“But who are you? Surely you are more than just a part of your family.” Buzz sounds like one of my old psychology teachers.
I look around at the group. How can I tell these strangers who I am when I don’t really know that myself?
It’s so hard.
Where are the Turnips when I need them?
I hope April doesn’t think I’m a blobbrain or anything.
Buzz doesn’t give up. “How do you feel about going to the moon?”
“My parents want to go,” I say.
“And you?” He continues.
Why do some grown-ups think they have the right to make kids tell everything in front of everyone?
I’d really like to say something like “They’re making me go,” but then maybe CAMP would tell us that it has to be voluntary and that I have a bad attitude and the family can’t go. I can’t let that happen. Last night my parents and I talked again and I promised to really try for them. I have to stick to it. I’m almost fourteen years old and that’s really too young to leave home. Even though I want to sometimes, the thought of that is kind of frightening.
Buzz insists. “And what about you?”
“I go too. We’re a package deal.” I smile at him.
He nods and turns to the next person.
As the rest of the group introduce themselves, I think about how scary it would really be to leave my parents and how scary it is to be leaving my friends and the life that I have always known.
Sitting in a group of over one hundred people, I suddenly feel very alone.
CHAPTER 12
I look at the comment on my test paper, which Buzz has just returned.
If my last initial were S, I’m not sure I’d like to have a nickname that begins with B.
“Now we’re going to show you some historical film footage, and then we’ll be giving you a tour of the space shuttle simulator,” Buzz informs us.
One of the construction workers raises his hand. “How come we have to go through all this? Why can’t we just go up to the moon right away? We don’t need all this historical and scientific information to live and work someplace. I spent thirty years in Altoona without knowing much about it.”
Buzz says, “The time here is important. It’s not as if you’re going to be moving to a familiar environment on this planet. You’ll have to get used to new conditions, be prepared to live under an environmental shield and have the commitment to stay on the moon for at least five years under conditions that you won’t be used to. CAMP is the chance to train for that life. It’s also the chance for you and for us to make the final decision about whether moon life will be right for you.”
I look at my parents.
They look back.
I read my father’s lips. “We’re going!”
Buzz looks at the group. “It’s only two weeks. By then most of you will be ready to go . . . . Also, a new team is in final stages of training at the Johnson Space Center, and the crew will be ready to fly in two weeks.”
Emily Doowinkle waves her hand.
“We’re going to have to go up with a new team?
That makes me so nervous, I could just scream.”
Being writer in residence, Emily rhymes every-thing.
She’s so weird.
Buzz shakes his head. “Don’t worry. They’ll be assisting our regular crew. We need more trained personnel, since the Space Travel Program is growing in leaps and bounds.”
Emily shakes her head.
“I wish about the shuttle, you wouldn’t say leaps and bounds.
Language like that and my heart just pounds.”
Buzz reassures her. “Don’t worry. Let’s just see the film about the very first man on the moon.” He pushes the button on the giant screen monitor so that we can watch the film.
Just as the movie starts, the computoprojector breaks down.
Waiting for someone to get the machine to work, I practice writing backwards, which was what I always did when the projector at school broke down.
I look over and notice that Vern Verne has a runny nose. At least he’s not picking that.
I really miss Matthew.
The projector is fixed.
“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” Neil Armstrong is saying.
Buzz explains how the line was later changed to add the article a, to make it “One small step for a man.”
I wonder what Matthew is doing right this very second. He’s the only man whose small step I’m interested in right now.
I also wonder what color(s) Juna’s hair is this week.
I continue to practice writing backwards. Starr kicks at my foot to remind me to pay attention.
I stick my tongue out at her, but I listen to Buzz, who is telling us how the astronauts left stuff on the moon—a U.S. flag, a laser reflector, a seismometer, and a sheet of aluminum foil.
Litterbugs, I think.
It’s not enough that we mess up our own planet; we leave junk on the first place we land.
Buzz says, “Now it’s time for another simulation exercise.”
He reminds us of the first day’s lesson, how the space shuttle spins so that the passengers don’t have to experience zero gravity.
Flicking on pictures of a shuttle interior, he says, “Look at the walls. They’re covered with stick-a-bob, a material that adheres to itself. There are toe and hand locks added to the wall. Each of you will be issued life suits to be put on in case of loss of centrifugal force.”
“Oh, oh,” someone says—me, I think.
If it had been Emily, she would have said,
“Oh,
no.”
“Don’t worry.” Buzz smiles at us. “In the ten years that we have been shuttling colonists to the moon, there’s been no major problem. This is just a precaution.”
As the assistants hand out the life suits, which are also made of stick-a-bob, I wonder what the minor problems were.
As we get into the suits, Buzz explains. “As soon as you are all ready, it’s into the simulation chamber.”
Emily exclaims,
“With stick-a-bob, we’ll all be ready,
It’ll hold us to the wall nice and steady.”
Salvador Arply butts in with
“If it doesn’t, it’ll make us very deady.”
No one seems to appreciate his joke except Vern, who goes “Are. Are. Are.”
Emily calls Salvadore
“A philistine,
Oh, so mean.”
Buzz continues. “As soon as the centrifugal force is turned off, zero gravity will occur. When it does, throw yourself against the stick-a-bob wall so that the stick-a-bob jackets stick to it. Get into the toe and hand holds. Remain there until you get used to the sensation.”
That should take about fifty years.
My father says, “What if this really happened in space? What good would it do to be stuck to the wall?”
Buzz explains. “That would just be until the backup force is generated. Then the crew, who are issued special suits and have special training, will assist you in getting off the wall.”
Off the wall—that’s exactly what this whole experience is. I wonder what’s happening at the Monolith Mall.
My father nods and then puts his arm around my mother’s shoulder.
She puts her arms around his waist.
They’ve stick-a-bobbed themselves together.
I can’t believe it.
As they try to pull apart, you can hear the sound.
Buzz shakes his head. “We’d better rethink these new life suits.”
Starr laughs and hugs them both, stick-a-bobbing herself to them.
They’re laughing hysterically.
So is April, who joins their group.
Soon everyone else is laughing and joining in, including the Mendez quads, who jump on people’s backs.
I watch for a while, not sure of whether I want to be part of it.
If only the Turnips were here.
; They’re not.
Matthew’s not.
I am.
I decide to join the group, careful not to end up sticking to any barfburgers.
Moving is going to take some real getting used to.
CHAPTER 13
“This is it.” My father places the carry-on luggage in the overhead racks.
All around us, people are getting settled into their seats.
Out of the group of one hundred, ten are no longer going.
One woman had claustrophobia and got hysterical when the trainers closed the space shuttle simulator door. The decision was made by all concerned that she would probably have a rough flight and most likely would not do well living in the space shield bubble.
The Smith-Joneses left when they realized that they couldn’t convince the officials to break the rules and allow their dog, Puppy-Guppy, to go to the moon because “he’s so cute.”
Another couple decided to go to London instead, and a third couple decided to divorce.
Three people didn’t get past the psychological counselors.
Everyone in my family did.
Amazing.
A voice comes over the p.a. system. “Good morning. This is your captain speaking, Lance Letterman. The crew and I welcome you aboard Orion Flight 114. A nonstop trip, the shuttle will orbit for a day and then we’ll take another two to get to our destination.”
Three days in space in a closed ship. It’s kind of scary to think about. Maybe I’ll just pretend that I’m at the Monolith Mall—that’s enclosed too. Of course, there, when you step out of the door, there’s a sidewalk. And there are a lot of shops to keep you busy. So it’s not the same thing. Here there is only one boring “essentials” store. And no sidewalk.
Captain Letterman continues. “Make sure that all of your carry-on is safely stowed and that your seat harnesses are securely fastened.”
We all do as he says.
The flight attendants move through the cabin, checking on each of us.
The captain’s voice comes over the loudspeaker again. “We have a special announcement. Emily Doowinkle will now recite her poem to commemorate the start of the flight.”
There’s a cough and then Emily recites.
“ODE TO TAKEOFF”:
“Sky.
High.
Bye.”
Then there’s silence.
We hear Captain Letterman say, “That’s it?”
“Sure.” Her voice is very breathy. “Less is more.”
What a flake she is. It’s funny to think about a bad poet introduced by some guy named Letterman.
Looking around, I see everyone buckling into the chairs, which look like space eggs. The seats are round and white and padded with Polystyrofoam.
“Push the button marked Close.”
I do.
A clear plastic shield closes off the rest of the seat. Now the chair’s really shaped like an egg.
I’m in the middle, feeling like I’m the yolk.
“Now,” the captain says, “push the button marked Incline.”
I do. The space egg and I tip back. It’s almost as if I’m in a bed—or a frying pan.
We’ve rehearsed this procedure a million times, but this one’s for real.
The captain’s voice booms out. “Flight attendants take your seats.”
This is it. There’s no backing out now.
“T minus twenty-eight.” The captain’s voice is now coming through the space egg set.
I think of all I am leaving behind and wonder what I’m heading for.
“T minus fifteen.”
I feel so many emotions that I can’t sort them out. I can only hold onto my seat and try to stay calm.
Captain Letterman says, “Blast off.”
The shuttle does.
Over the sound system, music is playing: oldies like “Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder,” the sound track from 2001, “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds,” “Fly Me to the Moon,” and then new music—Rita Retrograde’s first megahit, “Cosmic Cruising,” and the Scarabs’ latest, “Space Monster Hop.”
Space.
It takes only about eighty miles to leave the earth’s atmosphere and enter space.
I can’t believe it.
From earth to orbit—eight minutes, fifty seconds.
We’re going to stay in orbit for one day to see the earth from space, to do some medical experiments, and to launch another communication satellite. Then it’s on to the moon.
I really do have trouble believing that this is happening. What’s going to happen next?
CHAPTER 14
We orbit the earth. There will be twenty-four hours with sixteen sunrises and sixteen sunsets. One sunrise or sunset every forty-five minutes. If I were at Alan Shepard High School right now, that would be the amount of time it takes to sit through a class. It’s truly incredible.
Looking out, we see the earth—the land, the seas, the sailing clouds. It’s so quiet: no sound of wind or anything.
“Are we there yet?” Starr sits next to me on a couch in the observation room.
I pretend that I don’t know her.
She repeats herself. “Are we there yet?”
She thinks she’s so cute.
“Go play in traffic,” I tell her.
“You want me to go outside and get hit by an asteroid?” She acts hurt.
I nod.
“Play with me, Aurora.” She squirms on the sofa. “It’s getting boring watching the sun all the time. Can you imagine what it’s going to be like on the moon with daytime and nighttime each lasting thirteen and a half days?”
“You’re kidding.”
She shakes her head. “Didn’t you realize that’s what happens? Because it takes the moon twenty-seven days to turn once.”
“No. I want to be an actress, not a scientist. Why should I know stuff like that?” All of a sudden, it dawns on me. “How do they work it out on the moon? Do we have to go to sleep with the light on for half a month?”
“You always do like to sleep with a night-light, so what’s the diff?” Starr grins at me.
“Shh.” I punch her lightly on the arm. “Don’t say that out loud. What if someone should hear you?”
She just keeps smiling. “That’ll teach you to tell me to go play in traffic. If you hadn’t daydreamed in class, you would have heard Buzz explain that solar energy is used to power the environmental bubble. Lights can be turned off and on.”
“But how can that work during the weeks when it’s totally light outside?”
“They use antilights to dim and darken.”
“This is too much for me.” I shake my head. “Leave me alone with all this scientific stuff. I’m trying to figure out where the Monolith Mall is. That’s about as much as I can handle.”
She points. “I think it’ll be easier to find the Pacific Ocean. Take a look.”
All that water. Maybe someone will invent a giant straw that will bring water from the earth to the moon.
Straws. I think of Juna and wonder who she’s blowing wrappers at this week . . . how many days of detention she’s gotten since I left. She’ll probably have so many that by the time she graduates she’ll have to go back to after-school detention even though she’s in college . . . . I wonder whether Randy’s gone out with her yet . . . if she’s wearing an article of my clothing to school every day.
The observation room gets boring after a while.
“Exercise time.” I get up.
Starr stands up too.
As I walk to the exercise room, Starr follows.
Having a younger sister is like having a shadow.
I wonder if Starr will cast a shadow on the moon.
We pass people who are just hanging out.
Julie Verne is playing old maid with her brother.
April is learning reflexology points from Ellie Malden, a chiropractor.
Emily Doowinkle is agonizing over a poem, trying to find a rhyme for exhilarating.
&nbs
p; Robert Orsini and Art White, two construction workers, are arm wrestling. Orsini is winning.
The Mendez kids run up to us. Henny grabs one of Starr’s legs and Penny grabs the other. Lenny and Kenny grab my legs.
They seem to think we’re wishbones.
“Please, please, play Pacfamily with us,” they plead.
Starr looks at me. “Want to?”
I think about it. Back on earth, I never would have hung out with little kids. Some of the Turnips used to call them “droolers.” Up here it seems like something to do.
I say, “Sure.”
We go off to play this biofeedback video game where all the moves are controlled by wiring the person to the machine and having that person use his or her brain waves.
I’m not very good at the game, but neither are the quadruplets, so I don’t feel so bad that Starr is terrific at it.
The kids are really fun to be with and they’re cute, even if they do wear a person out.
Finally their mother comes by and says, “Nap time.”
I think that after being with them I need a nap more than they do but decide instead to go on to the exercise room, where lots of people are working out.
The treadmills are the big excitement. Use it for fifteen minutes at the right time and you get a T-shirt that says, “I jogged America.” Use it for ninety minutes and you get one that says, “I ran the world.”
I use the treadmill and get my first T-shirt.
Julie and Vern come over as I fall into a chair to relax.
It looks like they took fashion lessons from my parents.
Julie says, “Want to play a game?”
I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m really terrible at games.”
Vern sniffles. “They’re showing Rocky 415 in the screening area. Want to see it with us?”
“I’ve seen it already.”
Julie pulls at her limp mousy brown hair.
I wonder if she knows that makeup’s been invented. Someone should tell her.
I don’t want to hurt their feelings, but they’re really not the kind of kids I normally know. They’re “Turndowns” instead of “Turnips.”
“I have to look for my parents,” I tell them.
Starr comes over. “They’ve reserved one of the private recreation suites for the next couple of hours.”
This Place Has No Atmosphere Page 5
