Devonte turned around.
“What’d you get?” he asked.
“Mission specialist.”
“I got pilot, if you wanna trade. I know it’s not shuttle commander, but . . . ”
Bird was about to agree and hand over her paper, but it didn’t seem fair. Pilot would have been her second choice, but if she traded, then it really wouldn’t be random the way Ms. Salonga intended, and rules made for best-laid plans. Usually.
“It’s okay,” Bird said. “Thanks anyway.”
The room buzzed once everyone had their job assignments. Ms. Salonga asked all the shuttle commanders to stand. Bird tried not to be jealous, especially when Danielle Logan stood, but she couldn’t help it.
The other astronauts were assigned to the commander nearest them so Bird and Devonte wound up on Danielle’s shuttle with mission specialist Christopher-not-Chris Wheeler, mission specialist Marcus Sturgess, and payload specialists Jessica Brantley and Jessica Diaz, best friends of Rachel Hill—a.k.a., the most popular girl in school. Jessica Brantley was called “JB” when on her own. When with her best friend, which was virtually all the time, they were known collectively as The Jessicas. JB’s older brother Brant was on the basketball team and one of Cash’s best friends. (Bird thought Brant was a jerk, but she kept that information to herself.)
Throughout January, Ms. Salonga explained, the crews would be given problem-solving missions. They’d have to work through the missions together.
“Your first two tasks are to decide why you are going into space, and what you’ll name your space shuttle,” she said.
Desks were shoved together, scraping against the classroom floor, as the crews moved into huddles.
Danielle, who everyone called “Dani,” greeted her crew with a smile that showed nearly all her teeth.
“Any thoughts on a name for our spaceship?” she asked.
Bird liked Dani Logan. Dani was nice and always had extra pencils for people to borrow. But at that moment, Bird had some not-pretty thoughts about her role as shuttle commander.
“Space shuttle,” Bird corrected.
“Space shuttle,” Dani repeated.
“What about . . . The Madonna?” Jessica Diaz said, eyes shining. Other Jessica nodded enthusiastically.
“No way,” Devonte said.
Jessica Brantley shot up straight and swung her blond hair off her shoulders. “I got it, I got it! Lucky Star!”
“Isn’t that a Madonna song?” Christopher-not-Chris said. His hair hung in his eyes. Some of the strands caught in his eyelashes and fluttered when he blinked. Christopher-not-Chris wore rock band T-shirts just about every day. Today it was Van Halen.
“Yeah,” Jessica said. “So?”
“I’m not gonna be part of a ship that’s named after Madonna,” he said.
Marcus, who barely spoke in class and seemed to be absent at least once every week, lifted an unenthusiastic finger. “I second that,” he said.
The Jessicas huffed and rolled their eyes.
“Dani should get the final say,” said Jessica Brantley. “She’s the shuttle commander.”
They all turned to Dani.
Dani turned to Bird.
“Do you have any suggestions, Bird?” she said.
Of course she did.
“How about Bright Star One?” When no one said anything, she added, “It’s a pinball machine at the arcade on Main.”
“Bright Star One,” Dani repeated, trying it on for size.
“I like it,” Devonte said.
“Me, too,” said the Jessicas.
Christopher-not-Chris and Marcus both shrugged. They didn’t seem to care, as long as the shuttle wasn’t named after Madonna.
The mission of Bright Star One was easily decided: They were going to study Halley’s Comet, just like the Challenger astronauts.
When the bell rang, Dani raised both her arms in a victory pose and shouted, “Bright Star One to space!” at the top of her lungs and everyone laughed—not at her, but with her—because, like Bird, they knew it was all in good fun, and no one was really going into outer space like the Challenger crew, no matter how badly they wanted to.
THIS IS THE PINBALL WIZARD
There was a time when the Nelson Thomas family orbited the same sun, but that was in the distant past. They’d drifted apart at some point, but no one knew when or how. One thing was certain, however: the Nelson Thomas siblings always, without fail, went their separate ways as soon as the bell rang.
Cash usually went with his friends.
Bird went home.
And Fitch walked to the arcade with Vern. They had an instinctual habit of looking for discarded coins while they navigated the sidewalk, but today Vern shoved Fitch hard in the shoulder as they made their way down the street and said, “Chewbacca is in love with you!”
The sticker incident had happened during first period, which seemed like an eternity ago, so Fitch thought it’d escaped his best friend’s attention.
No such luck.
“Chewbacca loves you!” said Vern. He puckered his lips and made kissy noises.
The fire in Fitch’s chest sparked. “Shut up,” he said.
At least he hadn’t ended up on the same stupid “shuttle crew” as Amanda. That would have been a nightmare.
They approached the gas station and raced to the pay phone to check for quarters, but the slot was bare.
Fitch had only fifty cents on him, which he’d pocketed instead of getting lunch, and he sensed that it wouldn’t be his lucky day once they got to the Pinball Wizard.
He was right.
The place was crowded. Major Havoc was taken. Same for all the Star Wars games, Pole Position, Karate Champ, and Centipede. Kids were everywhere, little kids, shrieking and yelling and running, and there were so many games going at once that the sounds melded together into one chaotic melody. Some dork with glasses was playing Pop-A-Shot and missed every basket. A group of bigger boys howled each time the dork aimed for a new one, which only made things worse. All those wasted quarters, Fitch thought.
Mr. Hindley wove in and out of the crowd, beaming from ear to ear. When he saw Fitch, he walked up to him and said, “Gotta love seeing all this business.”
“Not me,” said Fitch. He nodded toward Major Havoc. “My game’s taken.”
Mr. Hindley nudged him. “You could always kill time on one of my pinball machines. This is the Pinball Wizard, after all.”
“Your pinball machine stole my quarter yesterday.”
Mr. Hindley nodded regretfully. “I need to get that one fixed. Hate seeing ‘Out of Order’ signs in my shop.” He dug into his pocket and handed Fitch a quarter. “We’re even now. Knock yourself out. If you can find an open game.”
He smacked Fitch on the back. As he walked away, Vern said, “As long as you’re giving out quarters, Mr. Hindley, I’ll take one! Donkey Kong ate my fifty cents two weeks ago!”
Fitch ran his fingers around the edge of his new quarter as if it were a lump of gold.
Mr. Hindley kept walking.
“I’m serious, Mr. Hindley!” Vern continued. “That ape is a thief!”
Mr. Hindley waved him off without turning around.
Vern shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”
One of the reasons Fitch loved Major Havoc was that it felt like his. Most of the other kids thought the game was too complicated, too hard to figure out, and they didn’t care about the backstory at all. Instead, they beelined toward the more popular games and left Major Havoc to fend for himself. Usually the Major was ready and waiting for Fitch. No one else at the controls. But now, as he and Vern stood just a few feet away, surveying the room, Fitch watched some tall kid with Keds play his game, die, then put in another quarter.
“Let’s go lean,” said Vern, which meant he wanted to walk over to the wall near the pinball machines, hang out, and act casual.
Fitch shoved the quarter deep into his pocket.
Ever since Fitch got to middle sc
hool last year, he had the sense that everything was about acting casual no matter what, like nothing in the world mattered and you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything, even though everyone cared about everything.
He and Vern went to the wall and leaned.
“So, seriously, dude. What are you gonna do about Chewbacca?” Vern said.
“Stop calling her that.”
“Why?” Sly grin. “You love her or something?”
“No.” And he didn’t—not at all. It bothered him, though, the way Vern said “Chewbacca.” It felt like a joke against him instead of Amanda. Or maybe it was a joke on both of them. Who could tell? The point was, he was part of a joke.
“Then what do you care?” said Vern. He paused. “So, whatcha gonna do?”
“What do you mean, what am I gonna do? Nothing.”
Vern looked as though he was about to say something else when Justin Brantley and Kenny Haskins walked up.
“Hey, what’s going on with your brother?” said Brant, nodding at Fitch. “I haven’t seen him since his Olympic slip on the ice.”
“He stayed home today because of his cast.”
“That idiot,” Brant said, laughing. “You should’ve seen him go down. Man! It looked like it hurt.” He glanced from Fitch to Vern and back again. “What’re you two talking about, anyway?”
Fitch and Vern spoke at the same time.
Fitch said, “Nothing.”
Vern said, “Chewbacca is in love with Fitch.”
“Chewbacca?” said Kenny, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Vern replied. “Amanda Piper.”
Fitch’s eyes wandered to Major Havoc. When would that tall kid leave so he could play? He imagined walking over and pushing him aside. He imagined the kid stumbling over his Keds as Fitch took the controls.
“Amanda Piper, Amanda Piper . . .” said Brant. “Oh, wait. Is she a seventh-grader with, like, bushy brown hair and a big enormous head?”
Vern laughed and laughed like this was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. He often did that around Brant and Kenny because they were part of a more popular crowd. Brant and Kenny were kings at acting casual.
“Yeah, that’s her,” Vern said. “She’s in love with Fitch. She’s so in love with him that she calls him by his real name. Right, Henry?” He nudged Fitch in the ribs.
That’s when the fire popped and burst and, in one swift movement that no one saw coming, Fitch wrapped his hand around Vern’s wrist—tight, tight—and pushed him back a step.
“Don’t touch me again,” Fitch said.
His eyes were so fiery and his voice so angry that Vern simply nodded and winced. When Fitch let him go, Vern rubbed his wrist like someone who had just been released from handcuffs.
“Jesus, man,” Vern said. “Calm down.”
Yes, Fitch. Calm down. Calm down.
Fitch wanted to apologize, especially since Cash’s friends were looking at him like he was a mental patient, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Instead he stood there until Major Havoc was finally free, and then he walked away without another word.
FROZEN BY MUMM-RA
It would’ve been nice if someone had stayed home with him, since it was his first day with a cast and his wrist still hurt and he had trouble doing normal stuff, like going to the bathroom or opening a bag of chips, but it was what it was. Cash spent most of the time sleeping, staring at the television (he wasn’t really watching, since it was mostly game shows and soap operas), reading the sports section of the Philadelphia Inquirer, and eating junk food. His mother called in the early afternoon to make sure he was still alive and to say that she would be late because someone called an afternoon meeting, and wouldn’t you just know someone would call an afternoon meeting on the very day she needed to be home early.
Bird got home first. When she walked in, he was sprawled on the couch, watching He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. He was too old for it, but so what?
“How’s your arm?” she asked. She set her backpack on one of the stools at the kitchen island and opened the fridge. “You want something to drink?”
“Nah,” said Cash. He was being very still, for no particular reason except that he wanted to be as lazy as humanly possible. He didn’t move until Bird came to sit down. And he didn’t move much—just slid his feet over.
She took a big gulp of Diet Coke, then wiped the corners of her mouth with her knuckle. “I don’t have your assignments because Mom said Fitch had to pick them up for you instead, since you have more of the same teachers.”
“Okay,” said Cash. He’d forgotten that Bird had offered to do that for him.
“Ms. Salonga’s class was awesome. She separated everyone into flight crews, just like the Challenger.”
Cash’s eyes were glued to the television, so he was only half listening. The father in this toy commercial had a mustache. Cash wondered if he would ever grow hair on his face. He wanted to brush above his lip to see if anything had grown while he’d been on the couch, but he was still trying not to move.
“Just like the what?” he said.
“The Challenger. You know. The space shuttle?”
“Oh, yeah. Space month.”
“Yep. I wanted to be shuttle commander, but Dani Logan got it instead, so I’m a mission specialist. We named our shuttle Bright Star One, after the pinball game. And our mission is to study Halley’s Comet, just like the astronauts.”
It was quiet for a while, so Cash finally said, “Cool.”
“I suggested Bright Star One as the name. Everyone liked it.”
“Mm-hm.”
“At first I was jealous of Dani, but I think she’ll be a good shuttle commander.”
“Yeah.”
Bird sipped her soda. “Do you need anything for your arm?”
“Nah.”
Bird stared at the television.
ThunderCats was coming on, which meant it was four-thirty. You’re too old to watch ThunderCats, Cash reminded himself.
“Where’s Fitch?” Cash asked.
It was a stupid question.
“Arcade.”
Tammy and Mike Thomas expected all three children to be home when they walked through the door. They usually were. Tammy and Mike Thomas also expected all homework to be done. It usually wasn’t. But they never actually checked any of these things. They’d ask if everyone had finished their homework and Cash and Fitch would say yes, even though they hadn’t, and Bird would say yes or no, but it didn’t matter because they all knew Bird would get her work done no matter what.
Fitch came home at the same time ThunderCats ended. He gave an obligatory “hey” before disappearing into his room.
Thirty minutes later their father came in. He didn’t give an obligatory “hey.” Instead he asked, “Where’s your mother?”
Bird had gone to her room, so Cash was alone again on the couch, still in the same position. The news was on, and he hated the news, but he decided he’d been permanently frozen by Mumm-Ra, demon priest of the ThunderCats universe.
“She called to say she’d be late,” Cash said.
His father sighed. “How late?”
“I don’t know. A meeting or something.”
“Figures,” his father mumbled.
Cash couldn’t see his father, but he knew he was standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips. That was the weird thing about families. Sometimes you just knew what your family was up to, even if you couldn’t see them.
THE RULES OF LANGUAGE
The problem was dinner.
When their mother got home, it was 6:40 and no one had eaten. Their mother was usually the one who made dinner, so their father said they would wait for her.
That was a mistake.
Bird knew it was a mistake. She could predict an argument a mile away. Nothing could be done about it, though. Bird didn’t know how to cook, so it’s not like she could prepare a meal for them. Instead she did the next best thing: she ate
a turkey sandwich. That way her mom wouldn’t have to worry about including her. She suggested that the others eat sandwiches, too, but they said no, they wanted to wait for something good.
So Bird went into her room and waited, too.
But not for something good.
Rules of language were different for kids than adults. Bird learned this early on.
For example: neither Bird nor her brothers were allowed to curse. Certainly not in front of their parents. Not even the safe swears that weren’t super-bad, like h-e-double-hockey-sticks. If they said something “uncouth,” as her mother would say, their father would blurt out, “Language!” as a reminder that they were using bad words.
No such rules applied to Mr. and Mrs. Thomas. They were allowed to use all the words. They could even pair some of the words together, like when Mr. Thomas called Mrs. Thomas a “stupid [expletive] cow,” or when she called him a “moronic [expletive] [expletive].” Every ugly word was on the table—especially when they spoke to each other.
Bird listened to them now, with her ear pressed against the door. She didn’t want to but couldn’t help it. There was little reason to put her ear there, though. They were yelling so that she could have been standing in the driveway and heard everything. But at least she was doing something.
Tammy was calling Mike “a stupid Neanderthal idiot.”
Mike was calling Tammy “a nagging pain in the [expletive].”
Tammy said she shouldn’t have to work all day and then come home and cook dinner when Mike had “two perfectly good arms and legs.”
Mike said it was her fault. She was the one who refused to “clean up the [expletive] house” and wanted to get a job so she “could feel like Gloria [expletive] Steinman,” to which Tammy replied, “It’s Gloria Steinem, you [expletive], and the very fact that you expect me to make you dinner after I worked harder and longer than you is disgusting!”
“Of course I expected dinner!” said Mike. “You’re clearly not doing much else in this house! And you’ve made dinner for the past fifteen years!”
“And that’s exactly the problem!”
“If you didn’t want to make dinner, all you had to do was say, ‘Mike, I’m too tired to make dinner.’” (At this point, Mike did his pretend-Tammy voice, which wasn’t flattering at all.) “You didn’t have to explode in front of the [expletive] kids!”
We Dream of Space Page 3
