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.
CHAPTER 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
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.
CHAPTER 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
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