Chasing Jupiter

by Rachel Coker

  “Although, realistically, the soldiers would speak in all Spanish. But Scarlett only knows twelve words,” Cliff added.

  I nodded. The conversation was starting to feel stiff. I knew they didn’t really mind what I did with Cliff as long as I watched him after school and made sure he didn’t get into any trouble. But still. I thought the Spanish thing was cute. True, it was a little weird, but that was just Cliff being Cliff. They made me feel like I was being irresponsible by nurturing his strange habits.

  I picked up my burger and smiled. “This is a really good burger.”

  Mama glanced at Dad and groaned softly.

  Juli still wasn’t home when we got back at half past seven. So I took Cliff up to Grandpop Barley’s bedroom so we could watch the television. They were replaying footage of the astronauts’ orbit of the moon from back on Christmas Eve. Cliff had bugged me all week to watch it again.

  “Hey, Scarlett?”

  I pulled the blankets up closer to my chin and snuggled into position on the floor. “Yeah?”

  Cliff sat on the floor at my feet, frowning in concentration. “What type of material do you think their spacesuits are made out of?”

  “Um, I don’t know.”

  “Do you think that you could make me a spacesuit out of that material?”

  I glanced at him. “I doubt it, Cliff. That would probably be really, really expensive. You know, if it’s temperature-proof and everything.”

  “Oh.” He looked back at the floor for a few moments. “Scarlett?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think …” Cliff pursed his lips. “Do you think they might have a book about how spacesuits are made at the library?”

  “No, I don’t think they have that kind of book just yet.”

  “Well, do you think someone might be writing it now?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Shush up. I’m tryin’ to listen.” Grandpop Barley shot me a glare from his spot in the old armchair.

  I frowned and looked back at the television. The tiny attic room felt very cramped with the three of us squished together. Why can’t we keep the television in the living room where we can all get to it?

  “Look,” Cliff breathed, his eyes glued to the screen. “There it is.”

  The Apollo 8 spacecraft was drifting through the blackness of space. Before them, the tip of the moon peaked on the screen, a pale gray on our black-and-white television. It shimmered and swayed just a little bit—otherworldly in its pale beauty.

  “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth,” a voice was saying, “and the earth was without form and void.”

  We sat entranced, listening to the words being read. Little tingles ran up my arms at what I was seeing. The moon. Outer space. On my television set.

  They’re actually out there. Outside of the earth, looking down on us like God or something. Shivers ran up my arm. It just doesn’t seem possible.

  And then I remembered that it wasn’t live. That it had happened five months ago. Still, it felt weird to watch.

  “And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you—all of you on the Good Earth.”

  The television cut to a commercial, the loud noise immediately drowning out the sacred moment.

  “I want to ride in a rocket,” Cliff whispered. He turned to me, his eyes large. “Has anyone ever taken a rocket to Jupiter?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I’m going to be the first.” His shoulders straightened as his chest puffed out. “Captain Cliff Blaine—first astronaut on Jupiter.” His little freckled face erupted in a dimpling grin before he sped out of the room.

  I leaned back against the armchair and looked up at Grandpop Barley. He was scowling at the television, his red tie tightly fastened around the collar of his blue cotton pajamas.

  “What do you think? Would you like to ride in a rocket?” I grinned, hoping to coax a smile out of him.

  He shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself. “Looks dangerous.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned back around, grabbing a book off the bed.

  Two minutes later, Cliff burst back into the room, gripping a piece of yellow construction paper. He knelt on the floor and shoved it into my face. “What’s this?”

  “My birthday list. Remember?”

  I rolled my eyes. “What, did you make some last-minute adjustments or something?”

  “Just look.”

  He really was too much. But I unfolded the paper and looked back over the list. Everything was the same, except for now, scribbled in pencil at the bottom, it read:

  16. Sixteen rockets to Jupiter.

  I glanced over the paper at Cliff’s face. “So now you’re going to be an astronaut?”

  He nodded. “I’ll teach the aliens on Jupiter how to speak Spanish. And collect moon— I mean, Jupiter rocks.”

  I opened my mouth to say something when the door downstairs suddenly burst open and voices filled the hallway. “I don’t believe you! How could you do this to me—to us?”

  “Relax. It’s not like it’s permanent.”

  My ears pricked. Juli.

  So she’s home. A stone sunk to the bottom of my stomach. What has she done now?

  Mama’s voice was growing louder. “It’s awful! It’s beyond awful! How do you expect me to look at you?”

  “I’d like to think you don’t care how I look.” Juli’s voice was laced with hard sarcasm.

  “Don’t care?”

  Cliff scrambled to his feet and ran to the staircase, leaning over the balcony. He squinted his eyes and then his mouth dropped into a small O.

  “What is it?” I hissed.

  He looked at me and shook his head. “Juli’s hair is blue.”

  In a heartbeat, I was on the steps beside him, watching the scene below unravel. Mama was standing by the door, hands on her hips. Dad stood beside her, looking helpless and at a loss for words. And Juli leaned nonchalantly against the stairwell.

  Her once beautiful, chestnut-brown hair was dyed a hideous pale blue. Hints of brown remained, zig-zagging down her back in thin, ugly streaks. She was wearing her boyfriend’s old leather jacket, which she’d embroidered with pink and yellow flowers. Peeking out below the jacket was a floor-length purple dress and battered leather boots. I scrunched my nose. What happened to my lovely, had-it-all-together sister?

  “Why did you do it?” Mama asked, throwing up her hands. “Did you want attention? From us? From your boyfriend? What’s his name again?”

  “Ziggy,” Juli muttered.

  “Ziggy! That’s it! What kind of a person calls himself ‘Ziggy’?”

  Juli bristled. “What do you mean ‘kind of a person’? Ziggy is just as much a person as anyone in this house! More so because he thinks for himself and makes his own decisions instead of relying on others to get by.” The words practically spit out of her mouth.

  Dad stepped forward. “Watch it, Juli. This is still my house, and these are still my rules.” His face softened. “Your mother and I are just worried about you. We hear all kinds of things about foreign substances and alcohol and we just don’t want—”

  She shot him a dirty look before bounding up the stairs. “I’m eighteen! I can take care of myself!” She brushed by me and Cliff, glaring at us. “Creeps,” she muttered.

  Dad bounded up the steps after her, but she beat him to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. He knocked, but she didn’t answer. Still angry, he stormed to the stairs and gripped the railing. The wood pulled beneath his hands, swaying a little. He stopped on the second step and stared at the rail. “Remind me to fix that,” he muttered, before heading back down and into the kitchen.

  Cliff glanced at me, but I motioned for him to keep quiet. Mama looked up and seemed to notice the two of us for the first time. “You two go to bed,” she said, turning away. “Now.” Her voice sounded strained and tight.

  I nodded for Cliff to go a
nd watched as he walked down the hall to his room, pausing to look over his shoulder before heading inside and shutting the door. I tried to open my door, but the knob was locked. “Juli!” I shouted, banging on the door.

  “Go away!”

  Junky-sounding rock music blasted through the door, making the walls vibrate. I sighed and positioned myself on the floor beside the door. Maybe she’ll get tired eventually and let me in.

  I tried to close my eyes and drift to sleep, but the guitar riffs rattled my brains. I groaned, wanting Juli to either shut it off and let me in, or turn up the music louder so I couldn’t hear Mama crying in the kitchen.

  Across the hall, Cliff’s door opened and he poked his head out. Seeing me sitting on the floor, he ventured into the hallway and settled on the ground next to me.

  “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “I couldn’t sleep with all the noise. So I made a new list.” He handed it to me.

  I sighed and unfolded it, smoothing out the wrinkles so I could read his messy handwriting.

  Birthday List

  1.One happy family

  2.Two good sisters

  3.Three kisses for Mama

  4.Four boys who are good to Juli

  5.Five new records that don’t sound scary

  6.Six cookbooks for my sister Scarlett

  7.Seven new ties for Grandpop Barley, even though he probably won’t wear them

  I refolded the note and handed it back to Cliff, overwhelmed with a sudden urge to kiss him. I ruffled his hair instead, even though I knew he hated it. “I loved it,” I whispered. “I hope you get everything on this list.”

  He nestled next to me in the hallway, and we listened to Juli’s music for a while. My eyelids began to feel heavy, and my head started to swim, even with the beats coming from behind the door. Mama’s cries were soft now, and I could hear Dad’s comforting voice talking to her.

  “Hey, knock, knock,” Cliff said. His voice sounded loud in the quiet hallway.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Luke.”

  I frowned. Cliff was pretty good at telling knock-knock jokes, but I hadn’t heard this one yet. “Luke who?”

  “Luke through the hole and you’ll find out.” He gave me his signature punch-line smile.

  I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes. “That was a good one. I liked that one.”

  “Scarlett?” Cliff whispered.

  I grunted.

  “Can I still have a rocket to Jupiter, though?”

  A smile tugged at my lips. I peeked at him through one eye. “Yes, Cliff. I will get you a rocket to Jupiter if it is the last thing I ever do. Promise.”

  The hot air offered little breeze, making my hair stick to the back of my neck. Drat Mama for making me wear this dress to church when it’s over eighty degrees outside! I made a face. And it’s barely June.

  I was tired of wearing too-short dresses because of that stupid growth spurt I’d had last September, when my legs suddenly shot out from under me, not only catching me up to all the other sixteen-year-olds in Georgia, but also leaving me taller than most of them. Those long legs made keeping up with Mama’s fast pace pretty easy. But Cliff lagged behind, huffing and puffing as he struggled to catch up.

  I glanced over my shoulder at him and exhaled. “Mama, I’m going to walk behind with Cliff. We’ll make it there just a few minutes after you. I promise we’ll get there on time.”

  “Okay, but don’t linger.” Mama shot us a glance before hurrying ahead with Dad and Juli. “I don’t know what they’ll say when they see that girl’s hair,” she muttered.

  I slowed my steps until I fell into step with Cliff. “Hello!”

  He glared at me and looked at the ground, counting his steps. “Uno, dos, tres …”

  “Oh, so you’re going to be difficult today? Okay, then. I’ll talk to myself.” My eyes wandered around aimlessly as we walked. “Isn’t it a beautiful morning? A little warm, perhaps. Yes, a little warm, but it’s a dry heat. At least it’s not raining. But if it was raining, wouldn’t that mean it was cooler out? Perhaps, but—” I stopped mid-sentence, my eyes locking with the eyes of another.

  Frank Leggett, the son of the peach farmer. His light brown hair fell across his forehead, almost shiny in the morning sun. He carried a ragged notebook tucked under one elbow. And he was staring at me like I’d grown two heads.

  I jolted to a stop in the middle of the street, unsure what to do. Should I say something? Did he notice me talking to myself? Of course he noticed, or else he wouldn’t be staring. “Um, good morning,” I said weakly.

  Frank’s brows rose. His eyes trailed over me toward Cliff, who was grumpily walking in circles and then back to me. “Why are you talking to yourself?”

  Funny story … My mind raced, but I couldn’t think of a logical reason. I sighed. Let him think I’m crazy. “I’m more pleasant company than any other person I can think of. No one else is as eager to listen to me as I am.”

  He stared at me blankly for a moment. Then a smile broke on his face, slowly at first but then blossoming into a full-out grin. He had a wonderfully handsome face when he smiled, like the difference between a small flame and a blazing fire. His eyes were a gold-green, crinkling up at the corners. For three and a half glorious seconds, I was at a loss for words.

  Then, as quickly as the smile came, it left and he was Frank Leggett again. Frank Leggett, the socially inept. Frank Leggett, the good-looking boy who was too moody for any of the girls to want to go steady with. Frank Leggett, the son of the peach farmer.

  He nodded and turned, heading toward the church. I followed behind, dragging along Cliff and wanting to kick myself. Stupid, stupid.

  Pastor Greene’s voice boomed through the church walls. “Good morning! And isn’t it a wonderful morning to be in the Lord’s house?”

  My eyes squeezed shut. Oh, great. Frank pushed open the church door, and I braced myself. Sure enough, everyone turned around to watch the three of us slip in the back. Frank seemed unfazed and headed toward his family’s pew.

  Mama frowned at me. Beside her, Juli was holding back a smile, her hair even more hideously blue in the morning light. She looked frightful. Gorgeous, but frightful all the same. Our family would surely be the talk of Georgia that afternoon.

  I lowered my eyes and led Cliff to where our family sat. I settled in my seat directly behind Dotty Greene, the pastor’s wife. Her blonde hair was piled up in a beehive and obstructed my view.

  “Please stand to sing,” Pastor Greene said, pulling out a hymnal.

  I flipped through pages in the hymnal until we came to the right hymn. How Great Thou Art. I wrinkled my nose. Why do they all have ‘thee’s and ‘thy’s? Why not ‘y’all’?

  I didn’t really care that much about church or about the music or the sermon. I never gave much thought to God or heaven. I mean, the way I saw it, I was only sixteen. I had a long time before I really had to worry about getting “right with the good Lord,” and all that. But what I did find intriguing was the pastor’s wife’s singing voice.

  The music swelled to the chorus, and Dotty Greene’s voice began to raise and waver. “Then sings my soul!” she belted out in a high, screechy voice. And then suddenly it dropped, breaking over a low note.

  My eyebrow shot up. Because no matter how bad it sounded, it sure was interesting. At least she sings with enthusiasm. I tucked away a grin from the side of my mouth. A whole lotta enthusiasm.

  Chapter 3

  The last few days of school passed by in a blur. It had been a hot spring and an early summer. By mid-June, the peach trees were loaded with fruit and Georgia smelled sweet and sticky again. We were free to roam from dawn ‘til dusk.

  That was the summer of 1969, and I was sixteen years old. Thanks to Mama’s prodding, I’d finally let my hair grow out, and it was the first summer I could run around with my loose waves whipping around me in the wind. It made me feel free and a little bit w
ild.

  On our first official day off of school, we didn’t have anything better to do than lie around, watch the clouds, and talk about nothing.

  Cliff loved running his fingers though my ponytail. We’d sprawl out by the fence in the backyard and stay like that for hours, his hand tangled in my long auburn hair. That’s what we were doing on a Monday. Just lying there and breathing in and out in silence.

  Cliff took a deep breath and let it out, his chin tilted up at the sky. “Say, Scarlett?”

  “Yeah?” My eyes were closed, and the sun felt so warm and soothing on my face.

  “When are we going to build a rocket to Jupiter?”

  A frown pinched my forehead. Oh, I forgot I promised him that. Obviously Cliff wouldn’t have forgotten. I’d never known him to forget anything.

  I closed my eyes. “Sometime, I guess.”

  Cliff sat up abruptly, frowning at me. “No! Every time you say that it means you’re never going to do it! Scarlett never keeps her promises to Cliff!”

  My eyes flew open. Whoa, referring to himself in third person—not good. I pried his fingers out of my hair. He was making it even more of a snarled mess. “Well, I promised you I would, didn’t I? And I always keep my promises.”

  He settled back down, pacified by my response. I did always keep my promises, unlike most people. A promise spoken by Scarlett Blaine was a promise kept.

  I rested my head on my forearms and stared up at the sky. Little wisps of clouds floated by like ships drifting across the deep blue sea. The grass was warm and soft under my skin. “So is that what we’re going to do this summer? Build a rocket?” I asked.

  “To Jupiter.”

  “Right.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His chin was tilted back up toward the sky. I wondered if his thoughts were always up in the clouds, hovering above those of the rest of us. “What are we going to build it out of? Wood?”

  “I don’t think we’d ever make it to space in a wooden rocket ship. It would burn up from the sun!” He frowned. “No, we’d have to cover it in some kind of metal. Metal sheets, maybe, like the kind they used to cover the warehouse last fall.”