," his father said. "Of course, we've always known there could be some risk if Faxon's people discovered M's whereabouts—or existence. But we had no idea they were close to doing so."

Rigel stared at me for several long seconds, a frown furrowing his brow. "We can't let them find her. What do you think we should do?"

Before either of his parents could answer, Shim came back into the kitchen, looking relieved. "I was right," he said. "The man we've been watching— Boyne Morven—has not left Los Angeles. That gives us some breathing space."

"What do you think we should do?" Rigel asked again, his voice urgent. "Should I take M into hiding somewhere?"

Shim gave him a hard look. " _You_ should not take her anywhere, my boy. You are the one most likely to be watched, which means the best thing you can do is to keep your distance from her."

Rigel looked rebellious. "No. I have to protect her. No one else—"

"Do you really believe you are better equipped, at fifteen, to safeguard our Sovereign than the best security personnel we have here on Earth?" Shim asked, his voice laced with amusement.

"If she's going into hiding, I'm going with her," Rigel insisted.

"Absolutely not." Shim was firm. "That could increase her danger as well as sparking a division within our own ranks we can ill afford, especially now. I can have my people here by tonight. We'll create a perimeter until we can transport her to—"

"No!" I exclaimed, panicking at the speed things were moving. "I can't just . . . disappear. Won't that be more suspicious than anything else I could do? If it tips them off to who I am, wouldn't they go after my aunt and uncle—or the Stuarts—to try to find out where I've gone? You said yourself you don't know what they're capable of."

"That's true," Shim agreed. "Which is exactly why you must be somewhere safe."

I imagined spending the next few weeks—or months —even years?— holed up in some bunker, without Rigel, not knowing what was going on in Jewel. Not knowing what might be happening to people I cared about— because of me.

"No," I said again. "I'm not putting anyone else at risk for my sake. And hey, what kind of Sovereign would I be, if I agreed to something like that?"

Nobody laughed.

"A live one," Mr. Stuart said grimly. "Please be sensible, M."

"I am being sensible," I said stubbornly. "If this Boyne dude hasn't left for Indiana, that means he hasn't found me yet, right? Maybe the worst thing I could do is disappear. My aunt and uncle would mobilize the whole town to look for me." At least, I wanted to believe they would.

"She has a point," Dr. Stuart said. "Are we really sure that Faxon's people _know_ she's in Jewel? They could be following multiple leads, and her disappearance could be the very thing to draw their attention here."

I immediately seized on her support. "Exactly! They're probably still just looking."

But Shim was shaking his head. "Some of my colleagues— Allister Adair in particular —already feel strongly that you should be moved to the compound in Montana. Once they learn of this development—"

"Then don't tell them," I pleaded. "You're a computer whiz, aren't you, Mr. Stuart? Isn't there some way to make sure they can't pinpoint my uncle's computer?"

With obvious reluctance, he nodded. "We'd need to erect a ping-proof firewall, and do it immediately. I'll need access to the computer to do it, though."

"I'll get you access," I promised. "Just tell me what to do."

It took a lot more arguing on my part, but finally Shim agreed to let us take only that step—for now. He said he'd let us know if he learned anything else about my enemies, but something in the way he said it made me wonder if he really would, especially if it might make me more determined to stay in Jewel. I got the impression he was already regretting this compromise.

In turn, Rigel and I both promised to keep a sharp lookout for anyone acting suspiciously—especially anyone who "felt" Martian. I gave Mr. Stuart the passwords to get into Uncle Louie's computer and agreed to sneak downstairs and log on once my aunt and uncle were asleep so he could set up the necessary firewall remotely.

"And now," Shim said, "I think Princess Emileia had better go home—as inconspicuously as possible."

"Um, I'm on my bike," I pointed out. "It's only about three miles, though. I can be home in half an hour."

He shook his head. "Too risky. We don't know for certain that this house isn't being watched. Van, I suggest you load her bicycle into your car, then drive her to a secluded area near her home so that she can ride the rest of the way from there."

I couldn't help thinking if the house was being watched it was probably too late for such tactics. But I didn't want to risk giving Shim another reason I should go into hiding, so I just nodded.

"I'll come, too," Rigel said, but his grandfather immediately vetoed that.

"No, Rigel. As I already said, you're the one most likely to be followed. The more distance between you, the safer she'll be."

"But—"

"I'll brook no argument here, boy. And it sounds as though we need to discuss something else, as well."

I had a pretty good idea what that "something" would be, and I wondered whether Rigel would tell him the truth about our bonding. Mr. Stuart was already heading toward the garage door.

"Go ahead and get into the SUV, Marsha," he said. "Back seat, I think, so you can hunker down once we're in the open. I'll put your bike into the back."

I looked back at Rigel, feeling an irrational stab of panic—like I wasn't going to see him again, or something. But that was silly. I was the one in danger, not him. And it didn't sound like I was in _much_ danger, at least not yet.

He caught my look and gave me a crooked smile. I'd have found it reassuring if it weren't for the hint of despair in his perfect hazel eyes. Following his dad into the garage, I hoped he was only worried about what he was going to say to his grandfather.

* * *

It was easier than I expected to get our computer protected. I made it home early enough—biking the last quarter mile from behind the post office—that my aunt hadn't had time to get suspicious about where I'd been. That meant no awkward questions over dinner, and no demand for explanations when I went to bed earlier than usual for a Saturday.

I sat in my room and read, wishing more than ever that I had a cell phone or at least a cordless I could take to my room. I was dying to talk to Rigel, to find out what everyone had said after I left and whether they were going to stick to the plan to do nothing drastic just yet. That last expression I'd seen in his eyes still haunted me.

After I heard my aunt and uncle go to bed, I waited another hour, then crept downstairs to power up the computer, carefully following the instructions Mr. Stuart had given me. I went into the kitchen for a glass of milk while he did whatever he needed to do, which gave me an excuse for being downstairs just in case Aunt Theresa woke up and investigated.

She didn't, and in half an hour I got a message from Mr. Stuart that the deed was done. Breathing a sigh of relief—and still wishing I had a way to communicate with Rigel—I erased all signs of my log in, shut down the computer, and quietly went upstairs to bed.

* * *

At church the next morning, I got my first inkling of how different things were going to be. As always, we arrived early, and I made a point of saving seats for the Stuarts—four spots, in case Shim came with them. But when the Stuarts arrived fifteen minutes later, not only was Shim not with them, neither was Rigel. And though they smiled and nodded at Uncle Louie and me, they didn't sit with us.

Maybe he was still in the car and would come in late, I told myself. But ten minutes later the service started without Rigel appearing. And when it ended, the Stuarts were among the first ones out of the church, not even taking the time to say hello.

Stuck near the front of the sanctuary while Aunt Theresa chit-chatted with her choir friends, I watched them go, my heart feeling like it was right down in my stupid Sunday shoes.

* * *

It was a long, long afternoon. I'd done all my homework the night before while waiting to deal with the computer and I was sick of reading, for the first time I could remember. Even though it had only been twenty-four hours, it felt like forever since I'd heard Rigel's voice or felt the touch of his hand.

Three or four times I seriously considered calling him, but kept remembering what Shim had said about phone lines not being secure. Besides, Aunt Theresa was in the kitchen making cookies for some bake sale or other, so it's not like I could have talked privately. Still, as the afternoon wore on, I felt increasingly twitchy.

Finally, an hour or so before dinner, I announced that I was going for a walk. If the bad guys were watching Rigel, I reasoned, I should be safe enough on my own. "Is there anything I can get for you in town?" I asked my aunt. "I just need to get out and move a little—I've been a slug all day."

"Nothing's open but the drugstore," she said. "But I do need some cotton balls." She dried her hands and pulled a couple of dollars out of her purse and gave them to me. "Are you feeling all right, Marsha?" she asked then, surprising me.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little restless."

"All right, then. I just hope it's nothing to do with that football player. I noticed you watching for him all morning at church. I'd like to think you're too sensible to be thrown into a mope by anything a boy does."

For a second there, I'd thought she was actually concerned, but apparently it was just another chance to lecture. "I'll be back soon," was my only response.

I walked quickly, trying to outrun my nerves or whatever was unsettling me so much. As I walked, I told myself I was being silly, that everything was going to be fine. It wasn't like Rigel had actually promised to call or see me today. With his grandfather there, he probably didn't have much choice in the matter. I could certainly survive until school tomorrow, when we could be together again.

It seemed like a long time to wait.

When I got to Diamond Street five minutes later, I went to the drugstore first for Aunt Theresa's cotton balls, then browsed the makeup aisle a little, even though I hadn't remembered to bring any of my own money. Mainly to distract myself, I made a few mental notes about which lip glosses and nail polish I might come back to get later.

Still feeling antsy, I finally paid for the cotton balls and headed down the length of Diamond, my pace quickening again as I walked. Missing Rigel even more, I felt drawn to the little arboretum at the south end of town, where he and I had spent an hour or two last weekend eating ice cream, talking . . . and stealing a few discreet kisses.

I entered the tiny park with its towering ash trees and walls covered with late roses and felt my jangling nerves settle slightly. The day was overcast and it was getting late, so I was the only one there. I was glad. Just being here made me feel closer to Rigel, somehow. Smiling at the memory of our last visit here, I headed toward "our" alcove with the green metal bench.

Turning the corner, I froze when I saw someone was already there. But immediately, even before he looked up, I realized it was Rigel. He looked as surprised and delighted as I felt, and we practically flew into each other's arms. When we kissed, I felt like I was finally getting air again after holding my breath all day. From the way he tightened his hold on me, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, I suspected he felt the same.

"How did you know?" I asked when we finally broke apart. "Were you watching for me or something?"

Rigel shook his head, his eyes sparkling. "Honestly, I had no idea you were going to be here. I just . . . felt like I had to come here. So I did, as soon as I could come up with a good excuse to leave the house."

"That's so weird," I said. "It was the same for me. I just _had_ to get out of the house, and then once I was downtown, I sort of felt a pull to come here, to this spot. I'm so glad I followed my instincts."

"Me too." He grinned that devastating crooked grin. But then he suddenly sobered and his eyes lost some of their sparkle. "It was so good to see you I forgot for a minute, but now that we're both here . . . we need to talk."

Something in his voice made me tremble inside. "Is that guy your grandfather talked about on his way to Jewel after all?" I asked.

"I don't think so. Not yet. But they think it's only a matter of time."

He took my hand and drew me down onto the bench next to him, where we were screened from anyone who might wander into the arboretum. Just like last weekend, only now he released my hand and sat a few inches away, instead of with his arm around me.

"What, then?" I prodded when he didn't immediately say anything else. "What's wrong?"

"M—" He did take my hands then, but when he looked into my eyes, his held a sadness that scared me. "—I think we should break up."

I felt like he'd punched me in the stomach. I literally had to gasp for breath before I could say, "But . . . but . . . why?"

"Because it's the best way to keep you safe. You heard what my grandfather said yesterday. These people who are after you, who might want to hurt you, they already know about my family and me. If . . . when . . . they get here, they're going to watch me. Probably follow me. Maybe even use some high-tech Martian gizmo to track me, I don't know. I can't risk leading them to you."

"But everyone at school already knows we're together. Isn't it a little late to pretend we're not? Even if we stay away from each other, act like we hardly know each other, the whole school knows otherwise. You don't think they'd find that out?"

He shrugged and his eyes slid away from mine. "Maybe not, if . . . if it looks like I'm with someone else instead. Then you'd be—"

"Yesterday's news," I finished for him, and though he frowned, I could tell that was pretty much what he'd meant. Unfortunately, he was probably right, since gossip had a half-life of less than a day if anything juicier came along. But that didn't mean I was going to agree to this.

"I don't think I can do it. Pretend I don't . . . care about you?" I'd almost used a stronger term, but we hadn't progressed to the L word yet. "Besides," I added as I thought of an actual argument, "wouldn't you be putting anyone else in danger if you spent too much time with her?"

Now he managed a half-hearted smile but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe a little, though I don't think they're going to come in with guns blazing or anything like that. Anyway, that's why I was thinking it should be Trina."

That almost made me laugh. Almost. But my heart was hurting too much for that. The idea of not being able to talk to him, to touch him again, for who knew how long, was horrifying. Not to mention all the stares and snickers at school when word got around that Rigel had dumped me. No one else would know it was because he wanted to keep me safe. Because he cared.

I shook my head. "I don't think that would be fair. Not even to Trina." I didn't actually care one atom about Trina, but it was all I had.

"I don't care about Trina," he said, echoing my thoughts perfectly as he so often did. "I'll try to make sure she's not a target, but all that really matters is keeping you safe. I won't risk losing you, M."

This time I did manage a shaky laugh. "But isn't that exactly what you're planning to do? To lose me? I'd rather risk the bad guys, thanks."

"But _I'm_ not willing to risk it. To risk you." There was no compromise in his tone. "Please don't make this harder than it already is."

Even stronger than yesterday, panic started to set in. "Rigel, please. We don't have to do this. We don't even know for sure—"

"I'm sorry, M. I think we do. You can make up whatever story you want. Tell everybody I cheated on you, you dumped me, I have bad breath, whatever. But stay away from me."

Again with the gut punch. "You . . . you really want me to stay away from you?" I whispered.

For a second, an expression like pain crossed his face, then it was gone. "Yes," he said, and there was no wavering in his voice. "I do. I have to go. Wait a few minutes before you leave here, so no one sees us together."

"But—"

"Goodbye, M. I . . . Be safe." Then, so quickly that I couldn't have caught up with him if I'd wanted to, he was up and gone without a backward glance.

I sat there, stunned. He really meant it. I had no doubt that tomorrow at school he would play his part perfectly, acting like we'd had a bad breakup.

Well, it felt pretty bad to me. I wondered what he'd almost said, right before he left. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered. Rigel had just removed himself from my life and I wasn't at all sure I was going to survive that.

## 19

# Implosion

SCHOOL THE NEXT day was even worse than I expected.

I barely remembered walking home after Rigel left me in the arboretum. Once home I'd somehow maintained the illusion that my world hadn't caved in, or so I assumed by my aunt's and uncle's lack of concern. I'd even managed to hold off crying until I was in bed. But then I fell apart, sobbing so hard I had to muffle my mouth with my pillow so my aunt wouldn't hear and come to investigate.

Waiting for the bus, I told myself I should have realized it was too good to last. For two weeks everything had been perfect. Beyond perfect. I'd never been happier in my life. But now it was over. Maybe not forever, but probably for a long time.

I almost hoped the bad guys would get here quick and get it over with, one way or the other. Except that even if I survived whatever they did, I'd probably end up exiled to some Martian compound.

Without Rigel.

In a daze of loss and lack of sleep, I boarded the bus.

"Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed," Trina snarked as I walked past her. Then she dropped her backpack right in my path so I'd trip.

Instead, I kicked it—hard—and it skittered to the back of the bus. I didn't apologize. I didn't say anything at all, even though she was sputtering and calling me names. I just sat down a few seats behind her and stared straight ahead.

Bri and Deb were more observant than my aunt and uncle. "Omigod, what's wrong?" Deb demanded as Bri slid in next to me a few minutes later.

"You look like your cat died," Bri stated, "except I know you don't have a cat."

I figured I might as well tell them—they'd find out soon enough anyway. And as soon as word got around school, they were likely to be the only friends I had. "Rigel and I broke up." My voice sounded as dead as I felt.

"What?" they chorused. "But you two were so _perfect_ together," Bri said at the same time Deb asked, "What happened?"

Though I'd spent half the night thinking about how I'd answer that question, I still hadn't decided what to say. I couldn't bring myself to take Rigel's suggestion of putting the blame on him, not when he was doing this to keep me safe.

"I'm . . . not sure," I finally said when they started to bounce impatiently. "We . . . kind of had a fight."

That wasn't good enough for Bri. "So? Who dumped who?"

Like anyone could _ever_ believe I'd dump Rigel? But even though it was true, sort of, I couldn't bring myself to admit out loud that he'd done the dumping. Especially with half the bus listening in.

"It was sort of mutual," I mumbled.

Now Deb was shaking her head. "No way. It has to just be some huge misunderstanding, like the shock thing. We'll sit you two down and make you talk things out, and—"

"No, Deb, it's over. Really. Please don't make things harder."

She didn't look satisfied, and from the looks she and Bri exchanged I could tell they weren't going to give up that easily. But much as I wished they could be right, I knew they weren't. Rigel had said, "Stay away from me." And he'd meant it.

Even though we'd had our heads together for the whole conversation, by the time we got off the bus, the news had already spread. Trina was waiting on the curb with a big, nasty smile when I stepped down.

"Gee, no wonder you're in a foul mood, Marsha. Guess Rigel finally came to his senses, huh? How's it feel to be the dumpee?"

"You should know, Trina," Bri said before I could answer. "You've had plenty of experience."

Trina glared, then turned away, but the smirk never left her lips. I had no doubt the whole school would know before first period started.

I wasn't wrong.

I took my time getting to Geometry, wanting to put off as long as possible the embarrassment of Rigel ignoring me, as he'd pretty much promised to do. When I walked in, one of the last to arrive, a storm of whispering broke out, along with a few giggles. I knew Rigel was there even before I broke down and glanced his way. I'd felt him the moment I entered the room.

And sure enough, when I did look at him, he was looking the other way. My feet slowed a little without my consent and I had to force myself to keep walking, to take an empty desk on the far side of the room. The whispers got louder and I even heard a gasp or two. A girl—I couldn't tell who—hissed, "It's true!"

Slumping into my seat, I stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, even Deb. I did _not_ want to see the pity on her face. Any more than I wanted to see pity—or gloating, depending on whether they liked me or not—on anyone else's face.

The whole day was like that, though it was worse in the four classes I shared with Rigel. Lunch was the very worst of all. Bri and Deb sat with me, but so did a couple of the football players they were almost-sort-of seeing. Neither of the guys seemed to know what to say to me and I knew my friends didn't want them to leave, so I just pretended to eat without taking part in the conversation . . . or taking my eyes off my tray.

As I sat there, feeling as awkward as my numbness would allow, Trina and her posse went past, talking and giggling. When she was at her closest point to me, Trina loudly said, "Well, a guy like that can only stand slumming for so long, you know. It's sure to make him appreciate what else is available." They all laughed uproariously as they moved away.

I hoped fervently that Rigel wouldn't go through with his plan of pretending to go out with Trina. Or, if he did, that the bad guys really would mistake her for me and kill her. It would serve her right.

* * *

The next day was only marginally better. There was less whispering and staring, but Rigel still resolutely ignored me. I had enough pride that I refrained from making puppy-dog eyes his way, but it was hard. I missed him even more than I'd expected to. More than I would have thought was humanly possible.

Plus, he actually sat at Trina's table at lunch. As soon as I saw him sit down, I moved to the other side of my table so I wouldn't have to see them together. Needless to say, in Health class that afternoon, Trina had to gloat.

"I thought it was really sweet of Rigel to ask if I was still going out with Bryce," she said, ostensibly to Amber, but loudly enough for the whole class to hear. "He said he didn't want to hurt Bryce, or come between us if we were serious."

It made me unwillingly remember when Rigel—and I— _had_ hurt Bryce, with that electric jolt that had been my first clue something enormously weird was going on. Which had led to me finding out the truth about Rigel and then myself. Though painful, it was also a reminder that I was a princess, even if no one in Jewel knew it except the Stuarts.

Hanging onto that thought, I lifted my chin higher and ignored all the "Aw" sounds Trina's friends were making as they congratulated her on Rigel's renewed interest. His interest in her was fake. Part of the plan. I just had to cling to that fact, and to the knowledge of who I was, and let anything Trina said or did roll off my back.

I wished it were that easy.

* * *

As the week wore on, nothing changed except that no one was paying much attention to me anymore. Just as Rigel had predicted. Well, almost no one.

I was leaving first period when Jimmy Franklin—yeah, the guy I'd had a crush on for almost two years—stopped to talk to me.

"Hey, M. How you doing?"

Startled, I blinked up at him, though I was actually more aware of Rigel's retreating back than of Jimmy's wholesome, handsome Midwestern face. It was the first time he'd ever actually spoken to me, other than the time we'd been part of the same group for a social studies project in eighth grade.

"Um, fine?" Rigel was almost out of sight now. "What's up?"

He shrugged, looking a little bit embarrassed. In two years, I'd never imagined the godlike Jimmy Franklin ever being embarrassed, especially around me.

"I just . . . well, I was wondering if you might go to the Homecoming dance with me, now that you're . . . I mean—"

I knew what he meant. But I shook my head. "That's really nice of you, Jimmy, but I don't think I'll be going to the dance. Thanks, though."

He looked surprised, but not upset. "Oh. I kinda thought . . . But hey, that's cool. Maybe some other time?"

"Yeah, maybe." I wasn't going to make any promises I had no intention of keeping. "Talk to you later, Jimmy."

A grin broke across his face and a detached part of my brain noticed it made him even cuter, though it had no effect on me. "Yeah, definitely! Later, M."

As we went our separate ways, I couldn't help musing on the fact that just two months earlier, this would have been the answer to all of my romantic dreams. But that was before Rigel. My dreams were completely different now. And had even less chance of coming true.

* * *

"What do you mean you're not coming to the game?" Bri demanded Friday afternoon as we got on the bus to go home. "You always come to the games. Just because you and Rigel—"

"I'm not coming, okay?" I repeated. "My aunt doesn't like me going to the away games anyway, so I thought I'd humor her this week. Maybe it'll put her in a better mood for the next time I want something."

She gave me a dark look as we sat down, then turned to Deb for support. "She has to come, doesn't she, Deb? If you don't, it'll be like admitting, I don't know, that Trina's won and you've lost. And I can't stand it. What does he even see in her?"

"Besides the obvious?" I said. Since Tuesday, Rigel had been spending almost as much time with Trina as he used to spend with me. So much that I couldn't help wondering—a little—if this breakup was _just_ about keeping me safe.

"Trina's obvious, all right," Deb said with a snort and Bri laughed in agreement. "She can't hold a candle to you, M, and Rigel can't be so blind he doesn't know it."

I shrugged, pretending an unconcern I didn't feel. "What he does is his business, not mine. Not anymore."

Some of the pain I was feeling must have leaked into my voice, because they left me alone after that, except for furtive, pitying glances I did my best to ignore. I found myself secretly hoping Rigel would play badly tonight, and that it would make him miss me. Plus, it would piss off Trina. It wasn't nice, but I couldn't help it.

* * *

I expected the weekend to be a relief from the stress of Rigel ignoring me, and of me pretending I didn't care. But I was tired and achy, probably from trying so hard all week to convince everyone that I was okay when I totally wasn't.

I was glad it rained on Saturday, sparing me from mowing the lawn. I didn't think I was up to it. And in taekwondo class, I wasn't surprised that I had backslid from my previous progress.

"Is anything wrong, Marsha?" Master Parker asked after class. "The belt test is next week, you know. I didn't think you would have any problem, but—"

"I'm fine, sir," I replied quickly. "I just have a cold or something. I'm sure I'll be okay in time for the test." In fact, I'd forgotten all about the belt test and couldn't bring myself to care much. But Aunt Theresa had already paid for it, so I did need to pass. "I'll review everything this week," I promised.

Sunday, neither Rigel nor his parents were at church. Had they changed churches just to avoid me? Uncle Louie commented on their absence, asking me if they were out of town, but all I could do was shrug. And feel miserable.

"You picked a good game to skip," Debbi said when she and Bri joined me on the bus Monday morning. "We won, but only by one point—and that was against Edgewood. We nearly beat them last year, when we sucked so bad. Rigel's game was way off."

"Really?" My interest was immediately snagged. "I saw the score in the paper Saturday, but there wasn't any article with it." I'd sneaked a peek at the sports section after Uncle Louie finished it. "What happened?"

Bri took over with the technical stuff. "He missed five easy passes and only ran in one touchdown, and that was only because one of their defenders blew the tackle. He even got sacked twice. He's never been sacked before! At least, not this season."

"Maybe he misses you more than he's letting on," Deb suggested.

I felt suddenly guilty for wishing exactly this on Friday, now that it had come true. Yeah, I was sure Rigel _did_ miss me, or at least missed the way I helped his football game. But it's not like it was _my_ idea to break up.

"What did Trina do?" I couldn't help asking. She was sitting near the front of the bus, well out of earshot.

Bri made a face. "Oh, she still fawned all over him, of course. But while he was on the field, I heard her joining in the bitch-fest with the other cheerleaders about how bad he was playing. Two-faced little—"

"Yeah, well, we already knew that about her, didn't we?" Deb broke in. "He'll figure it out, too, just you wait. If he hasn't already."

With Rigel's super-hearing, I hoped maybe he'd heard more than Trina thought he did. Not that I _really_ believed he liked her anyway. Did I?

"You're not looking so good," said Deb, ever the observant one. "Are you feeling okay?"

I shrugged. "Just tired. I'm not sleeping great these days." I was also slightly queasy and a little headachy, but they didn't need to know that.

"Poor thing," Deb said, but Bri smacked me on the shoulder.

"Hey, buck up, M! No guy is worth losing sleep over, you know that. Not even Rigel."

I managed a smile. "You're right. I'll be fine." But I didn't feel fine. I felt like part of me was missing. Or dying.

Even though there wasn't much whispering or staring by now, I still dawdled on the way to Geometry. I'd dreamed about Rigel again last night, and in my dream he'd been as sweet and caring as he'd been two weeks ago. I wasn't quite ready to let go of the illusion.

But I couldn't put it off forever, so just before the bell rang I entered the classroom.

And immediately felt better than I had all weekend.

Through sheer strength of will I managed to wait until I got to my seat to sneak a glance at Rigel. This time I actually caught him looking at me, though he immediately looked away. Had he felt something, too?

Not that I was back to normal, but I _was_ less queasy, a little less achy. Pretty much how I'd felt on Friday. I wondered if I'd feel like this the rest of my life: either a little bleah, like now, or really yucky, like I had over the weekend. Would it even be worth living like that?

Suddenly it pissed me off that Rigel could make me feel this way. I'd been fine before I met him. Okay, not popular, and maybe not wildly happy, but fine. Healthy. Pretty good in school, on track for a scholarship, maybe. Progressing—slowly—at taekwondo. I could deal with going back to that. But feeling like this, like I had some kind of wasting disease just because he'd gotten me addicted to him and then made me go cold turkey? This sucked.

I decided to try talking to him as soon as class ended. It wasn't like I was in any more danger now than I'd been a week ago. What difference could it make?

When the bell rang, I jumped up and headed his way, but he looked at me and gave a little shake of his head. Frustrated, I mouthed the word, "Why?"

He gave me an exasperated look that said, without words, "You know why." And then Trina grabbed his arm and he gave me a little one-shoulder shrug and turned to face her with a smile that looked totally fake from here. Not that Trina seemed to notice—or care.

I wished I had the nerve to confront him, Trina or no Trina, but I didn't. I could imagine everyone laughing or doing the pity thing all over again, at how poor Marsha couldn't let go and face reality. I just wasn't that brave.

In Earth Science, I almost got up the courage to turn around, what with Rigel giving off those strengthening vibes from right behind me. If he hadn't been sitting _with_ Trina, I would have. Or so I told myself. Still, it was good to feel better, stronger, than I had since . . . well, since Science class on Friday.

At lunch, Jimmy Franklin smiled and waved at me, and since I saw Rigel watching, I smiled and waved back, feeling a little guilty for leading Jimmy on. Bri noticed and raised her eyebrows, but she didn't say anything, since Matt Mullins was sitting right there at the table, blatantly flirting with her. I was happy for her—or tried to be.

By Health, I'd given up trying to talk to Rigel that day. I guessed I should be grateful that at least my eyesight hadn't reverted back to what it was, but I was finding it hard to feel glad about much of anything right now. Doodling on my notes while the teacher droned on about STDs, I heard Trina whispering to Donna and Amber, a couple seats behind me.

"Wouldn't it be sweet of me to make him cookies or something?" she was saying. "He had a really bad weekend, after that disaster of a game Friday night. I wanted him to take me to a movie Saturday night but he was sick, poor guy. Otherwise he def would have. Or maybe chicken soup would be better than cookies? Canned is just as good as homemade, right?"

I stopped doodling. So, Rigel _was_ feeling as yucky as I was! Interesting. Maybe he'd be more open to the idea of getting back together than I'd thought.

* * *

After another couple of days, I felt bad enough to try again. I hurried to Geometry, figuring it might be my best chance to talk to Rigel without a crowd around. He was there ahead of Trina, who I'd seen detour into the girls' room, probably to touch up her makeup. Definitely my best chance.

Before I could lose my nerve, I walked right up to him. "Hey, Rigel," I said, softly but not whispering. "How, um, how have you been?"

He looked wary but didn't turn his back on me, like I'd been scared he might. "Okay, I guess."

"Really?" I held his gaze, trying to will him to tell me the truth.

Amazingly, it seemed to work. "Okay, not so great, I guess," he muttered. "You?"

"Not so great either," I admitted. Knowing I probably only had a few seconds, I got right to the point. "So, have you rethought this . . . separation thing? At all?" I said it really fast.

He hesitated, getting my hopes up. "I . . . No. But maybe . . ."

"Maybe?" I prompted. I could hear Trina's voice in the hall and I was sure he could, too.

"Maybe we can talk about it," he said in the same rush I had. "Later."

At least he hadn't totally slammed the door in my face. "Later, then."

I turned away just as Trina came into the classroom and headed to my seat, my heart lighter than it had been since he'd dropped his bombshell in the arboretum a week and a half ago.

My optimism carried me through Computer class and into English, where I'd see Rigel again. And maybe snag a desk near his? But when I reached the classroom, everyone was milling around instead of sitting down.

"What's going on?" I asked Bri, who was standing just outside the door.

"New teacher," she said. "Ms. Garner had a family emergency or something."

"A sub?" I didn't see why that would keep people from going to their seats. It never had before.

"No, I think he's here for the rest of the semester. He wants us to sit alphabetically as he calls the roll, someone said, so we're waiting for the bell." She rolled her eyes. "He's pretty hot for a teacher, though. At least he'll be easy on the eyes."

Seeing Rigel and Trina coming up behind us, I hesitated a moment but then followed Bri into the room. As I glanced toward the front to get a look at the new English teacher, I heard Rigel whisper, very softly but urgently.

"M! Get behind me."

I obeyed without thinking, noticing that Trina didn't seem to have heard him. Then I finally had a chance to focus on our new teacher and froze. I don't know how I knew, but I knew.

This guy was a Martian, and not a nice one. The bad guys were here.

## 20

# Black hole

"EVERYONE, QUIET, PLEASE," the teacher called out as the bell rang. Something about his voice grated on me—the same way Flynn's had. "As I call your name, please take your seat, starting with the near corner and filling the rows front to back. Nicole Adams."

As I waited for my name, I examined the man. He looked young, maybe late twenties, but of course that didn't mean much. He could be a hundred, for all I knew. Light brown hair and lightish eyes—I couldn't really tell the color, especially since Rigel seemed to be trying to block me from his view. Handsome, but in a smarmy kind of way, like a politician or TV pitch man. I wondered if he was the actual guy Shim had talked about. What had the name been? Mor-something.

"Trina Squires."

As she moved to the second seat in the last row, Rigel muttered, "Come on."

He shuffled toward the next desk and I did the same, a couple of paces back. Remembering how Rigel had been confused on the first day of school, I figured he was trying to make it harder for the Martian guy to pinpoint my vibe now.

When he called Rigel's name, the teacher watched intently as he took his seat behind Trina. Then he called mine and I sat behind Rigel, and was relieved to see that he wasn't watching me nearly as intently.

After Pete Warner sat down, the teacher surveyed the whole class for a moment, then said, "Good morning. I'm Mr. Smith and I'll be your teacher for the rest of the semester. Ms. Garner left her lesson plan, and I plan to stick to it with a few minor modifications."

He droned on and I had to resist the urge to whisper to Rigel, _Smith? Really? How obvious is that?_ But I didn't dare do anything that might draw the man's attention.

Just before class ended, I noticed a scrap of folded paper on my desk. I didn't know how Rigel had managed it without me seeing him, but it read: _Don't talk to me. Don't let on you know me. Leave quickly. Destroy this._

I wadded the paper into a tiny pill and shoved it into my jeans pocket. That seemed safer than leaving any piece of it in the classroom. The brief surge of optimism I'd felt earlier had evaporated, leaving despair in its wake. Even if Rigel _had_ been on the verge of reconsidering, now that "Mr. Smith" was here, there was no chance he'd get back together with me now.

Even I couldn't argue with that.

* * *

For the rest of the day I was scared enough to keep my distance from Rigel. Mr. Smith—or whatever his name really was—roamed the cafeteria during lunch, keeping a close eye on Rigel, I noticed. Rigel was sitting with Trina again, but the other cheerleaders were flirting with him almost as much as she was. I did my best to be inconspicuous, eating my lunch in near silence while Bri and Deb chattered with the football players at our table.

I spent most of History class composing a note to Rigel, asking if he had a plan and if he was going to tell his parents about the new teacher. But when the bell rang, he left ahead of me, before I could get it to him. Since I doubted I'd see him again before the end of the day, I swung by his locker after French and slipped it through the vent, hoping his locker wasn't as messy as mine, so he'd actually see it.

When I opened my own locker the next morning, I saw a little triangle of blue paper on top of the jumbled pile of crap at the bottom. I dropped a book so I'd have an excuse to bend down to retrieve it—and the note. Then I hurried to the girls' room and locked myself in a stall before unfolding it.

_Told my folks about Smith. They called Shim and he's checking on it, doesn't think it's Morven. But you felt it too, right? Really, REALLY important we not let on we even know each other until we know what's what!! Thinking of you, even if I don't show it. –R_

I hugged the note to my chest, comforted beyond all reason by those last few words. It really _was_ all an act to keep me safe! I knew I should flush the note, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I folded it up really small and tucked it into my bra, grateful that I no longer had to deal with gym class.

Rigel's hidden note helped me cope with what was otherwise a really yucky day. For one thing, the nausea and aches had been getting worse and worse as the week went on. The only relief had been in English, where I sat right behind Rigel, and Science, where I sat right in front of him.

But today Rigel was taking avoiding me to new lengths. He seemed to be actively encouraging not only Trina, but the other cheerleaders, as well. It was bad enough in first period—Deb hissed her indignation to me—but even worse in English.

Right _directly_ in front of me, he laughed at Trina's lame jokes and murmured stuff back to her in what I considered an unnecessarily sexy voice. When she put her hand over his, on _his_ desk, he didn't pull away. Even after class started, she kept sending flirty glances over her shoulder at him and I could tell from her reactions that he was totally going along with it.

I was struggling so hard to keep from crying that if I was getting any benefit from having Rigel so close, I couldn't feel it. I just wanted to die, and honestly couldn't tell if I was in more emotional or physical pain. I kept repeating to myself that he was only doing this because Mr. Smith was watching. I had his note to prove it. But did he have to be so convincing?

Science was a little better, if only because I couldn't actually see what was going on behind me. I did my best not to listen, but I thought, just maybe, Rigel wasn't being quite as encouraging now. It comforted me a little. But only a little.

"Marsha, what's wrong?" Will whispered partway through class. We were supposed to be taking turns sorting rocks into piles depending on their type—igneous, sedimentary, etc.—and I kept missing my turn. "You look a little sick."

I felt a little sick. More than a little, actually, but I managed a smile. "Sorry. I didn't sleep very well last night." That was true enough, even if it was only a tiny part of the whole truth.

"Well, here, let me do those. We're way behind everyone else," he said, sliding half of my pile into his.

"Thanks." I didn't even try to argue, which showed just how awful I was feeling.

At lunch, Rigel was surrounded by cheerleaders again. I sat with my back to them all and played with my food.

"C'mon, M," Bri said, kicking me under the table. "You can't let him get to you like this. Eat." She glared over my shoulder and I knew all too well what she was looking at.

"I'm not hungry." Massive understatement since I thought I might throw up. "Maybe I have a stomach bug or something."

"Y'know, I think Rigel misses you more than he's letting on," Bri commented after a moment. "He's smiling and all, but it doesn't look like his heart is in it. His color looks off—kind of like yours."

That reminded me of what Trina had said in Health class on Monday—and that I still really, really needed to talk to Rigel to find out exactly what his folks had said last night about Mr. Smith. He might even have talked to them on his cell since this morning.

After lunch, I checked my locker for another note, but I didn't find one—not even when I dug through the old papers on the bottom. Disgusted, I threw them all out, leaving the bottom bare so I couldn't possibly miss any future notes. I wrote another quick note of my own that just said, _Any news?_ and dropped it onto Rigel's desk in History as I walked past it to my own.

It was risky, but I didn't care much at this point. And not really so risky, since it disappeared into Rigel's pocket before anyone else could see it. Still, he half-turned to give me a quick glare. I just smiled blandly back.

I didn't get an answer until the end of the day when, after detouring to check my locker between every single class, I finally found another note. There was nothing warm and tingly about this one, though.

_Shim says it's not him. All I know. Do NOT pass notes in class again._

Not even an initial at the end. Hmph. And even if Smith wasn't Morven, he was somebody bad. I just _had_ to figure out some way to actually talk to Rigel and find out what was going on.

By the time I got on the bus, I was feeling so lousy I told Bri and Deb I wasn't sure I'd be able to come to tonight's game, even though it was at home.

"What?" Bri was aghast. "No! You have to come. If you don't, it's like forfeiting to Trina! Everybody will think you stayed away because of Rigel."

Deb nodded. "She's right, M. Unless you're really sick?" She looked at me in concern.

"Yeah, actually, I—"

But Bri cut me off. "We'll pick you up for the game. If you start feeling worse—and I mean only if you're throwing up or something—call me."

"And my mom can drive you home if you start feeling really bad," Deb offered. "She's just coming to sell t-shirts before the game and doesn't have to stay."

"Okay, okay," I caved, against my better judgment.

But by the time Bri's mom came by to pick me up, I decided it was just as well I was going. There would be tons of people swarming around Rigel before the game to wish him luck, and there was no reason I couldn't do the same. I'd written another long note asking a bunch of questions, and that would be a perfect chance to slip it to him unnoticed. I could totally ignore Trina.

We got to the stadium well before kickoff, while the players were doing drills out on the field. Bri and Deb and I staked out our now usual spot near the fifty yard line, three rows up, but I didn't even sit before I headed down to the sidelines. The players had just taken a break, and all the early birds were converging on them.

I made a beeline toward Rigel—along with at least half of the fans and pretty much all of the cheerleaders—with my note clutched in my hand. He didn't see me until I was just a few yards away, but I saw his eyes widen with alarm when he spotted me. I knew he was going to try to motion me away, but I didn't care. I was determined to at least give him the note.

I shouldered my way through the crowd, occasionally losing sight of him, since most of the people in front of me were taller than I was. Finally I broke through, just an arm's length away from him—only to see Trina right next to him, flanked by two of her fellow cheerleaders.

She saw me at the same time I saw her, and gave me an evil smile before flinging herself into Rigel's arms.

"Good luck, Rigel," she cooed. "I just know you're going to have a _fabulous_ game, with me cheering for you!"

Then, right in front of my face, she planted a big kiss directly on Rigel's mouth.

I froze, disbelieving, waiting for him to push her away. But he didn't. His eyes locked with mine for a split second, and then he turned half away from me and kissed her back. Actually kissed her back!

I heard a weird, strangled sound then realized it was coming from my own throat. Blinded by sudden tears, I whipped around and forced my way back through the crowd, back to the stands, my undelivered note a crushed wad in my fist. I could tell as soon as I reached them that Bri and Deb had seen exactly what I had, but I absolutely did not want to hear whatever they had to say about it.

"Deb, can your mom take me home?" I asked in a tight little voice. "I . . . I'm feeling really sick."

All the pity I didn't want was evident in her eyes, but she only said, "Sure. Let's go find her."

It seemed forever before Mrs. Andrews could hand off the t-shirt sales to someone else, but finally, just a couple minutes after kickoff, we were headed to the parking lot.

"I really appreciate this," I said as we reached the car. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

"It's no trouble at all, Marsha." Her voice was kind. "You really shouldn't have come at all if you weren't feeling well."

"No," I agreed. "I really shouldn't have."

I was glad she didn't insist on coming to the door with me. I waited until she drove away, then sat on the front porch and stared into the dark for the next two hours, trying unsuccessfully to keep my mind blank. Finally, when I saw other people driving up the street on their way home from the game, I went inside.

* * *

"You didn't mention that Jewel lost last night," Uncle Louie greeted me when I dragged myself down to breakfast the next morning, pointing at the sports section open in front of him. "Your guy Rigel have an off game?"

I shrugged, trying to hide my surprise. "I guess. We've still had an amazing season so far, though."

He agreed with that, then went on to speculate about the sectionals coming up.

I didn't really listen. I was thinking about last night—again. As if obsessing and crying half the night hadn't been enough. I knew I shouldn't be glad the team lost, but I couldn't help hoping, in the most petty part of my mind, that Rigel felt every bit as lousy as I did. It seemed only fair.

"You'd better eat and get started on your chores," Aunt Theresa said. Her interruption was actually welcome until she added, "You have your belt test today, remember."

Crap. I never would have forgotten about that BR—Before Rigel. Nor was I at all confident I could pass, given how I was feeling. But first I had to get through the bathroom cleaning and lawn mowing without letting on how sick and weak I felt. The last thing I needed was Aunt Theresa deciding I had to see a doctor.

Mowing took a lot more out of me than usual, even though it was overcast and cooler today. It also took longer, which meant I had less time to rest before leaving for taekwondo.

The belt test was a disaster. I couldn't seem to remember my form, and even though two weeks ago I'd been doing great with my roundhouse kick against the targets, I just could _not_ get the board to break. Finally, Master Parker took me aside.

"Marsha, I think you'd better retest in a couple of weeks, when you're feeling better. I'm surprised your aunt even let you come, as sick as you seem to be."

Was it really _that_ obvious? "I, um, I didn't feel bad when I got up, sir," I lied, since it really wasn't Aunt Theresa's fault. "I guess it's just something that came on quickly."

"Let's hope it will pass as quickly," he said. "I'd hate to see you lose all the progress you've made over the past month or two."

"Me too, sir," I said meekly, not feeling up to any explanations even if I'd had one I could share.

It was starting to mist as I walked home, but I didn't hurry. With every step, I went deeper into wallow-mode, telling myself I was the lamest person who ever lived. First I lose my soul-mate to Trina, of all people, and now I can't even pass a belt test that several little bitty kids passed without difficulty.

No matter how slowly I went, though, I had to reach home eventually. I tried to pull myself together before going inside.

Bri had called while I was at class, so I called her back as soon as Aunt Theresa gave me the message, ready for any distraction from my most recent screwup. But her first words brought me right back to the _other_ topic I wanted to avoid.

"Wow, you really know which games to miss, don't you?"

"Yeah, I heard we lost. That's too bad."

She sighed heavily, but then said, "Well, maybe you won't feel as bad when you hear why. Rigel was even worse than last week. He could barely complete a pass at all! In fact, he was so bad, the coach _benched_ him halfway through the third quarter, if you can believe it."

"Benched him? No way!" Again, I felt guilty for wishing this on him—until the persistent vision of him kissing Trina smacked me again in my mind's eye.

"Way. Not that it helped. Bryce came in, but he wasn't much better, plus by then we were too far behind to catch up anyway."

I almost asked how Trina had acted, but thought better of it. "So, no after party?" I asked instead, hoping that was oblique enough.

"If there was, I didn't hear about it. And I don't think there was. Everybody was pretty dejected. Not that I felt sorry for Rigel, after what he did," she added loyally.

"So, what are you up to today?" I asked, to change the subject.

"Oh, that's why I called! Deb's sister Maggie is in town for the weekend, and she offered to take us all shopping in Kokomo this afternoon. Won't that be fun?" I thought her enthusiasm sounded a little forced.

I was grateful for her effort, but said, "I really can't. I've got a lot of homework, and I'm . . . still not feeling great."

"But that's exactly why you should come! You need to get your mind off of . . . things. How about if we promise not to mention Rigel—or any boys—the whole time?"

She was right, of course, but I was feeling seriously queasy again and my headache was taking on migraine proportions. "No, I mean I think I might really be coming down with something," I told her. "And before you say it, it's _not_ just in my head."

Though it _was_ because of Rigel. Our connection had always been physical as well as emotional, even before we knew each other.

"Oh. Well, okay." I wasn't sure if she sounded disappointed or relieved, and couldn't bring myself to care. "Feel better. Take a nap or something."

"Thanks. I probably will."

I hung up the phone and turned to see Aunt Theresa standing there.

"Did I hear you say that you're sick?" she asked immediately. "Why would you tell her and not me?"

Maybe it was because I felt so lousy, but I suddenly snapped. "Why do you always do that, listening in on my conversations? Is it because you don't trust me?"

She looked startled, but only for a second. "I don't know what you mean, Marsha. I simply came into the kitchen to water the plants. Now, are you sick or not?"

I shrugged. "Just an upset stomach and a little headache. Nothing serious."

"Upset stomach?" she repeated, her voice suddenly sharp. "How long has this been going on?"

I shrugged again. "A week, maybe. It's a little worse today but I don't think I have the flu or anything."

Now her eyes narrowed. "You've been mopey for two weeks now. What happened between you and that football player?"

I wanted to tell her it was none of her business but I didn't quite dare. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not a fool, Marsha. For a while there, you were happy as a clam and I know you were spending time with him, despite your excuses for staying after school every day. Then suddenly he's not at church on Sundays and you're not staying after anymore, didn't even ask to go to last week's football game. It was like I said, wasn't it? And now you're paying the price."

Now I really didn't know what she meant—or at least I hoped I didn't. "Price?"

"You let things go too far, and then he lost interest. It happens all the time. I tried to warn you, but no, you wouldn't listen. But if you think I'm going to support you _and_ your illegitimate child, you're sadly mistaken!"

I stared at her, not sure whether to scream or laugh. "You . . . you think I'm _pregnant?_ " I finally choked out.

The incredulity in my voice must have been convincing, because she backtracked, but only a little. "You said you were queasy. Everyone knows that's one of the earliest symptoms."

Suddenly, tears threatened instead of laughter. "I'm sorry you don't have more faith in me than that, Aunt Theresa," I said quietly, "but I promise you you're wrong. About everything you just said. But at least now I know that if I ever do find myself in real trouble, I shouldn't expect any help from you."

For the first time I could ever remember, I actually left her speechless. If I hadn't felt so awful, I might have savored the moment. Instead, I just left her standing there in the middle of the kitchen and went upstairs to take a long, hot shower.

I still didn't have any appetite at dinner that night, though I pushed my food around on my plate to make it look like I was eating a little. As usual, Uncle Louie carried on a monologue during the meal, telling funny stories from his work week. I suspected Aunt Theresa was as relieved as I was not to have to say anything. We hadn't exchanged more than two words since our confrontation earlier.

I was just washing the last of the dinner dishes when the phone rang. Aunt Theresa answered.

"Hello? (pause) Yes she is, but you have some nerve calling here, young man, after your behavior to my niece. (pause) No, she didn't have to say anything. I'm not blind. If you think—"

But by then I'd dried my hands and was reaching urgently for the phone, so she broke off in mid sentence with a snort and handed it to me.

"Rigel?" I'm sure my disbelief showed in my voice.

"Hey, M. I'm . . . I'm sorry. I wanted to talk to you sooner, but—"

"You sound terrible." And he did. He sounded as bad as I felt, his voice raspy and tired.

"Yeah, about that. Look, I know you can't talk privately, so just listen, okay?"

Though I had a whole lot I wanted to say to him, my aunt and uncle were both unabashedly eavesdropping, so I just said, "Okay."

"We really, really need to talk, face to face, but it has to be some way nobody will see us. Especially a particular somebody. Do you think there's any chance you can sneak out of the house tonight, after your aunt and uncle are asleep? Just say yes or no."

"Um, probably." I wasn't going to let him order me around like that, after what he'd put me through. But I was also desperate to see him—to talk to him.

He gave a ghost of a chuckle. "Okay, good enough. If you can get away, meet me at the arboretum at midnight. But be super careful, and if I'm not there, don't wait. It'll mean I either couldn't sneak past my folks or I was being followed. And if you see anything suspicious at _all_ , run right back home. Got it?"

"Yeah, but—"

"The rest will have to wait till later. See you in a few hours—hopefully."

"Hopefully," I echoed. And then he hung up. Aware of my listeners, I waited a moment, then said, "Okay, bye, then."

"And what was that about?" Aunt Theresa asked the moment I hung up. "He didn't give you a chance to get a word in edgewise."

I shrugged, not having had time to think up a good cover story. "He was mostly just apologizing." It was how he'd started, anyway. "So it seemed better to just let him talk."

"Apologizing?" Her voice was sharp. "Apologizing for what?"

Oops. "He, um . . . well, we were kind of starting to be a couple at school but then he started flirting with a cheerleader." She'd probably learned that much from gossiping with her friends, anyway. "But he didn't really mean anything by it." I hoped that part was true.

"Hmph. Or so he claims now. Don't let him string you along, Marsha. Show some self-respect."

Stung, I felt my chin tilt upward automatically. "I have. That's why _he_ called _me_."

She was still frowning and looking sour, but apparently couldn't think of anything else to say beyond another snort. That was fine with me. I needed to figure out how I was going to slip out of the house without being heard . . . and what I was going to wear when I did it.

* * *

The sneaking out part turned out to be easy. Aunt Theresa and Uncle Louie were in bed by ten-thirty, and by eleven I could hear Uncle Louie snoring. That was definitely enough noise to cover me tiptoeing down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door.

Which gave me a whole hour to decide whether I should dress in something black and espionage-y or something alluring and feminine. Finally after some excruciating angsting, I split the difference and pulled on my black jeans and a dark green—but flattering—top. And my old gray sneakers, because they were my quietest shoes.

The fine mist was still falling when I stepped outside, more than fog but not quite rain. Autumn in Indiana. It gave the night an eerie quality, making halos around the lamppost lights in everyone's front yards. Reminding myself that no one had any reason—yet—to suspect who I really was, I headed for the arboretum, peering into every shadow just in case there really was anyone watching me.

Even though I still felt horribly tired and achy and ill, excitement bubbled up inside me as I walked at the thought of seeing Rigel again. I imagined I could feel him as I reached the stone wall of the arboretum and stepped through the archway. But, peering through the mist, I didn't see anyone and the excitement started to leak out of me. Maybe he hadn't been able to get away. Worse, maybe he'd been followed or even caught by—

A shadow suddenly moved at the base of a huge sycamore tree just inside the entrance and I fought to stifle a scream. Then, as adrenaline kicked in, I tried desperately to remember a defensive taekwondo move or two.

And then I heard Rigel's voice say, "M? Everything okay?" and I practically went limp with relief.

"Hey," I whispered back, my heart gradually slowing. "I'm fine. No trouble getting away at all. How about you?"

"A little dicey—I didn't think my parents would ever go to bed. And my bike was stuck in front of my dad's car, but I managed to get it out without making too much of a racket. C'mon."

He led the way and a moment later we stood face to face by "our" bench. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, but I didn't quite dare after all that had happened the last couple of weeks—and especially last night at the game.

"So?" I said when he didn't immediately speak. "What's going on, exactly?"

"Let's sit down," he said, taking my hand.

The jolt was even stronger than the very first time we'd touched. Gasping, I clutched at his hand like someone drowning, feeling the connection, the healing, flowing through me. He stared at me for a long moment, gripping my hand tightly in his, and then, without warning, he gathered me into his arms.

"Is it just me?" he murmured, "or can you feel everything wrong righting itself?"

"I feel it. Oh, I definitely feel it," I assured him. "It's like . . . your touch is curing me, or something."

He nodded. "I hoped, but I wasn't sure . . ." He gripped me by the shoulders for a moment, then swooped in for a kiss, which I enthusiastically returned. "M," he said when he finally released me, "let's not stay apart like this again, if we can help it."

"Sounds good to me," I said shakily. And it really, really did. During that too-short kiss, my aches had lessened noticeably and my queasiness had completely disappeared.

I sank down onto the metal bench beside him, not even noticing the soft mist anymore. "So, what _did_ you want to tell me?"

"So much," he said with a sigh. "One thing I only guessed, but now I know—being apart hurts us both. And the last thing I ever want to do is to hurt you."

Instantly, my thoughts went to last night, to the sight of Rigel kissing Trina. He seemed to realize it before I could say anything. He took my hands again and held them tightly, willing me to look him full in the face in the dim, misty light.

"Last night—that was an awful, awful thing I did to you, M. But . . . I didn't know what else to do. Smith was behind you in the stands, looking right at me, and then Trina, well, she kind of threw herself at me. Please, _please_ believe that I didn't enjoy a second of it, that I only did it to keep you safe. When I saw you leaving and knew I'd hurt you, it practically killed me."

The grief in his eyes compelled me to accept what he said—and to forgive him.

"I heard you lost the game," I said, "and that the coach benched you."

His mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a smile and he nodded. "Like I said. After you left, well, I was kind of a disaster. Worst game I've played since sixth grade. I don't blame the coach for pulling me out. Even Farmer did a better job."

"So—" I wanted to make sure I really understood. "This being apart thing. It was as awful for you as it was for me?" I intentionally used the past tense.

"Oh, man, I really hope you haven't been feeling as bad as I have, M. It was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning. Couldn't stand the sight of food, and during football season I usually eat about twice my weight every day—or so my mother claims."

I nodded. "And headaches, and aching muscles . . . Sounds like we had it about the same. I don't want to see how much more I can take without it killing me. Even if it's to keep someone else from killing me."

I meant it as a joke, but he didn't laugh. "Exactly. What's the point of saving you by killing you? Killing us both. Though we'll need to be super careful."

"How careful? I mean, your folks must have noticed how sick you've been, and the whole school saw you lose a game. And I . . . I flunked my taekwondo belt test this morning. My aunt's going to be pissed when she finds out. Almost as pissed as—" I broke off, realizing I did _not_ want to tell him about her suspicions earlier.

"You flunked your belt test? Oh, man, M, I'm sorry. I've really messed us both over, haven't I? And maybe for nothing."

"Nothing? What do you mean?"

"Well . . . My folks talked to my grandfather, like I told you in my note, and Smith is definitely not the guy his people have been watching in California. That guy is still there. Then at the game last night, I pointed him out to my parents. They went and sat right behind him, and they didn't get any vibes off him at all."

I thought Rigel looked a little uncomfortable as he continued. "The weird thing is, I didn't get any vibes off him either—last night, I mean. I definitely did Thursday. I thought maybe it's just because I've been feeling so lousy. I figured maybe my . . . my _brath_ sensing was messed up, too. Anyway, after last night, I think my folks are chalking the whole thing up to overactive teenage imaginations. That we're just seeing—or feeling—what we expect to."

I was already shaking my head. "No, there's no way we both imagined it. And I didn't _just_ get a Martian vibe off him, I got a definite bad guy vibe. Like I did from Flynn. Plus, he's been watching you like a hawk. But it's so weird that your parents—and you—didn't feel his _brath_ last night. Do you think he could have a way to disguise it or something?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what to believe now. I've never heard of anybody being able to do that, but then I've never heard of anyone wanting to, either. So who knows?"

I definitely didn't. For a long time—at least ten minutes—we just sat there saying nothing, Rigel's arm around my shoulders. I suspected he was drawing as much strength and health from me as I was drawing from him.

Finally, reluctantly, I asked, "So, what do we do now?" Even though what I wanted to do was just sit here together for as long as we possibly could.

Rigel tightened his hold on me for a second, then released me—also reluctantly, I thought. Hoped. "I've been thinking about that," he said. "We both need to be alert—and strong—whether Smith is really after you or someone else shows up who is."

"So we can't very well stay completely apart," I said hopefully.

"Right. But we also don't want to tip Smith off. We'll have to meet secretly, like tonight. Or even after school, if we're sneaky—sometimes I can duck out of practice early. Maybe that will be enough."

It didn't sound like enough to me. "I guess. So when do we meet again?"

"After school on Friday, maybe? I won't have practice, since it's a game day, but I can stay after, if you can come up with a reason to hang around that doesn't look like it has to do with me."

"I'll come up with something."

He took my face between his hands and kissed me—still too short a kiss, but very satisfying all the same. "You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured.

I shook my head, partly because I wasn't but also because I didn't mind hearing more flattery.

"You are. You're the bravest person I think I've ever known, to handle everything that's been thrown at you without freaking out."

But I knew I wasn't really brave. I was just selfish, wanting more Rigel time. It was no credit to me that my need for him was stronger than any fear could ever be. "I'll try to maintain that record," I said. "But no promises if the bad guys show up with laser guns."

He laughed and hugged me. "C'mon. Let's get you home. You go first and I'll follow about twenty yards behind. That way, if anyone did manage to follow one of us—"

"I'm sure they didn't, but okay," I said, half enjoying all of this cloak and dagger stuff.

We left the arboretum separately, him walking his bike a block behind me. But once I turned the corner onto my street, he caught up to give me one last kiss— though I very much hoped it wouldn't be _the_ last.

"Be safe," he whispered. "I'll see you soon."

He rode off and, feeling much, much better than I had in two weeks, I walked—or rather, drifted—the last half block alone.

## 21

# Stellar discoveries

I WAS STILL feeling pretty good when I got to school Monday morning, even though I wasn't sure exactly what to expect.

Rigel and his folks had come to church yesterday, and even though they didn't sit with us, they at least nodded a greeting afterward—and Rigel and I managed to exchange a look and a smile when they weren't watching. I didn't think my aunt and uncle noticed, either, though I half wished my aunt had, after the stuff she'd said.

They definitely had no clue I'd snuck out Saturday night, and _that_ was something I was completely fine with. Especially since I was hoping to do it again—soon and often. I was careful not to act too chipper on Sunday morning, even though I felt like singing. No point inviting questions I couldn't answer.

I caught myself chewing the inside of my cheek as I got to Geometry class, the way I sometimes did when I was nervous. Rigel had said we should still pretend to ignore each other, but what if I couldn't pull it off? What if he couldn't? What if he _could?_ Taking a deep breath, like I would before jumping into deep water, I entered the room.

The pull I always felt toward Rigel was stronger than I could ever remember it being before—so strong, it took an actual physical effort to keep my feet from moving his way. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him sway just a little as I walked past and hoped it meant he was feeling the same unusual pull. I also hoped I'd get a chance to ask him later on.

I was pretty proud of myself that I managed to take my seat without looking at him. Well, not _right_ at him, though I was so aware of him it felt like cheating. Still, if no one noticed, it didn't count, right?

Deb was watching me closely, though. "Bri was right. You look about two hundred percent better today than you did Friday," she said, referring to our conversation on the bus. "It's great that you've bounced back so well."

I just smiled. I'd told them I'd gotten a lot of sleep over the weekend, but they both chose to see my improvement as proof that I was finally over Rigel. Which was the safest thing to let them assume, even if the truth was exactly the opposite.

A couple of hours later, in English class, I made a point of trying to pick up that Martian vibe from Mr. Smith, after what Rigel had said Saturday night. Now, though, I wasn't sure I was feeling it—not that I'd ever felt it _very_ strongly from anyone other than Rigel. It was like his vibe was so intense—to me, at least—that it drowned out anyone nearby. With him sitting right in front of me, it was especially hard for me to focus on anything else.

Trina kept swiveling around—pretty much every time Mr. Smith's back was turned—to flirt with Rigel, but I noticed he wasn't responding nearly as much as he had last week. I hoped it was because he knew now that he could hurt me emotionally as much as physically and was trying not to do that.

I thought Rigel seemed a little . . . twitchy during English, but it wasn't until Science that I understood why. Now he was sitting behind me, the way I'd sat behind him last period—and I could _feel_ him back there, more strongly than usual. It was really, really hard not to turn around. So hard that about ten minutes into class, Will asked if I was sitting on a tack or something. I tried harder to sit still after that.

But just a few minutes later, a delicious tap on my shoulder sent a wakeup call ricocheting through my body and I did turn.

"Can I borrow a pen?" Rigel whispered. "Mine's out of ink." He kept his expression neutral but I could see amusement flickering deep in his eyes and knew it was just a ruse—an excuse to touch me. The thought made me giddy.

"Oh! Um, sure." I rummaged in my bag and panicked for a second when I couldn't find a pen right away, but then I did and handed it to him, making sure my fingers touched his. "Here you go."

"Thanks." This time he allowed himself just the smallest smile—enough to approximately double my heart rate.

As I turned back around, I heard Trina hiss, "Couldn't you have borrowed one from someone else? _Anyone_ else?"

I was willing to bet she'd be carrying several extra pens tomorrow.

At the end of class, Rigel returned my pen, which gave us another excuse to brush fingers. It was nowhere as good as a kiss, or even holding hands, but it was massively better than no touching at all. I headed for lunch with an extra bounce in my step.

"So, M," Bri said as she and Deb and I sat down with our trays. "Now that you're past the meltdown-rebound stage, how about the three of us triple-date to the movies next week? Nate Groundwater told Matt Mullins to tell me to tell you that he's interested. Or there's Jimmy Franklin. I mean, I know he's just on the JV team, but you've liked him forever, and he's been telling everybody you guys are going out sometime soon."

"What?" My attention had strayed to Rigel—surrounded by cheerleaders as usual—but that snapped me back. "I never told him that."

"But he asked?" Deb demanded. "Tell me he asked!"

I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, actually, he asked me to Homecoming but I said no. I guess I might have said something like, 'maybe some other time.'"

"Well, there you go." Bri made it sound like everything was settled or something.

"But I—" I stopped. I couldn't very well say I didn't want to go out with Jimmy because Rigel and I were back together, since that was a huge secret. "I don't think I'm really ready for that," I ended lamely.

Bri and Deb launched into a lengthy tag-team lecture on why I needed to move on, not only for my sake but for the sake of all dumped girls everywhere, but now my attention was diverted by the sight of our new English teacher patrolling the lunchroom. Because he was most definitely patrolling.

As I always did when he was in the room, I tried to make myself more inconspicuous. I knew I gave off enough of a vibe for other Martians to pick up, and I absolutely didn't want Mr. Smith noticing. He hadn't seemed to yet, though I'd been careful not to speak up in his class, remembering how Rigel's voice had affected me the first day of school—and pretty much every day since.

He wandered the cafeteria, seemingly aimlessly, though I could tell it was anything but aimless. His gaze kept coming back to Rigel and whoever was talking to him.

Like I'd done in English class, I tried to focus on Smith, to see if I could get that Martian vibe off of him, but I couldn't, not really. What I did get from him, though, as strongly as I had his first day here, was a gut feeling that said the guy couldn't be trusted.

Shim had told me to trust my instincts, and my instincts said that Smith was bad news— though I really, really hoped I was wrong. Because I was pretty sure that if Shim and his high-ranking cronies believed Smith was a real threat, I wouldn't be able to talk them out of whisking me away to Montana or some other remote place. Without Rigel. Which made it super tempting to just assume the Stuarts were right, and Mr. Smith was no threat at all.

But even if I wanted to gamble my life on that assumption—which I didn't—not _knowing_ meant Rigel would never be willing for us to be a real couple again. And that meant I needed to find out for sure what Smith was up to, whether he was a danger or not. But how?

* * *

By the next day I had a plan. A risky plan, probably a stupid plan, but better than nothing. Maybe.

I told my aunt I'd be staying after school that day—partly in case Rigel could get out of football practice early, like he'd hinted he might, but mainly so I could snoop around in Smith's classroom. I knew the odds were low I'd actually find anything, but it was a place to start.

During English class and at lunch, I watched him every chance I got, which meant whenever I didn't think he'd notice. I'm not sure what I hoped to see—certainly he didn't do anything overtly sinister. But he did check his cell phone almost constantly, even during class, though he was very discreet about it. I probably hadn't noticed before because I'd been trying so hard to be invisible.

At least six times during our fifty minute class, he slipped it out of his desk drawer—I carefully noted which drawer—glanced at it, then quickly put it away again. Interesting. At lunch he checked it even more often, like every five minutes, as he prowled around the cafeteria. Definitely interesting.

Obviously he was expecting an important call or text. It might just be about getting his cable hooked up or his car in the shop. Or it might be about something related to his real business here in Jewel.

If I could somehow get my hands on that cell phone, I could check his call history, his texts, anything he hadn't erased. And even if I couldn't, maybe I could get lucky and overhear him or something—if I had the guts to get that close.

Common sense said I should play it safe and stay as invisible—and as far from him—as possible. But more and more, I wanted to know what I was really up against, or if I was up against anything at all. I was sure those important Martian muckety-mucks hadn't told Rigel and me everything, either because it was too secret or because they only saw us as kids. Sometimes I even wondered if Shim might have exaggerated the possible danger just to keep me quiet and away from Rigel, that maybe there wasn't really any threat at all. If so, I definitely had a right to know.

As soon as the last bell rang, I headed straight for Mr. Smith's classroom. But when I reached it, he was still there, talking to a couple of senior girls who were pretty blatantly flirting with him in the guise of asking questions about some assignment. I wished I could tell them he was probably at least fifty years old instead of the twenty-five he looked.

Since I couldn't do any snooping with him there, I continued past the classroom and on to the media center. I'd do a little homework and try back after a while.

Half an hour later, I wandered oh-so-casually back down the hallway and saw that the room was dark and the door open. After a quick check up and down the hall to make sure no one was watching, I whisked into the classroom and pushed the door partway closed.

I set to work methodically searching his desk. No cell phone (of course) and nothing else that looked even a little bit incriminating or even personal. Just lesson plans and books and stacks of papers written by students, stuff like that. Next I looked through the shelves behind his desk and the table along the side of the room, but I knew it was pointless. Finally I gave it up, wondering why I'd thought there was any chance at all he'd have left anything important in an unlocked classroom anyway. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Worse, by the time I came to that obvious conclusion, I had to run to catch the late bus, so all I saw of Rigel was his profile through the window of his bus. A wasted afternoon altogether.

* * *

I didn't abandon my plan, though. For the rest of the week, I kept a close eye on Mr. Smith whenever I could, even detouring past his classroom between as many of my classes as possible. He kept checking his phone a lot, but otherwise I didn't catch him doing anything suspicious. Maybe my instincts _were_ wrong—which would be great.

During lunch Friday, I happened to be watching Mr. Smith over Bri's shoulder when he checked his phone yet again and suddenly stiffened, then hurried out of the cafeteria.

"So anyway," Bri was saying, "if you guys tell your folks you're spending the night at my house after the game and I tell my mom I'm staying at Deb's—"

"Um, I gotta go," I said, shoving to my feet without taking my eyes off of Mr. Smith's retreating back.

Bri gaped at my rudeness. "But I was just—"

"I know. Sorry. Bathroom," I mumbled over my shoulder, already on my way. I didn't know if I'd be able to overhear anything important, but it was the best shot I'd had all week and I wasn't going to miss it.

I practically sprinted across the cafeteria, not much caring what anybody else thought, except maybe Rigel. I could feel his eyes on my back, but no way was I stopping to explain, even if doing so wouldn't violate his whole pretend-not-to-notice-each-other policy. If I found out anything, I'd tell him later.

By the time I got to the lunchroom door, Mr. Smith was halfway down the hall, his phone already to his ear. I just _had_ to hear what he was saying! I couldn't very well run after him without him noticing, but even as I thought that, he ducked into a classroom.

Now I was willing to hurry. Grateful I'd worn sneakers today, I ran as lightly as I could, stopping just short of the doorway he'd gone into. Leaning against the wall, I pulled an emery board out and pretended to file my nails—not actually touching them, since that would have made noise—while I strained my ears.

If my own hearing hadn't become nearly as good as Rigel's by now, I wouldn't have been able to make out any words at all. But Rigel and I had been doing a lot of secret touching these days, managing to brush fingertips or shoulders at least a couple of times a day. I could hear Mr. Smith like he was just a couple feet away, even though I was pretty sure he was at the far end of the room.

"Yes, I'm almost certain," he was saying. "I've watched the Stuart kid's every move for two weeks now."

There was a pause, during which I could barely hear the voice on the other end of the line, enough to tell it was male and impatient, but not actual words.

"No, that's just it. He's pretty thick with this one girl, a cheerleader—Trina Squires—but I've checked her records and even talked with her, and there's no evidence she's . . . who we're looking for. None. It's a dead end, like I've said all along. The Stuart kid probably made those internet searches himself." Another pause. "Who knows? Simple curiosity, maybe. We don't know how much he's been told."

Now there was another, longer pause. The voice on the other end sounded a little less upset, I thought.

"Yes," Smith finally replied. "I think it's safe to go ahead with the plan. I know he doesn't want to risk her somehow popping up in the middle of things, but if she's not here, she's probably not anywhere—this was our strongest lead yet. I've doubted all along she's alive at all. What? (pause) No, the Stuart kid hasn't said anything to me, so the device must be working. I think you should tell him we're good to go. These _Duchas_ will never even know what hit them." He chuckled—nastily, I thought.

One more quick question that I couldn't hear.

"No, I can't think of anything else to do here, but I should probably finish out the semester to avoid speculation, unless he decides to put the plan in motion sooner. And you probably shouldn't ask me to call again during the day—it's too risky, even if no one suspects."

I heard the faint beep of his phone disconnecting, but by then I was already walking softly back in the direction of the cafeteria, my heart hammering like crazy. The bell rang just as I reached the doors and I suddenly remembered that I hadn't had time to eat anything before escaping for my little stint of espionage. Glancing at my table, I saw Bri, her back still to the door, stacking my tray on top of hers to take to the drop. She still looked pissed.

Not that any of that mattered now.

Even though I had no idea what "plan" Mr. Smith had been referring to, I'd definitely heard enough to verify that he was exactly what Rigel and I had first feared. Now we had to decide what to do about it.

* * *

It was all I could do to sit still during my last three classes. I was dying to tell Rigel what I'd heard, but it was way too much to put into a note. Besides, we'd agreed to meet after school today, though we hadn't worked out any of the details.

At the end of History I managed to get close enough to him to brush hands and I tried to catch his eye to get _some_ kind of confirmation that was were still meeting, but though his fingers briefly closed over mine, he didn't quite look at me. We were really getting good at this. Maybe too good, at least for my purposes right now.

But when I opened my locker at the end of the day, there was a scrap of folded paper at the bottom. I snatched it up, not even waiting to make sure no one was watching, almost afraid to hope. It had one word written on it: _cornfield_.

Yes! It was all I could do not to pump my fist in the air. I threw my homework for the weekend into my backpack, slung it over my shoulder and headed for the side door we'd used before, opposite the stadium.

Rigel was nowhere in sight. I thought I remembered where we'd entered before, give or take a couple of rows, but once I was well within the towering, now-yellowing stalks, I couldn't help feeling a little nervous. It would be fatally easy to get lost in here, with visibility limited to maybe three feet in any direction. The big leaves crackled as I moved through them as quickly as I reasonably could, hoping I hadn't misjudged by _more_ than a couple of rows. If I had, I might miss the clearing completely—and maybe the late bus as well.

I'd been walking, all but blind, for nearly ten minutes and was just starting to feel the first twinges of panic when I heard a whispered, "Over here!"

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I angled two rows to the right and a moment later reached the clearing. I stepped out under the brilliantly blue early October sky to see Rigel waiting for me on "our" rock. Even with bits of dried corn detritus sprinkled in his dark hair, he looked as gorgeous as I'd ever seen him. He stood as I approached and then we were embracing. Then kissing. I decided talking could wait.

"Y'know," I murmured when I finally could, "I'm glad this stuff is seed corn instead of sweet corn."

He blinked at me. "Huh?"

"Sweet corn would have been cut down by mid-August. This place wouldn't even exist. I'm so glad it does."

Now he laughed. "You really are an Indiana girl, no matter where you were born. But I'm glad, too." He kissed me again, and for another delicious minute I forgot anything else.

Finally, though, the need to tell him what I'd learned outweighed—barely—my need for more kissing. I nudged him back to the rock and we sat there together, still touching from hip to shoulder, his arm around me. I took a deep breath, as much to refocus my thoughts as because I needed the air.

"I heard something today I need to tell you about," I began. "I—we—were definitely right about Smith."

He frowned at me in concern. "So you really _were_ following him when you left the cafeteria in such a hurry? That was way risky. I'd have stopped you except I was afraid that would be even riskier."

"He didn't see me. And you'll be glad you didn't stop me when I tell you what I heard. I could tell he was leaving to make a phone call—he's been, like, obsessive about checking his phone all week—and I wanted to listen in if I could."

Rigel looked appalled. "Oh, man, M! What if he'd—"

"No, just listen. It was obviously a call from his Martian boss." I told him exactly what I'd heard, as close to verbatim as I could remember. "So," I concluded, "not only were we right, but your plan turned out to be a good one, much as I hate to admit it. He's pretty much given up trying to find me here."

"Yeah." Rigel looked thoughtful. "But since he's not leaving yet, it means we still can't risk being seen together, not while he's around. And what's that 'plan' he mentioned?"

I shrugged. "I was kind of hoping you might know. It's definitely not good, whatever it is, though I can't imagine how they'd think I could interfere with it. Your folks haven't said anything?"

"No, but I doubt they would—to me, anyway. Assuming they know anything about it."

"Hm. I'll bet Shim does, even if they don't. I don't think there's much that gets past him—though I guess this Smith guy did. Though from what Smith said, it sounds like he does have some kind of device that keeps other Martians from picking up on his _brath_. So . . . what do you think your folks will do if you tell them about this?"

Rigel shook his head slowly. "To be honest, I'm kind of afraid to find out. I'm pretty sure the minute my grandfather knows for sure that someone connected to Faxon is here in Jewel, he—that whole Council—will insist on getting you away from here—making you disappear."

"That's what I was afraid of." Then, afraid I wouldn't like the answer, I asked, "Would you have to . . . disappear too?"

"Probably not. I do know they absolutely won't let me go wherever you go, not after the way that Allister guy ragged on Grandfather about how I could screw up your destiny or whatever. It's . . . it's one reason I didn't try harder to convince them Smith was a bad guy," he admitted. "I didn't want to risk them doing something drastic before we were sure."

"And I don't want to risk it even now!" I felt the same panic welling up in me that I'd felt when Shim had talked about moving me to some compound. "I . . . I don't think we should tell them anything about this. Not yet."

Rigel looked uncomfortable. "Your safety should be the only thing that matters, but—" He ran a hand up my arm, leaving a delicious tingle in its wake— "the idea of them taking you away somewhere I can't follow, can't protect you . . ."

He thought for a moment. "Maybe . . . maybe we should try to find out more before we tell them? I _know_ there's stuff going on, political stuff, that my parents aren't talking about. And not just back on Mars. At least, that's what it sounds like from the bits I've heard when they didn't know I was listening."

I nodded. I'd gotten the same impression that evening when all the dignitaries were there at Rigel's house. "Any ideas on how we're going to do that?"

"I think you've done your part already," he said with that crooked grin I loved. "Now it's my turn to do some snooping—at home. I'll let you know what I find out."

I didn't like leaving it all to him, but since I couldn't think of anything I could do along those lines, I reluctantly agreed. "Okay. And I'll, um, see if I can find out anything else about my adoption. I mean, why did everyone just assume I died along with my parents? And how _did_ I end up getting adopted? I'm sure there's stuff my aunt hasn't told me, and who knows? Maybe it'll turn up some kind of clue to this . . . plan, whatever it is. Or why I'm a threat to it."

"Just don't do anything else risky," he said, holding both of my hands and looking earnestly into my face. "Promise?"

"I promise not to risk anything worse than my aunt getting pissed at me. And it's not like I can avoid that, anyway."

That forced a chuckle from him. "Good enough. How about we try to meet in the arboretum again tomorrow night, to compare notes."

I nodded eagerly. "Midnight?"

"Yeah. So, um . . . " He hesitated for a moment. "Are you coming to the game tonight?"

"Do you want me to?" I watched his expression closely.

"Absolutely. Though we'll still have to stay away from each other. But if you don't mind, I'd really like you to be there."

"Because it'll help you play better?" I couldn't quite keep the cynicism out of my voice.

"No!" He sounded like he meant it. But then he added, "Well, not _just_ that, anyway. I always like having you nearby. Game or no game. And if Trina throws herself at me again, I promise to miss."

"Good enough," I said with a grin. And then he was kissing me again.

* * *

All too soon, it was time to head back to catch our buses. This time we were much more careful not to be spotted together. We stopped just a few cornstalks shy of the edge of the field, where we were still well screened.

"Think we can make this a regular Friday afternoon date?" Rigel asked, trailing a reluctant finger down my cheek.

My heart turned over at the look in his eyes. "I'd like that. Except . . . I expect they'll be harvesting in a few weeks."

"Then we'll find another spot. If I have this to look forward to, maybe it won't be so hard having you sit right in front or right behind me without being able to touch you or talk to you."

I just smiled, elated to know that he _was_ bothered by that as much as I was. Somehow, that would make it a little easier to endure.

"Okay," he said, "I'll go right and you go left, and I'll wait until you're in the school before I come out. With luck, no one will see either of us."

One more quick kiss, then we headed off in opposite directions. I made sure no one was on this side of the school before I stepped out of the corn, then did my best to brush all traces of the cornfield off of my clothes and hair before hurrying through the school to my bus. I didn't dare dawdle and make Rigel late for his.

* * *

Even though I knew I wouldn't be able to get close to Rigel at tonight's game, I was still eager to get there, just to watch him from a distance. I spent the time before dinner making a list of questions I planned to ask Aunt Theresa tomorrow. I considered starting now, but was worried she might get irritated enough to keep me from going to the game, and I didn't want to risk that.

As it was, I had a suspicion it had been her idea for Uncle Louie to drive me there tonight, though he seemed okay with it. I was sure she hadn't guessed I'd snuck out Saturday night, but she was still watching me extra closely. If anything, my being happy this week had her more on edge than my misery the week before. I really couldn't win with her.

Like he had at the first game of the season, Uncle Louie linked up with some friends as soon as we reached the stadium, leaving me free to go sit with Deb and Bri and their new semi-cool crowd. Now that I was myself again—well, my new, improved self, as opposed to the sickly mess I'd been lately—I was able to properly appreciate our newly elevated social status. Several people greeted me when I joined them, and Dawna Higgs, who was a sweetheart even if she was a JV cheerleader, told me I looked great.

"Thanks. I'm feeling lots better this week," I said, smiling around at everyone. Then I noticed that "everyone" included Jimmy Franklin, who hadn't been part of the crowd before. At least, I didn't think he had.

He noticed me noticing and came over to sit next to me. "Hey, M, lookin' good."

"Thanks, Jimmy," I said, but not at all in a flirty way. I definitely didn't have room in my heart or head for anyone but Rigel now. On that thought, I turned to watch as the players quit warming up and ran to the sidelines for final instructions before kickoff. Rigel was the fastest, of course, looking as good, as strong, as he ever had.

Just as I was relaxing into appreciation mode, Trina sidled up to him through the gathering crowd, looking like she was angling to give him another good luck kiss. I held my breath, watching for Rigel's reaction.

It wasn't quite what I'd hoped. Even though he didn't kiss her back, he didn't exactly push her away. Instead, he threw his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug-and-release. I could see she was disappointed, but she still looked smug when she returned to the other cheerleaders, her claim reestablished.

As I watched, Rigel looked up into the stands, spotted me and gave a muted smile and nod, general enough that no one watching could be sure who he was looking at. I smiled and nodded back, then turned to laugh at something Jimmy had just said to Bri about the Frankfort Hot Dogs (yeah, that really is their team name). Peeking sideways at the field, I saw Rigel frowning.

Good. Let him see what it feels like.

The game started then, and I was careful not to do anything else to encourage Jimmy, since that wouldn't be fair to him. Besides, in a moment I was way too caught up in watching Rigel play to think about anything else.

Though the rest of our team was still mediocre, Rigel was definitely back at the top of his form, running the ball and making impossible passes. Jewel won handily, 24-3.

At the final whistle, I was dying to go down to the field to congratulate Rigel, like I'd always done before our fake breakup, but of course I couldn't. Even if Smith weren't still in the stadium, word would get around instantly if it looked like Rigel and I were getting back together.

"You sure you don't want to come to the party?" Bri asked as I stood up to leave. She'd forgiven me for my rudeness at lunch when I'd pleaded a serious bathroom emergency.

"I told you, I can't." I added a touch of pitifulness and a longing glance Rigel's way and she backed off immediately. With an only slightly exaggerated sigh, I went to find Uncle Louie.

* * *

The next day I waited until after I'd mowed the lawn—hopefully for the last time this year—and retaken and passed my taekwondo belt test (no problems at all this time!) before tackling Aunt Theresa with my list of questions. I spent the walk back from taekwondo and my shower afterward screwing up my courage, since I knew this wasn't going to be easy.

Luckily, she was outside pruning her roses when I came down, which always tended to put her in as nice a mood as she ever had. I took it as a good omen.

I went out into the garden with a plastic grocery bag and, without being asked, started carefully gathering up the clippings and bagging them, a task she occasionally delegated to me. I remembered the hard-learned trick of picking them up by the leaves so I wouldn't get pricked.

"Pretty day, huh?" It was a lame opening, but better than launching right into questions.

"Yes, yes it is," she agreed. "Thank you for helping, Marsha."

"I didn't want to stay inside when it's so nice out," I said, then worked beside her in silence for about five minutes, gathering my courage again. _Now or never_ , I told myself. "Aunt Theresa, how did I come to be adopted? I mean, I know you don't know who my real parents were, but was it through an orphanage, or an agency, or what?"

I half expected her to snap at me to leave it alone, like she used to do when I was younger, but she didn't. Instead, she gave a long-suffering sigh and nodded.

"I suppose it's only natural that you're curious. I've never quite forgiven my sister-in-law for what she did, taking you in when she and her husband were such irresponsible gadabouts, but I suppose it's not your fault."

Hardly daring to breathe for fear I'd somehow irk her back into her usual taciturnity, I waited for her to go on. After a moment, she did.

"Mind you, I know no more about your birth parents than I've ever told you—not their names or where they were from. But because of the, ah, circumstances of your adoption, I've always suspected something wasn't quite right there. It's one reason I didn't want to talk to you about it until you were older. But then you . . . stopped asking."

I managed not to say, _Yeah, because you always bit my head off when I did_. "What do you mean, something wasn't quite right?" I asked instead.

"You weren't adopted through an agency or an orphanage. From what Linda told me, she and Jim were approached by an individual who had heard they were looking to adopt. Everything was handled privately—under the table, so to speak. I wondered at the time whether your real parents were on the run—criminals, maybe—or if you were stolen and sold. But I never knew the truth and I don't think Linda or Jim did, either. They were so happy not to have to deal with the usual red tape, they didn't question much. I doubt they'd have been approved through the proper channels, which they surely knew full well."

Since I'd heard way too many times about my adoptive parents' "hippie" lifestyle as wilderness guides and mountain climbers—something that had always sounded wonderfully exciting to me as a child—I let that particular thread drop and picked up another.

"So . . . they never saw my real parents? Did you ever meet the person who arranged my adoption with them?"

She shook her head, starting to look impatient. "They were out west somewhere at the time—Colorado, I believe, though it might have been Wyoming. One of the square states. Louie and I never heard a word about it until it was too late—that is, until it was finalized."

"And you don't have any records, any paperwork or anything?" I was starting to clutch at straws, worried she'd shut me down any moment, as she always had in the past.

"Only your birth certificate, showing a sealed adoption. As far as I know, even your birth date was an educated guess."

It gave me a weird feeling to think that my birthday might not be my real birthday. Then I realized the Stuarts would know. I'd have to ask them—or ask Rigel to ask them. Maybe it was a minor thing, but it was important to me.

"What about my name?" I asked then. "Did . . . did I tell them that? I mean, I was almost two when they adopted me, right?"

My aunt snipped off a stem shorter than she'd intended and made a "tch" noise before answering. "Twenty-two months, or so they estimated. And yes, you did tell them . . . in a way. Apparently, for the first weeks or months after they got you, all you would say was . . . was—" She paused as though this was difficult for her, which seemed out of character.

"What?" I finally prompted, suddenly even more curious.

"You kept saying . . . 'Stay safe my Marsha Prentiss.' Another reason I suspected your parents were running from the law—or something worse. Your real mother must have said that to you repeatedly before abandoning you."

I stared at her, but barely noticed when she surreptitiously wiped an eye.

_Stay safe my Marsha Prentiss_. Except that had never been my name. My real name, according to the Stuarts, was Emileia. _Stay safe . . . my Martian Princess?_

I had a sudden, vivid vision—or memory?—of a brown-haired woman bending over me and saying those exact words. She looked frightened—so frightened that I was terrified, too.

If that was a real memory and not my imagination, my Martian parents almost certainly hadn't died in an accident, as the Stuarts—and Shim?—believed. They'd known ahead of time that they were in danger, and they'd known I was in danger too. And they'd managed to hide me away somehow.

Before they were killed.

## 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 before 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 most 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 you 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.

## 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 myself. "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.

I watched Rigel and Trina ride past, representing the sophomore class, both of them looking acutely uncomfortable. The voting had happened last week, when they were still "together." Trina waved to the stands with jerky little motions, but Rigel didn't even do that. He just stared in my direction the whole time they circled the field.

Shortly after the game resumed, maybe ten minutes into the third quarter, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw Dr. Stuart, her beautiful mouth tight with strain. Leaning down, she spoke softly and quickly into my ear, not that anyone would have heard her anyway, with all the yelling. We'd just scored, putting us ahead 22 – 7.

"We need to go," she said. "Mr. Smith just left and Van thinks we should follow him. If we're not back by the time the game ends, do you think your aunt and uncle would give Rigel a ride home?"

"Of course," I said. Aunt Theresa was all about hospitality, so I couldn't imagine her refusing.

I wanted to ask what they thought Smith might be planning, but with a last squeeze of my shoulder, she hurried to join Mr. Stuart, who was already heading for the gate.

## 24

# Apparent magnitude

WE WON, OF course. 33 to 10. It was the first Homecoming game Jewel had won in six years and everyone went crazy. With a quick goodbye to Bri and Deb, I hurried down to the field to congratulate Rigel—something I'd missed badly the past few games.

He was waiting, and swung me around in his arms, just like he had that first game we were "official." It was wonderful. But then he glanced over my shoulder and I suddenly remembered.

"Oh, your parents had to leave early to follow . . . um, follow up on a problem," I told him, mindful of the crowd pressing in on us. "I promised your mom we'd give you a ride home."

Rigel frowned, and I could tell he really, really wanted to ask what was going on, but he just nodded and said, "Okay, I'll hurry and change, then, so I don't keep your aunt and uncle waiting."

Practically ignoring all the people—students, teachers, parents and alumni—trying to congratulate him on his victory, he sprinted for the locker room with only an occasional nod or smile. Though it warmed me to know he didn't want to leave me unprotected any longer than necessary, I hoped he'd manage at least a quickie shower, since I didn't want Aunt Theresa complaining to me later.

I slowly made my way through the crowd toward the parking lot, keeping a sharp lookout for anything suspicious and keeping my "feelers" out for anyone that "felt" Martian. There was nothing.

Before I reached the gate, I saw my aunt and uncle chatting with a small group of people around their own age. As I got close enough to hear—which wasn't all that close, these days—I felt a spurt of amusement.

"Yes, he certainly seems a promising young man," Aunt Theresa was saying. "Sure to be offered college scholarships if he continues as well as he's begun. Did I mention he's taking my niece to the Homecoming dance tomorrow night?"

Her friends made various exclamations of surprise and congratulations. Judging by her expression, she was positively basking in it. It seemed like the perfect time to let her know we'd be giving him a ride, so I quickened my pace.

"Hi, Aunt Theresa, hi, Uncle Louie," I greeted them.

They turned, both smiling, which was almost creepy in my aunt's case, and introduced me to a few old classmates who'd moved away from Jewel years ago.

"Norma and I co-chaired the Future Teachers of America our senior year," Aunt Theresa informed me, "though Norma ended up selling real estate instead of teaching."

"Only because Tom and I started a family right out of college," Norma—I'd missed her last name—said. Rather smugly, I thought.

I smiled as brightly as I could. "It's nice to meet you. Aunt Theresa, Uncle Louie, would it be all right if we gave Rigel a ride home? His parents had an emergency and had to leave the game early, so I kind of offered."

Though her eyes narrowed at me for just a second, Aunt Theresa quickly recovered to shoot a triumphant glance at Norma Whatshername and the other woman—Mary Something-starting-with-J.

"Of course, dear. His parents have been kind enough to have you to dinner once or twice, so that's the least we can do."

Mary J smiled. "How nice. Theresa, dear, did I mention that my son Michael started medical school last month?"

Rigel hurried up just then, and I was more than happy to turn toward him, and away from the off-field competition between the adults.

"Hey, that was quick," I said, also pleased to note his clean, damp hair—not that Aunt Theresa would have said anything in front of her so-called friends.

Uncle Louie must have been tired of the cattiness, too, since he immediately came over to clap Rigel on the shoulder. "Great game, son! Really great. Well, Theresa, we should probably get these kids home, huh?"

She didn't seem too reluctant to leave. After all, it's not like a niece dating the star quarterback of a 2A team could compete with an actual son in med school. She made a few insincere-sounding promises to "get together soon," then herded us toward the car.

"I really appreciate you giving me a ride," Rigel said as we crossed the parking lot. "I hope it's not too much trouble."

My aunt and uncle both insisted it was no trouble at all. Uncle Louie, at least, sounded perfectly sincere and proceeded to pepper Rigel with comments and questions about the game. As we walked, Rigel's hand brushed mine and for a second our fingers started to intertwine before we caught ourselves and pulled away a little bit.

A few minutes later, we pulled out of the parking lot, Rigel and me in the back but keeping the discreet distance enforced by our seatbelts. Uncle Louie kept chattering about the game as he drove, with Rigel occasionally answering a question or agreeing with some point he made.

"You'll want to take this left," Rigel told him when we reached the farm road that led toward his house.

Uncle Louie made the turn and immediately launched back into his analysis of the game until Aunt Theresa interrupted him.

"Louie, you're going nearly sixty. Slow down."

He nodded, but the car didn't slow.

"Louie!" she snapped.

"I . . . I'm trying." He sounded a little panicky. "Look—I don't even have my foot on the accelerator! And the brake isn't working!"

The car was definitely going faster now, corn and soybean fields whipping past, a blur in the dark. Rigel and I grabbed hands and looked at each other in alarm.

"Turn off the car!" Aunt Theresa screamed, on the verge of hysteria. "Louie, do something!"

"It won't turn off while it's in gear!" he yelled back, struggling with the gearshift.

We barreled up behind a slower moving pickup truck and my uncle swung us into the opposite lane in the nick of time to pass it. The headlights raked a stone wall ahead, where the road bent sharply to the left. I couldn't imagine any way he could possibly negotiate the curve at this speed— which was _still_ increasing.

"Hang on!" Rigel said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Before I could react, he lunged over the back of the front seat, still gripping my hand tightly, and reached for the ignition with his other hand. There was a brilliant spark, then the car shuddered and slowed abruptly, coasting to a stop maybe a foot from the wall. We all sat there for a few long moments, recovering. Uncle Louie was the first to speak.

"What . . . what did you do?" he asked Rigel, who by now was sitting quietly beside me again—though he hadn't released my hand.

"Turned off the ignition. You must have gotten it out of gear just in time." His voice sounded tight to me—even angry—though I doubt my aunt and uncle noticed.

"But the—" Uncle Louie began, then stopped. "Well, whatever you did, son, thanks. You probably saved all our lives, there."

Rigel shrugged, though I could tell the tension hadn't left him. "You probably would have—"

"Hey, you folks okay?" came a voice from outside the car, interrupting him. It was the driver of the pickup we'd passed. His headlights, right behind us, lit up the whole area around us, casting weird shadows from the corn stalks.

Shakily, Uncle Louie got out of the car. "I think so. Had some trouble there—couldn't stop for some reason. Not sure I should try driving it again until we know why."

"Want me to call for a tow?" the man asked.

"I work at All-American Autos," Uncle Louie said, his voice slightly stronger now. "I'll call one of my mechanic buddies. But thanks."

"No problem."

I heard the man get back in his truck and a minute later the headlights backed away, then disappeared. Uncle Louie was already on his cell.

"Okay, Greg will be here in about fifteen minutes with the truck," he told us, getting back into the car a minute later. "You want to call your parents so they won't worry, Rigel?"

"Sure. I should probably do that." He hopped out of the car and walked a little way off to make his call. I was sure he wanted to ask them about Smith as well as tell them about our near accident.

"Your guy is a quick thinker," Uncle Louie said to me. "I wonder what that spark thing was, though?"

I shrugged. "I didn't see anything," I lied. "Maybe the car had some kind of electrical problem?"

Aunt Theresa had been uncharacteristically quiet since the car had stopped, but she suddenly burst out, "There's no knowing what all is wrong with this rattletrap. I've been telling you forever we need a newer car, Louie. Now maybe you'll listen."

That discussion went on until Greg got there with the tow truck, by which time Rigel was back. I was dying to ask him what his parents had said, but knew my aunt would have a fit if the two of us wandered out of earshot.

I didn't get my chance until the tow truck dropped Rigel off at his house. I got out with him, even knowing I'd hear about it later, to have a quick word.

"So? What did they say?" I whispered. "Did they think Smith did something to the car?"

"They were busy, so we didn't talk long. But he must have. Couldn't have been coincidence. Here." He slipped me his phone again. "It's on vibrate. Keep it close and I'll try to call you later."

I nodded, then glanced toward his house. It looked like there was at least one extra car in the driveway, maybe two. "Talk to you later, then. And see you tomorrow."

"Can't wait," he said. He leaned toward me, but then changed his mind, probably because my aunt and uncle and Greg were right there watching, and just touched my cheek instead before heading up the front walk.

"Aw, you should've let him kiss you good night, Marsha," Uncle Louie teased as I got back in the truck.

"Louie," my aunt said warningly. "That's enough."

It made me wonder what the two of them said about me when I wasn't around. But not much. I was already looking forward to Rigel's call.

* * *

When we got home, I rushed through my going-to-bed routine, afraid Rigel might call before I was safely in my room, where I could talk. Which meant I had an extra long wait once I _was_ in bed. Even though he'd said the phone was on vibrate and I had it in my hand so I couldn't possibly miss his call, I kept checking the screen just in case.

Finally, nearly two hours after we got home, with my nerves stretched almost to the screaming point, the phone vibrated. I nearly dropped it in my eagerness to answer.

"Hello?" I whispered. "Rigel?"

"Hey, I hope I didn't wake you up," he said. "I wanted to wait long enough for your aunt and uncle to go to bed so you could talk privately."

"They've been asleep almost an hour. What's going on?"

"A lot, actually. It's mostly good news, though, I think."

That surprised me. "You mean what happened with the car really _was_ an accident?" I was skeptical.

"Nope, definitely not an accident. Grandfather just got a call from his guy who went to the garage to check on it. It had been tampered with by Smith, just like we thought."

"How is that good news?" I asked. "Other than it not actually killing us, I mean."

"Because they caught Smith—at your house. That's where he went when he left the game."

A chill ran through me. "My _house?_ What was he doing?"

"He hadn't done anything yet, but from what they found in his car, they think he was planning to burn the place—maybe if the car thing didn't work. A backup plan."

"I'm still not getting good news out of this," I said, the chill turning colder. It proved that not only did these people really want me dead, but they also didn't care who else they hurt in the process.

"The good news is that Smith is in custody. He can't do anything else to threaten you. And Grandfather thinks they'll be able to get the whole plan out of him eventually."

"Wait. You said he got a call from . . . Is Shim here in Jewel?"

"Yeah, he flew to Indy and rented a car. Got here about the time the game ended, along with a couple other people. M . . . I really think you're safe now." The warmth, the relief in his voice was contagious and melted my chills away.

"That's . . . that's great." Then I remembered something else. "What about Morven? He was on his way here, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but they don't think he'll dare try anything now we've got Smith. He won't know what Smith has told us, for one thing. Plus there are enough of us now to protect you, even if he did come after you. Which he won't."

"I hope you're right." I was still trying to wrap my head around Shim hopping a last minute flight from DC to Indy—because of me. "But how will Morven know you have Smith? Won't he just assume his plans are going the way he expected?"

"Nope." Now Rigel sounded positively smug. "He called when he landed in Indy and my grandfather answered Smith's phone. I don't know exactly what he said, but his guess is that Morven is trying to get back to LA—or even out of the country—as fast as he can."

Suddenly, I felt sleepy—maybe a reaction to how keyed up I'd been for the past few hours. "Rigel, I can't tell you how much I appreciate you telling me this. And for what you did tonight—I just realized I never thanked you for saving my life."

"My life, too," he reminded me. "Get some sleep, M. You've earned it. I'm gonna hit the sack, too." He'd earned it far more than I had, between the football game and saving all of us from what could have been a horrible death. He had to be exhausted, though he didn't sound it.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said then. "I've talked my folks into letting me take you someplace special before the dance. Sweet dreams."

"Good night, Rigel." I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I was still trying to gather up the nerve to do it when I realized he'd hung up already.

Just as well. It's not like he'd ever said it to me. Maybe he wasn't ready to hear it. And even if he was, on the phone didn't seem like the right way to say it for the first time.

Realizing I was mentally babbling, I rolled over and fell asleep, more relaxed than I'd been in weeks.

* * *

When I came down to breakfast the next morning, Uncle Louie was on the phone. He hung up as I was pouring my cereal.

"Gary says the car's fine. His best theory is that the fuel injector was jammed but he doesn't think it'll happen again. He's going to pick me up for work and I'll drive it home."

Aunt Theresa turned from the sink with a frown. "Well I won't be riding in that car again until you take it to a proper mechanic. Or, better yet, trade it for a newer car."

"What's wrong with Gary?" Uncle Louie asked, but I tuned them out.

I was in a great mood and I wasn't going to let one of their arguments ruin it. The Homecoming dance was tonight, and Bri had suggested Deb and I come to her place ahead of time so we could all do our hair and makeup together. And Rigel wanted to take me someplace special!

It turned out I didn't even need to mow the lawn—I checked it after breakfast and it had barely grown at all since last weekend. Not surprising since it was October now, but it still felt like a gift. Just like the Martian bad guys being history.

I briefly debated the wisdom of walking to taekwondo class like usual, but no one had suggested I shouldn't. Besides, if I asked for a ride or skipped it, Aunt Theresa would want to know why and I couldn't very well plead sickness if I wanted to go to the dance tonight.

So I headed out like always, reminding myself that the danger was over. Still, I couldn't help being just the tiniest bit nervous during the stretch along Opal, between Garnet and Diamond, when nobody was around.

I got to class without incident, though, and it turned out to be a really good session. Master Parker taught me the rest of my green belt form, _Taeguk Sam Jang_ , and explained that the knife-hand strikes in it would be good for self defense, like most of the stuff in our forms. Then we spent some time sparring and doing back kicks on the bags, and I got complimented on my performance in both.

Walking home an hour later, I was really glad I'd gone. On top of the little high I always got from vigorous exercise, I was sure I'd burned enough calories to make up for whatever I might eat at the fancy dinner Rigel had hinted about. I didn't want to be one of those girls who turns up her nose at the dessert cart—was there any place in Jewel _with_ a dessert cart?—because she's worried about her weight.

I neared the corner where I'd turn off Diamond onto Opal, just past Quilt World and Belinda's Books. Visions of slow dancing with Rigel filled my mind until I noticed a weird, homeless-looking guy heading my way. We didn't really have a homeless problem in Jewel, not like in Indy, but every now and then vagrants came through town looking for handouts.

I averted my gaze the way Aunt Theresa had always told me to, not wanting to draw the man's attention, but he came right toward me anyway, muttering something I couldn't understand. I slowed down, then moved off to the side, glancing around at the thin crowd of Saturday shoppers who all appeared far more affluent than I did.

Though the guy wasn't looking right at me, he kept stumbling in my direction, even when my direction changed. This was starting to feel not-random. I started walking faster, edging as far from him as I could, even stepping off the curb into the street, since no cars were coming at the moment, hoping to pass him quickly. As soon as I turned the corner, I was going to run, I decided.

But at the last second, he moved into the street too, blocking my path. I tried to dodge around him, but he reached for my arm, brushing my sleeve as I jerked away. I got a definite Martian vibe from him.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, fairly loudly. I didn't care now if I drew attention, and a few people stopped to see what was going on. "Leave me alone." Surely, if he was one of the bad Martians, he wouldn't want a crowd watching.

He didn't seem to care, though. He swung his hand up again—the same hand—and this time I noticed a silver glint in his palm. What the hell? This time, I managed to block him with my gym bag just before he contacted me, but he followed up quickly, not nearly as clumsy now. Clearly, that had been an act.

The man sidestepped my gym bag and came at me again, much more aggressively this time, that same arm outstretched. I felt a sudden certainty that if I let him touch me with whatever he had in his hand, it would be very bad. Remembering the defense move from my new form, I countered with a strong knife-hand block to his wrist, and saw the silver thing go flying from his hand to land with a tinkle in the gutter.

"No!" he shouted, glancing wildly into the gutter. Then, without warning, he lunged toward me, both hands aiming for my throat, his face distorted with insane fury.

If I hadn't just spent the last fifteen minutes of taekwondo practicing my back kick against the bags, I might never have thought to do what I did next. Taking a quick fix on my target, I turned away like I was going to run, then delivered a solid back kick right to the middle of his stomach. As I'd hoped, it caught him completely off guard and he went sprawling with a satisfying "oof."

Then I really did run, for all I was worth, completely ignoring the shouts and offers of help from the people who'd gathered to watch the bizarre spectacle. My only thought was to get well away and then call Rigel. As I sped around the corner, I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw the man just starting to struggle to his feet, a weird smile spreading across his scruffy face.

"Won't do you any good to run, Princess!" he shouted after me. "We're just going to keep coming!"

## 25

# Absolute magnitude

MY HEART IN my throat, I kept running and didn't stop until I was in front of the house next door to ours. Then, glancing back again to make sure he hadn't followed, I forced myself to a walk, taking deep breaths and doing my best to slow my racing heart. I did _not_ want to have to explain to Aunt Theresa why I was so out of breath.

I could definitely explain to Rigel, though. Pulling his phone out of my pocket, I went around to the side of our house—the side away from the kitchen—and pushed the button for his dad's number, like he'd told me to do yesterday. To my relief, Rigel answered instead of his dad.

"M? What's up?" He sounded more curious than worried.

"Hey. I, um, don't think the bad guys are, ah, quite taken care of after all." I was still panting a little.

He picked up on that immediately. "What happened?" he demanded. "Are you okay? I'm coming to get you. Let me—"

"Rigel, wait! Listen first." I quickly told him what had just happened, including the fact that my attacker had something silver—a needle or device?—that he'd tried to hit me with. I finished with the words he'd yelled after me. "So . . . it doesn't sound like we're quite out of the woods yet," I added unnecessarily.

"No, it doesn't," he agreed grimly. "Are you at home?"

"Yeah. I ran."

"Okay, stay put. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"Um, do I have time to take a shower? I kind of need one." It _had_ been a vigorous class, not to mention the run home.

I could hear him talking to someone else, presumably his parents or Shim. Then, to me, "If it's a quick one."

"Thanks. Oh, and hey, can you maybe call on the regular phone before you come, so I can make up something to tell my aunt for why you're picking me up?"

There was another brief conference I couldn't quite hear. "My mom will call and talk to her. You go ahead and get your shower. See you soon."

When I went inside a moment later, I was no longer panting. "I'm home—taking a shower," I called out, heading straight for the stairs.

But my aunt intercepted me, coming out of the kitchen with a vegetable peeler in her hand. "Louise Batten just called. She said you got into some kind of scuffle with a vagrant outside her shop?"

Louise Batten owned and ran Quilt World. Unfortunately, she was also one of Jewel's premier gossips.

"Um, not a scuffle, exactly, but he did try to grab me. I kicked at him and ran, though, and he didn't come after me. He was probably drunk or high or something."

"That's what Louise thought, so she called the police. But by the time they arrived, he'd run off."

I swallowed, glad that Rigel was coming to get me. "No one saw which way he went?"

"Louise didn't. I don't know what any other witnesses might have told the police. But if he doesn't cause any more trouble, I doubt they'll pursue it. You weren't hurt?" She actually looked mildly concerned.

"No, he didn't . . . didn't really touch me, just grabbed at my sleeve. I'm fine."

Her concern turned to disapproval. "Well, you keep your distance from strangers in the future. A girl can't be too careful."

I wanted to tell her it wasn't my fault, that I'd done everything right, but instead I just nodded and hurried upstairs to shower.

"Oh, good, you're decently dressed," Aunt Theresa greeted me ten minutes later when I entered the kitchen, where she was cutting up mounds of peeled apples for applesauce. "Run upstairs and get that dress you're wearing to the dance tonight. The Stuarts will be here soon to take you and Rigel for ice cream, then they'll drop you at Brianna's house to get ready for the dance. You did say you and your friends planned to do your primping there, didn't you?"

I nodded, slightly surprised at her cordial tone. Maybe she was just looking forward to having me out of the house for the rest of the day.

"I'll go grab my stuff." I didn't mention that Bri hadn't yet told me what time to come over. I texted her from Rigel's phone the minute I got to my room, saying I might not be able to come over after all, but that I'd call later and let her know for sure. That should keep her from calling the house and messing up my cover story—if it _was_ a cover story.

While I gathered up my (borrowed) dress, shoes, lip gloss and other paraphernalia, I kept glancing out my window to the street below, watching for the Stuarts' car. On my second or third glance, I saw a silver car with dark-tinted windows slow in front of our house.

Assuming it must be the car Shim had rented, I shoved my dressy underthings into the bottom of the bag with my shoes and stuff, ready to hurry downstairs—but then the car sped up again and went on. Frowning, I tossed my glittery barrette, the last thing I needed, into the bag and went back to the window.

A moment later, the same car came back from the opposite direction and again cruised very slowly past before speeding up and moving on. And then, maybe half a minute after that, a metallic green compact did the exact same thing. This car's windows didn't appear to be tinted, but from my angle above the street I couldn't see inside. What was going on?

Before I'd decided whether to be scared or not, the Stuarts' dark blue SUV pulled into the driveway. Exhaling with relief, I grabbed up my bag and my dress and ran down to the front door.

"Bye, Aunt Theresa!" I called toward the kitchen. "I'll see you after the dance tonight." I sure hoped that would be true.

"Be good—and don't be too late," she called back.

"Okay," I called over my shoulder, already heading out the door. I wanted to get safely into the Stuarts' car before either of those other cars came back.

Rigel was already out of the SUV and halfway up the walk when I came outside. "Hey, I didn't expect you to be ready yet," he said, taking my bag with one hand and my now-free hand with the other. "I figured I'd have to come in and wait."

That reminded me that he'd never actually been inside my house. But now was definitely not the time, with those mysterious cars cruising by and Aunt Theresa up to her elbows in applesauce.

"My hair's still damp, but, well, let's get in the car and then talk," I said, stumbling over my words the way I had when we'd first met—only this time I was nervous for a totally different reason.

Rigel opened the car door for me and I clambered in, dragging my dress on its hanger behind me, then saw that both of Rigel's parents, as well as Shim, were in the car.

"Uh, thanks for this," I said to all of them. "I . . . I guess Rigel told you what happened?"

Dr. Stuart, who was sitting in one of the middle seats, took the seafoam-green dress from me and hung it on a hook over the window. "Why don't you and Rigel sit in the back? Yes, he told us. I'm sorry—that must have been very frightening for you."

"Can you describe the man?" Shim asked, twisting around from the front passenger seat. Mr. Stuart was driving.

"Sure. He was sloppily dressed, almost in rags, like he was homeless or something, but I think that was just a disguise. He had . . . let's see, he had light brown hair and kind of bluish eyes, I think—I didn't really look at his eyes. He was taller than me, but not real tall. His hair was stringy and about shoulder-length, but I guess it could have been a wig or something."

Shim nodded as I spoke, as though ticking things off a mental list. "And he tried to touch you or stick you with something metallic?"

"That's what it seemed like to me. It was little, and I think it broke when I knocked it out of his hand, but I didn't get a good look at it."

"You knocked it out of his hand?" Dr. Stuart said in obvious surprise. "That was very— Well, what's important is that you're safe now."

"For the moment." Mr. Stuart, Rigel and I all said it together.

There was a startled silence, then I gave a weak little laugh. "Sorry. It's not funny. It's just . . . Well, just before you got here, two different cars drove real slowly past my house, like they were checking it out. One of them came by twice. I can't help thinking it might be related."

Mr. Stuart had already backed out of the driveway and started down the street, but now he stopped the SUV. "What did they look like?" he practically barked over his shoulder.

"One was silver with dark windows—that's the one that went past twice—and the other was green," I answered quickly, a little startled by his tone. "Why? Do you think—?"

"Was it that green car, the one coming toward us?" he asked, nodding ahead.

I looked through the windshield at the approaching compact. "Yes. I'm sure that's it."

"Get down!" Mr. Stuart snapped, even more urgent than before. "You can't be seen. With luck, they'll assume you're still in the house and we can get you safely away from here."

"What? No!" I protested. "My aunt is at home. Rigel told me Smith was going to burn down our house last night! What if they—"

"Marsha!" Mr. Stuart said warningly as the green car drew level with us.

But instead of hunkering down to hide, I sat up straighter and leaned toward my window, then waved as the car passed us. The driver looked right at me and his eyes widened. I'm sure mine did, too, as I recognized him.

"Too late," I said defiantly. "He saw me. It . . . it was the same guy who attacked me a little while ago."

"That was very brave, Marsha." Dr. Stuart looked startled again. "But—"

"But extremely dangerous," Shim finished for her. "Still, it makes our path clearer now."

I glanced at Rigel to find him staring at me with an expression that seemed both admiring and horrified. He hadn't let go of my hand since we'd gotten in the car, and now he tightened his grip.

"So what do we do now?" he asked.

Shim glanced back at us—and past us, out the rear window. "He's turning around now. And that must be the silver car you mentioned, Princess, coming up behind him. Possibly Morven himself. Apparently our capture of his agent hasn't discouraged him as I'd hoped, and he has at least one more. We'll need to do something more decisive. We should still have the advantage of numbers. The question is, where?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, completely confused. I hadn't thought any further ahead than getting the bad guys away from Aunt Theresa. "Decisive how?"

"I'm hoping we can draw Morven and his cohorts to a single place and neutralize all of them at once," Shim explained. "But it must be somewhere remote enough that the locals won't be endangered or alarmed—or spread the word. Nothing good would come of springing the truth of our existence on the general public without preparation. In fact, things could get very ugly."

I totally believed that, remembering how Jewel's residents had practically ostracized our first Iranian family a couple of years ago. I didn't want to think how they'd react to aliens from _Mars_.

"The cornfield," Rigel said.

They all looked at him—well, except for his dad, who was watching the road, but his head twitched, too. "Which—" his mother began.

"The one by the school," I said. "Right, Rigel?"

He nodded. "It's a big one, and far enough from town that we probably won't be seen. There's a clearing less than half a mile in."

His dad turned left toward the state road that would take us there. "I won't ask how you know about this—either of you—right now."

"It sounds like what we need, however," Shim said. "I'll alert the others." He pulled out his phone and made what sounded like a conference call, explaining the situation, giving directions to the school and saying to meet us there as soon as possible.

Rigel, meanwhile, was watching out the back window. "I think we've picked up another one," he said. "That white van peeled out of a side street a second ago."

"Let's test it," his father said. He turned right into a residential area near where Bri and Deb lived, then right again, and then another right to bring us back to the state road. All three vehicles followed. "Yep, it's definitely one of them. So is that black pickup, apparently."

Shim was looking grave. "I had no idea Morven could call in so much support so quickly. It appears our surveillance hasn't been nearly as thorough as we thought."

"And you never did take their fanaticism seriously enough," Mr. Stuart said. It was obvious this was a long-running argument. "I hope we have the numbers—and dedication—to win this."

"Win?" Dr. Stuart echoed her husband fearfully. "Surely you don't think it will come to an actual fight?"

Shim shook his head. "At this point, I'm not sure what to expect, Ariel. For all of our sakes, and especially for the children's—" He glanced back at Rigel and me— "I certainly hope not. Morven's loyalties may be misplaced, but I've known him to be a reasonable man, or at least a prudent one. I can't imagine he would want to draw premature attention any more than we do."

We reached the school a few minutes later, those four cars still following at a distance. I only saw a handful of cars in the parking lot—probably people there to decorate the gym for tonight's dance.

"The field I was talking about is on the other side," Rigel said.

His dad pulled around. Shim was on the phone again.

"Four of my people are already in the field. They've found your clearing," he said as he hung up. "Two more are waiting to escort us there."

"I hope it'll be enough," said Mr. Stuart, glancing into the rearview mirror. He pulled up right next to the cornfield and we all jumped out.

We were met by a man and a woman I'd never seen before, though when I focused I got the now-familiar _brath_ from them. Both held what looked like little cell phones, but from the way they held them, I suspected they were actually weapons of some sort.

"This way," the woman said. "They're right behind you."

I glanced back and saw our four pursuers rounding the side of the school, the silver car in the lead. That lit a fire under my feet and a moment later we were all hurtling through the ten-foot-high stalks of corn, getting slapped and stung by leaves and covered with yellow corn litter—not that anybody cared about that right now.

Rigel still had a firm grip on my hand, and after a minute or so, he dragged me a row to the side so we could go faster, passing the "escorts" who had led us in. We raced between the towering stalks, smacking through the leaves. I hoped Rigel knew where he was going, since I'd lost all sense of direction and we were well ahead of the others.

When we burst into the clearing a couple minutes later I was out of breath and itchy. Four people were waiting there, three men and one woman. When they saw us, all four bowed deeply. "Sovereign," they said in unison.

I screeched to a halt, embarrassed. I didn't feel much like a Sovereign at the moment. In fact, I suspected I looked more like a scarecrow than a princess, covered in corn debris. I was definitely going to need another shower before I'd be fit for the dance tonight.

Then Rigel's parents, Shim and their escorts emerged from the wall of corn and mundane thoughts about my appearance fled at their tense expressions.

"Have your weapons ready," Shim said, with the clipped tones of a general. "Remember, the first shot should stun. A second may cause injury and a third will likely kill. Stun only, unless you have no other recourse—these are still our brethren. And let's hope they haven't somehow managed to disable the safeguards in their own weapons. That should be impossible, but we can't know for certain.

"Now, quickly," he continued, "form a ring around the stone, facing outward, with Princess Emileia in the middle."

Though I muttered some kind of protest, the others sprang into action, doing exactly what he'd said. Rigel made me sit down on the big rock, presumably so I would be screened by my ring of protectors, but it also meant I couldn't see very well.

He started to join the circle, but his father waved him back to the center with me. I could tell he didn't like being there any more than I did. His compromise was to remain standing, right in front of me, as a second line of defense. Which of course made it even harder for me to see what was going on.

For several agonizing moments we waited in silence, then my sharpened hearing picked up the sound of rustling in the corn, coming closer and closer. It seemed to be coming from more than one direction. Suddenly, someone spoke.

"Ah, Shim." The voice was unfamiliar and somehow unpleasant. It was male, but such a strident, high-pitched tenor it was almost whiny. "I thought it must be you orchestrating this retreat. You've always been so circumspect. So very cautious."

"Boyne." Shim's voice, lower and much more authoritative, was terse. "I trust you have an explanation for your presence here? This seemed a . . . prudent . . . place to hear it."

"Oh, I think you know quite well why I'm here, judging by everyone's demeanor," Boyne Morven replied. "But while this show of solidarity is touching, it will not help the traitor you seek to protect."

Rigel stiffened, which allowed me to glimpse the newcomer by peering past him to look between Shim and Mr. Stuart. Morven was slightly built and very fair, his blond hair cut short. He looked fortyish, which of course meant nothing. I could also see two other people, one flanking him on either side, though I was sure there were more.

"The princess is no traitor, Boyne, and you know it," Shim replied, his voice calm but firm. "In fact, by threatening the Sovereign, you open yourself to a charge of treason according to our statutes."

Morven chuckled unpleasantly. "I suppose it depends on one's perspective, does it not? Her very existence is a threat to our current, lawfully elected leader, which makes that existence treasonous by definition."

"Lawfully!" Mr. Stuart's voice was scornful. "A despot who forced his way into power by means of lies and murder."

"Careful, Stuart, or you may find your family charged with treason as well," Morven said. "Not that it's likely to matter, as I doubt any of you will leave this, ah, charming spot alive."

I heard a collective gasp from my ring of protectors and Rigel took a step back, closer to me. Irritated by my inability to see, I shifted my position for a better view—just in time to see more, many more, people emerging from the cornfield from all directions. There were at least two dozen of them, many holding the same cell-phone looking weapons our side had.

Morven waited until they'd completely encircled my tiny army of ten before saying, "Have you studied your American history, Shim? This little scenario quite puts me in mind of Custer's Last Stand. And, I assure you, the outcome will be precisely the same."

## 26

# Electromagnetic pulse

"ARE YOU MAD?" Shim demanded. I thought the lack of panic in his voice was admirable. I was starting to hyperventilate, myself. "A crowd this size is bound to draw the attention of local authorities, which will jeopardize your agenda more than ours."

"Doubtful, as you've chosen such a private spot for our . . . meeting. But even if it does, it will be a minor setback at most." I could see Morven's people moving closer as he spoke. "It may force us to consolidate power more quickly, that's all. Our plan is the only one that can save our people, and you know it." His voice was becoming more strident. "The colony on Mars has barely one hundred years before resources become scarce, even with the population controls being put in place."

Shim took a half step backward and the others did likewise, tightening the circle around me—not that I imagined it could help. "The people of Earth are our brothers, not our enemies," he said. "Peaceful integration will achieve the same end, without bloodshed or destruction of property. Surely you can see the advantage of having the natives as friends, as they outnumber us by more than fifty thousand to one."

"Friends? No, thank you. But they may become useful servants, once they learn to respect us properly. And they will, make no doubt of that. Our superiority will guarantee it."

"Superiority?" Shim's voice was still calm. "In technology, perhaps. Once I would have claimed moral superiority as well, but you and your followers have voided that claim with tactics such as these."

Shim raised his voice, speaking to the still-growing crowd around us. "Do you respect what you have become under this man's guidance? Under Faxon's? It was not so many years ago that the Martian dream, embraced by all but a discontented few, was to bring peace and prosperity to Earth, our mother planet. To share both our technology and our enlightened way of life, teaching them to feed their hungry and power their planet without ravaging its resources or killing each other. Have you let go of that dream so easily, embracing the violent ways of Earth for the sake of greed or ambition? Were those not the very Earth vices we hoped to eradicate?"

I was impressed by his ability to speak so persuasively under pressure—and apparently so were a lot of the people in the clearing, Morven's included. A surprised murmur swept through the crowd.

"Don't listen to him!" Morven called out, his voice sounding weak and shrill compared to Shim's. "He's only a shill for the Royals, those elitists who held us down for generations, ruling by an archaic set of traditions."

"Those traditions were put in place by our forebears for sound scientific reasons." Shim's voice still carried to the edges of the clearing and beyond. "Though we owed our original genetic enhancements to our long-ago alien abductors, we improved upon their efforts over the centuries to the benefit of our entire colony. When we formed a system of government, we selected our ruling class from among the brightest, most talented and most fair-minded among us. Those traits have persisted through the generations. Combined with our inherently pacifist, equitable nature—a nature Faxon and his followers have perverted—our people have prospered for centuries under the leadership of our Royal family."

Morven hooted in derision—an unattractive sound. "Equitable, you say! But until Faxon's rise to power, your 'fair-minded' Royals dominated our leadership, both hereditary and elected."

"Because of their abilities," Shim countered. "Can any of you claim that the colony is better off—more prosperous, more peaceful, _happier_ —under Faxon's rule than it was under Sovereign Leontine? Is that the kind of future you want on Earth for yourselves and your children?"

There was more murmuring in response, louder now, and more worried. Maybe it was only wishful thinking on my part, but it seemed like Morven might be losing control of the situation. Apparently he thought so too.

"Enough of this!" he practically screamed. "Those loyal to me—to Faxon—have been promised both power and riches in our new regime here on Earth. They know where their interests lie and won't be swayed by the slick rhetoric of a cornered man, a man who sounds more like a politician than a scientist. All of you—do what you came to do!"

As he spoke, he raised an arm and pushed a button on a device that looked like a miniature TV remote. At the same time, at least half of those surrounding us, from what I could see, started forward, some with their small weapons raised.

I tried to stand, but Rigel hissed, "No! Stay down." He moved to my side, blocking as much of my body with his own as he could.

"Stun only," Shim called out to our little group at the same time. "No killing except as an absolute last resort."

Even before he finished, a flash like a small lightning bolt grazed Shim's arm, knocking him sideways. Immediately, three separate flashes came from our side and the man who had fired the shot dropped to the ground. Suddenly, flashes were everywhere, coming from all directions, though I didn't see anyone else hit. But even as I took hope from that, one of my defenders fell backward and lay still, just a few feet to my right.

Rigel rose to his knees but I pulled him back down, now scared enough that seeing was no longer my top priority. "What are you doing?" I demanded. "Do you want to get shot?"

He shook his head. "I've got to keep you safe. I need a weapon." He sounded furious, but not with me. He crawled toward the little silver weapon that had dropped from the hand of our fallen ally but before he could reach it, another bolt hit the device and sent it flying far out of reach.

Rigel and I both looked up in shock to see Mr. Stuart glaring at us. _He_ had fired that shot!

"No heroics, either of you," he snapped. "You'll only make this harder." Then he was firing at our enemies again, taking down another one.

Though there were more of them than us, our side seemed to be better shots—or maybe Shim's arguments had shaken the resolve of our attackers. Peeking out from under Rigel's arm, I saw at least ten of them down, while only two of our people had fallen. Several of Morven's followers also seemed to have retreated back into the corn. We were still outnumbered, but by less than two to one now.

"The Princess! Kill the Princess," Morven was bellowing. "Never mind the others, we can deal with them later."

Dr. Stuart let out a cry as a bolt hit the center of her chest and she fell to her knees. As she fell, though, she raised her own weapon—I hadn't noticed before that she even had one—and fired at Morven, nicking his hip and knocking him sideways.

"Mom!" Rigel shouted. He made a move toward her, but then jumped back to blanket me with his body again as two bolts came my way. I heard him grunt in pain as he took one of the hits that had been intended for me.

"Rigel!" I tried to scream, but my face was in the dirt. Coughing and spitting to clear it out of my mouth, I tried again. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice faint. Then, more strongly, urgently, "How about you? Are you hurt?" He tried to struggle up, obviously still groggy.

"I'm fine. You just lie still for a minute."

I assumed the fact that he wasn't dead meant the others had to use three shots to kill, too, but I didn't dare count on it. I cautiously raised my head to look around and saw that one more of our people had fallen, in addition to Dr. Stuart. But less than ten of theirs still seemed to be attacking. Mr. Stuart was firing like he was berserked or something, and he was a deadly shot. Not a skill I'd have expected from a computer whiz, somehow. Shim was still on his feet, too.

Unfortunately, so was Morven. Standing behind one of his men, using him as a shield, he punched more buttons on his remote-thingy. Shim was the one who finally brought down the bodyguard, but as his man fell, Morven let out a cry of what sounded like triumph—which didn't seem to make sense, since we now had as many people as he did, at least if you counted Rigel and me.

But then I heard a weird whirring hum overhead and looked up to see a silvery orb about twice the size of a basketball skimming the tops of the corn stalks—heading straight for us.

"No!" Mr. Stuart sounded horrified. "That's not possible. That project was mothballed fifty years ago because it was too dangerous."

"How could you bring such an abomination to Earth, Morven?" Shim demanded, as the orb reached the clearing.

Morven's high, derisive laughter made my skin crawl. "Now you know why I fear no opposition. We have half a dozen Ossian Spheres under our control—more than enough to subject this entire planet to Faxon's rule. All it will take is a demonstration or two."

I still had no clue what the thing was, but clearly everyone else on our side did. They were staring at the object with naked fear, their weapons now held limply in their hands. Except for Shim, who brought his weapon up in one swift motion and fired at the orb.

The shot had no noticeable effect on the sphere, but it spurred a few others to action. Mr. Stuart fired at Morven, who was now unprotected . . . except that he wasn't. Mr. Stuart's beam stopped about a foot short of its target, as though blocked by an invisible shield of some sort.

Morven laughed again. "As you can see, I've made a few modifications to the original—though believe me, its primary function is still as devastating as ever." He toyed with the remote in his hand. "I recommend that any of you who don't want your nervous systems permanently scrambled move some distance from your _Princess_." He spat out the word like it was something disgusting. "I have it set to its narrowest, most intense beam but it will still likely affect anyone within a two meter radius. For obvious reasons, I haven't been able to test this setting under, ah, _field_ conditions."

His own few remaining people scrambled backwards, away from me. One or two of those on our side did, too, but Shim and Mr. Stuart stood firm, no more than a yard or two in front of me. Dr. Stuart was still on the ground, but whether dead or stunned I couldn't tell.

I pushed myself to my feet and looked straight at Morven, deciding abruptly that if I was going to die or have my brain fried or whatever that thing was going to do to me, I wanted to face it standing—like the Princess I was. It was the least I could do in return for what these people had done for me.

Then, to my surprise, a hand clasped mine and I turned to see that Rigel had managed to stand as well.

"Get away, to where it's safe," I told him. "Please."

He shook his head, no trace of compromise in his expression. "I'm with you, no matter what. I love you, M."

Despite knowing I probably only had moments to live, happiness blossomed through me, making everything else irrelevant. Even if it ended in the next two minutes, my life had been worth it for this one instant.

"I love you too, Rigel." I made it a vow, the truest thing I'd ever said. And then we were kissing, in full view of family, friends and enemies. Why not?

Morven's obnoxious voice broke the spell. "Puppy love. How very touching. I guess it's both of you, then."

But even as he spoke, I had a memory so vivid it was like a vision—of Rigel stopping my uncle's runaway car. I looked into Rigel's eyes and saw awareness dawn there, then, clear in my mind, I heard his voice saying, _Yes!_

Our hands met and clasped, tightly, then we both swept our free arms up to point at the sphere just as Morven pushed something on his remote. A blinding arc of electricity, at least twenty times as strong as the one that had hit Bryce Farmer, jumped from our fingertips and converged on the now-humming orb.

With an ear-splitting boom the sphere exploded in midair, sending sparks and shards raining down on the whole clearing. Reacting instantly, Rigel pulled me to the ground and shielded me with his body, like he had before, and I had a fleeting glimpse of everyone else, friend and foe, also hitting the dirt. The debris fell for several seconds, then stopped.

Slowly, fearfully, I raised my head and saw others doing the same. Shim appeared unhurt, other than a burn on one hand, which he was shaking. Mr. Stuart, who had covered his wife just as Rigel had covered me, seemed okay, too. Rigel moved, letting me up, and I twisted around quickly to check on him. He greeted me with a grin and I let out my breath in relief. In fact, everyone who had still been standing before the explosion appeared all right, if shaken.

Except Boyne Morven.

Maybe because he'd been closest to it, or maybe because he'd been enveloped in whatever shield the orb had been generating when it blew up, he'd been knocked halfway across the clearing and appeared to be unconscious—or worse. Not that I was going to feel the least bit guilty about it, Martian heritage or no. The guy had just tried to kill me—and Rigel.

"Is everyone all right?" Shim asked as we all clambered to our feet to take stock.

Everyone on our side who could nodded, even though I could see that several had cuts or burns of some sort. The couple of people from Morven's side who were still in the clearing remained sitting, covered by the weapons of two of Shim's people.

People on both sides I'd feared were dead were starting to stir, apparently only stunned. To my intense relief, Dr. Stuart was one of those.

Mr. Stuart instantly noticed her moving. "Ariel!" he exclaimed, kneeling beside her. "Oh, thank God!"

Rigel moved to his mother's side as well, but never released his grip on my hand so I came along, too. "Mom! I was afraid you were . . . you know."

"I'm fine, dear," she said with a weak smile. "Or I will be, once the queasiness passes. What happened?"

"I'd rather like to know the answer to that myself," Shim said, coming over to join us. "Rigel, Sov— er, Marsha, what exactly was that? Not that we're ungrateful, of course."

Rigel and I looked at each other, then back at Shim. In that brief exchange of glances, I could have sworn I heard Rigel say, _Truth._

"We're not exactly sure, sir," he said aloud. "We've experienced something similar a couple of times before, but nothing anywhere near as strong as this."

Shim looked at me and I shrugged, too. "It just seemed like . . . the thing to do, sir. We definitely didn't have time to plan it."

His expression softened. "I suppose not. But once we've all had a chance to, er, recover and clean up a bit, I'd like to have a talk with both of you about this interesting, ah, ability you seem to have."

I was startled to see Shim nearly at a loss for words. But I had a question of my own. "What _was_ that thing, sir? What would it have done to me, if we hadn't, er—"

It was Mr. Stuart who answered. "An Ossian Sphere. They were working on a prototype back on Mars nearly a hundred years ago. It disrupts electromagnetic impulses. It was being developed as a way to stop runaway reactions, but they discovered it also had the potential to affect organic impulses—neurons. Also, to short out all electronics within a fairly large area. Given that an accident with it could have crippled our entire colony, the project was shut down. I had no idea Faxon revived it."

"I'm sure it wasn't publicized," Shim said. "But I'll make certain word reaches him that we now have an effective defense against it." He smiled at Rigel and me and I felt my cheeks grow warm.

"Shim," Dr. Stuart said, moving to stand beside her husband. She seemed to be nearly herself again. "Do you think you can get a ride back with one of your people if we leave you to handle the details and . . . cleanup? I'd like to get Marsha and Rigel out of here."

He blinked. "Of course, Ariel. I was forgetting for a moment that they're only— But you're quite right. I'll see you all later."

"Come on." Her words included Mr. Stuart as well as the two of us. "I believe something was said about going for ice cream?"

## 27

# Resolution matrix

AFTER ICE CREAM (yes, we really did get ice cream—Dr. Stuart claimed we needed it, plus she'd told my aunt we would and she didn't want to lie) we went back to the Stuarts' house to clean up.

There was no way I could go to Bri's house covered in dirt, straw and corn shuckings, and my only change of clothes was my Homecoming dress. So I called Bri and canceled, using my aunt as an excuse.

The Stuarts had three full baths and either an enormous water heater or some spiffy Martian technology with the same effect, so I was able to take a long, luxurious, guilt-free shower—something I hardly ever got to do at home. Dr. Stuart threw my jeans and shirt in the wash at the same time, so I wouldn't have to explain the state of those clothes to Aunt Theresa later.

By the time I finished drying my hair it was getting late, so I went ahead and put on the floaty, seafoam-green dress Bri had lent me. It fit beautifully, the halter top leaving my shoulders bare but without being at all risqué. Dr. Stuart helped me with my hair and makeup.

"Indulge me," she said when I protested that she'd already done enough. "One of my few regrets is that I've never had a daughter to dress up."

Since I couldn't think of any possible argument—not to mention how special it made me feel to have her fussing over me—I relaxed and enjoyed the attention.

Rigel seemed to appreciate the results, judging by his expression when we emerged from his parents' room. All he said aloud was "wow," but his eyes said much more.

I smiled but didn't say anything. Ever since he'd told me he loved me—at least, once we were out of crisis mode—I'd felt kind of shy and tongue-tied around him. I kept wondering if I'd imagined it, or if he'd maybe only said it because he thought we were about to die, but I couldn't think of any way to ask that wouldn't sound needy. And now he looked so gorgeous in his dark suit and white shirt that he almost didn't seem real—certainly not like someone who could possibly love _me_.

He held out his hand to me, though, and when I took it, I found it a little easier to believe. Together, we went downstairs.

Only to be met by Shim and Mr. Stuart, both looking very serious.

"M, Rigel, would you mind very much postponing your special dinner?" Rigel's dad asked. "There's barely time as it is, and Shim feels it's important that you both be brought up to speed on the situation as soon as possible. I can't help but agree."

I glanced at Rigel and he shrugged, so we both nodded. I hoped this wouldn't mean missing the dance, but I didn't want to sound shallow by saying so out loud.

Mr. Stuart must have read my expression, or maybe it was a mental communication from his wife, who had come down the stairs just behind us. "Not to worry," he said, "we'll make sure you get to the Homecoming dance. And Rigel, you can take M out for a nice dinner some other time. Soon," he added with another glance at Dr. Stuart. "I've already ordered pizza to be delivered."

"You both look very nice," Shim said, though it was obvious his mind was on other matters. "Now, suppose we get right to business? The dining room is probably a good place to talk."

Wordlessly, we followed him to the big table. Even though Rigel had a firm grip on my hand, I couldn't help feeling a little bit nervous. What _other_ threat might be out there that we hadn't been told about?

Once we were seated, though, Shim's stern expression relaxed into a smile. "I want to commend you both for your actions this afternoon. Between you, you have averted a hideous threat to this planet and its people, as well as to innumerable Martians on both planets who oppose Faxon and his regime. On their behalf, I am exceedingly grateful. I would, however, like to hear how you managed it."

Again Rigel and I exchanged a glance, then he answered. "We, um, discovered recently that together we seem to be able to create an electrical charge. It's how we stopped Mr. Truitt's runaway car last night."

Shim's eyebrows rose. "I see. So today was not the first manifestation of this, er, power? I trust the Truitts have no suspicion of the truth?"

"Oh, no," I said quickly. "Rigel convinced them he'd just turned off the car—he was really fast, and everything was so confused, they didn't question it. Anyway, I've never gotten the least hint they know the truth about me. They definitely would have said something by now, if they did."

"And how did you know you could do this last night?" he asked Rigel.

After sliding a quick look my way, Rigel faced his grandfather and told him about the incident with Bryce Farmer. From his parents' shocked expressions, this was the first they'd heard about that, though they didn't interrupt him.

"It took me as much by surprise as it did M," he concluded. "It's also what made her start demanding explanations." He gave me a quick smile. "I sort of thought _you_ might know how it's possible, Grandfather."

Shim looked at us for a long moment, then finally nodded. "It appears, as you may suspect already, that the two of you share a true _graell_ bond—something most of our people would consider impossible. However, there is no other plausible explanation I can think of. Nor is it completely unexpected—to me, at any rate. Unfortunately, news of your bond will be unpopular in some quarters, but we can discuss the ramifications at some future date. First, I thought you would be interested to learn how things stand after this afternoon's events."

"Yes, sir, we would," I agreed. "Is everyone . . . all right?" I didn't really care about Morven, but I'd been worrying about those on our side.

"My people have recovered for the most part," he said, "though one or two may need a few days to return to complete health. Thank you for asking, Princess. Morven's people, those few we captured, appear to be mostly recovered as well. Morven himself did not fare so well, but he is alive and had finally regained consciousness at last report. He may make a full recovery in time, though it is too soon to know."

"And what happens after he recovers?" I asked, frowning. "I know Martians—not counting Faxon and his followers—don't believe in killing. So, since there must not be a death penalty, what will they do to Morven? And Smith? And Faxon, for that matter, if he's overthrown? I mean, what kind of criminal penalties _do_ you have on Mars?"

"Memory modification," Mr. Stuart replied. His wife and Shim nodded.

"It hasn't been used more than a dozen times in the past hundred years," Shim explained, "But yes, we have the technology to erase memories. It is considered the ultimate form of rehabilitation."

I blinked. "Like, give somebody complete amnesia?"

"Usually not. Usually just enough to give someone a fresh start from the point they began to go wrong. But in extreme cases, such as Faxon's—or Morven's—we do have the power to do a _tabula rasa_ —wipe the slate blank."

I nodded, satisfied. If anyone deserved that, Faxon did, since he was the reason I had no family.

Rigel spoke up then. "Sir, I'm curious about something else. How could Morven have had so many people supporting him, without us— you— knowing about it? And how did they all find us so quickly?"

"A fair question." Shim sighed. "I received a painful—but necessary—kick in my complacency today. My biggest regret is that my arrogance put others—and especially the two of you—at risk. When we identified Morven as the ringleader of the invasion movement here on Earth, we kept what I thought was a close watch upon him. Obviously not close enough. He clearly found ways to recruit adherents, and to communicate with them without our knowledge.

"As for today, we discovered what was essentially a GPS homing device on his person, which directed his followers to his precise location once activated. It is disturbing that there were so many of them within a few hours' travel of Jewel. It means their total numbers were clearly far greater than we had guessed."

"Were?" Rigel looked at his grandfather, then his father.

It was Mr. Stuart who answered. "We're hopeful that with Morven out of the picture, and especially once news of today's events spreads—which it will—the invasion movement will wither away, along with support for Faxon, both here and back on Mars."

"But . . . we don't actually know yet, do we?" I asked. Surely it was too good to be true that the bad guys were all vanquished _and_ that Rigel really loved me. I just wasn't that lucky.

"No, not yet," Shim conceded. "We can't again make the mistake of underestimating the lengths to which fanatics will go." He sent a wry glance Mr. Stuart's way.

The doorbell rang just then, making everyone jump—at least, I did.

"The pizza," Dr. Stuart murmured, breaking the tense silence.

She went to answer the door and came back a moment later with two large pizzas, which immediately lightened the atmosphere. While we ate, Shim told us that a few of those captured had been forthcoming with information, and he expected to be able to locate and destroy the remaining Ossian Spheres within the next week or two. Also, that it was fear of those devices that had convinced many of them to follow Morven in the first place.

"Once those are destroyed, even the fanatics aren't likely to see invasion as a viable option. We should be able to finally start planning a gradual, peaceful relocation of our people."

What Morven had said about the colony's resources running out within a century or so was apparently true, which made _some_ solution essential. Shim and the Stuarts discussed some of the specifics they hoped for, and though I knew I should be paying attention—I was bound to regret it later if I didn't—it was impossible to follow all the references to people and events I knew nothing about.

Finally, long after the pizza was eaten and the table cleared, Shim turned to me and said, "I owe you an apology, Excellency."

"Huh? Why?" Oh, _that_ sounded regal! But I didn't understand.

"Though I told Van yesterday that the Council would announce your existence via MARSTAR, we held off, hoping that it might prove unnecessary—that with Smith exposed, Morven would abandon his plans and that you could then continue to live a normal life. We also, upon further discussion, feared that there might be those in the network who were secretly loyal to Faxon, and who might therefore pose a separate risk. But had we announced the truth earlier, it might have lessened the risk you faced today. And for that, I sincerely apologize. Be assured that the word has gone out now, since after what happened today, there was little point in attempting to keep it secret. Better for everyone to know the real story than to piece together an erroneous one from whatever Morven's escaped followers might say."

"Oh." Morven's gang had arrived so quickly, I doubted having the word out sooner would have made much difference. But I was mainly concerned with just two words out of Shim's explanation. "Um, normal life? I can still have that, can't I?"

All of the adults exchanged glances before anyone spoke, making me uneasy in spite of Rigel's hand covering mine.

"You can try," Mr. Stuart finally said. "And we'll help all we can. But there's no question that some—perhaps many— _Echtrans_ are going to want to see you for themselves, to verify that you're really alive . . . and to pay their respects."

"Growing up as you have, M, you can have no idea how world-changing this news will be to our people," Dr. Stuart said gently. "Many may come to regard Jewel, the place you've grown up, as a sort of shrine."

"What, like . . . like Graceland or something?" I squeaked, looking wildly around at all of them. Rigel, at least, appeared almost as startled as I felt. They had to be kidding.

Mr. Stuart chuckled. "A little like that, yes. But with only a few thousand expatriates worldwide, we probably don't have to worry about parking issues. Still, Jewel is likely to become a bit of a, um, tourist attraction for a while."

I was completely boggled by that idea and it didn't help when Shim added, "Only a few thousand at the moment, but if our plans progress as we hope, that number will grow steadily over the next few decades."

"But . . . what do I _do?_ " I asked.

"Nothing, for now," Shim said. "We will all, and especially Van and Ariel here, do our best to keep things low key. If you can, conceal the truth from your aunt and uncle for as long as possible, preferably until you are old enough to go away to college. From what I've been told of them, I doubt they would appreciate having their lives disrupted."

I had to laugh at such an understatement. "So I can keep, you know, going to school and everything, right? I don't have to do anything, er, official right away?"

He shook his head. "Eventually, of course, you'll be expected to take on the responsibilities of your heritage. But for now, I hope you will be able to live the relatively . . . ahem . . . normal life of a teenager."

"And part of that is going to the Homecoming dance," Dr. Stuart announced. "We'd better hurry if you don't want to miss the whole thing."

* * *

Rigel and I were almost an hour late to the dance.

We thought we'd be able to slip into the black-and-gold festooned cafeteria quietly, but that didn't happen—mainly because it was almost time to present the Homecoming Court and a few of the organizers were starting to panic because Rigel wasn't there yet.

Not only the organizers.

" _There_ you are!" Trina shrilled, rushing up to Rigel seconds after we entered. "Do you have any idea how _mortified_ I'd have been to be crowned solo? Not to mention the dance afterwards." She didn't even glance at me, of course.

Other people did, though.

"Wow, M, you look great," said Pete Chesterton, who was a senior, our best running back . . . and Trina's date. "Lucky guy," he added to Rigel. Trina glowered at him.

"You can say that again," Rigel agreed, gazing down at me with the crooked smile that made my heart do that funny little flip-flop thing—even more than usual, after today's events. I'd been so afraid at one point that I'd never see that smile again. Especially right after he'd actually told me—

"M! You're here!" Bri brought me back to the present, almost tackling me with a fierce hug. "You sounded so strange on the phone when you said you couldn't come over before, I was afraid your aunt might not let you come at all. Oh, that dress looks fabulous on you! I knew it would."

I was grateful she didn't come right out and say it was hers, with Trina standing within earshot.

The DJ was playing a song I liked, and I was kind of hoping it might be my first-ever dance with Rigel, but before I could even hint at it, Trina grabbed him by the hand.

"Come on—let's let the committee know you're here. You need to be briefed on the program sequence."

He sent me a questioning look, but I shrugged and nodded—and couldn't quite suppress a snicker at Trina's self-importance. After facing almost certain death earlier today, being briefed on the "program sequence" just didn't seem like fate-of-the-world stuff. Still, he looked reluctant as he left me, which I didn't mind at all.

"So, did you hear?" Bri asked me the moment he was gone. "Like, a _bomb_ or something exploded in a cornfield right next to the school today! They actually considered canceling the dance because of it, can you believe it?"

"Really?" I asked with what I thought was admirable cluelessness.

"Yeah." Matt, Bri's date, chimed in. "Derek and Paul went out later, after the cops left, to check it out, and they said there's like a crop circle or something out there."

"The cops came?" I hadn't known about that. "Did they find out what happened?"

Before Matt could answer, a voice came over the speakers—the Principal, announcing that it was time to crown the Homecoming Queen and King and their court. The students quieted down a little as Mr. Cowan presented Heather Williams and her king, Scott Anderson (our basketball star—this was Indiana, after all), then the rest of the court, including Trina and Rigel.

Heather made a brief little thank you speech, then the DJ queued up a slow dance to be led off by the Queen, King and court before the rest of us were allowed to join in. I watched Trina draping herself all over Rigel and tried not to mind. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find Jimmy Franklin standing there.

"Oh, hey, Jimmy," I said, glancing behind him for his date. No one was there.

"Hey, M. I, um, I was wondering," he stammered, "since, you know, Rigel has to dance this one with Trina, if, um, you might, um, dance with me?"

Jimmy looked handsome and earnest and more than a little nervous as he waited for my reply. A couple of months ago, this would have transported me into complete ecstasy. Now, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Uh, sure. I guess that would be okay," I said as other couples started to drift out onto the dance floor to join the Homecoming court.

He led me out to the floor. I had to keep my gaze away from Bri, who kept giving me very-raised-eyebrow looks that were guaranteed to make me laugh. Instead, as I gingerly put one hand on Jimmy's shoulder and the other on his arm, I looked over at Rigel and Trina, which sobered me right up.

Trina was still pressing herself shamelessly against _my_ boyfriend, though it looked like he was doing his best to fend her off by keeping his elbows between their bodies. Then they turned so her back was to me and he saw me. His eyebrows went up almost as high as Bri's, but then he grinned. I grinned back.

We spent the rest of the song smiling and winking at each other without our partners being any the wiser. As soon as the music ended, I politely thanked Jimmy, Pete reclaimed Trina, and then Rigel and I were together again.

"I'm really sorry about that," he said, taking both of my hands in his and pulling me close, even though the next song was a fast one. "I wanted my first dance to be with you."

So had I, but now that I was in his arms, I couldn't feel anything but happy. "That's what we get for being late," I said. "It's not your fault you're the most popular guy in the sophomore class."

He chuckled. "Homecoming Court doesn't quite compare with real royalty, but I guess it's something. Anyway," he added, holding me closer, "I don't plan to leave your side for the rest of the evening."

"Sounds good to me," I murmured.

We danced in contented silence. The next song was a slow one again, which made us a little less conspicuous, since we were treating them all that way. It was like we couldn't bear to let go of each other—at least, that was true for me.

"Happy?" he asked during our third dance.

I nodded, then finally asked the question I'd been dying to ask all evening. "So, your folks, Shim, they're . . . okay with, you know, us?"

He raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "They'll have to be." Then he looked down at me, his expression serious, intense. "We're bonded, M. I don't think anything can change that. At least, I hope not."

I hoped not, too. I couldn't even imagine life without Rigel now, and I didn't want to. "I love you." The words were out of my mouth before I had time to worry about them.

A slow smile curved his perfect lips. "I love you, too, M. More than life itself. And that's saying a lot, since life is pretty special now that you're a part of it."

And then he kissed me and I knew that no matter what the future might bring, we were going to face it together. Me, the most unlikely princess ever, and Rigel—my very own star and the most wonderful guy on Earth.

Keep reading for a sneak peek at **_Starcrossed_**, book 2 in the **Starstruck** adventure!

# Starcrossed (preview)

**_1_**

**_R igel_** (RY-jel): _a star in the constellation Orion_

* * *

"Here, boy, hang this up." Allister Adair tosses his cashmere coat at me and continues talking on his cell while my parents just stand politely by.

My expression has to show what I think of the jerk, but since he's not looking, it doesn't much matter. Still, my mom gives me a tiny frown and shake of her head. I turn away and take the stupid coat to the hall closet.

This is Allister's third visit since September, when he found out about M—Princess Emileia to Allister and his cronies, Marsha Truitt to all the regular humans in town.

Of course, _I'm_ the one who found her in the first place, but Allister never gives me any credit for that. No, it's clear he'd rather anyone but me had met her first. Like that would have kept M and me from forming our soul-deep bond. The bond Allister claims he doesn't believe in . . . but still blames me for.

"—better not to, just yet. We don't want to bias anything," he's saying into his phone when I come back. "Yes. Later, then." He hangs up and finally turns to greet my parents, who are just, you know, letting him stay in our _house_. For free. Whenever he wants.

"Council business," he tells them without apologizing. "I hope I haven't kept dinner waiting?"

"Not at all." My mom sounds perfectly pleasant, though I can tell by the way she holds her mouth that she's a little pissed. "Why don't you and Van go into the dining room and I'll have it on the table in a couple of minutes." Then, to me, "Rigel, suppose you help me in the kitchen?"

I follow her, just as glad not to spend any extra time around Allister.

"Why do you let him—?" I whisper as soon as he seems out of earshot, but she immediately shushes me.

"Not now, Rigel. Here. Take these into the dining room." She hands me a basket of dinner rolls and the butter dish.

I manage not to grumble as I do what she asks. Allister glances up when I come in, the first time today he's looked directly at me.

"I presume the Princess is well, or you would have told me immediately. Have you seen her recently?"

"M—er, the Princess is fine. I saw her in school yesterday." And this afternoon, after her Saturday Taekwondo class, but Allister doesn't need to know that. He's already glowering because of my slip.

"I've told you before, boy, not to use that vulgar nickname. It's disrespectful."

My dad opens his mouth and for a second I think he's going to defend me, but then he closes it again.

"Sorry," I say. "It's what everyone calls her at school. Since, y'know, nobody there knows she's a Princess."

Allister keeps frowning at me for a second, like he doesn't believe me or something—which is just nuts, since he has to know what I said is true. Then Dad finally speaks up.

"It's true, Allister, that all of her friends call her that. It's not a pet name of Rigel's, as you seem to think."

"Hm. Well." Allister pulls his gaze away from me and looks a little more cheerful. "Soon it won't matter anyway."

"What do you mean?" I demand. "What won't matter?"

"This little infatuation of yours," he says, "which I've warned you all along is ill-fated."

"Why? If you're going to try sending her away again—"

He looks almost genuinely startled. "No, no, of course not. She made her wishes on that point quite clear. Never mind, boy. Forget I said anything."

"Go see if your mother needs more help in the kitchen," Dad tells me before I can ask more questions. "She won't want these rolls to get cold before everything else is ready."

I leave them, but not before catching the smug expression on Allister's face. An expression I suspect doesn't bode well for me—or for M.

_Click to order_ ** _Starcrossed_** ** __**_and keep reading!_

* * *

Curious to know what Rigel _really_ thought when he first met M and realized who she was? Sign up for my newsletter and get **_Rigel's Jewel_** , a short story I wrote _just_ for my subscribers, FREE .

# A Note from Brenda Hiatt

I know there are many, many books out there to choose from, so I want to take this opportunity to personally thank you choosing and reading _Starstruck!_ The idea for _Starstruck_ grew in my mind over a period of years until I simply had to write it down to share with others. Since then, I've heard from many, many readers who seem to love these characters and their world every bit as much as I do, which makes me very happy. If you also enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review wherever you buy or talk about books to let other like-minded readers know they might enjoy it, too.

I love to hear from my readers! Stay in touch by signing up for my newsletter (click here). You'll receive a FREE Starstruck short story that I wrote _just_ for my subscribers, along with all the latest news about my books. You can also connect with me on Facebook or Twitter

For even more information about me and my books, visit brendahiatt.com or starstruckseries.com (with exclusive content!)

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Happy reading!

**~ Brenda :)**

# Also by Brenda Hiatt

### The Starstruck Series

_Starstruck_ \- An orphaned astronomy geek dreams of escaping her tiny town and becoming somebody and then the hot new quarterback befriends her. But strange things happen: her acne clears up, her eyesight improves, and when they touch, sparks fly—literally! Soon she discovers secrets that change her humdrum life forever and expose her to deadly perils. The middle of nowhere just got a lot more interesting!

_Starcrossed_ \- The Starstruck adventure continues! **** Formerly a nerdy nobody, Marsha is the newly discovered princess of a secret civilization. Even better, she's dating her literal soulmate. But when a new boy arrives at Jewel High, everything M thought she knew about herself and her future turns upside down. Will the destiny that lifted her from obscurity now tear her away from Rigel and their happy ever after?

_Starbound_ \- Being a Princess isn't all it's cracked up to be! **** As newly discovered Princess of a secret Martian colony, M knew she'd have to return someday—but over spring break? An emergency on Mars requires her presence, but not everyone is overjoyed to have their long-lost Princess back. Can she win her people over in time to save the colony from destruction? And what will she have to give up in return?

_Starfall_ \- The electrifying conclusion to the _Starstruck_ series! **** M is finally acclaimed Sovereign Emileia, ruler of the Martian colony Nuath. But at what cost? Without Rigel, life seems pointless but M reluctantly does what she must until an unexpected discovery brings a glimmer of hope. Now she's determined to do whatever she can to salvage her longed-for happy ending—if it's not already too late.

_Fractured Jewel: A Starstruck Novella_ \- Change is never easy. Sometimes it's downright dangerous! The future looks bright for M and Rigel, but it turns out not everyone is open to change. This novella picks up where _Starfall_ leaves off, answering a few questions, presenting new challenges and setting up a new Starstruck spin-off series.

_The Girl From Mars_ _-_ Kira's life on Mars is great these days. She's a rising sports star and the guy she's been crushing on is starting to notice her. When her parents decide to move to technologically backward Earth for the good of their underground colony, Kira is aghast—and furious. Will life on Earth be the nightmare she anticipates or a chance for happiness beyond her wildest dreams?

### Traditional Regency Romance (teen-appropriate)

_Gabriella_ \- A lost wager obliges a Duke to bring a pretty nobody into fashion for the London Season. Irksome duty turns into something quite different as he falls under the spell of his protege's innocent charm. Gabriella would rather help run her father's veterinary practice than fit into fashionable society but the more time she spends with the dashing Duke, the more conflicted she is. Could this be love?

_The Cygnet_ \- A young lady would rather write poetry than make her London debut until she meets a handsome marquis and Cupid's arrow strikes. She transforms herself to attract him, only to learn he apparently has an aversion to her first love, poetry! Is all lost? (Originally published as _The Ugly Duckling._)

_Lord Dearborn's Destiny_ \- After a fortuneteller prophesies a statuesque blonde as his perfect match, a skeptical Lord Dearborn meets just such a woman. Blinded by her beauty, he barely notices her cousin, a lively, witty brunette. Though he has more in common with the petite and impoverished Ellie than the divine Miss Rosalind, she is not in his style at all. Will his eyes be opened in time to his true Destiny?

_Daring Deception_ \- The new Earl of Seabrooke needs a fortune—fast! When a young buck cannot pay his losses at the table and offers his sister instead, Seabrooke agrees to wed her sight unseen. Appalled by her brother's bargain, Miss Chesterton infiltrates Lord Seabrooke's household as a servant to prove him a fortune hunter. But even as she gathers evidence, she finds herself losing her heart to the handsome Earl.

_Christmas Bride_ \- Holly was so looking forward to Christmas! Not only is it her birthday, it's her first wedding anniversary. But now her husband Hunt, the Marquess of Vandover, is in jail, and it's all Holly's fault. Her attempt to help him advance his diplomatic career went terribly wrong and now her husband stands accused of treason. Somehow, she must save Hunt—and their marriage—and Christmas!

_Azalea_ \- After an arranged marriage, Azalea's new husband immediately sails back to England, but she is already in love. When he's lost at sea, she's devastated. Six years later, Azalea sails to England herself and learns that her husband is alive but has no memory of her or their marriage. Worse, he is betrothed! Can Azalea force Christian to remember the truth before he breaks her heart again?

### Also (less teen-appropriate)

### Time Travel Romance

_Bridge Over Time_ \- A switch in time! An independent modern woman mysteriously trades places with a near identical ancestress in 1825. Each is desperate to get back to her own time until she falls in love with the very man her counterpart most wanted to avoid. Is this destiny, or simply a cruel trick of fate?

### Regency-set Historical Romance

_Scandalous Virtue_ __ \- An overprotected widow ready to kick up her heels meets a notorious rake trying to reform. Each sees the other as a shortcut to change . . . until the sparks fly!

_Rogue's Honor_ \- First book in "The Saint of Seven Dials" series. A duke's daughter in disguise is thrown into the company of a legendary Regency Robin Hood. Love is the last thing either of them needs just now, but when was love ever wise?

_Noble Deceptions_ \- An American shipping heiress and the new Saint of Seven Dials find themselves trapped into a marriage neither wants. Even as passion turns to love, both hide secret identities that could lead to arrest. If they trust each other with the truth, will it lead to a lifetime of happiness—or to disaster? (Originally published as _A Rebellious Bride.)_

_Innocent Passions_ \- A former spy takes on the role of the Saint of Seven Dials to hunt down a deadly traitor but finds himself distracted by a studious and opinionated young lady, newly arrived in London. Is she the innocent bluestocking she appears, or the very traitor he's been seeking? And which is in more danger–his heart or his life?

_Saintly Sins_ \- A penniless beauty assumes the identity of the Saint of Seven Dials to rescue her young brother from the streets. A nobleman with his own demons is both smitten and intrigued by the lovely enigma, but when he digs beneath the surface, he finds a secret that could ruin them both. But perhaps love is worth the risk... (Originally published as _Wickedly Yours.)_

(The above four books are also available in a value-priced boxed set, _The Saint of Seven Dials Collector's Edition_.)

_Gallant Scoundrel_ _-_ What happened in Harry Thatcher's past to change him from a celebrated war hero into a dissipated wastrel? Is it already too late, or can becoming the next Saint of Seven Dials–and the right woman–transform him back into the man he has the potential to be? The long-anticipated 5th installment in the Saint of Seven Dials series!

_Tessa's Touch_ \- Tessa has a special gift; with word and touch she can tame the most unbroken horse. But when handsome Lord Anthony gallops into her life, she is faced with a far greater challenge. Anthony thinks Tessa is helping her uncle to sell half-broken horses but soon realizes he must free her from her grasping uncle's trap so he can claim her for himself. (Originally published as _Taming Tessa.)_

_The Runaway Heiress_ \- Dina's only chance to keep her inheritance from her gamester brother is to marry before her twenty-fifth birthday. When her carefully planned elopement goes awry she travels to Gretna Green alone, trusting to chance. There she rescues a naïve young lady from a fortune hunter, earning the gratitude of the young lady's handsome brother. When he asks her to name her reward, she has her answer ready.

### Romantic Historical Fiction

_Ship of Dreams_ _-_ Accused of a crime she didn't commit, Della flees San Francisco aboard an outbound ship. Kent Bradford is shocked when a beautiful redhead introduces herself as his wife to an important investor. Fearing a scene, he plays along...for now. Set amid the real events of the final, ill-fated voyage of the SS Central America, SHIP OF DREAMS takes the reader on an adventure filled with danger and love.

### Mystery

_Out of Her Depth_ \- After her husband leaves her for a younger woman, a newly divorced woman goes to Aruba alone for what should have been her 25th anniversary trip. To force herself out of her comfort zone, she signs up for scuba diving lessons. But when she finds a ring during her first dive that turns out to be a clue in a high-profile murder case, she finds more adventure than she bargained for.

### With other authors

_Spark: Seven Fantastic First-in-Series Novels_ \- Dive into these adventurous, fantastical, romantic novels with strong heroines and plenty of action. Seven Sparks books are all compelling reads without explicit descriptions or swearing, making these books perfect for YA readers or anyone in the mood for a marvelous adventure! More than 2,200 pages of great reading!

_Fabulous Firsts_ _-_ Eleven full-length novels from eleven _New York Times_ , _USA Today_ , and internationally bestselling authors! Each book is the first in a beloved series. From the majesty of medieval castles to the glittering ballrooms of the Regency, read an enchanting novel from each of the Jewels of Historical Romance.

_Scandalous Brides_ _-_ This New York Times (#4 all fiction) and USA Today (#1 all romance) Bestseller brings together the best of the best from Annette Blair, Cheryl Bolen, Lucinda Brant, and Brenda Hiatt. Fall in love with bewitchingly scandalous brides and their dashing grooms in this box set of 4 full-length Regency romances.

_Jewels of Historical Romance_\- Twelve internationally bestselling, award-winning authors, all _Jewels_ , have selected their favorite scenes to share with you in this special FREE volume.

_Once Upon a Christmas_-Curl up by the fire with seven heartwarming tales from the Jewels of Historical Romance...a counterfeit bride in Medieval Scotland, a whirlwind courtship in a Regency ballroom, a holiday miracle in the wilds of Ireland, love and laughter in 19th century New York City, an unlikely attraction in Victorian England, and more. When the magic of Christmas meets the romance of ages past, who can resist falling in love?

# About the Author

Brenda Hiatt is the New York Times bestselling author of twenty-two novels (so far), including traditional Regency romance, time travel romance, historical romance, and humorous mystery. She is as excited about her STARSTRUCK series as she's ever been about any of her books. In addition to writing, Brenda is passionate about embracing life to the fullest, to include scuba diving (she has over 60 dives to her credit), Taekwondo (where she recently achieved her 3rd degree black belt), hiking, traveling, and pursuing new experiences and skills.

Connect with Brenda at:

brendahiatt.com

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