This Place Has No Atmosphere Page 8

  “Thank you, Christopher Columbus.” I smile at him.

  He grins back. “Call me Chris. Seriously, Aurora, I’d like to make this my community service project if you’re really willing to commit to it. I’ve been talking to people about wanting to change my project. Working at the store for two years is enough. It’s time to do something else. I’ve just got to know that you mean it. It’s going to take a lot of work, isn’t it? You’re the one who’s done it before.”

  I nod. “It’ll be lots of work. I’m not sure how much, since I’ve mostly just acted in plays. But I’m willing to try.”

  “Great.” He smiles.

  I nod again. These plans are happening very quickly.

  Hal looks at me. “Aurora, you are so different from anyone I know, from anyone that I’ve ever met.”

  I blush.

  So does Hal.

  I change the subject.

  “What do you think we should do? Do you think that many people will try out? I don’t think the kids up here are going to be very excited to do something with me.”

  “I think they will if you stop comparing them with the kids back on earth.”

  “Do I do that a lot?”

  “About every three minutes,” he says.

  “That bad, huh?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I miss them so much. I used to feel like I fit in.”

  He says, “You could feel that again . . . if you’d give all of us a chance.”

  I think about that and ask, “How come you want to do this project with me? Is it the play? Or am I your project? Have they told you to reform me? Is that what this is all about?”

  He doesn’t look pleased. “Aurora. You’re so paranoid. Why don’t you lighten up a little?”

  I stare at him. “Promise me you won’t be doing this as your school service project—the reform Aurora assignment.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I won’t be doing it as a project. I promise . . . . Listen, if this were an assignment that I was going to be graded on, I wouldn’t take it and take a chance on ruining my grade point average.”

  I don’t want him to be angry with me. I’m not sure that I could handle that with the way that I already feel after receiving the vidletter. “Look . . . . Truce . . . . I’m really sorry. It’s been a rough day. Please don’t be angry.”

  He smiles at me. “Okay . . . truce . . . . Listen, Aurora . . . I’ve been bored up here and want to try something new . . . and I think you could be fun to work with. I think . . . Anyway, it’s worth trying. So let’s get started, make a list. What do you think we’ll need?”

  I start to name some of the things. “A play . . . actors . . . a director . . . sets . . . costumes . . . props . . . a place to put the play on . . . understudies . . . prompters . . . a set designer . . . set builders . . . Hal, this is going to take a lot of work. In junior high I just acted and didn’t have to deal with all of this stuff.”

  “Want to back out before it’s too late?” He puts down the pen. “Once we go in and tell Mr. Wilcox and he says yes and we go to the town council and they agree, we have to do it.”

  I think about how much work it’s going to be—not like it used to be at Alan Shepard High School. But there’s not a chance that I’ll be able to perform at Shepard. My only chance is at Da Vinci, and it looks like I’m going to have to work to make it happen. I look at Hal and give him my answer.

  “It’s a deal.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Starr flops down on her bed. “How come you’re getting all dressed up if this isn’t a date?”

  I try on my third outfit. “Look. This is not a date. Hal and I have to go to the town meeting to present our proposal. Once it’s accepted, we’ll get money to put on the play and to reserve shuttle space for the supplies that we need.”

  “If it isn’t a date, how come you’re putting your makeup on so carefully?” Starr persists. “That’s what you always do when you want to flirt and impress boys.”

  “I do not.”

  “You do too.” Starr shakes her finger at me. “Don’t try to pretend it’s not true. I’m your sister and I know it’s true.”

  “You’re a real pain, do you know that?” I throw a pillow at her. “It’s not a date, but you can’t tell the difference because you’ve never been on one.”

  She ducks. “You’re so mean. And I do know that it’s true. You know it’s true too. We all do. I once heard Mom tell Dad that you were majoring in boys, and he agreed and said that your minor was being a fluff-brain—that you were really smart but didn’t use it.”

  I debate killing the parents.

  Then I debate killing Starr but decide against it. If I murder, I’ll go to prison, and being in prison on the moon is redundant.

  Ignoring her is the next-best solution.

  “Aurora . . . Aurora.”

  I comb my hair.

  Starr continues. “It’s mean of you to remind me that I’ve never been on a date. I’m only eleven—it’s not as if I’m a total social reject . . . . Am I?”

  I continue to ignore her, so that she feels like a total social reject.

  When she starts to cry, though, I feel guilty and hug her. “Don’t be silly, Starr. Lots of people are late bloomers . . . and you’re too young to even be a late bloomer yet.”

  “Maybe I’ll be a nonbloomer.” She sniffles. “Non-bloomers get a lot of fertilizer put on them but nothing happens.”

  I wipe the tears off her face. “Starr, you’ve got a lot going for you. You’re smart and nice and cute.”

  “I’m so confused. I don’t want Mommy and Daddy to call me a fluffbrain when I decide to like boys, which could happen any minute, and I don’t want to stop using my computer.”

  “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing,” I say. “You can like computers and boys . . . and lots of other things.”

  I think about what I’ve just said and wonder if I’ve ever really liked doing lots of things besides hanging out with the Turnips and having a boyfriend. It’s always been easiest to hang out with kids who just hang out. That way I don’t have to think about the stuff that really bugs me . . . like my parents . . . and my feelings . . . and not being so sure of myself really.

  Starr says, “It’s not fair. Even if I find someone I like, how will I know if he likes me?”

  I turn to her. “You’ve got a crush on someone, don’t you?”

  She blushes.

  “I bet it’s Tucker.”

  Continuing to blush, she says, “Please don’t tell Hal that I like his brother.”

  “I won’t. But you have to stop saying that I’m dating Hal. I’m not.”

  “He’s so nice though.”

  I nod. “He is, but he’s not my type. We’re just friends.”

  I finish getting ready.

  Starr watches. “Aurora, are you really going to leave in a year?”

  I sit back down on the bed. “I think so.”

  She takes my hand. “Even though we fight sometimes, I don’t want you to go.”

  I smile. “It won’t be so bad for you. It’ll be like being an only child and getting all the attention.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s better to get all of the attention than to have a sister to talk to about stuff. Especially up here on the moon.”

  “You know that in a few years I’d be leaving to go away to college—no matter where we lived.”

  “It’s not the same. You know that. Maybe by the time you get ready for college there will be one up here.”

  I pretend to hang myself. “Could you imagine? If there were a lunar college up here, the sweatshirts would all say ‘Moon U’—and that’s what the fraternity guys would probably do.”

  Starr giggles. “Grossiosity.”

  The doorbell rings.

  “It’s Hal,” my mother calls out.

  Patting Starr on the head, I say, “See you at the meeting. And don’t worry. It’ll work out alright
.”

  I can’t believe that statement just came from my lips. I’m the one who thinks that nothing’s going to work out.

  As I leave the room, Starr calls out, “Aurora.”

  I turn around. “Yes?”

  She says softly, “Mom went out with Dad, and she’s not a fluffbrain.”

  I laugh. “Going out with each other—and staying together—maybe that makes both of them fluffbrains.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “Hal’s got a girlfriend. Hal’s got a girlfriend.” His seven-year-old sister Natasha and two of her pals follow behind us, singing.

  Hal pretends to ignore them.

  So do I, even though it’s kind of cute. Because I’ve had lots of boyfriends I don’t embarrass easily . . . even though Hal is really a boy who is a friend, not a boyfriend.

  Hal, however, is embarrased.

  His face gets redder and redder.

  Finally the trio sings:

  “Hal and Aurora in zero gravity,

  K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

  First comes love,

  Then comes marriage

  Then comes Aurora with a baby carriage.”

  “That’s it,” he yells, turning to them. “If you little monsters don’t leave us alone, you’ll be sorry.”

  The girls take a step back.

  He continues. “Now leave us alone.”

  Natasha says, “Can’t you take a joke? You can be so mean.”

  The girls rush off.

  I put my hand on his arm. “Hal. They’re just kids.”

  He looks at me. “Sometimes I get so sick of being the oldest and having the two youngest follow me around all the time and bug me.”

  I can understand that. “Don’t forget I have a younger sister too.”

  I think about what I’ve just said to Hal and realize how that’s changing. With the move, Starr and I are becoming closer. I need friends and she’s becoming one.

  Hal and I walk toward the meeting hall.

  “In a way it was nice to see you not being so calm and in control. You always seem that way at school.”

  He laughs. “Right. That’s me . . . the kid with the right answers all the time . . . the one who helps everyone out.”

  I grin at him. “A knight in shining armor.”

  “A night in shining amore,” he says.

  I’m not great at foreign languages, but I know that amore means love in some language. (I always try to know the important words so that I could get along while traveling. Love and bathroom are the two words that I think are most important to know. I may be a romantic but I’m also practical.)

  I curtsy. “You’re a lunar knight on a lunar night.”

  “At your service.” He bows deeply and kneels on one knee, pretending to take off a hat.

  “Hold that pose. Don’t move for a minute.” I look in my bag and pull out a star sticker, which I put on his forehead. “I dub thee Sir Hal, rescuer and protector of fair maidens, as long as they are not your sister and her friends. Arise.”

  He stands up and looks around.

  People are staring at us and smiling.

  Hal smiles back at everyone. “Haven’t you ever seen a starry knight?” He grabs my hand and says, “Come along, fair damsel. I must rescue you from the dragon.”

  “But Sir Hal . . . how can you rescue me from the dragon when none appears on yon horizon?”

  He continues to hold my hand and rush me along. “I’m rescuing you from draggin’ along and being late for the meeting.”

  “Oh, yeck. That pun is perfectly awful.”

  He stops and stares at me. “Look. I am not perfect. I make bad puns. Sometimes I even yell at my little sister and brother. I get bad grades in chemistry. My locker at school is messy. I repeat, I am not perfect.” He smiles at me. “I am not a knight in shining armor. I am a knight in tarnished armor.”

  “All you need is a little polish,” I inform him. “Stick with me. I can make you shine.”

  He looks at me shyly. “It’s a deal.”

  I look back at him.

  All of a sudden I feel a little shy too.

  I’m not sure why.

  All I do know is that I’m very glad we’re becoming friends.

  CHAPTER 23

  The definition of lunatic is “moon struck.”

  After sitting through the town meeting, I can understand why.

  Hal and I sit at the edge of the crowd.

  I guess that makes us part of the lunatic fringe.

  Emily Doowinkle recites her new poem, “You ’n Verse, As in Universe”:

  “Poem.

  Dome.

  Home.”

  The manager of resources, Marc Boswell, announces that while the generator is being recharged only essential equipment should be used.

  I hope they consider blow-dryers essential.

  I know I do.

  Mr. Conway, the greenhouse tender, is next.

  He’s also the town grouch.

  I think every place must have at least one.

  Mr. Conway stands in front of the council.

  Tall, skinny, and bald, he shakes his fist. “I want the PortaPotties at the edge of town painted fluorescently so that people can find them in the dark and not use my greenhouse instead.”

  It’s the town’s greenhouse, but Mr. Conway never quite accepts that fact.

  I would think that he wouldn’t mind people using the greenhouse instead of the PortaPotty. On earth that stuff is supposed to help things grow.

  “Time’s up,” the mayor yells.

  Hal smiles at me. “Every meeting, Conway makes that proposal and every meeting the mayor calls time. The first suggestion Conway made was to rig the PortaPotty doors so that when you clapped your hands, the doors would open in the dark. He forgot to think about what would happen if someone was already in it.

  I laugh.

  “Aurora Williams. Hal Brenner.” The mayor calls us to the front of the room.

  I take a deep breath to try to stop laughing.

  It’s not easy, because I’m so nervous.

  This is not acting. It’s real life once more.

  Hal goes first.

  He explains that we want to put on this classic play, Our Town, and that Mr. Wilcox has promised to direct, with April assisting. “Tryouts will be held next week if the project is approved.”

  He sounds so good, so sure of himself.

  I’m glad we remembered to take the star sticker off his forehead before he spoke. I’m not so sure he would have been taken as seriously otherwise.

  The town council listens and nods. You can tell they know and like Hal.

  One good thing about the moon is that kids are treated better, with more respect. I think that’s because with a small population everyone is more important, more useful. It’s like Little House on the Prairie, only it’s Little Town Under the Bubble.

  “Aurora. You’re next.”

  I step forward, hoping I won’t get the giggles.

  Mr. Wernik, the mayor, smiles.

  Even though I’m nervous, I speak clearly and directly, explaining what supplies and costumes will be needed. Hal and I have worked out costs and square feet of shuttle space needed. It won’t be much, since we’ve chosen a play with very little scenery.

  While I’m speaking, one of the Eaglettes comes up and attaches herself to my ankle.

  I reach down and pick her up, kiss her on the forehead, and finish the sentence.

  Working with and caring about the Eaglettes at school has come in handy: she looks at Mayor Wernik and says, “Daddy, I love Aurora.”

  Mr. Wernik laughs and says, “My daughter Vanya places an unofficial vote for the play. How about the rest of us?”

  The council votes.

  It’s unanimous.

  As everyone says yes, there’s applause.

  I kiss Vanya on the forehead and hand her back to her mother, who has come up to get her.

  Hal and I give each other victory signs.

  It feel
s great, like we’ve really accomplished something. Now if only the play turns out as well—if only I can give a great performance. I’ve always wanted to play the part of Emily. I’m sure I’ll get it. I don’t think there’s anyone else who cares as much about putting on this play as I do, except maybe Hal, and I don’t think he’s going to try out for the part I want. Partly because I know he doesn’t want to act and partly because he would look lousy in a dress.

  The meeting ends.

  The party begins.

  It’s a tradition to socialize after the meeting. Almost the whole town shows up. It is really like during the earth’s pioneer times.

  Fast music comes over the loudspeakers.

  Salvador Arply and Emily Doowinkle are slow-dancing. I think this has turned into a serious romance. I wonder what will happen if they get married and have kids. Would two creative artists have a kid who wanted to program computers?

  “Want to dance?” Hal asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve got to warn you. I’ve spent the whole week practicing.”

  “With whom?”

  He turns red. “By myself . . . and then my mother walked in, saw me, and helped.”

  We dance.

  He steps on my feet seven and a half times.

  He whispers in my ear and steps on my foot again.

  “This is much more fun than dancing with my mother.”

  I wonder whether she can still walk.

  After the music ends, we walk over to the refreshment table.

  Actually, Hal walks and I limp.

  We try the candied carrots.

  Yeccho.

  Some of the kids from school join us.

  “I’m so excited,” Karlena says. “I’m going to try out for one of the little parts, one of the townspeople.”

  “Me too,” Vern Verne says.

  I hadn’t noticed any parts for barfburgers in the play.

  Julie Verne says, “I’ll work on the makeup committee.”

  I smile. “That’s great.”

  April and I helped her make up during the first week of school and she’s gotten really good at it.

  “Want some ice cream?” Hal asks.

  “We have ice cream? I can’t believe it.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s freeze-dried.” Hal hands me a bar of it.