The Gravity of Us

by Phil Stamper

  “Kat told me your plan.” He gives me a half smile, and I take the seat next to him. “It’s … really great. It’s worth celebrating.”

  “Well, then. Cheers.”

  I pull the bottle to my mouth and take a sip of bitter foam.

  “Oh, and thank you for the cassette,” I say. “I had no idea your mom had such good taste in music.”

  He chuckles nervously. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know. I think she likes it, but she probably didn’t even know we still had it. In the basement, that is.”

  I let his lie slide, for now. The moon’s glow mixes with the porch light, and I feel momentarily blinded. I take a sip and pass the bottle to him.

  “I think Kat’s going to run interference for us,” I say. “But I have something to show you.”

  After pulling out my phone, I open the app to find five hundred thousand people waiting for me to start. Literally half a million people staring at a blank screen. It’s a good sign, but we’ll see if they stay.

  “Do you want to be in this?” I ask, and he almost falls out of his chair because he jerks away so quickly. “I was joking.”

  I turn the camera on me, and adrenaline floods my veins. I’m in control. If I’m not in control of anything else, I am in control of this. I suck in a breath and tap the LIVE button.

  “I’m Cal, and I can’t believe so many of you are on right now. If we keep this up, we’ll probably beat the entire viewership of that StarWatch episode. Speaking of StarWatch, I wanted to start with an apology.” I reposition myself in the chair so I can see Leon over my phone screen. “I’m really torn. My whole life was in Brooklyn, and I thought my whole future was in New York. I still want to come back, but I really love it here too. And one day, when I do get an internship or job or whatever, I’m not going to stop using FlashFame. I will never post ads. Some of you have been around from the very beginning, and I hope you won’t let one mistake, in one out-of-context quote from an episode of Shooting Stars ruin that. I really am sorry.

  “As you can probably tell, I was appalled by the coverage. We are at such a critical time in the Orpheus V mission—interest is waning; we’ve had two major setbacks after losing one of our astronauts in a jet crash and losing a critical satellite. We need real information to be spread, now more than ever. We need awareness.

  “Over the next hour, you’ll see interviews with a diverse selection of astronauts, scientists, engineers, and everyone in between. Talking about their jobs. Talking about why Orpheus V is so important. Why we can’t give up on it now. I hope you’ll listen, and I hope you’ll share.”

  I take a full breath and blow out all the bad feelings. “Thank you for following,” I say, and I make my final plea to America.

  CHAPTER 26

  “Hi, I’m Brendan. Y’all saw my last video on here when I talked about dirt. Actually, almost a million people have seen me talk about dirt. Now, it’s something that’s always been fascinating to me, but hey, I’m biased.

  “I studied chemical engineering at the University of Dayton, and shortly after, I started working with NASA. And to me, it’s hard to really explain why all this is important. It’s like asking me, ‘Hey, why’s gravity important?’ Its roots are in the history of other planets. Theirs and ours. We don’t know what, if anything, lived on Mars, but we know liquid water flows on Mars as we speak. We know the planet is alive with organic matter. What did Mars do wrong; where and how did it turn into the wasteland it is now?

  “I play a small piece in the overall puzzle. We have scientists here who have been studying the weather patterns on Mars, some who will figure out what plant life could grow in the soil. Biochemists who will test the air, and explorers who will gather the materials and give us the best photographs we’ve ever seen of the place.”

  “Anyway,” Brendan continues, “I hope you share this. I lucked out and got my dream job, and I don’t want to lose it. We have so much work to do.”

  As he continues, I look to Leon. His eyes shimmer as he watches the video, and a small smile perks up at the corner of his lips.

  “Think this will work?” he asks between swigs of champagne. “Like, really work?”

  “How could it?” I say. “It can’t do much but give the people what they’ve been missing for so long, thanks to NASA and StarWatch.”

  There’s a few minutes of dead time after the show, and I watch the follower count dip slightly. We’re at one-point-three million viewers live, thanks to a lot of early shares.

  When Carmela fills the screen, I can’t help but smile.

  “I’m kind of jealous Mom gets to work with her all day.”

  “Same. I want her to have her own FlashFame show, I’m gonna be honest.”

  The light of my phone glows on his face, and I want to lean over and kiss him. The urge in my chest weighs me down, makes my arms ache so bad it gets hard to hold up the phone. Without meaning to, my arm lowers. Leon takes the phone from me and scoots his chair in closer, his eyes never leaving the screen.

  I fold my hands in my lap, not knowing exactly what to do or how close I can get to him.

  And then his shoulder touches mine. It’s so small and insignificant, but I shudder. Chills travel all over my body, originating in that light shoulder touch. I press into him just slightly and savor the moment.

  When the video switches, he leans back and holds the phone with one hand. His other one slips behind my back, so I curl into him as much as my comically huge hat will allow me. Suddenly his scent is in my nose again, and I’m curled up with him in that hotel room, his lips on my neck and my hand on his cheek.

  “She’s brilliant,” he says. “Mom’s always telling me about all the times she’s ended up killing the crew by throwing in her sadistic curveballs.”

  “Well, she can’t stump my dad, apparently.” I roll my eyes and keep it light, but he looks at me.

  “No, really. I heard Mom telling Dad she was worried NASA would consider swapping them—making your dad lead Orpheus V instead of Orpheus VI.”

  “Wait,” I say, “Dad’s not leading any missions.”

  “Cal, if we make it to Orpheus VI, your dad is going to Mars. There is no question about that.”

  I lean back and look up to the sky. There’s a sliver of the moon showing, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed. Like pins are poking all over my body. Breaths come hard, and I feel so small and Mars is really far away. Really, really far away.

  Fifty years ago, when we landed on the moon, there were dozens of astronauts, wives, and Astrokids sitting on these same lawns. Looking up at the same sky. The moon must have seemed so much farther away. Literally impossible. But we did it then, and we’ll do it again.

  “I, um, never thought about that. Are you worried about your mom going on the mission?”

  “Not really. It’ll be weird for her to be gone for two full years. Like, that’s not a normal amount of time to be away from your family, and when she gets back I’ll be … somewhere else, I guess. Doing something else.”

  After a few minutes of dead time, the antenna designer Kyle takes over the show. He talks at length about designing the antenna that exploded.

  “What you don’t hear much is that it was meant to be multiuse—it would’ve been helpful for the landing, as you know, but it also would’ve given us the clearest weather readouts to date. We would have had it join orbit with Mars about three to six months before the astronauts got there, and it would have given us a clearer view of the meteorological state of the planet.”

  I look to the bottom-right corner of the phone and slap Leon’s arm when I see the number.

  “Four million. And climbing.” The rule of thumb is that if you get more views than you have followers, you’re in a good place. Right now, I’m in a really good place.

  The sliding door opens around the corner, so I hide the champagne under my seat. But it’s just Kat. Her phone echoes Kyle’s voice back to us, and her face beams an “oh my god” expression.

  “New York Times
shared your link on Facebook,” she says. “It looks like CNN and a few others have too, but I can’t even keep up with all the hits. Plus, the videos are so good.”

  “I get why you think that,” Leon says. “And I get why Cal and I would think so, but why would the average American even care about this?”

  “Dude, Leo—we’ve been in such a drought for real information that people are hungry for this.” She smiles. “StarWatch is entertaining, but no one ever liked NASA because it was entertaining. No one writes sci-fi stories for the gossip.”

  “People who are like Josh Farrow? They don’t get it,” I say. “They never did. My videos have always been no-bullshit information. I got most of my followers by covering the election, and most of them weren’t old enough to vote. People care about this information, but it’s hard to find it through all the clickbait and fake news.” I take a second to look at Kat. “I just didn’t want NASA to collapse because of it.”

  Kat takes a seat next to us. I hand her the bottle, and she takes an eager sip. She leans forward and wipes some of the champagne off her chin. We watch the rest of Kyle’s talk, then sit in complete silence as the rocket technician provides some theories for the explosion and reasons why something like this couldn’t happen on a crewed launch.

  “I hope this is enough,” I say after all the other videos play. No one responds, but they don’t have to. They lean in closer as my face takes over the screen.

  My expression still has the light smile and confident persona, but there’s something more real about it. Less scripted—even if I never use a script. Less prepared, even.

  Raw, emotional, and real.

  “This is our plea,” I say. “NASA is a great organization with a sometimes rocky history, we all know that, but thanks to StarWatch and a few members of their communications team, they’ve turned us into a circus. Yeah, we have drama here. It’s competitive, it’s stressful, and there are so many types of people here, we’re bound to have arguments at parties. But to disregard everything good about this mission to focus on the bad is irresponsible, and honestly un-American.

  “If you care about this mission, you need to show it now. There’s a link on my page with all the tools you need to make your voice heard. With the tap of a button, you can share these videos, contact NASA, or contact your representatives, all thanks to some brilliant and quick coding by Katherine Tucker. Speak up. Let anyone who will listen know that this mission cannot be defunded, and that you’re invested in getting us to Mars. We’re so close.

  “Again, thanks for following, thanks for sharing, and have a good night.”

  The video goes blank, and in its place are links to share or replay the video. I close my phone and look from Leon to Kat. Collectively, we take a deep breath in, and out. Kat grabs my hand, and I reach out for Leon’s.

  It’s the last bit of peace we’ll be able to enjoy for a long time.

  “I’m going to head back, I guess,” I say. “I’m too nervous to sit here anymore.”

  Kat leans over to give me a big hug. “Either way, what you’re doing is really amazing. I’m going to share this with everyone I know. We’re not going out without a fight.”

  Leon still doesn’t say anything, but gives me a small smile. There’s still so much between us we need to talk about. I’ve shown him all I can, but I need to give him time. I can’t force him to feel better; I can’t force him to make decisions about his life. I can’t keep trying to fix things, especially when he’s not broken.

  But I lean in and press my lips to his, just lightly. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t join in much. Our eyes close and I let them linger there. Long enough to bring back the fuzzy feeling in my chest, the flutter in my stomach.

  And it gets a little better.

  CHAPTER 27

  I wake in the morning and check my phone right away. I actually did this on seven separate occasions through the night, almost once an hour. I can’t keep up with the notifications. Comments, shares, likes, views, all these numbers and words fly by my screen.

  Social media is a weird space, so insulated by the followers that you have. But I have comments from my normal followers, plus the old grandma Facebook market, the geeky high schooler market, the college engineers, a staggering number of trolls, and everyone in between. It’s overwhelming, it’s beautiful, it’s … it’s national news.

  Getting shared on Facebook by the New York Times is one thing, but waking up to a Times online feature is another: “Astrokid Calls on Americans to Save NASA From Clickbait Demise.”

  I start to read the article, but my phone is taken over when I get a call. I answer the phone, and her voice pierces my eardrum with her excited shouting.

  “You are famous!” Deb says. “Like, REALLY famous this time.”

  “I don’t think that’s true. NASA is famous still; my account is just attached to the shares.”

  “It’s not just your ‘account’—your face is staring at me on Page Six right now. They’re talking about your FlashFame account. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. Do you know how easy it is going to be to turn this into a real career?”

  I laugh. “We’ll see. I’d settle for getting my BuzzFeed internship back right now.”

  “They’ll have to fight for you. God, Cal, if you save this mission—you could literally alter the course of history.”

  That sentence makes my body scramble up in bed. I’m a seventeen-year-old guy in bright yellow shorts and a Dolly Parton T-shirt with major bedhead. I don’t think I’m capable of altering anything.

  “Okay, Deb. This is overwhelming for me. Can we talk about something else?”

  “SOMETHING ELSE?”

  I want to bring up our last call and the fight that ended with her hanging up on me, the knot in my chest that never really resolved … but I don’t. I was selfish and self-centered and made everything about me.

  “Literally anything. Let’s pretend I haven’t just altered the course of humanity.” So I talk about her. “How’s living with your cousin?”

  “Fine.” She grunts in defeat. “It’s not bad. My parents are still pissed that I split, but we’ve started talking on the phone every once in a while, so I guess not all is lost. My cousin’s roommate moves out in a few weeks, and I’m trying to make sure I have the money to make rent. My job’s been cutting my hours, but I’m still okay.” She sighs. “Okay, better than okay.”

  An idea pops into my head, and I feel a rush of excitement pulse through me. It’s the perfect way to give Deb a part of myself.

  “Wait!” I say. “Why don’t you have a FlashFame account? You could activate the donations tab or something; maybe you could make videos and that would help you make rent?”

  “I’m not exactly a media personality like the great Calvin—oh, right, we’re pretending you’re a very ordinary human right now, sorry.” She laughs. “Anyway, I actually do have an account. I just never use it.”

  “Well, let me know if you do. I know my NYC followers are annoyed that I don’t ever have weekend updates anymore. And you helped me find a lot of that stuff anyway.”

  She hesitates, and I hear her giving this some real consideration, even though I know how averse she is to getting on camera. I know it’s not because she’s so desperate for money or attention, but maybe a part of her has changed with this big move.

  “I almost drove up to see you,” I admit. “Like, hijacked Dad’s car and almost got out of Texas before I realized how incredibly stupid it was. I’m so sorry about how I acted earlier.”

  I hear her laugh filter through the phone. “I miss you too. But you don’t have to worry about me. Things with us will always be good, whether your ridiculous plan to save the entire future of spaceflight works or fails spectacularly. Whether you stay in Texas forever or come back to Brooklyn where you belong and fit in.”

  “I fit in here too. Surprisingly.”

  There’s a pause.

  “Oh my god, you wore that giant hat out in public, didn’t you?
”

  “No comment.”

  “Calvin, I swear. John Mayer couldn’t pull it off, and neither can you.”

  “No comment.”

  “Wow. Okay, go back to your fame and saving of the country. I’m going to sit here and shake my head for a while.”

  “No comment.” I pause for effect. “Love you, Deb.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

  We hang up, and I feel entirely normal for the first time in the past twenty-four hours. I listen to the Heart album again, and the thought of Leon and Kat arguing about stopping at a random yard sale to rummage for cassettes of bands he’s never heard of makes me almost laugh out loud.

  I keep the panic out of my chest by unplugging my headphones and walking around the room. My future is a question mark right now. And I think that’s okay. But god, I want to stay. This is all the agony of final exams, election day, and a dentist’s appointment wrapped into one.

  I’m starting to get texts from numbers I don’t know, and some I do—old family members who once criticized all the time I spent on my phone congratulating me on the mention in the New York Times. Requests from journalists have steadily been pouring into my inbox. I want to respond to them, but the sheer volume of everything is wigging me out.

  I leave my bedroom and find my mom in the living room. Sitting down next to her, I take a deep breath and release it.

  “I think I’m famous.”

  “I think you are too.” She laughs. “Dad and I watched your show. I still don’t really get FlashFame—or maybe the kids just call it Flash?—but it looked like a lot of people liked what you had to say.”

  “I’m overwhelmed. I have all these media inquiries that I should get back to, and all these acquaintances are coming out of the woodwork to congratulate me. My face is in Page Six, apparently? Why do people care about me so much?”

  She puts down her game and pats my shin. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s not so much you they care about. It’s everything you’re fighting for. It’s NASA, and exploration, and science. You’re the face they can put to the cause, so you might as well let them. You’re the mockingjay.”