by Phil Stamper
I nod along with her words. It kind of makes sense. It’s not me, it’s the mission. It’s also kind of me, but maybe I can ignore that for now.
“And about your media inquiries, NASA has a whole team of communications people who would love to respond for you. Why don’t you ask them for help?” The ache in my chest gets a little more manageable.
“Did Dad get a ride with Grace today?”
“Yeah, do you need to use the car?”
I take my space center visitor’s badge out of my wallet—the one that helped me build support for the Orpheus project and allowed so many brilliant scientists to finally have a voice. “I think it’s time I drop in and see if NASA wants to fix their awful communications campaign.”
People can’t be fixed. But awful communications campaigns? I can fix that.
I jump in the shower, and then dress up for the occasion. Dark brown pants and boots, a muted green-and-brown-plaid shirt, with a bright orange knit tie. I leave the hat at home.
CHAPTER 28
I’ve spent the full fifteen-minute drive to NASA breathing in with my diaphragm, then hissing out the air until my lungs are depleted. The more I do it, the more in control I feel of this situation. The more I think—despite that I dragged NASA’s public affairs team last night—I can help them carry the momentum forward.
I hand my visitor’s badge over to the guard, and he lets me in after a long look at my face. He stares at me for an extra beat, but I’m out before I can read too much into it. I find a spot near the back. So many people are in the office today—I’ve never seen the lot so full.
As I’m walking in, I see a large news van at the entrance. Only, it’s not the news. It’s StarWatch.
The realization makes me stop in my tracks. I consider hiding in my car until they’re gone, but maybe this needs to happen. Maybe I need to confront them for the last time, compare viewers, and chew Kiara out for secretly videotaping me and making my relationship seem like a ploy to get a leg up in this business.
As I’m about to go through the front doors, I see movement from behind the van. A swath of unnaturally black hair blows in the breeze as Kiara throws a heavy suitcase in the van. I give my legs the command to run toward her. To get this over with.
“Kiara.” I stand a safe distance from the van, from the girl who’s still leaning in the back.
She freezes there for a second, then smoothly lifts her shoulders. As always, I’m caught off guard by her style—oversized denim shirt over a sheer tee with a deep V-neck.
We make eye contact, and I feel nine hundred times less confident. Her smile is easy and calm, and I wonder how she can get off on being such an awful person and not be fazed by it. My fists clench, and I take the opportunity to speak first.
“You shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t know I was on camera.”
“Babe, you’re always on camera with me, so I’d be careful with what you say.”
I laugh. “You can use all the sound bites you want of this conversation. Or is this enough drama for your show? Maybe you can manufacture more or make it seem like I’m trying to use it to boost my career.”
“Welp,” she says with a shrug. “Your career certainly looks bright now, mister eight-point-five million views. And don’t worry, kid. You win. Believe me. My boss is up there getting taken off the Orpheus V mission as we speak, and we’re trying to line up our next assignment.”
“Flocking to JET-EX?” I ask.
“No, no. They’re siding with NASA. They’re even talking about helping fund a new satellite and launch. So we’re out of a job.”
“I’m trying to feel sorry for you,” I say. “But it’s really, really hard.”
“You know, I graduated top of my class in college as a journo major. I had so much experience, such solid writing examples. I was naive, like you.”
I stay silent, because I can’t tell if she’s trying to get a rise out of me or if she really means it.
“I get this feeling,” Kiara says. “That you’re too good for StarWatch, or gossip sites, or blogs, or whatever’s going on in your mind right now. You’ll understand someday.”
She slams the side door and jumps into the driver’s seat.
“Even if I end up working on a show like StarWatch,” I shout over the rumbling of the engine, though I don’t know if she can hear me, “I’ll always treat the people I interview like people.”
And I guess that’s it.
My feet take me away from the van, and I hate how unresolved everything feels. But maybe that’s what real life is like. Unlike when you’re stuck with family or friends for so long you have to make amends. You can end working relationships on a dissonant chord, one that leaves you feeling gross and wrong all over.
I pass Josh Farrow when I go inside, and he doesn’t even notice me. If this were a movie, he’d catch my eye as he walks down the hallway, and maybe he’d give me a knowing nod, or a sneering headshake. But he just looks down at his phone, with a long frown tugging at his lips. Probably already working out the details of his next project that will ruin peoples’ lives.
When I walk into Donna Szleifer’s office, everyone kind of freezes. Todd Collins, director of public affairs, is in there, and an empty seat is pulled out, where Josh must have just been sitting.
“Oh, Calvin,” Donna says, a stunned look dawning on her face. “Come in, come in.”
“We were, um, just talking about you.” Todd shuts the door behind me, and they both look at me expectantly.
“Have you been tracking the press hits from my video series?” I ask.
“Yes, we have. We also got the Associated Press to distribute a press release we made.”
“And … what does that mean?” I ask.
“Right, sorry,” Todd says. “AP is a kind of service where local and national news orgs can either repurpose or post full stories. It’s a good way to get a lot of local press, and AP was all over it. We have about six hundred local news networks with local stories, and we included video clips, so it’s possible some of the broadcast stations will pick it up too.”
“Socially,” Donna cuts in, “you’ve got some of the world’s most famous scientist personalities—we call them influencers—sharing the videos.”
“Donna,” I say with a laugh, “I know what influencers are.”
She continues as if I’ve said nothing. “A lot of traffic is coming from news sites, especially sites for teens, who are obviously more familiar with the FlashFame platform.”
“Is this going to save the mission?” I ask, and I expect them to laugh at me or treat me like a kid who doesn’t get the complicated goings-on.
“Well, maybe.” Todd scratches his head. “It’s not so cut-and-dried. The House of Representatives already delayed the vote to this evening so they can sort through all the voice mails and emails that came pouring in last night. The timing is good, and we have a lot of people on board.”
“That said,” Donna says, “we have a board meeting tonight, where they could also shut down the Orpheus project. A lot of people think the risks are too high.”
“Anything could happen,” Todd replies.
I sigh. It seems to run counter to the very idea of NASA. Risk is exactly what spaceflight is about—or, hell, any exploration. But I nod along anyway, knowing that there are a lot of people who need to weigh a lot of variables, and I am not one of those people. I did my part.
Now I wait.
“When’s your meeting?” I ask.
“Three hours.”
“Okay, here’s my suggestion: I have about seventy-five interview requests in my inbox now. I can take some of them if I need to, but I don’t even know what half of these publications are. Can I send them to you? I can interview, but I think this is something NASA should handle. I don’t want to be the story. The science is the story. It’s always been the story.”
Donna looks so pleased she could burst. Her hands are clasped together like she’s in the middle of an intense prayer, and
maybe she is—this is Texas, after all.
“Forward them on,” she says. “I’ll take all the blogs and social sites. Todd, have your team split up the others.”
For the next hour, I’m passed back and forth between the press office and Donna’s, tracking all the new hits and tracking sentiment. Donna shows me a ton of tools where she gets to see how many people saw the video, plus how many people loved it enough to send it on, plus a hundred other little pieces of data that make me a little nervous to be living in such a digital age, but thankful too. And I’m glad NASA has someone like Donna, who—though she’s a frazzled mess most of the time—actually knows her stuff.
In the end, Donna and Todd have one killer slideshow, thirty top news stories to mention, and big grins on their faces. The charge and electricity of the first astronaut missions are back, flowing through everyone’s veins.
I wave goodbye as I leave the office, and head out to the car. I turn in my visitor’s badge to the security guard when I leave. I won’t be needing it anymore, even if the mission stays on. I can finally focus on my own path, or rather, figure out what I want it to be.
CHAPTER 29
I’m a firm believer in not counting chickens before they hatch. So having to attend an astronaut party right now is not what I need.
I fully recognize that the families throw a party almost weekly for one reason or another, but a party tonight, of all nights, seems like a bad idea. The vote’s still delayed; the board meeting is happening as we speak. Soon, we’ll learn whether the Orpheus V mission has been shelved or saved, and we can only guess what will happen.
Questions spin around my mind as my parents and I walk into the party and pass a few snacks—a crudités platter and hummus dip—to Grace, who’s hosting this party. The signature stock of two dozen plus bottles of champagne is as impressive as always. Grace leans over as I admire it and whispers: “I’ll be keeping track of those bottles, so don’t try anything.”
I turn to meet her gaze and see she’s smiling. She winks at me and walks away. A joke—one that shows she has no idea about the bottles we’ve stolen in the past. I don’t see Leon around, or Kat, and before I can go find them, I’m thrust into conversations with everyone.
Mom and Dad want me to hang around, mostly because they can’t answer any of the questions about my Flash profile, because they’re old and have no idea what anything is.
But I allow it, just this once.
Someone places a firm grip on my shoulder, and I spin around to see Mara Bannon beaming down at me before bringing me into a bone-crushing hug. She looks at me in one of those ways perfect movie moms look at their kids. Head tilted, barely contained smile.
“Cal, your videos made me so happy I had to drive all the way back here and tell you myself. Do you know how long it had been since I smiled—really smiled? Seeing your hopeful, powerful message … Mark would have been absolutely crushed if the mission got canceled in part because of him. I thank you so much for helping.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Bannon,” I say, letting her give me another hug.
“Oh, and I was furious when I saw how StarWatch started treating you. I watched their coverage, and I swear—those two were just about the worst humans on the planet, if you ask me.”
“Of course,” I say. “And not like it matters or anything, but the one producer, the girl, wasn’t all bad. She helped me expose Josh Farrow when he tried to make you, you know, get back on the floor.”
I think of Kiara—both sides of Kiara—and hope the good side wins out in her. There’s a way to be a journo, even for a gossip blog or show, and still be a good person. She may be jaded, and I may be naive, but it has to be true.
“Well, anyway,” she says. “I shared your videos with all my friends, and they were so pleased to see something positive come out of NASA. It’s all been trashy lately, but it’ll only get better. That’s what I keep telling them.”
“I hope so,” I say in agreement, and get a third bone-crushing hug before I can slip away.
I return to my mom and dad. Dad’s deep into a conversation with one of the Orpheus V astronauts, and Mom’s just standing by with a glass of champagne, smiling and listening in.
“Thanks for suggesting I go to NASA,” I say. “They were really helpful. They followed up on all my media hits and took over the interviews and everything.”
“Well, honey, that’s their job. They’re professionals at it. You’re a professional at doing the reporting. Let everyone play to their own strengths.”
“And thanks for helping Kat with that site. I don’t know how you two did it, but so many senators and members of Congress officially announced their support of the mission today. Doesn’t mean the House won’t vote to cut funding, but at least we’ve shaken them up.”
“Don’t look at me.” Mom shrugs. “It was almost all Kat.”
I’m about to say something, but I completely forget what it is. Because, standing in the doorway are Donna and Todd, and they look like they know something.
Every face slowly turns toward them.
It’s time.
“Can I say it?” Donna asks Todd as Grace lifts the needle from the record player. Everything is frozen for a minute when he gives a slight nod and Donna clears her throat. “We’ve just come from the board meeting. Every director in attendance was in agreement, and each gave their own spiel for why Orpheus V should be kept on. We even showed clips from Cal’s video, which just passed twenty-five million views in less than twenty-four hours.”
She takes a deep, cleansing breath in and hisses it out. Just like I do when I’m meditating.
“And after hours of discussion and analysis, we’re proud to say that the board’s approved the continuation of the Orpheus project.”
“Also,” Todd cuts in, “we had a chat with House Rep Halima Ali, who’s willing to work with us to make sure funds are used properly. She made it clear that her bill would not have the votes to pass, and that they’ve canceled the vote entirely. Which means …”
Donna interrupts him by shouting, “Orpheus V is, without a doubt, back on!”
I get lost in the cheers and the shouting and the splashes of champagne. Mom hands me her glass to take a celebratory sip, and I almost laugh at her cluelessness. But I drink it anyway, and I start to understand why people celebrate with champagne. It lifts me up, it celebrates my own energy, and soon enough, I’m shouting along with the other astronauts.
One thing I don’t do is get out my phone. No one else gets to see this moment. It’ll never be in a history book. It’ll never be on the news, or in an issue of Time for future kids to point at and imagine what it was like to live in this moment, this time when—for one bright moment—everything was perfect.
Leon’s gaze meets mine from across the room. Kat’s squeezing her dad so tightly with joy I think he might pass out, but they’re all jumping up and down. Grace has tears streaming down her face—I would be crying too if I just heard that I was, for sure, going to Mars. She clutches at her son’s shirt and pulls him close. She presses her cheek into his, and my heart melts.
Mom comes to me and lets out a yelp of glee, and she pulls me and Dad into a close hug.
“I can’t believe it,” I say.
Mom pulls back to look at me and nudges Dad with her shoulder. “We can.”
My eyes are back on Leon’s, and our smiles just keep getting bigger, and I realize that there’s one thing left. That things aren’t quite perfect yet. That one little puzzle piece is missing, and I’m going to make it fit.
CHAPTER 30
The din of the celebration is muted when I make my way to him. My vision narrows, the crowd parts, and I narrowly escape being hit with the spray from a few popping bottles of champagne. But I don’t care about any of that right now.
All I care about is him.
In the steps between us, I feel a warmth building in my stomach. My senses feel dampened, yet heightened all at the same time, and the surrealness of the situation mak
es me feel so perfectly all right that I march up to him, place my hand behind his neck, and pull him in for a light kiss.
It’s the simplest feeling in the world. Two sets of lips, barely touching, but my body nearly convulses with chills. His hands wrap lightly around me and pull me closer. People are still shouting, talking loudly, the music is pumping, and I realize how very public this make-out session is, but I can’t stop it.
Once the emotions die down in the room, and I’m able to pry my face from his, I stare right into those beautiful brown eyes and physically restrain myself from letting my love for him take over.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“Sure. Out back?”
I shake my head. “Let’s take a walk.”
We file through the crowd, and I lead him out the door, down the steps, and into the deserted street. The clouds are out tonight, giving the night a soft feel, a cool light that glazes over trees and houses. I lace my fingers through his and squeeze.
We head down a side road that leads to a dead end, with a few houses on either side obscured by bushes. There’s only one streetlight on this road, but it’s enough to cast its glow over the pavement. I take a cross-legged seat on the strip of yellow on the road, and he does the same.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know I’ve been shitty to you.”
“I’m sorry too. I was so freaked about you leaving that I made things worse. I was really down, and just kept thinking: I was in love with someone I couldn’t ever end up with.”
“But I mean, even if I moved to New York, we could have stayed together. I emailed you—”
“That’s exactly it,” he cuts in. “You wanted to stay together on your terms. I could go to New York for college. I could study one of your ten quote, unquote, “ideal” majors for me. It’s so great that you have it all figured out, but I couldn’t lock myself into that. I still can’t.”
