This Place Has No Atmosphere (10 page)

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 what’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.”

“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.”

S
tarr 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.”

“H
al’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:

“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.