This Place Has No Atmosphere Page 2

  Most of the people in our neighborhood have lots of money; not my family, though. My parents work for the government—in the Medical Department. They’ve made lots of important discoveries, so the government has rewarded them with use of the house we live in. It’s a very big-deal bonus. So there we are, and I am part of the group.

  “Look at the ugly tunic Miranda Cummings is wearing,” Cosmosa says. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit. It should be used to wipe up birdcage droppings.”

  I look.

  Miranda’s at the other side of the cafeteria, talking to some kids.

  Her outfit is not so bad.

  I think Cosmosa just doesn’t like her because Miranda got on the yeardisk staff and Cosmosa didn’t.

  It reminds me of the time, years ago, that I wanted to be friends with Tandy Connors and Cosmosa told me I shouldn’t be seen hanging out with creeps or people would think I was one, too.

  Cosmosa can be really mean when she wants to be, and a lot of the kids follow her lead, so I stopped seeing Tandy, even though I hated myself for it.

  Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I wasn’t part of the group, but mostly I’ve learned to just fit in, and I’m happy—I guess. Juna really is a terrific best friend, and a lot of the kids are really nice, when you talk to them one to one.

  Thinking of really nice kids, I sneak a look at Matthew.

  He’s definitely grown up a lot over the summer.

  We’d look good as a couple.

  He’s about six inches taller than my 5' 6", with brown curly hair, gray eyes, and long eyelashes.

  I’ve got blond straight hair, greenish eyes, and short eyelashes, which would be much longer if my parents would let me have a lash transplant.

  I asked them for one but they said that my friends and I are too concerned with appearances instead of important things. They said that if I devoted as much time to my schoolwork as I do to my looks I would be a straight-A student, instead of a B one. I asked them if I got straight A’s, would they let me have the lash transplant. Their answer was NO, so Matthew has longer lashes than I do and I still have a B average.

  Juna blows a straw wrapper at me to get my attention.

  She gets three more days of detention.

  I look at her.

  “It’s time to get ready for class,” she reminds me.

  We empty our garbage into the disposal hole in the center of the table.

  I watch as it disappears through a tube that leads to the basement, where the automatic trash compactor mushes it into tiny blocks, which are later transformed into a power source.

  This process is a fairly new development. Everyone seems to be amazed that garbage is being used to run the school, but I don’t see what’s so unusual about that. The same can be said about Mr. Finsterwald, the principal.

  Putting the dirty dishes and the tray on the conveyer belt, I rush to my favorite class, Drama of the Twenty-first Century.

  Juna’s taking Building Your Own Synthesizer.

  I’ve even found out what Matthew’s schedule is. He’s got BESP—Beginning Extrasensory Perception. If he’s doing well in it, he should know how much I want to go out with him.

  I rush into class and sit down in my seat, careful to put my thumbprint on the attendance-taking square on the desk so that I’m not marked late or absent.

  I think about Matthew and how my life would be complete if he asked me out and fell in love with me.

  There’s about as much chance of that happening, though, as there is of my living on the moon.

  CHAPTER 2

  “You’d think that by the twenty-first century someone would have invented a zit zapper.” Juna stares in the store window and frowns at a pimple-squeeze mark on her chin. “Gross. I’m so gross.”

  “No, you’re not.” I look at her. “Just stop touching it.”

  “How’s Randy ever going to fall in love with someone who looks like a tube of leaking mayonnaise?” Juna wails.

  “That’s so disgusting,” I tell her. “Look, Juna, it’s one pimple. You’re not a living pus bomb.”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.” She puts her hand across the lower part of her face.

  “Let’s go to Vid-Sound,” I suggest, to get her mind on something else. “They have Rita Retrograde’s new holograph, ‘Robot Love.’ ”

  We step onto a moving sidewalk.

  As it moves toward the store, I look around.

  The Monolith Mall is so wonderful.

  We’re on the fifteenth floor, the one where most of the junior and senior high kids hang out.

  There are one hundred and forty-four floors at the Monolith.

  The top twenty are for recreation and are taken care of by the government. They are there to make up for the loss of public land that was sold to private industries by politicians years ago. The space is really great. There are swimming pools, roller- and ice-skating rinks, hiking trails, a zoo, a bird sanctuary. My parents say it used to be better when the wilderness was outside the malls, but how should I know?

  Forty floors are filled with stores.

  Condominiums and cooperative apartments are on the rest.

  There are all these stories about people who spend their whole adult lives in malls . . . living . . . working . . . playing. They never leave. “Mole Minds” is what my parents call them.

  I really wouldn’t mind living in the mall, but my parents go nuts whenever I mention it. We live in a real house now, but soon single houses may have to come down to make room for environmental hives. My parents have been very active in a group that’s collected petitions and stuff, but it doesn’t seem to be working. There are just so many people.

  Getting off the moving stairs, Juna and I go into Vid-Sound. We’re given a token, which allows us to spend ten minutes listening in a special preview booth. Entering the booth, we put the token in and slip the disk into the machine and watch as Rita holographically appears in the booth with us as the music plays around us. A robot image appears also, doing the latest dance, the vertebration-automation. It’s the ultimate.

  After the time’s up, Juna and I look around the store for a while.

  “I’m getting these.” Juna picks out four viddisks.

  She’s so lucky. Her family is rolling in megabucks. After her parents left the space program, they invested in taxicopters and made a mint. Juna’s allowance is about five times what mine is. Even though she’s always complaining, they give her just about everything she wants.

  There are two viddisks that I really crave. “The Quarks in Concert at the Astrodome” is one. It’s this group of really cute guys who play a combination of synthesizers and petri dishes. The other is by the Jackson 127, descendents of a group once called the Jackson Five.

  “I’ll lend you the money,” Juna says. “Don’t worry about when you can pay it back.”

  “But I already owe you for the T-shirt that I bought last week.” I remember that T-shirt and think about how I don’t even like it anymore.

  “Don’t worry so much.” Juna smiles. “You’re my best friend. What are best friends for?”

  I look at the disks and think about the fight my mother and I had this morning. She said that I couldn’t have a bigger allowance until my attitude showed some improvement and that I had to have a curfew on school nights. When I tried to explain that “everyone else is allowed to stay out late,” she said, “You’re not everyone else.”

  It makes me so angry that I can’t even deal with it.

  I decide to buy the disks to make myself happy.

  Borrowing the money from Juna, I say, “Don’t worry. I’ll pay you back soon. My grandmother will give it to me.”

  I’m almost sure that’s positively true, but even if she doesn’t give me the money, I’ll be really nice to my parents and they’ll give me an advance. Sneaky, but it usually works.

  We leave the store and get back on the moving sidewalk. Juna says, “Let’s look at that store
window,” and we step off again.

  The live models in the window are wearing new “mood clothes,” made up of fabrics that change color according to how the wearer feels and what the wearer is doing.

  Some other kids from school are also looking in the window.

  One is Brandonetta Simmons, who is wearing Walkperson earrings, tuned to a frequency that only she can hear. I don’t think there’s been more than a year of her life when she wasn’t wired for music. It’s very hard to hold a conversation with her, since she sings her replies.

  “Look there,” Juna whispers and points. “Ralph Norton. Yecch.”

  Juna and Ralph have not done well together since seventh grade, when our science teacher mentioned the big bang theory and Ralph made a comment about Juna’s parents.

  He spots us and comes over.

  “Hi, Aurora.”

  I nod and look at the mood clothes.

  “Hello, Space Cadet.” He looks at Juna. “I’m surprised that someone doesn’t put you on a space ship until your hair gets back to normal. Isn’t there a law against eye pollution?”

  Juna glares at him. “Why don’t you go away before I throw up on your slimy body?”

  Ralph turns to me and says, “She really loves me. You know that, don’t you? Throwing up is not what she really wants to use my body for.”

  As he walks away, I look at Juna.

  She’s blushing, really blushing. Actually, the pink of her skin goes well with the colors of her hair.

  I start to giggle.

  “It’s not funny.” She pretends to stick her finger down her throat. “He’s so awful.”

  I nod.

  “Look, I’m going to go hang out at the soda kiosk. I’ve made a list of all of Randy’s hangouts and that’s one of them. Want to come with me?”

  I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ll stay here and watch the clothes change color for a while, unless you think you’ll need protection from Norton.”

  “No. I’ll be okay. He’s a creepster, but harmless.” She grins. “I can take care of myself.”

  After she leaves, I look at the dancing models.

  Their mood clothes are like rainbows, except for one gray tunic that never changes. The model is obviously not having a great day.

  I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder and turn around.

  It’s Matthew. “Hi, Aurora. Want to go for an ice cream or something?”

  I nod.

  I’m glad that I’m not wearing mood clothes right now.

  I’m not sure what color “nervous” would be.

  CHAPTER 3

  The counterman wipes his hands on a towel. “What flavor do you kids want?”

  “It’s hard to decide.” I look at the huge list of flavors and toppings. “I guess I’ll have a scoop of vanilla with sprinkles.”

  “Boring,” Matthew says.

  I pretend to pull a knife out of my heart. “Boring? Well, excuse me.”

  Matthew gives his order: banana, rocky road, cherry cheesecake, and praline ice cream—mixed with M&M’s and Oreos with nuts on top.

  The counterman punches the choices into the computer in front of him, and the combination comes out of the machine and into a cup.

  We pay and walk over to a table.

  On the way, I see our reflections in a mirror.

  I do like the way we look together.

  Sitting down, he takes a spoonful of ice cream.

  It’s hard to feel shy when the person you’re nervous around has accidentally put a smudge of Oreo on his nose.

  I reach over and remove the gunk from his face with my napkin.

  He smiles. “Thanks. When I was a little kid, I always had a milk mustache on my face.”

  I nod. “Me too. My mother used to say I looked good in the food I wore—especially linguini with red clam sauce.”

  We eat our ice cream silently for a few minutes, then I start to giggle.

  Matthew looks at me questioningly.

  I giggle more. Once I get started, it’s hard to stop, but I try to, since I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at him. “With all the flavors at this place, I started to think about what would happen if they ran out of names. Then I thought of lizard lemon and fingernail fudge.”

  “Yecch.” Matthew laughs. “How about toejam tofu.”

  “Nicotine nectarine.”

  By the time we quit, we’ve added owl pellet peach, mucous mocha, snot sundae, phlegm frappe, and cow-chip chip to the list.

  It’s so disgusting that I can’t finish my vanilla with sprinkles.

  Matthew finishes mine and then says, “Aurora, I want to know two things. First of all, you don’t go out with Joandrew anymore, do you?”

  I shake my head. Joandrew and I broke up over the summer when he started hanging out with a group of dopers. They were really pond scum. He changed so much. I tried to help him see how awful that drug scene was, how he was frizzling his brains, but he wouldn’t listen. After staying up every night crying and worrying, I finally told him that he had to make a choice—me or drugs. He made the choice. I’ve heard that he’s had to go into a drug rehab program. I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to have anything to do with him anymore.

  “No, I don’t,” I say to Matthew.

  “Good.” He smiles at me. “My second question, then, is, Want to go to the homecoming dance with me?”

  The homecoming dance, “Evening on Jupiter.” All the announcements say it will be “absolutely out of this world.” I’ve been hoping that Matthew would ask me to it. He really is the nicest boy I know.

  “Yes. I would love to go with you.” I’m so happy.

  “They’ll have announced the election results that afternoon. I’ll know if I’ve won or lost.”

  “Either way”—I touch his hand—“I’ll be very happy to be with you.”

  He reaches over and holds my hand. “I’m glad. I’ve liked you since second grade, when you refused to use a coloring book and drew all over the walls.”

  “Mr. Talbot certainly didn’t like me after that.” I smile, remembering how I had to stay after to clean it up. I was so angry. “But Matthew, why didn’t you ever let me know that you liked me?”

  He shrugs. “You’ve always had so many boyfriends. I guess that it’s just taken a while to get up my nerve.”

  “Seven years, though.”

  “I had to get taller.” He grins. “And anyway, now that I’m taking BESP, I kind of figured out that maybe you like me.” He looks proud of himself.

  “I’ll tell your teacher to give you an A.” I smile at him. “You’re right.”

  A girl comes up to the table, someone from school whom I’ve seen around but don’t know.

  She nods at me, then turns to Matthew. “You’ve got my vote. I like your stand on using fewer computers and more people in the Guidance Department.”

  Matthew smiles and says, “Thanks. I appreciate your vote and will do my best.”

  I feel invisible for a minute. I wonder if the President’s husband felt this way during the last government election.

  Finally she leaves.

  I debate batting my eyelashes at Matthew to look cute and sexy but decide against it. First of all, they’re too short. Second of all, I think Matthew knows that I’m here.

  We walk back to the store window so that I can find Juna.

  She’s watching the models.

  As Matthew and I hold hands, we smile at each other.

  If I had mood clothes on right now, they would be every shimmery color of the spectrum.

  CHAPTER 4

  “So you really like this new boyfriend of yours?” Grandma Jennifer takes a pan of brownies out of the oven. “His name is Matthew, right?”

  I nod. “Oh, Grandma, I really do. He’s so nice . . . and cute . . . and fun.”

  She smiles. “I remember when I was your age, I used to love falling in love. You and I are a lot alike.”

  I stick my fingers into the pan. “Ow, that’s hot. I burned
myself.”

  Grandma Jennifer breaks off a leaf from the aloe plant and puts the sap on my burned fingers. “Be careful. You always want things immediately. Try to wait. The brownies won’t run away.”

  I blow on my fingers. “But I love them when they’re hot and gushy . . . when you can sort of roll them warm into balls.”

  “Me too.” She kisses my forehead. “When your mother was a little girl, she liked them cooled off and refrigerated.”

  “Mom and I are so different.” I sigh. “You and I are more alike.”

  Grandma Jennifer nods. “It’s true. But Aurora, remember that your mother loves you.”

  “She’s got a funny way of showing it.” I pick the brownie up with a spoon and blow on it. “Both of my parents have a funny way of showing it.”

  She says, “They do care. Sometimes I think they are so involved with work that they forget to let you know how much they care. But I know they do. And Aurora, try to understand them. They have done such important things in medicine, saved so many lives, won so many awards. Other doctors and dentists, from all over the world, come here to observe them at work. I’m so proud. You should be too. I know that you and Starr are very important parts of their lives.”

  “But they are just so busy that sometimes it seems like they only notice me when there’s a problem.” I shake my head. “Just living with them is a problem for me. And they like Starr much better than they like me.”

  My grandmother smiles. “They understand her interests better, but they do love you too.”

  I love my grandmother and usually agree with her, but this time I think she’s just being loyal to her daughter and doesn’t realize how much I hurt.

  Grandma Jennifer and I take another spoonful of warm brownie.

  Our mouths are soon full.

  I feel so comfortable being with her.

  “You know what I like even better than brownies like this?” she asks. “I like the brownie mix before it’s baked.”

  “Me too.”

  “Aurora, when you called, you said you wanted to come over and ask me something. What is it?”

  I look down at the floor. “I hate to ask.”

  She takes my hand. “Are you in trouble?”