This Place Has No Atmosphere Page 7

  6. Cafeteria food is disgusting. Today for lunch we had mystery dehydrated substance and lumpy mashed sweet potatoes.

  7. There is no one here like the kids at Shepard. It’s not that they’re all barfburgers. It’s just that they are different and wouldn’t fit in with us. (And I don’t really fit in with them. It’s so hard. Sometimes I want to tell them that in my old school I was someone . . . so that they know . . . so that I don’t feel so all alone. But I don’t think that would be a good move.)

  8. There’s definitely no one here like Matthew.

  9. Mr. Wilcox, the teacher, is also the principal, chief guidance counselor, and media specialist. He’s cuter than any teacher at Shepard . . . also nicer. He’s got a sense of humor and he actually likes to teach. With his smile and gorgeous blue eyes, Mr. Wilcox could probably have been a video star. To answer the question that I know you’ll ask—yes, he’s married . . . . To answer the question that I know Cosmosa will ask—no, he doesn’t fool around.

  10. There is no truant officer at the school because there is no place to go when you cut. (It’s kind of hard to think about a senior cut day, with only the one senior, Karlena.)

  11. Every student has to do a school service project. Mine is to work with the Eaglettes. They are very short and sticky. Eventually I will have to do a community service project as well.

  12. Each new kid is assigned a guide. Mine is this guy named Hal Brenner, but I’ve never asked him to guide me. He’s a real brain, a junior. Tall and skinny, he’s funny (funny ha ha, not funny weird). All of the kids here really seem to like and respect him. He’s okay, I guess, but I have a feeling that he’d never fit in on earth . . . at least not with our group.

  13. Starr’s guide is Hal’s younger brother, Tucker. I think she has a crush on him.

  14. I miss having a best friend.

  15. I want to go back to Alan Shepard High School.

  ABOUT TOWN

  1. Luna City is nothing like our hometown.

  2. There’s no weather here because there’s no atmosphere.

  3. There’s no atmosphere here (and I’m not talking weather).

  4. The general store is definitely not the Monolith Mall. In fact, if it were located there it would go out of business. It’s one large room and it specializes in out-of-date merchandise.

  5. A lot of time is spent looking at mail order catalog disks. It’s not the same thing as being able to try on stuff, and anyway what difference does it make because of the stupid uniforms.

  6. There are no pets in town, no cats, no dogs, not even a gerbil. The good news is that you never have to look down at the sidewalk. The bad news is that there’s nothing to pat on the head, nothing to lick you and roll over to be tickled (except maybe one of the Eaglettes).

  7. There are no launderettes or dry cleaners on the moon. You take your dirty clothes into an ultrasonic room and the dirt gets vibrated off. The same procedure is used to clean human beings.

  8. I miss being able to escape into a bathroom and relax in a tub for a couple of hours. (We’re allowed only six minutes in the shower, two times a week.) Ultrasonic cleaning is not warm and comfy.

  9. There are no birds here, which makes Tranquillity Base Park a very clean place. Boring, but very clean.

  10. I want to go home.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Aurora Borealis Williams, you whine too much,” my father says as I get into the dentist chair.

  I stare. “What do you expect? You’re going to be drilling my tooth.”

  “What do I expect? What do I expect?” He flings one of his arms up in the air and puts his other hand on his forehead. “I’m a painless dentist who uses the best, newest techniques. What do you expect?”

  I think that some of my flair for the dramatic may come from him.

  He hands me a metal rod which is attached to a box with dials. “Here. Hold this. If it starts hurting, remember to turn the power up. With TENS, you will feel no pain.”

  TENS—that’s Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation—current goes through the skin and stops the pain.

  It’s weird, but it works. I like TENS better than when he uses acupuncture, which also works, but I hate it when he twists the needles.

  “Open wide.” He looks in to see what’s hap-pening.

  I am a captive audience.

  “Aurora, you’ve done nothing but complain since we’ve gotten here. Nothing’s good enough for you. Look at how well Starr’s adjusting. Why can’t you? You’re the oldest and should be setting the good example, not Starr.”

  “Aar iz a grep.”

  “Starr is not a creep.” My father, from all his years of dentisting, is very good at translating from mouths filled with equipment. “She’s trying very hard at school, making new friends, and being helpful to her parents. All you do is whine. You hate school . . . you hate the moon.”

  “I oo ate ih.”

  “You came up here prepared to hate it. And now all you do is whine.”

  I hate it when parents get an idea or word in their minds. Then that’s all the kid hears. My parents are really into using the word whine this week.

  I sit still while he’s looking into my mouth. “I found the problem. The gemstone we implanted in your tooth to help fix the problem with your knee has to be replaced.”

  He hums as he fixes it. My father’s really into the relationship of teeth to muscles and organs and to the healing power of stones and colors. I hope he stays so involved that he forgets to lecture me anymore.

  “All done,” he says, taking away the equipment.

  I get out of the chair.

  “Aurora.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Your mother and I are really concerned about you . . . and your whining is making our lives miserable. We’re very happy here, except for you. We want you to be happy here—to at least try.”

  “Whining doesn’t make me happy either,” I tell him. “I’m really truly honestly miserable. You just don’t understand. You never understand.”

  “I understand that you’re not doing anything to not be miserable.”

  I sigh. “Look, Dad. I’m going to need a written excuse to get back into class,” I say.

  He writes it out. “Think about what I said . . . and I don’t want you and Starr fighting anymore.”

  I’ll think about it, but I won’t change my mind. And the fight last night was not my fault. It was hers. All I did was put a sign on my body and lie down on the floor. The sign read “Died of mooning around . . . please return to earth.”

  My parents just pretended I wasn’t there.

  I added another sign to my body: EARTH REARRANGED SPELLS HEART.

  Starr’s the one who caused the trouble. She put her foot over me and said, “Let’s pretend that Aurora’s a grape. I’ll step on her and we’ll get a little wine. Whine, get it?”

  So I bit her toe.

  She definitely deserved it.

  As I leave my father’s office, the mailperson arrives.

  “There’s a letter here for you.”

  I grab it out of his hands. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  It’s a viddisk from Juna . . . all covered with 3D sticker lips that say SWAK.

  I’m so excited. “Dad, can I look at the disk here—use your computer? It’ll just take a few minutes.”

  He shakes his head. “You have school. You’ll have a lot of time afterwards to see it.”

  I can’t understand how he can be so mean, but I don’t want to make a fuss in front of the mailperson, so I leave quickly.

  There are computers at school.

  I’ll use one of them.

  My father can be so insensitive sometimes.

  I really don’t think he understands what I’m going through.

  I can’t wait to get to school to see my letter.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Okay, kids, go work at your computers.” Mr. Wilcox runs his hand through his blond hair.

  We all go quietly to our computers
and put on our headsets so that there will be absolute quiet.

  What luck. Now I can see the viddisk.

  Ms. Feldman, the classroom aide, is absent.

  No townspeople were scheduled to teach today.

  It’s Karlena’s turn to help out with the Eaglettes, so I don’t have to do it.

  Mr. Wilcox has total charge of the whole first through twelfth grade, with only Karlena’s help.

  He needs a mental health hour.

  He deserves one.

  It’s like back at the old school when a teacher would give a silent study hall. They always acted like it was because the assignment was so important. We, the kids, always knew it was because they’d had enough of us.

  At least Mr. Wilcox is honest about it.

  I take out the viddisk letter from the gang at the old school and insert it into the computer.

  It opens with an entire room filled with the old gang.

  They are obviously turning this letter into an occasion for a party—one that I would give anything to be attending.

  People are smiling, waving, making devils’ horns with their fingers and putting them behind other people’s heads.

  Juna yells, “A toast for Aurora” and everyone throws toast up in the air. I know that they did it to remind me of all the times we went to see this weird old movie, Rocky Horror Show.

  The old gang would laugh if they knew that we only had one movie each week up here, which plays once.

  Someone yells, “Turnip the music” and the whole gang sings, “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow” to me.

  I wish the kids up here could see how much the old gang liked me and how popular I was.

  Each person gives me a personal message and then goes into another room for the continuing party.

  “We miss you . . . your laugh . . . your fun . . . your neat way of dressing.”

  It’s a good thing that they can’t see me now in this disgusto barfburger school uniform.

  “Guess what? I made cheerleading,” What’s-her-face says.

  I hope she gets her lips caught in the megaphone.

  Brandonetta gets up in front of the camera, wearing dangling earrings that are really minispeakers. She sings, “We miss you, Aurora. Oh, yes, we do.”

  With her voice, she’s either hitting the key of high C or Luna C.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” That comes from Alexis, who does everything.

  She should come to the moon and have to deal with a place where there are no cars and it’s hard to find a place for kids to go for privacy, let alone to find someone you’d want to be with.

  A couple of the shyer kids just wave and leave.

  Davie Arnold, the class clown, tells three very dumb jokes, including “Why did the chicken cross the universe? . . . Because he was being chased by Pluto.”

  Ralph Norton oozes onto the screen to ask me if I’d “made it” with any E.T.’s.

  Juna comes on, filling me in on all the gossip: who’s going out with whom, who’s broken up, what’s the latest fad.

  She’s got on one of my T-shirts, the one with hot purple sequins, showing that she’s keeping her promise to wear something of mine every day to keep me part of the group.

  She shows me how to do the latest dance step, the Quark.

  Then she says, “Aurora, you are my best friend. I miss you so much.” She starts to cry and hurries off the screen.

  Finally, Matthew is in front of the camera.

  He looks uncomfortable, like he used to when he had to get up in front of the class in fifth grade and give a report. He looks down at the piece of paper in his hand and says, “I miss you . . . . I got a B average this semester, which isn’t bad with all the work I have to do as class president . . . . I’m getting my driver’s permit next month . . . . I’m two inches taller . . . . I thought of a new Baskin-Robbins flavor, sweatsocks sherbet . . . . And Aurora, I miss you a whole lot.”

  He leaves.

  I start to cry . . . a whole lot.

  I wish he was here to put his arms around me.

  I put my arms down on the table and lay my head on them.

  I’m so miserable that my whole body hurts.

  I don’t even care if anyone sees how awful I look when I’m crying.

  If the scientists up here could bottle my tears, there would never be a water shortage.

  Someone puts his hands on my shoulders and whispers, “Aurora, may I help you?”

  It’s Hal.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Go to the Conference Room.” Mr. Wilcox hands us passes.

  “It’s okay.” Sniffling, I look at him and at Hal. “I feel better now.”

  Mr. Wilcox smiles. “Good. Go anyway. A change of scenery might do you good. It’s been one of those days for a lot of people, me included. In the old days I would have said ‘Must be a full moon.’ Up here I guess that I’ve got to say ‘Must be a full earth.’ ”

  Full earth. When I look up at it now, it looks like empty earth. It’s hard to believe I ever walked there with my friends and that they’re still there, and I’m not. I try not to look at earth.

  We take the passes and leave his desk. It’s so embarrassing that everyone has seen me like this. My crying has started some of the Eaglettes crying.

  Everyone’s staring.

  As we walk past Starr’s computer terminal, I can see that she’s been writing a letter to Grandma Jennifer and Grandpa Josh.

  She looks very concerned.

  I try to smile to let her know that I’m semiokay.

  Hal and I leave the room.

  In the hall I think, What am I doing here? I hardly know this guy. As my school guide, Hal’s always willing to help, but I never ask for anything. I mean, how much guiding does a person need in a school with only one room?

  In class Hal seems nice. Not the kind of kid who would be in the group at Shepard, but he’s not a total reject.

  I’m just glad to be out of the classroom. We walk down the hall and Hal opens a door. “Ta da. The Conference Room.”

  “This is a supply closet,” I say.

  He nods. “What gave it away? The paper? The mouse writers? The ribbons? The cassettes?”

  “My superior intellect.” I grin at him. “That and the fact that the sign on the door says ‘Supply Closet.’ ”

  “I love a woman with brains.” He grins back. “It’s also the Conference Room. Mr. Wilcox decided that we all sometimes needed a place outside the classroom, and since there’s a room shortage, we’ve doubled up. Look—in the corner, in the back—table and chairs.”

  “The Conference Room.” I do a few tap steps and extend my arm as if I’m introducing it.

  “Brains and talent too.” Hal smiles, and we walk in and sit down.

  I look around. “No windows.”

  “No problem.” Hal stands up, tacks a stored shade on the wall, and pulls the string down. “Just pretend there’s a window behind it.”

  I laugh.

  It feels good to laugh.

  Hal sits down. “I thought you might want someone to talk to.”

  I realize how much I want to talk to him even though we hardly know each other. There’s something really nice about him and he’s kind of cute, even though his looks aren’t the kind I usually like.

  He’s got curly brown longish hair and brown eyes, the kind that squint a little when the light hits them. I bet he’s one of those people who have permanent contact lenses implanted. You can tell sometimes by the way they blink.

  I shrug. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He shrugs back. “And I don’t know what to say to get you to say what you want to say.”

  I say, “It sounds like we should sing a chorus of the unsure person’s anthem: “Oh, see, can you say.”

  We do, making up verses as we go along.

  Neither of us has a voice that would make the glee club. Of course at this school there isn’t one, so it doesn’t much matter.

  I finally figure out w
hat’s so different about Hal from the gang back home. He’d never hang out at the mall . . . and I don’t think he’d really like some of the parties that we have. On a scale of one to ten, the old gang would probably rate him a four.

  I think he’s at least a five.

  Softly he says, “It’s hard moving here, isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  He continues. “My family was in the first group of settlers, ten years ago. We call ourselves the Pilgrims II. I was only six, so moving here wasn’t so hard. I’m used to the place.”

  “You’re used to it?” I whisper. “People get used to it?”

  He nods. “Yeah, some people actually love it.”

  I think of my parents and bet that they will.

  “I won’t.” I look at him. “Do you love it?”

  He shakes his head. “Not really. I see all the videos and news of the earth and want to see what it’s really like. There have been a lot of improvements here, so it’s okay, I guess. There are some things, though, that I want to do that I can’t do here.”

  He thinks for a minute. “I thought that you were going to do the talking. I don’t discuss this with anyone.”

  I smile at him. “I’m glad you’re telling me this. It makes me feel like I may even have a friend up here.”

  “Good,” he says. “You know, there are so many things I want to do. I want to learn to drive a car and just go out somewhere for a ride. I want to see a play . . . to live somewhere that isn’t under a bubble . . . to feel rain and snow again.”

  We’re both silent for a few minutes. Then I say, “I can’t do much about most of that, but I can do something about the play. Someday I’m going to be an actress—a wonderful one, I hope. So let’s organize the kids and put on a play. I would love that . . . so much.”

  “Great.” He smiles. “We can do this as our community project. You know everyone is supposed to do one.”

  I did know but tried to ignore it. Working with the Eaglettes was enough.

  “Okay,” I say. “I would like to do it. I’ve got to do something up here before I go off the edge.”

  “You can’t go off the edge. The moon is round.”