This Place Has No Atmosphere (7 page)

Buzz explains. “That would just be until the backup force is generated. Then the crew, who are issued special suits and have special training, will assist you in getting off the wall.”

Off the wall—that’s exactly what this whole experience is. I wonder what’s happening at the Monolith Mall.

My father nods and then puts his arm around my mother’s shoulder.

She puts her arms around his waist.

They’ve stick-a-bobbed themselves together.

I can’t believe it.

As they try to pull apart, you can hear the sound.

Buzz shakes his head. “We’d better rethink these new life suits.”

Starr laughs and hugs them both, stick-a-bobbing herself to them.

They’re laughing hysterically.

So is April, who joins their group.

Soon everyone else is laughing and joining in,
including the Mendez quads, who jump on people’s backs.

I watch for a while, not sure of whether I want to be part of it.

If only the Turnips were here.

They’re not.

Matthew’s not.

I am.

I decide to join the group, careful not to end up sticking to any barfburgers.

Moving is going to take some real getting used to.

“T
his is it.” My father places the carry-on luggage in the overhead racks.

All around us, people are getting settled into their seats.

Out of the group of one hundred, ten are no longer going.

One woman had claustrophobia and got hysterical when the trainers closed the space shuttle simulator door. The decision was made by all concerned
that she would probably have a rough flight and most likely would not do well living in the space shield bubble.

The Smith-Joneses left when they realized that they couldn’t convince the officials to break the rules and allow their dog, Puppy-Guppy, to go to the moon because “he’s so cute.”

Another couple decided to go to London instead, and a third couple decided to divorce.

Three people didn’t get past the psychological counselors.

Everyone in my family did.

Amazing.

A voice comes over the p.a. system. “Good morning. This is your captain speaking, Lance Letterman. The crew and I welcome you aboard Orion Flight 114. A nonstop trip, the shuttle will orbit for a day and then we’ll take another two to get to our destination.”

Three days in space in a closed ship. It’s kind of scary to think about. Maybe I’ll just pretend that I’m at the Monolith Mall—that’s enclosed too. Of course, there, when you step out of the door, there’s a sidewalk. And there are a lot of shops to keep you busy. So it’s
not the same thing. Here there is only one boring “essentials” store. And no sidewalk.

Captain Letterman continues. “Make sure that all of your carry-on is safely stowed and that your seat harnesses are securely fastened.”

We all do as he says.

The flight attendants move through the cabin, checking on each of us.

The captain’s voice comes over the loudspeaker again. “We have a special announcement. Emily Doowinkle will now recite her poem to commemorate the start of the flight.”

There’s a cough and then Emily recites.

Then there’s silence.

We hear Captain Letterman say, “That’s it?”

“Sure.” Her voice is very breathy. “Less is more.”

What a flake she is. It’s funny to think about a bad poet introduced by some guy named Letterman.

Looking around, I see everyone buckling into the
chairs, which look like space eggs. The seats are round and white and padded with Polystyrofoam.

“Push the button marked Close.”

I do.

A clear plastic shield closes off the rest of the seat. Now the chair’s really shaped like an egg.

I’m in the middle, feeling like I’m the yolk.

“Now,” the captain says, “push the button marked Incline.”

I do. The space egg and I tip back. It’s almost as if I’m in a bed—or a frying pan.

We’ve rehearsed this procedure a million times, but this one’s for real.

The captain’s voice booms out. “Flight attendants take your seats.”

This is it. There’s no backing out now.

“T minus twenty-eight.” The captain’s voice is now coming through the space egg set.

I think of all I am leaving behind and wonder what I’m heading for.

“T minus fifteen.”

I feel so many emotions that I can’t sort them out. I can only hold onto my seat and try to stay calm.

Captain Letterman says, “Blast off.”

The shuttle does.

Over the sound system, music is playing: oldies like “Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder,” the sound track from
2001
, “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds,” “Fly Me to the Moon,” and then new music—Rita Retrograde’s first megahit, “Cosmic Cruising,” and the Scarabs’ latest, “Space Monster Hop.”

Space.

It takes only about eighty miles to leave the earth’s atmosphere and enter space.

I can’t believe it.

From earth to orbit—eight minutes, fifty seconds.

We’re going to stay in orbit for one day to see the earth from space, to do some medical experiments, and to launch another communication satellite. Then it’s on to the moon.

I really do have trouble believing that this is happening. What’s going to happen next?

W
e orbit the earth. There will be twenty-four hours with sixteen sunrises and sixteen sunsets. One sunrise or sunset every forty-five minutes. If I were at Alan Shepard High School right now, that would be the amount of time it takes to sit through a class. It’s truly incredible.

Looking out, we see the earth—the land, the seas, the sailing clouds. It’s so quiet: no sound of wind or anything.

“Are we there yet?” Starr sits next to me on a couch in the observation room.

I pretend that I don’t know her.

She repeats herself. “Are we there yet?”

She thinks she’s so cute.

“Go play in traffic,” I tell her.

“You want me to go outside and get hit by an asteroid?” She acts hurt.

I nod.

“Play with me, Aurora.” She squirms on the sofa. “It’s getting boring watching the sun all the time. Can you imagine what it’s going to be like on the moon with daytime and nighttime each lasting thirteen and a half days?”

“You’re kidding.”

She shakes her head. “Didn’t you realize that’s what happens? Because it takes the moon twenty-seven days to turn once.”

“No. I want to be an actress, not a scientist. Why should I know stuff like that?” All of a sudden, it dawns on me. “How do they work it out on the moon? Do we have to go to sleep with the light on for half a month?”

“You always do like to sleep with a night-light, so what’s the diff?” Starr grins at me.

“Shh.” I punch her lightly on the arm. “Don’t say that out loud. What if someone should hear you?”

She just keeps smiling. “That’ll teach you to tell me to go play in traffic. If you hadn’t daydreamed in class, you would have heard Buzz explain that solar energy is used to power the environmental bubble. Lights can be turned off and on.”

“But how can that work during the weeks when it’s totally light outside?”

“They use antilights to dim and darken.”

“This is too much for me.” I shake my head. “Leave me alone with all this scientific stuff. I’m trying to figure out where the Monolith Mall is. That’s about as much as I can handle.”

She points. “I think it’ll be easier to find the Pacific Ocean. Take a look.”

All that water. Maybe someone will invent a giant straw that will bring water from the earth to the moon.

Straws. I think of Juna and wonder who she’s blowing wrappers at this week . . . how many days of detention she’s gotten since I left. She’ll probably have so many that by the time she graduates she’ll have to go back to after-school detention even though she’s
in college . . . . I wonder whether Randy’s gone out with her yet . . . if she’s wearing an article of my clothing to school every day.

The observation room gets boring after a while.

“Exercise time.” I get up.

Starr stands up too.

As I walk to the exercise room, Starr follows.

Having a younger sister is like having a shadow.

I wonder if Starr will cast a shadow on the moon.

We pass people who are just hanging out.

Julie Verne is playing old maid with her brother.

April is learning reflexology points from Ellie Malden, a chiropractor.

Emily Doowinkle is agonizing over a poem, trying to find a rhyme for
exhilarating
.

Robert Orsini and Art White, two construction workers, are arm wrestling. Orsini is winning.

The Mendez kids run up to us. Henny grabs one of Starr’s legs and Penny grabs the other. Lenny and Kenny grab my legs.

They seem to think we’re wishbones.

“Please, please, play Pacfamily with us,” they plead.

Starr looks at me. “Want to?”

I think about it. Back on earth, I never would have hung out with little kids. Some of the Turnips used to call them “droolers.” Up here it seems like something to do.

I say, “Sure.”

We go off to play this biofeedback video game where all the moves are controlled by wiring the person to the machine and having that person use his or her brain waves.

I’m not very good at the game, but neither are the quadruplets, so I don’t feel so bad that Starr is terrific at it.

The kids are really fun to be with and they’re cute, even if they do wear a person out.

Finally their mother comes by and says, “Nap time.”

I think that after being with them I need a nap more than they do but decide instead to go on to the exercise room, where lots of people are working out.

The treadmills are the big excitement. Use it for fifteen minutes at the right time and you get a T-shirt that says, “I jogged America.” Use it for ninety minutes and you get one that says, “I ran the world.”

I use the treadmill and get my first T-shirt.

Julie and Vern come over as I fall into a chair to relax.

It looks like they took fashion lessons from my parents.

Julie says, “Want to play a game?”

I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m really terrible at games.”

Vern sniffles. “They’re showing
Rocky 415
in the screening area. Want to see it with us?”

“I’ve seen it already.”

Julie pulls at her limp mousy brown hair.

I wonder if she knows that makeup’s been invented. Someone should tell her.

I don’t want to hurt their feelings, but they’re really not the kind of kids I normally know. They’re “Turndowns” instead of “Turnips.”

“I have to look for my parents,” I tell them.

Starr comes over. “They’ve reserved one of the private recreation suites for the next couple of hours.”

She blushes.

The special recreation suite is the one where people can sign up to go for privacy.

The parents are apparently doing more than medical research.

I wonder if when our parents leave the rooms, they get a T-shirt that says, “I did IT in space.”

“So you do have time to spend with us.” Julie bites her fingernail. “If you want to.”

I don’t want to be mean and I don’t want to hurt their feelings. I’ve also run out of excuses. I’ll spend time with them, but I hope no one thinks we’re friends.

With any luck there’ll be some kids on the moon that I can relate to.

With any luck.

G
ray.

Everything’s so gray.

Maybe it’s just because we landed during the night.

Maybe it’s because everything is really just so gray on the moon.

Last night was weird.

The shuttle slowed down and we all got strapped into our space eggs.

Then we landed.

Everything was quiet.

Someone started to sing, “We’re here because we’re here because we’re here.”

Then Captain Letterman got on the loudspeaker and thanked us for flying Orion, said that he hoped we all had a pleasant trip, and told us that Emily Doowinkle had a poem to recite, “Ode to Arrival.”

I giggle.

Someone said that Emily’s uncle is a member of the congressional subcommittee that gives money to the space program.

That explains it.

While we collected our overhead luggage, people in fluorescent space suits helped connect the shuttle door to this large buslike vehicle. It was on stilts with wheels.

When the space shuttle door opened, we all walked through it, right into the bus.

Another vehicle, lower down, was used to pick up and transport all the luggage and equipment.

With everyone on board, the bus slowly moved us toward the city under the bubble—the only one on the whole moon, although there are some shelters built throughout the moon in case the people working in space suits outside of the bubble run into trouble.

Once the bus got there, a tube reached out and connected with it, and we walked through the tube into Luna City. Then we had our new addresses added to the information on our shoulder identidisk.

Luna City . . . my new home.

Starr whispered to me, “I wish I could still goof and say ‘Are we there yet?’ instead of being here.”

I took her hand.

After we got through the passageway, we were immediately taken to the only hotel in town, the Luna Wilshire.

Sleep . . . .

And now it’s our first breakfast on the moon, and Lenny Mendez has just hit his sister Henny on the head with a biscuit.

My father looks up from his freeze-dried eggs. “People who live in glass bubbles shouldn’t throw scones.”

The grown-ups groan.

I’m sitting at the corner of the table with Julie and April.

April is trying to avoid Salvador Arply, who has developed a tremendous crush on her.

He’s sitting with Barfburger but staring at our table.

Julie drops some dehydrated egg on her lap.

I ignore it.

She looks at me. “Isn’t it scary that we’re going to be meeting everyone soon?”