This Place Has No Atmosphere Page 10

  He waits for me to stop crying.

  I keep crying because I feel like it and because I figure that maybe he’ll change his mind and give me the part of Emily if I keep crying.

  No such luck.

  Finally I get my crying down to a sniffle.

  “Trust me,” he says. “By the end of the play you’ll see that the right decision was made.”

  I give him my wide-eyed look. “Please.”

  He shakes his head. “Aurora. People used to think that the earth was the center of everything and the sun revolved around it.”

  Why am I getting a science lesson right now?

  Mr. Wilcox continues. “Eventually people discovered that earth wasn’t the center . . . just as we as people have to learn that we’re not always the center, that we’re a part of the universe.”

  “You’re telling me that you’re not going to let me be Emily.”

  He nods. “Yes. I’m also telling you something that took me a long time to deal with—that takes most of us a long time to learn.”

  I sigh. “And Barfburger—I mean Vern—is going to be my husband?”

  He nods.

  “You sure don’t make anything easy, do you?”

  “Aurora.” He looks at me. “You made a commitment. Now how are you going to handle it?”

  I think.

  I think about how I promised to work on the play. I think about how hard it’s going to be to do the role of Mrs. Gibbs and to be married to Vern, El Barfo. I think about how boring and awful it would be to not be in the play. I think about how I wish the sun did revolve around the earth, to prove Mr. Wilcox wrong. I think about the chance to act again.

  “Just call me Mrs. Gibbs.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “Did you hear?” Karlena flops down on the couch. “There’s a rumor that Rita Retrograde may bring her tour up here.”

  Rita Retrograde up here—that would truly be lunar rock.

  Wait till Juna hears. She’s going to be so crazed—this is one concert that not even her parents will lay out the bucks for her to attend. It would be so great if Juna could come up here for the concert and a visit, but that’s impossible. Too expensive, everyone will say . . . and a waste of valuable shuttle space.

  How can it be a waste to let someone see a best friend, someone like me who can be sitting some-place and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, starts thinking about earth and wonder what’s happening there . . . someone like me who sometimes, late at night, kisses her pillow and pretends that it’s Matthew even though we haven’t been in touch for awhile . . . . Someone like me, who once in a while thinks that she hears her grandmother calling “Aurora”? Seeing my best friend would definitely not be a waste, not to me.

  I look at the group of moon kids. They really are nice. In fact, sometimes they’re so nice it’s almost boring. Cosmosa would never do well up here. The moon therapists would definitely have their work cut out for them if they had to deal with her. Anyway, she’s certainly not someone that I miss, but I do miss Juna. Even though I am really beginning to like some of the kids up here, none of them is a best friend the way that she was—is. Juna’s the only person who knows my deepest darkest secrets . . . . And I know hers.

  Once, for example, when we were about eight years old, we looked at all the people who collected stickers, stamps, and stuff, and decided to have the most unusual secret collections in the world. For two years Juna collected her belly button lint and I collected my earwax. It was so gross, with dust collecting on the earwax ball. At least with Juna’s collection, you couldn’t tell dust from lint. Finally, Asimov, her dog, ate both of our collections. Only best friends could know about things like that and still be best friends.

  As I look around the room, I’m glad, though, that no one up here knows about that grossness. I do wonder what Juna is doing right now and if maybe she’s even thinking about me at the same time that I’m thinking about her.

  Karlena offers more information. “I also hear that the Plaques are the backup group.”

  “The Plaques are my father’s favorite group,” Starr informs everyone. “What else can you expect from a dentist?”

  I shrug. He just loves it when they pretend that their guitar strings are dental floss.

  Vern comes into the room with two large bowls of popcorn, which he passes around.

  I look up at him.

  Living on the moon agrees with him. His complexion has really cleared up. My mother says that’s because the food allergies aren’t so severe up here, since there’s not much junk food. Anyway, he looks practically human, but he still laughs like a seal.

  It’s break time during the play rehearsal.

  We really need one.

  I’m lying down on the floor, relaxing.

  Starr comes up, stands over me, and starts dropping popcorn on my face.

  I debate yelling at her but decide instead to try to catch it as it comes down.

  “Two points,” Hal calls out as one goes into my mouth.

  “All right,” Tucker yells. “Starr, go for a dunk shot.”

  Starr gets another two points.

  I reach up with my foot and try to get the popcorn to fall out of her hand.

  “Penalty,” Hal calls out. “Starr gets two free throws.”

  “That looks like fun,” Kael says. “Let’s all try it.”

  We make up the rules. Twenty pieces of popcorn to each player. Two points for each one that goes into the mouth. The person catching the popcorn is allowed to eat each piece once it’s in the mouth rather than holding on to it until all twenty attempts are made.

  Hal says, “Wait a minute. Shorter people have the advantage. They’re closer to the person on the floor.”

  “But your arms are longer,” Tucker reminds him.

  “Are. Are. Are.” Vern thinks the whole thing is hysterical.

  So does everyone else as we break up into teams and play.

  Hal’s my partner.

  Our team gets a total of nine. I catch four and Hal catches five. We tie for the win, sort of. Brendon and Julie claim they’ve won with nine and a half, since she started to laugh and closed her mouth before the kernel was totally in her mouth.

  Somehow, that’s not fair. We should at least have a play-off.

  “That was a very corny game. Are. Are. Are.” Vern is having the best time.

  Everyone turns on him, pelting him with popcorn.

  Mr. Wilcox walks in.

  We pelt him.

  He pelts back.

  Soon everyone is laughing hysterically.

  Finally Mr. Wilcox says, “Okay, gang. Back to rehearsal.”

  I love the play rehearsals.

  They’re the best ever and I’m really beginning to like these kids a lot more.

  I just wish that we could all be transplanted to earth, since there is so much more to do there. I mean stuff like plays and museums and different places to visit. It would be so wonderful to do those things with most of the kids in this group and with some of the Turnips, even though I’m not sure both groups would really understand each other.

  Since there’s not much chance of our being earth-transplanted, I concentrate on what’s happening on the moon.

  Right now the play is the major thing in a lot of our lives.

  I don’t want to think about what it will be like when the play is over.

  CHAPTER 29

  Karlena’s rehearsing her scene with Kael, who is playing George, her boyfriend and my son.

  I really do have to admit she’s gotten really good at the part of Emily.

  One of the reasons I have to admit it is that Mr. Wilcox is always saying to me, “Isn’t she doing well, Aurora? Aren’t you enjoying that scene with her?”

  The other reason is that she really does get better every day.

  It also helps that Mr. Wilcox keeps telling me how terrifically I’m doing. That makes me work even harder to get better.

  To be honest, though, it still does hurt my heart a l
ittle to hear Karlena rehearse as Emily.

  I try to imagine a tornado breaking a hole in the glass bubble and carrying Karlena outside without a space suit. She would then turn into a freezepop or blobmelt.

  Then I would graciously take over her part.

  Of course, since there is no weather on the moon, it’s not likely to happen.

  “Not nice thoughts,” Hal whispers, coming up beside me and putting his arm around my shoulder.

  Hal’s been taking a correspondence course in ESP, doing biofeedback, and generally developing his psychic powers. It’s kind of fun for me to watch him and my mother try to talk to each other. However, I’m not sure I like it that he can read my mind so easily.

  Starr says it’s easier because I’m so much more open now . . . that it’s not such a bad thing to be vulnerable like that . . . that she bets I’ll be good at ESP someday too.

  I think that’ll be something to explore when the play’s over. Instead of outer space, inner space. There certainly isn’t much else to explore on the moon unless you’re a scientist.

  I put my arm around Hal’s waist and we just stand there watching for a few minutes.

  Even though Hal and I are just friends, it’s nice to be able to hug each other.

  I wonder: If someone doesn’t kiss and make out during their teenage years, will that person’s body rust?

  Mr. Wilcox calls out. “Emily. George. Good work. Now I want all actors to try on their costumes, which have just arrived on the space shuttle. Males to the recreation room. Females to the film room. And hurry up. The council is going to need the community rooms in about an hour.”

  Space is a real problem in space.

  “See you later,” Hal says to me as he walks away. “Try not to worry about rusting.”

  I am tempted to remind him that he hasn’t had a girlfriend since the fifth grade when he and Karlena, a sixth grader, swore undying love and then she started to grow up faster than he did. I decide not to. He confided that information to me one day when we were having a real heart-to-heart talk and I’d never use it against him. However, this better not be the start of rust references.

  Actually I am worrying about things a lot less, including rusting and worrying so much about what people think. It’s different up here. Maybe when you live in a place with lighter gravity, people take things less seriously.

  A lot of things are getting easier, even at home. My mother’s been helping Starr to learn her lines, and my father’s going to help with the ticket sales. (The profits will be sent back down to earth to an organization that helps the homeless and hungry. On the moon that’s no problem.)

  At the apartment we ration Grandma Jennifer’s brownies, everyone having a little piece each day. We’re down to crumbs practically, but it’s like having a link with those we love on earth. Earth—it seems so far away.

  I head to the costume room. It’s chaos, absolute chaos.

  That’s probably because Emily Doowinkle is in charge of costumes.

  She hands me a garment bag.

  “Mrs. Gibbs, here’s your dress.

  Take care of it. Don’t make a mess.

  It’s a little out of date, I do confess.”

  I look at Julie, who grins at me and whispers, “I wish she’d rhyme a little less.”

  We giggle some more and I put on my outfit with Julie’s help.

  Julie says, “When we came up here on the space shuttle, I never really thought we’d be doing things together and that I’d be having a great time with you.”

  I nod. “Me too, and I really appreciate the help you’ve given me with the costumes.”

  She blushes. “Thanks. I want to let you know how much I appreciate the way you and April helped me with makeup and stuff in the beginning.”

  “Even though we haven’t been close since then?” I mention a truth that makes me feel guilty.

  She helps me put on the rest of my costume. “Yes, because it made me feel more comfortable to be around other people. And now Karlena and I are good friends. Did you know that she’s asked me to be bridesmaid at her wedding?”

  “No, I didn’t know. Terrific!”

  It’s weird. I’m happy for Julie. Also, I’m a little jealous that they like each other more than they like me.

  “I guess things have changed a lot for both of us since that shuttle ride,” Julie continues. “We’re both much happier now.”

  “I guess we are,” I say softly. “I guess I am.”

  We smile at each other.

  Starr comes over and stares at me. “What an outfit.”

  I look in the mirror. I can’t believe I’m wearing stockings with seams (they probably never even heard of stocking spray) . . . funny-looking shoes . . . a dress like the early 1900s. It’s so weird to be in clothes that are like the ones worn over a century and a half ago.

  I’m surprised that any female wearing an outfit like this would ever show her face . . . but actually that’s about all she ever could show. Everything else was covered.

  Starr shows me how she looks in her outfit. “Uglyosity.”

  People are all giggling and pointing at one another.

  “I wonder how all the people in Our Town would do in Luna City,” Starr says as she takes the bow out of her hair and puts it on her upper lip, pretending it’s a mustache.

  Karlena thinks about it for a minute. “Actually, I bet they would do okay once you put them in our clothes.”

  “I guess some things never change,” I say. “I bet even Cleopatra worried about pimples. Kids have always had problems with their parents—and brothers and sisters. Look at Cain and Abel.”

  Karlena grins. “I’ll remind my parents of them when they complain about my sister and me fighting.”

  Emily Doowinkle calls out.

  “No vacations.

  Time for alterations.”

  While people go off to get their costumes fixed, I think about the play and about how good it’s going to be.

  I kind of wish that Juna and Matthew and the rest of the Turnips could see me in it.

  Some of them would be more interested in the cast party than the play, but some of them would really like Our Town.

  If only Grandma Jennifer and Grandpa Josh could be at the performance.

  We’ll send them a holovideo, but it won’t be the same.

  I know they’ll love the play, and Starr and me in it.

  I sure do miss them.

  In Grandma’s last letter, she said they’re taking courses at the local community college. Grandpa’s getting his brown belt in karate and she’s getting her brownie belt in baking.

  CHAPTER 30

  Dear Grandma Jennifer and Grandpa Josh,

  Thanks sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much for sending up more brownies. We really needed a new supply. When it got to the point where there were only crumbs left, each of us would lick our thumb and press it to the bottom of the box. The thumb owner could then eat whatever crumbs stuck to the thumb. It was not only gross but a little unfair: Dad’s got the biggest thumb so he got more than anyone else. He said that was okay because he’s the family breadwinner. Mom said, “Wait a minute. I’m also the breadwinner. With your big thumb you are the brownie winner.”

  So I want you to know that the new shipment arrived in the nick of time and is truly appreciated. Next time do you think that you could also send up the unwashed mixing bowl and spoon?

  You asked how I’m doing up here.

  Who knows?

  It’s hard to explain to you since I’m not so sure myself.

  In the last mail delivery there was a vidletter from the Turnips. They had just wrapped the vice-principal’s house totally in toilet paper and were at Juna’s to celebrate.

  It was good to see them, but I felt a little strange.

  There’s a new girl in the group. She says her nickname is “Tapioca . . . because I’m so sweet,” giggle giggle. She was hanging all over Matthew, who didn’t seem to mind—not one bit. Now I know why he hasn
’t written lately. I’ve always disliked tapioca pudding because of the lumps. Maybe that’s how Tapioca got her name—because she is such a lump, giggle giggle.

  Juna filled me in on all the gossip. You probably know most of it, though, since she also said that she went over to your house for a visit. You’re all so lucky to be able to see each other in person.

  Anyway, in case you haven’t heard, here’s the news.

  One day, Brandonetta took off her Walkperson earrings and started listening to everyone. A week later she left the Turnips and started hanging out with other kids.

  Randy finally asked Juna out. The detention monitor gave them time off for good behavior. She said she’s so happy, it feels like she’s walking on air. He’s probably using his telekinetic powers on her.

  The Turnips, on the vidletter, had comments about the kids on the moon. (I had sent them a picture when I got here and must confess that I wasn’t very nice in my descriptions of some of the kids. But that didn’t give the Turnips the right to be so cruel.) They said that Vern was more than a barfburger. (I don’t call him that anymore, even though he’s still far from perfect.) Anyway, they said that when Vern arrived on the moon, “the eagle has landed” should have been changed to “the ugle has landed.”

  I’m not sure I would fit in with the Turnips now.

  Sometimes I wonder what all the Turnips feel inside, what they would be like if they had to leave the group and go somewhere else. I know I’ve had to change a lot.

  I also wonder what the moon kids would go through if they had to move.

  The parents are pretty much the same, only we’re getting along a little better.

  Mom just did the first combination heart, lung, and liver bionitransplant on the moon and Dad’s doing all sorts of experiments with herbs, essence-of-flower remedies, and use of visualization techniques to straighten teeth, instead of using braces. (So far the visualization hasn’t worked so he’s going to try post-hypnotic suggestion next.)

  They’ve joined a bridge club. (Dad says that dentists use bridge clubs on the heads of people who never remember to floss. That’s what Dad calls “a little dental humor.” None of the rest of us thought it was that funny, probably because we’re not dentists.)