IF, THEN
If he’d stayed home from school, then none of this would have happened.
If Amanda had called him by the right name, then he never would have popped off.
If Vern hadn’t annoyed him with his endless chatter, then maybe he wouldn’t have been in such a terrible mood.
If, then. If, then.
You could if, then for the rest of your life, but it didn’t change now. And right now, here he was, sitting across from his mother in the living room. He couldn’t remember the last time it was just the two of them. According to the clock above the television, he should be sauntering into third period, ticking off the minutes until dismissal. Instead he was trapped on the couch with his mother—who wanted to “have a talk”—and the wayward stacks of junk mail that were never put away.
Let’s hear it, Fitch thought. Let’s hear how inconsiderate I am.
Here’s the funny thing, though: he knew he was in the wrong. He knew how cruel he’d been. But he was still angry. Not at himself, not at Vern, not even at Amanda Piper. At this moment, he was angry at his mother. He didn’t understand why. Maybe it was the way she was sitting here, leveling him with a look of utter disappointment on every inch of her face.
“I don’t understand what’s gotten into you,” she said. “How could you do that to someone? You had such a big heart when you were a kid. I’m completely baffled.”
Fitch focused on the scattered mail next to his mother. Some of the threads were loose in the couch cushion.
“You know we don’t condone that kind of talk,” she continued.
Fitch’s mind ticked backward to that very morning. Great way to start the day, Mike! Real mature! And the word his father had used when he unlocked the car door.
Grown-ups were such hypocrites.
He wanted to say that, wanted to say it right out loud, but he suddenly felt like one huge cement block. Unable to speak or move. Let her think what she wanted. He knew the truth. He wouldn’t speak a single word. Not a word. What difference did it make?
“Don’t imagine for one second that you’re spending any time at the arcade while you’re out of school,” she said.
He’d been suspended for three days. The first time any of the Nelson Thomas children had been suspended, his mother made sure to point out. As if he didn’t already know that.
His parents had a habit of pointing out things that he already knew.
His mother leaned forward, bowed her head, and rubbed her temples. “You boys cause so much stress. I need a vacation.”
Fitch thought of his locker. How he’d wished it would turn into a portal and carry him off somewhere.
“Are you done?” he said. “I wanna go to my room.”
Seconds passed. She didn’t look up.
“Go,” she finally said.
So he did.
CHEERS
When Dani Logan asked her to stay for dinner, Bird didn’t know what to expect. Would everyone serve themselves in the kitchen and go their separate ways, like at home? Bird didn’t think so. Maybe because the dining room table was clean and clear. Or maybe it was the way Dani’s parents cooked together.
Dinner was meat loaf and mashed potatoes. After preparing a modest plate, Bird followed Dani to the table. The girls sat on one side; Mr. and Mrs. Logan sat on the other. Dani’s mother was small and round—the kind of figure Ms. Nelson Thomas feared above all else. Mr. Logan had an angular nose like Dani.
“We just hired this new guy and I have to train him,” Mr. Logan said, as he mashed his tower of potatoes with a fork. “I’m pretty sure he’s more confused than ever now. My training is all over the place. One minute I’m talking about processing, the next minute I’m showing him the fax machine. Poor guy.”
Bird swallowed a small bite of food, then said, “You should make a list.”
“A list?”
“Yeah, like a training to-do list. Then you can keep track of what you’ve already covered and what you need to do next.”
Mr. Logan smiled. “That’s a great idea.” He tapped his fork against his water glass. Clink, clink. “Hear ye, hear ye. Starting tomorrow I will make a list.”
Bird smiled. It had been a long time since a grown-up told her she had a great idea. Who was the last person? Ms. Salonga, probably.
What a strange universe, Bird thought. She felt silly admitting this—even to herself—but she didn’t know families really ate dinner together. Sure, Ms. Salonga had told them stories of how her family ate together, and how they had rules, like no arguing at the table. But it still seemed like a fairy tale; something that only existed in tall tales or on TV.
“Dani told us all about you, Bernadette,” Mrs. Logan said. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and smiled. “She says you’re very smart.”
“Everyone calls her Bird,” said Dani. “And she’s one of the smartest kids at school.”
Bird’s cheeks warmed. She felt shy and proud all at once.
“Good thing she’s on your space team then,” Mr. Logan said. “You don’t want to get to the comet and have no idea what to do next.”
Bird was about to politely explain that they were crews, not space teams, but something moved in the corner of her eye and she turned, hoping to get a glance of the elusive Chekov.
No such luck.
“Bird wants to be a real shuttle commander when she grows up,” said Dani.
“Really?” Mrs. Logan said. “How exciting.”
“What’s a shuttle commander do?” asked Mr. Logan.
“They’re in charge of the whole ship,” Dani replied.
“NASA has never had a female shuttle commander before,” Bird said. “I want to be the first one.”
“You’ll be the next Sally Ride!” Mrs. Logan said.
Bird smiled. “Or the next Judith Resnik, mission specialist on the space shuttle Challenger.”
Mr. Logan lifted his glass, followed by Mrs. Logan and the girls.
“To the next Judith Resnik!” he said.
They all tapped their glasses together. Clink, clink. Cheers.
ONE HUNDRED?
“Dude, you know what I realized in math class today?” said Kenny.
Cash was sitting on the concrete with his arms resting on his knees, watching Brant’s pathetic attempts at Hacky Sack. Kenny was next to him, also eyeing Brant, and occasionally providing helpful commentary—“You’re seriously the worst at this, Brant,” and “You’re a disgrace” being the most common critiques. Their friendship seemed built on personal failures.
“That you don’t know how to add or subtract?” said Brant, his voice breathy from lifting his ankles and knees, desperate to keep the Hacky Sack in play. Brant’s winter jacket hindered his movements, making it difficult for him to keep up the momentum. Thus far he had not sustained more than six counts before the foot bag plopped to the concrete like an egg.
“No, idiot,” Kenny said. “I realized that there are only one hundred days left of middle school. Then it’s summer break and on to greener pastures.”
Cash shifted in his seat but didn’t say a word.
Brant gave up and tossed the Hacky Sack in the air.
“One hundred days sounds almost bearable,” he said. He stopped. Looked at Cash. “I guess it’s not a hundred days for you, though.”
“Oh,” Kenny said, realizing his mistake. “Well, it’s one hundred days of the school year for all of us.”
“Yeah, but only two of us are moving on with our lives.” Brant tossed the Hacky Sack again. Up, down, up, down. “Seriously, Cash, what’re you gonna do if you fail again? I mean. That would just be so messed up. You’ll be old enough to drive, still in this craphole. Maybe they’d give you a parking space.” He laughed. “What if you’re as old as Mr. Stanecker by the time you get out?”
Mr. Stanecker was one of the school janitors. He looked like he was over two hundred years old.
“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” said Cash.
“Sorry, bro. You know I’m just giving you a h
ard time,” said Brant. “Seriously, though, I can’t wait to get out of Park and check out the high school goods, if you know what I mean.”
Kenny snorted. “You might check out the goods, but the goods won’t check you out.”
“Picture it,” Brant continued. He stopped tossing the Hacky Sack and put his hands up like a director framing a shot. “Girls. New girls. Hundreds of them coming from three different schools. Our options will be endless, Kenny.” He shrugged at Cash. “Sorry, dude.”
Kenny reached over and pushed Cash’s shoulder good-naturedly. “There’s something to be said for another year at Park.” His smile widened mischievously. “For one thing, you’ll be the older guy. Girls love that. They’ll think you’re, like, more mature. Older. Wiser.”
“And dumber,” Brant added.
Up, down, up, down.
Cash stood up. He’d had enough. Not that he’d ever let on. No, he’d keep acting casual. He could take it. This was how it always was with Brant and Kenny. They tortured one another over basketball, and they tortured one another over life. That was the way of things.
Sometimes the jokes didn’t land very softly, though.
“I’m gonna take off,” Cash said. Before anyone could protest, he added a quick lie. “I promised my dad I’d help him with something.”
“With what?” Brant said. “Getting your brother committed?” He laughed.
“Not cool, Brant,” said Kenny. He shook his head, his mouth a tight line.
“I heard he went straight-up cuckoo at school.” Brant looked at Cash, the humor gone from his face. “Is it true they had to call the cops?”
“No,” Cash said. “Get real.”
Brant shrugged. “He’s got a screw loose.”
“So do you,” said Kenny. “And we haven’t had you committed.”
Cash shoved his hands in his coat pockets and mumbled “not yet” as he turned for home.
HELLO, SHE’S HOME
When Bird walked through the door that evening, Cash and her father were in the living room, silently watching Scarecrow and Mrs. King, where characters Lee and Francine were protecting a spoiled tennis player whose father was being threatened by the Soviets. Cash and her father each had blank looks on their faces. Sometimes Bird wondered what would happen if she ever dismantled the television. Would she find one of those swinging pendulums inside, the kind hypnotists use to put people to sleep?
Bird opened her mouth to say Hello, I’m home, but decided not to bother. She unzipped her winter coat, slipped it on the peg by the front door, and walked down the hall toward her parents’ room, where she knew she’d find her mother. Fitch’s music thumped, muffled but blaring.
A basket of laundry sat on top of her parents’ bed. Her mother was folding clothes and separating them into piles. She hummed under her breath as she worked.
“Hey, Mom,” Bird said. “I’m home.”
Mrs. Thomas smiled. “Hey, there. Did you have a nice dinner?”
“Yep.” Bird picked up one of her brother’s shirts, folded it, and placed it gently on top of the appropriate pile. “We ate meat loaf.”
“Nice.”
“We all sat at the dinner table.”
“Mm-hm.”
Bird picked up another shirt. “We should try that sometime, don’t you think? All eat dinner together?”
“Fold it horizontally first, Bird.” Her mother took the shirt out of her hands and demonstrated. “Not vertically.”
Bird reached for another one from the messy pile. “I could clear off the table. What do you think, Mom?”
Her mother had moved on to socks. She balled pairs together and pitched them into the basket.
“What do I think about what?”
Bird folded horizontally.
“Never mind,” she said.
NEWS FOR BERNADETTE
Fitch spent the afternoon in his room, blasting U2 and reading a Choose Your Own Adventure, trying to push the previous day out of his mind, but inevitably he returned to Amanda. Her eyes, shiny with tears. The awkward way she ran out of the room. That’s when he’d get a sick feeling in his gut, like he was on a roller coaster, but there was nothing fun or exciting about it. His brain added up all the reasons why everything was her fault (she refused to take a hint, she followed him to the arcade, she called him Henry and gave him stickers), but no matter what, he couldn’t make the equation work. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he had done something terrible, and that’s all there was to it. On the way out of the principal’s office, his mother had turned to him and said, “How could you be so cruel?” And that word—cruel—sliced him in half.
The sick feeling swirled and swirled and made him want to break things. His hands were full of nervous energy. If he could just break something, maybe it would go away.
He stretched out on his bed. Stared at the ceiling with his hands interlaced behind his head. He’d have to go back to school in two days. How would he face Amanda?
There was a knock on his bedroom door. He didn’t say anything, hoping he’d imagined it. But there it was again.
“What,” he said.
Bird came in, holding a stack of folded laundry. She closed the door with her foot then held up the clothes with one hand, like a waitress.
“I have some clothes for you,” she said.
“Put them anywhere.”
She set them down at the foot of his bed.
“So,” she said. “What’d you do today?”
“Nothing.”
He wanted to ask if people were talking about him at school, but then he’d have to admit that he cared.
“I went to Dani Logan’s house. They let me stay for dinner.”
“Fascinating.”
“Her dad did a ‘Cheers’ for me. He said I could be the next Sally Ride.”
“Who’s Sally Ride?”
“The first woman in space.”
Fitch didn’t say anything.
“I told him I’d rather be Judith Resnik,” Bird continued.
“Who’s that supposed to be?”
Bird sighed, the same way Ms. Salonga did when he got an answer wrong.
“The mission specialist for Challenger. Remember?”
“No. Am I supposed to?”
“Ms. Salonga told us all about her. Plus, we talked about her the other night when we were looking at constellations. Remember, when I told you I was going to be the first—”
The nervous energy inside of Fitch sparked and itched.
“I got news for you, Bernadette. You’re never gonna be a shuttle commander for NASA and you’re never going into space. Reality check. You’re just a girl from Delaware who’s nothing special,” said Fitch. He didn’t know why he was saying it, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, one by one, like poison. “You’ll end up just like Mom. Not Sally Ride or Judith Whatever.”
The words dangled in the air.
Fitch didn’t move. Didn’t make eye contact.
That sick feeling rose up again as Bird left the room.
Before she’d walked in, he’d wanted to break something.
And he had.
GIVE OR TAKE
Something about that number. The finality of it. One hundred. One hundred days until school was out. One hundred days until his friends went off to high school. One hundred days left of his seventh-grade encore.
It was hard to think about summer when it was frosty and wintry outside, but he thought about it anyway. How many days did summer have? The months yawned ahead of him. What long months those would be, with nothing to look forward to.
He heard Fitch’s door open. Fitch talking to Bird. The door closing.
“Bird!” Cash called.
When she peeked her head inside his room, she had a strange look on her face. It was so different than her usual demeanor that Cash noticed for the first time that she had a demeanor.
“Are you okay?” he asked, which wasn’t what he’d planned to say at all.
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“I’m fine,” she said. “Did you want something.”
A sentence, not a question.
Cash had the distinct sense that his sister was not fine. Not at this moment, at least. But she would be. She always was.
“I was just wondering if you know how many days there are in summer vacation,” he said.
Bird shifted her eyes to the floor as she calculated, then said, “About ninety-seven, I guess. Give or take.”
He waited for her to ask why he wanted to know.
She didn’t.
When she closed the door, Cash turned his attention to Dr. J.
“I wish all I had to do in life was get paid to play basketball,” he said. “What’s that like?”
But Dr. J didn’t answer, of course.
SO BIG, SO SMALL
Bird: The universe has no beginning and no end. Just a vast space that goes on forever. A person could easily disappear into it. I think that’s what is happening to me.
Judith Resnik: You’re not disappearing. You’re still here.
Bird: Isn’t it strange?
Judith Resnik: Isn’t what strange?
Bird: That a person can be surrounded by other people and still feel alone. You could be in a house full of people, even.
Judith Resnik: Loneliness is an emotion. It comes from inside, not outside.
Bird: Do you think Fitch is right? That I’m just a girl in Park, Delaware?
Judith Resnik: Well. You are a girl. You do live in Park, Delaware. I don’t care for the word “just,” though.
Bird: It’s funny how small things can make a big difference.
Judith Resnik: You have many profound things to say, Bernadette Nelson Thomas. Has anyone ever told you that?
Bird: I don’t think anyone’s listening.
Judith Resnik: I am.
Tuesday, January 14, 1986
CASH MAKES A LIST
On the way to school, Cash stared out the front window while Bird sat quietly in the backseat. Mr. Thomas talked about Charles Barkley and how he would be the Sixers’ star player when Dr. J retired. Before they left the house, his parents had argued nonstop for ten minutes about leaving Fitch home alone during his suspension. Mr. Thomas thought Mrs. Thomas should stay home with him. In response, Mrs. Thomas called him a “selfish, inconsiderate [expletive], because I have a job, too,” and ultimately Fitch wound up at home by himself. Mrs. Thomas had scribbled out a note and left it on the kitchen island for him to find when he woke up.
We Dream of Space Page 9
