by Phil Stamper
“We found it to be a really interesting opportunity, if you don’t mind my honesty. We saw it as a way to bring the country together. To rekindle that patriotism we’ve been missing in the past few years. Our viewers might not know; it was one of the first truly bipartisan issues since the midterms—one that a very polarized Congress didn’t know how to act on, with the party lines looking jagged.”
“Indeed. So they turned to the voters, who called in droves, demanding the funds be set aside to complete the Orpheus project. And that’s why we of the Orpheus Twenty are able to get us closer and closer to Mars every day.”
“So let’s talk about the new recruits. You’ve been working with them for a full week now—any stars among the pack?”
“Do you know how many thousands of applicants they get? They’re all stars.”
“Then let me ask the more devious question, Mark, but the one that’s most asked by our faithful viewers. We’ve been going back and forth on whether you or Grace Tucker would be taking the lead on Orpheus V. Well, now we’ve got another jet pilot in the ranks. Could Calvin Lewis Sr. be a threat?”
“We’ve been in flight tests all week, and I’m not lying when I say I’m proud to work with such brilliant pilots. But let me set one thing straight. This isn’t a competition. There aren’t threats. This isn’t 1968. Orpheus V will most likely go to me or Grace because we know the ship the best, but that has nothing to do with skill. We all have the skill. Think of Orpheus VI. Orpheus VII. Those endeavors will need pilots too, and NASA’s going to match up the best person for each job, just like they carefully select every other scientist. Look, I’ll level with you: I think you guys at StarWatch do a whole lot of good, I’ll be the first one to say it, but this isn’t a reality competition. The stakes are high enough—it doesn’t get any more real than life or death. We’re all just glad to do our part.”
“I understand. Hopefully our viewers do too.”
CHAPTER 13
It takes about thirty seconds for me to realize something’s wrong. My mom’s stomping around outside my door, and the house shakes with her every step. A look at the clock confirms what I already know: It’s way too early. Or late.
Settling into this new environment has made the days stretch longer than the ones I had in New York. It’s been three long weeks since we moved here, but every time I wake up, I get that momentary disorientation. Where am I? Who replaced my exposed brick wall with this awful stucco mess? Why is my bed so huge?
I sit up and slide my legs off the bed. I check the clock—one thirty. Dad should have landed in Florida by now to tour the launchpad with the other astronauts. I stretch out my toes on the carpet and crack my neck before locating a pair of shorts to throw on. I step out of my room just as the tail of Mom’s nightgown flutters around the corner into the living room.
“Well, what can you tell me?” she demands.
“Mom?” I ask, then gasp at the sight of her. Her bloodshot, watery eyes dart away from me, while her chest rises and falls at too quick a rate to be healthy. A deep unease settles in my chest, making my own breaths more shallow.
“You don’t get to withhold information like this,” she shouts into the phone. When she looks up and finally notices me, her anger drops. More tears well in her eyes as she grips me in a tight hug. “Can you go back to your room, Cal?”
I want to question her, but I don’t. Though I spend a majority of my day talking back to my parents, when something feels wrong, when something deeply unsettling happens, I somehow revert to an obedient kid.
I slip back into my room, and once I shed initial panic, I sprint to my phone. I check it, but I don’t have any texts. I need answers, so I start opening apps.
When I open the FlashFame app, I see my feed is getting a startling amount of traffic, even though I didn’t stream or post anything today. I check the reactions and comments and try to piece together what’s going on.
A wreck … a jet just off Cape Canaveral … a private jet carrying five unnamed NASA employees. Three expected to be astronauts. One was pronounced dead on the scene; two were rushed to the hospital. It’s all hearsay on my page, though. I click through a few local news links that confirm the story and look up to see my mother in the hallway.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
One dead.
I shudder, and fear rushes back into my body. It burrows in my bones and tells me how nothing will ever be okay again, how the one death is sure to be Dad, how his dream is over. How futile all this would be if he was going to die in his first month of work.
“Dad was in an accident,” Mom replies. “But he is okay. We will have more details when NASA deems it appropriate to tell us.”
I sigh and feel the immediate release of the tension throughout my body. “It said there was a wreck with three astronauts on board.”
“Yes, all I know is Mark and Grace were on that jet.”
“I found out more information, though.” I gulp, hoping the words are a lie. “One’s dead, Mom.”
Fire pours into my lungs and burns up my insides. Restlessness claws up my leg and into my shaking body. I need to get out of here. I need to know if it was Grace. I can’t imagine a space program without her.
The realization that Leon’s down the street having this same conversation with his family hits me. Or, he could be having a very different conversation right now.
“Dad’s okay, though? You know that?” I ask.
“Yes. He’s at the hospital under watch, but is fine. I’m not allowed to fucki—sorry, I mean … You know what, I mean fucking. Those NASA people won’t let me know a single thing about where he’s at or when I can talk to him.”
She’s holding the phone between her ear and shoulder while she wrings her hands together. There’s an antsy vibe about her that’s contagious, and I feel my own stress levels compounding.
“He’s okay. At least we know that,” I repeat. “But I have to go check on Leon. I need to make sure Grace is okay too.”
Mom looks at the clock, and I see the uneasy expression take over her face.
“It’s just down the block. This isn’t Brooklyn; I won’t even pass another human on the way there. It’s safe, please.”
“Can’t you just call him?”
“I’m going to call him on the way. But, I mean, what if it’s her?”
Understanding washes over my mother as she sees this desperate, smitten side of me for the first time. She nods and gives me a soft smile.
“Oh, honey, I didn’t realize you two were … go, go,” she says. “I’m fine. I’d rather you not be here when I curse out that NASA rep, anyway, if they ever take me off hold.”
I slip into my running shoes, grab my phone, and dash through the front door.
The wet Houston night sticks to my face just as heavily as the day does. It’s pitch black, save for the scant street or porch light, and I’m already sweating—but to be fair, half of it is from panic. My feet squeak in my running shoes, and I wince with each step. I probably should’ve paused to put on socks.
One of the astronauts is dead. It’s a possibility that had lingered in the back of my mind. Of course astronauts have died—jet crashes during training, the Apollo 1 fire, the Challenger disaster. Deaths have, at times, marred the history of American spaceflight.
I never thought it could be someone I knew.
I never thought it could happen so soon.
As I sprint down the sidewalk, the air courses through my shirt and hair, and I feel a different kind of moisture sliding down my face. A tear. Then, another. I’m getting closer to his house, and my sobbing starts, so I have to stop. I don’t know what’s causing it. Fear, mostly? Panic?
At least I’m alone here. And I can cry without worrying about anyone seeing me. To wake up in the middle of the night, discover that your dad might be dead, then to know that your relief means someone else you care about might really be hurting.
Please, let Grace be safe.
And then I�
�m not alone. Footsteps are coming toward me, quickly, and I try to put myself together, even though I’m panting and holding myself up from my knees. I’m a mess, and the streetlight overhead amplifies the messiness.
Maybe they’ll go around me. Maybe …
“Cal?” Leon’s voice rings out. It pierces through the night, and I suddenly catch my breath. That, or I stop caring about oxygen altogether. “Cal, no, was it your dad?”
He runs up to me and envelops me in a hug. I pull him into me and feel his warm body close to mine. His ear is next to my mouth, so I whisper—it’s all I can manage—that Dad’s okay.
“I was scared it was …” I stop. We’re panting in unison, so I pull back to take wider breaths. “I thought it was your mom, and I was worried about you.”
“That’s why I’m out here too.”
The dim light around us seems to gather and amplify in his eyes. I see the panic there, where I didn’t notice it before. He blinks twice and my body shudders. This time, it’s not for fear. It’s for … something else. I don’t know what it is, but I know I’ve never felt it before. My chest physically aches, and I actually feel that yearning for him, even though I have him right here.
“You look beautiful tonight.” A chuckle escapes his lips as he wipes the tears from his face. “I’ve never seen you like this—you’re usually so dressed up, even that time you helped with the community garden.”
“I didn’t have any time,” I say. I pull my tee down awkwardly and try not to let him know how embarrassed I am to only be wearing something like this in front of the boy I like. He grabs me by the shirt, and I let him bring me to him once again.
Our noses touch.
“It’s Bannon. The NASA people slipped and told Dad an astronaut died, so it’s got to be him.” His brows furrow as the uncomfortable truth sinks in. “God, that’s so sad. Mara. His family is going to be … Is this going to change things?”
I shrug. “You’re asking me? I just got here.”
He shakes his head like he’s trying to knock a memory out of there.
“You’ve read the stories, right? Mom was rumored to be lead pilot for the Mars mission, Bannon her alternate.”
I pause and think for a moment. “Do you think my dad will replace him? Do you think he could actually become an alternate for this mission?”
In the resounding silence, I think I have my answer. Dad’s chances of being a part of Orpheus V just skyrocketed.
“I have to go and see if Mom has any more info,” I say. “I’m so glad your mom is okay.”
“Likewise with your dad. But before you go …”
He pulls me into a kiss. This one isn’t as passionate, it isn’t as hungry, but it makes my insides jump the same way. There’s a caring force in the tug of his lips, and in his bite, I lose control of my body and feel light-headed.
“I like you,” I say. It’s such a four-year-old thing to say, but no other words will come to my lips.
He laughs and pulls me into his chest. His deodorant’s long worn off, but I take in his scent. Warm and tart, it envelops me and brings me closer into him. “I like you too.”
StarWatch News
Breaking News: Live Report
“This is Josh Farrow with StarWatch with some breaking news. If you’re just tuning in, here’s what we know so far. A jet carrying astronauts Mark Bannon, Grace Tucker, and Calvin Lewis Sr.—along with two other NASA scientists—was bound for Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral early this morning. Mark Bannon, who piloted the jet, noticed panel outages as the craft came in for landing. A related mechanical malfunction caused both the right and left engines to go out shortly after, along with all the lights.
“Radio signal cuts out completely at this point, so we don’t know exactly what happened next. But what we do know is the jet’s landing gear never came down. Coasting at a dangerously high speed, Mark diverted the plane toward the ocean for an emergency water landing.
“We’ve just received word that Mark Bannon, an integral part of the Orpheus project, died upon impact. But thanks to quick thinking on his part, the other four lives were saved. Grace Tucker and Calvin Lewis Sr. remain in the hospital under close supervision, though both are reportedly in stable condition. We’ve reached out to NASA for comment and will update when we have their official response.
“Tomorrow night, we are replacing our previously scheduled episode with a tribute to Mark Bannon. We expect to have more answers at that time.”
CHAPTER 14
“Honey, you need to get up,” Mom says.
It’s not even six the next morning, so there’s a part of me that goes right back into terror mode, thinking Dad was more hurt than they let on, thinking that everything is crumbling around me, but then Mom puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles. I relax. I breathe.
“It’s five forty. Why are … why?” I groan, and flop back on my bed.
“Sorry, honey. StarWatch people are on their way to Grace’s place to talk about the accident, and we have to be there too.”
“But Grace is in Florida.”
“Yes, but her husband and the kids are there.”
I groan, because this doesn’t mean I have to just open my eyes. I have to get up. Shower. Get dressed. Show up and put on the proud yet pensive face while I talk about the death, how grateful I am that Dad is alive and unharmed.
I am feeling all those things, of course. But I don’t need the public to see them.
I didn’t sign up for this.
But when I think about Leon, my insides untangle, and it becomes clear how much I want to see him again. It’s only been a few hours since we last met, kissed, but I want his lips on mine again. I want to pull his body into me. I want to … god, there’s so much I want to do. Probably nothing the StarWatch people should see, though.
When I check my phone, I see two emoji on the screen in a text from Leon: the heart and the rocket ship. I laugh and release a heavy sigh.
That’s what gets me out of bed, after this no-sleep night and the panic that still writhes through my bones. Someone I’ve met has died. Someone the country knew and had hopes for has died.
Somewhere around four a.m., I got to talk with Dad, which settled my nerves a bit. He’s “banged up,” but nothing’s broken. Which means, while he’s okay, the country will be mourning, and I have to play my part. All while StarWatch wraps it up in a neat little bow for their tribute to Mark Bannon.
So I jump into the shower, then get ready as quickly as I can. When I step out of my room, the smell of eggs and veggie sausage hits my nose. I inhale as much of it as I can, realizing how hungry I am after such a weird night.
“Breakfast casserole?” I ask, knowing the answer is yes.
“The NASA comms person said I should bring something.”
“Well, this is your specialty.” I laugh, even if the message isn’t untrue.
She pulls the casserole dish out of the oven, and it takes all I have not to grab a fork and go to town. It’s a simple recipe, but oh my god it’s so good. The ultimate comfort food. We pack the car and make the short journey to Leon’s house. I think Mom secretly likes the convenience, but in my mind, getting into the car for a three-minute drive does not compute.
We park, but before I get out of the car, Mom grabs my hand.
“What is it?” I ask. But I’ve seen this before. Her body visibly tenses, and I don’t understand how she can be so animated sometimes—in fights with Dad, or when she’s talking about the video games we both like—yet be scared stiff when it comes to social interaction.
“He never asked me if I could do this,” she says. “I mean, he knows how much stuff like this affects me. I can’t be on television.”
“You’ll do fine, Mom. StarWatch makes this shitty for all of us,” I say, though I’m at least used to performing in front of a camera. “But yeah, I see how it’d be probably harder for you.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll live. I just hate this. And I haven’t fo
und a good therapist, and the old one I used to use online is a bit too judgy for my tastes, and—and you don’t care about all this.” She laughs.
“Well, in the meantime, you can talk to me. Or maybe Grace can give you some pointers—she’s really nice.”
“It’s funny,” she says, “well, not actually funny, but growing up I’d always talk to Tori about this. I felt like she was the only one who really understood what I was going through.”
I smile. Aunt Tori had a no-nonsense attitude and a loud, boisterous personality. She was the opposite of Mom in so many ways—she’d walk into a grocery store, talk to everyone she passed, forget half the items on her grocery list, but come out with five new friends.
“You know those weird bushes she helped plant in Prospect Park?”
“Of course,” I say. “She took me there all the time. They were so ugly.”
Mom laughs. “She loved those twisted, thorny, bizarre bushes. But I used to go back there while you were at school and Dad was … up in the air somewhere. Even though we were in one of the biggest parks in Brooklyn, I was always by myself there. It was my own private space to be with Tori.”
Even though Aunt Tori died of pancreatic cancer a few years ago, it still feels raw sometimes. Brooklyn was full of memories of her: grabbing a slice at her favorite pizza place, her haggling with street vendors (with remarkable success) to get all her Christmas gifts.
Mom looks down to her hands, which are folded in her lap. “I always felt a connection to her there. I would prune the bushes and talk to her.”
“Oh,” I say. “Is that why you got so mad at Dad about all of this?”
“Part of it.” She shrugs. “He just doesn’t think about it. We can come to the same conclusion, but he gets there in thirty seconds and is ready to change our lives, and it takes me a little longer. I’d already said goodbye to Tori once. I didn’t think I’d have to do it again.”
We get out of the car and walk slowly to the door. Aunt Tori’s death was slow and fast all at the same time, but if Dad died in that crash, this would have been sudden and nearly impossible to handle.
