What Came From the Stars (2 page)

It took some time before Tommy noticed.

It was Tommy Pepper’s twelfth birthday, and for it he had unwrapped the dumbest birthday present in the history of the entire universe: an Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box. On the top, Ace Robotroid was flying with the Robotroid Cosmic Flag in his hand. It billowed out over his cape, and an
R
for “Robotroid” glittered and shimmered depending on which way you held the lunch box. Inside, stamped on the cover, was a close-up of Ace Robotroid, who reminded him that “Even Though Robotroids Can’t Drink Milk, Kids
Can
and
Should!”
Ace Robotroid held up one finger and smiled to help make the point.

The dumbest birthday present in the history of the entire universe.

Tommy Pepper hadn’t watched
The Robotroids
since he was nine. Well, twice when he was ten. Maybe three times. But no more than three times that entire year. He looked around the cafeteria. If there was anyone else who had an Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box like his, he was hiding it—the way Tommy was trying to hide his.

Or maybe, if someone else had one, he was accidentally losing it, which had been Tommy’s plan as soon as he laid eyes on the thing, until his father—who had probably figured out Tommy’s plan as soon as he laid eyes on the thing too—said, “Your grandmother always gives thoughtful presents. She probably waited in a very long line to get one of these.”

Tommy had nodded.

“And you know, it’s not easy for her to wait in a line anymore. She’s getting older.”

Tommy nodded again.

“And she sent it all the way from San Francisco.”

“I know,” said Tommy.

“And it was expensive.”

Tommy sighed. If she had asked, he would have saved his grandmother the expense. A football. An authentic Tom Brady-signed football. That would have been worth waiting in line for.

“And it’s not like she can afford to throw away...”

“All right,” said Tommy. “I love it. I’m going to show it to every one of my friends and they’ll wish they had one too. Pretty soon there’s going to be all these grandmothers lined up to buy Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch boxes. They’ll be beating each other with canes to get the last one. Blood will be spilled! Lives will be imperiled! Here!” He held it out. “You better put this someplace safe!”

His father made Tommy take the dumb lunch box to school that morning. He packed in it a hard-boiled egg wrapped in a napkin, a plastic bag of celery and carrot sticks, a chicken salad sandwich on wheat with only a little mayonnaise, two raisin cookies, and—because not everything has to be as healthy as all get-out—a small carton of chocolate milk. He packed the same lunch for Patty, except she got strawberry milk. She liked the color.

When his father was done, Tommy put on his winter coat even though it was only September and still so warm that the trees hadn’t even begun to blush.

“Are you cold?” said his father.

“I think there might be snow in the air,” said Tommy.

His father handed them the lunch boxes.

As soon as they got out the door, Tommy hid the lunch box beneath his coat. (“Never mind,” he said to his sister.) He hid it there all the way to school, and when he got to the sixth grade hall outside Mr. Burroughs’s classroom, he took off his coat, wrapped it around the Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box, and stuffed both of them into his locker.

Alice Winslow saw him doing this. “Why are you wearing a coat that’s made for fall in Alaska?” she said.

“I’m not wearing a coat that’s made for fall in Alaska,” Tommy said.

“Do you think it’s going to snow?”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Tommy Pepper. He wiped the sweat from his face. “Cold fronts come in all the time. It starts to snow and people who only wore jackets because they thought it was still fall get caught in a blizzard and they die and then they’re found in some snowbank, all blue and stiff. You never know. You should be prepared.”

He closed his locker and twirled the combination lock.

“I really hope you’re getting the help you need,” said Alice Winslow.

Tommy Pepper ignored her.

But he worried about the Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box all through the morning. Maybe he could dump his lunch out by his locker and carry the chocolate milk and the chicken salad sandwich to the cafeteria. Or, if anyone was too close, he could just take out the chocolate milk.

But that kind of plan never works. When the lunch bell rang, Tommy Pepper went to his locker and held the door mostly closed while he reached through his winter coat, found the Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box, started to open it—and suddenly there was Mr. Burroughs, as if he had appeared out of subspace. “You’ve only got twenty minutes, Tommy,” he said. “No time to pick and choose. Take the whole lunch box and let’s go.” He stood, waiting.

What could he do? Tommy took the Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box and carried it to the cafeteria. He sat down close to the window and set it open on the gray plastic bench between himself and the wall. He breathed heavily. He thought he would give just about anything if only he could get the lunch box back into the locker without anyone seeing it. If he didn’t—if anyone saw it—he was doomed.

When Patrick Belknap came and sat next to him, Tommy Pepper pushed the Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box a little farther under the table while Patrick took out his own lunch. It was in a brown paper bag, which is what all lunches for sixth-graders should be in. How come only Tommy Pepper’s father didn’t get this?

When James Sullivan came and sat next to Patrick Belknap, Tommy Pepper pushed the Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box to the very edge of the bench, as far under the table as it could get without some sort of antigravity device. James Sullivan laid his football—his authentic Tom Brady-signed football—on the table, and he put his lunch next to it. His lunch that was in a brown paper bag. Of course.

When Alice Winslow came and sat across from him and asked, “Were you wearing that coat because you were trying to hide something?” Tommy Pepper pushed the Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box a little farther under the table again.

“No,” he said.

“Hey, Pepper,” said James Sullivan, “Mr. Burroughs said it was your birthday today. Is it your birthday?”

Tommy Pepper nodded. The Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box teetered.

“So we get ice cream cake when we get back,” said James Sullivan.

“And I get to play my...”

“Accordion,” they all said.

“Accordion,” said Patrick Belknap.

“We can hardly wait,” said James Sullivan. “What did you get, Pepper?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Are you sure you weren’t hiding something?” said Alice Winslow.

At the very end of the bench, Jeremy Hereford sat down. He was the smallest kid in the sixth grade. He weighed about what a cantaloupe weighs. Maybe it was the vibration of Jeremy’s butt hitting the seat. Or maybe it had something to do with the quick flash of light Tommy saw at the window. But whatever it was, the Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box tipped enough, just enough, so that it fell down, down, and clattered its tinny clatter on the wood floor.

“What was that?” said Alice Winslow.

Tommy Pepper closed his eyes.

“What kind of ice cream do you think it will be this time?” said Patrick Belknap.

“Did something fall?” said Alice Winslow.

“Butter pecan,” said James Sullivan.

“What fell?” said Alice Winslow.

“Probably his birthday present,” said Patrick Belknap.

This is what happens when you are doomed, Tommy thought. It’s all been decided. Nothing can stop it. Even your friends become part of the Universe’s Plan of Doom and Destruction.

Tommy Pepper looked down beneath the cafeteria table at his fallen Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box, and there among the spilled carrot and celery sticks, something ... well, something glowed. Tommy blinked. Whatever it was, it really was glowing a little bit. He reached down and picked it up.

A chain. Green and silver. Heavy.

“Is that your present?” said Patrick Belknap.

Tommy nodded. He held the chain in the light.

“What a dumb present,” said James Sullivan.

If you only knew, thought Tommy Pepper.

The chain wasn’t glowing now. Maybe it only glowed in the dark. But even without the glowing, Tommy had never seen anything like it before. It seemed like there were four, or five, or six metal strands that wove around themselves, and sometimes a whole strand looked green, and sometimes a whole strand looked silver, and sometimes it all seemed to be changing from green to silver and back to green again.

“It’s not dumb,” said Alice Winslow. “It’s beautiful.”

“He got a beautiful chain for his birthday and you don’t think that’s dumb?”

“I got an accordion for my birthday,” said Patrick Belknap.

“Don’t need to say anything else, do I?” said James Sullivan. He leaned back and looked under the table. “Is that a new lunch box?” he said.

“No,” said Tommy Pepper. He dropped the chain over his head and tucked it beneath his shirt. It felt warm. It felt like it had been made for him.

“Is that an Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box?” said James Sullivan—and he wasn’t saying it because he wanted to know.

Patrick Belknap leaned back too. “It sure looks like one,” he said.

Tommy Pepper closed his eyes again. Doomed.

He reached down and felt for the lunch box. The chain slid warmly across his chest. If only he could be somewhere else—like a galaxy or two away. Or at least someplace where grandmothers didn’t give their twelve-year-old grandsons Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch boxes. He ran his hand over the front of the lunch box and felt the cheap metal buckle under his fingers. His grandmother had waited in line and paid a lot of money for something that buckled the first time you touched it?

An authentic Tom Brady-signed football did not buckle the first time you touched it.

“So that’s what you were hiding,” said Alice Winslow.

James Sullivan was snorting chocolate milk out of his nose. “I’d hide it”—
snort
—“too,” he said.
Snort.
“Let’s see.”

Tommy grabbed the lunch box. He felt his doom weigh heavily upon him. But what else could he do? He pulled the lunch box out from underneath the table and laid it in front of them. “My grandmother...” he began—then stopped.

It wasn’t an Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box.

The whole thing had flexed and bent. It was shaped sort of like an egg, but balanced perfectly so that it didn’t roll at all as it rested on the table. Where the red cape of Ace Robotroid had been there was now a swath of bright sunset—actually, sunsets, because there were two suns going down over a strange sea. And where Ace Robotroid had been holding his flag, a startling blue moon was rising, and it looked like it was spinning quickly. Really. Spinning. And in the last light of the two suns, and the first light of the blue moon, streams of silky fog hovered a foot or two above the surface of the water.

“What is it?” said Alice Winslow.

Tommy Pepper reached out and slowly put his fingers on one of the suns. Hnaef, he knew. How did he know? But he knew. Hnaef, First Sun. Hengest, Second Sun.

“Does it open?”

“Of course it opens,” said Tommy Pepper, and he pressed on the two suns. The thing split open on invisible hinges and inside was his hard-boiled egg, still wrapped in a napkin. “My lunch box,” said Tommy.

He reached in, took out the egg, unwrapped it, and slowly ate it.

Alice Winslow, Patrick Belknap, and James Sullivan stared at the setting suns.

After lunch, Tommy’s class went back to Mr. Burroughs’s room. Usually they went right outside for recess, but Mr. Burroughs always had ice cream cake when it was someone’s birthday—and he gave out the Dumb Birthday Present. Not as dumb as an Ace Robotroid Adventure lunch box, but almost as dumb. Tommy walked back, holding the lunch box in front of him with both hands. It seemed that Hnaef and Hengest were getting lower on the horizon, and the blue moon—Hreth! The moon was called Hreth!—was rising brighter and higher. The fog had disappeared and the water was pulling out with the changing tide and the whole thing felt—he couldn’t quite believe this—wet. It felt wet, as if his hands were on the water. Or in the water. He kept looking to see if it was dripping, but it wasn’t.

He put the lunch box in his locker—Hnaef really was touching the horizon now—and he went into Mr. Burroughs’s classroom to cut his cake. It was already melting a little around the edges and dripping on Mr. Burroughs’s desk, but Mr. Burroughs still made everyone sing “Happy Birthday to You”—Patrick Belknap played his accordion—and everyone clapped and then Mr. Burroughs handed Tommy the cake knife. It was, as usual, a beautiful ice cream cake, mostly because Mr. Burroughs made it himself, and baking, he said, was the highest of all arts, because it was the only one that you could enjoy with the eye and with the stomach.

Every sixth-grader who had eaten one of Mr. Burroughs’s cakes agreed.

It was all white frosting and yellow cake and ice cream sheets, and on top were bright balloons of every color with strings made of icing that led to pictures—also made of icing—of every single person in the class. There was Patrick Belknap trying to hold his accordion up and play it at the same time. James Sullivan spinning his authentic Tom Brady-signed football. Alice Winslow holding a bridle for her horse—the horse wasn’t on the cake. Jeremy Hereford eating a peanut butter sandwich to put on weight.

“Go ahead and cut it,” said James Sullivan, and Tommy Pepper lowered the cake knife.

A few of them started to laugh when Tommy began cutting. Then the laughs stopped. Things got really quiet when Tommy held up Alice Winslow’s piece.

“Oh my goodness,” she said.

“Are you all right?” said Tommy.

“How did you do that?” said Mr. Burroughs.

“Do what?”

“That,” said James Sullivan, pointing at the piece of cake.

Tommy put the piece of cake on a paper plate. He looked at it.