Starstruck

Chapter 11a: Magnetic field (part 1)

CHAPTER 11

Magnetic field (part 1)

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.

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