This Place Has No Atmosphere (12 page)

Once you get out of the center of town, there are the industrial sections. There’s no reason to go there unless you’re industrial (not necessarily industrious), and even if you do go there’s not much to do unless you are a worker.

It’s not fair. I know that this place was designed to be a way station to Mars, which is being designed to be a beautiful place to go in the future. But they could have done something to spruce up the moon. I don’t think it’s fair not to just because it will cost
a little bit more of the taxpayer’s money and will use some of the energy for “nonessentials.” What else are they going to spend the money on? A little more color and style shouldn’t cost that much. One nuclear bomb would be much more expensive, and they’re always buying a new one of those on earth.

I wish they’d think about those of us who have to live here and aren’t industrial. We should have rights too.

It’s a good thing we’re doing the play up here. That’ll lighten things up. It’ll definitely turn Bored Way into Broadway.

Starr tugs on my tunic. “Are you nervous?”

“About what?”

“About Mr. Wilcox announcing who has what part.”

I think about how he had me read for several parts and how he said “Aurora Williams, I am very impressed.”

I smile at Starr. “No. I’m just really excited to be able to be in the play. And I can’t wait to be Emily—to play her from teenage to grown-up. It’ll be great.”

“I hope I’m one of the townspeople who have nothing to say.” Starr crosses her fingers.

“You’ll do fine.” I feel more excited than I have since we got here.

As we walk into the classroom, there’s a crowd of people around the bulletin board.

“Congratulations on getting a major role,” one of the kids says to me.

I grab Starr’s hand and rush up to the bulletin board to check out the results.

Barfburger’s standing in front of the board.

“Excuse me.” I tap him on the shoulder.

He smiles at me and moves away.

I look at the cast list.

Karlena’s Emily.

I’m Mrs. Gibbs.

Barfburger is Dr. Gibbs.

I wish I were dead.

Life just isn’t fair.

I
will not let anyone see me cry.

I will not let my tears go any further than the corners of my eyes.

“Oh, no,” Starr says. “I have a real part. I’m Rebecca Gibbs.”

Great. My little sister will be playing my daughter. Mr. Wilcox must have decided that it was all relative who got which parts.

Mr. Wilcox must have lost his sanity.

Karlena doesn’t even want to be an actress. When she graduates, she just wants to get married to her boyfriend, Kael, and live happily ever after.

I don’t understand Mr. Wilcox.

Where’s Hal when I need him? He’s being interviewed and tested by the space psychologists.

“Excuse me,” I say. “See you all in class. I’ve got to go somewhere.”

I turn and start walking away.

“Where are you going?” Starr asks. I just walk away.

Mr. Wilcox arrives and announces that school is about to begin.

I continue to walk to the door.

“Aurora,” Mr. Wilcox calls out, “I’d like to speak to you.”

“Later,” I say as I walk out. “I forgot something at home.”

There’s no way that I’m going to stop until I get out of this building.

“Ten minutes, Aurora,” Mr. Wilcox yells. “Be back by then.”

I look at my watch, even though I don’t plan to be back in ten minutes—or ten hours—or ten days—or ten months—or ten years.

Who does he think he is? He can’t boss me around. I won’t even be in his stupid play.

Why did he say he was so impressed with my acting ability and then not give me the lead?

I slam the door as I leave the building.

As soon as I walk out the door, I stop.

There’s no place to go.

I can’t go home.

I want to go shopping—to buy myself something nice to make up for what I’m feeling. Grandma Jennifer would say that’s not the right way to handle my problems, but who cares? Anyway, once more, it makes no difference what I want. There’s nothing to buy anyway, and if I go to the general store, they’ll ask why I’m not in school.

On the moon it’s like everyone is a truant officer.

This is a small town and everyone knows everyone else’s business. There’s not even another town where I can go to escape.

To leave the bubble, I’d have to get a space suit. I can just see me walking up to the Bureau of Space Suits or whatever it’s called and saying “Hi. I’m in a really lousy mood. How about letting me suit up and go for a little walk in the dust?”

Maybe I should just try to sneak out of the bubble without a suit and fry or freeze to death.

I should just quit the stupid play and forget about it.

I did promise to see this through. But that promise was made when I thought that I was going to play Emily.

Aaarg. I just don’t understand how Mr. Wilcox could do this to me.

I wish I could go over to my grandparents’ house and talk to them while Grandma Jennifer makes brownies.

There is no place to go.

No place but back to school.

I’m just going to have to deal with this myself.

Mr. Wilcox, watch out! Here I come!

M
r. Wilcox, watch out! Here I come!

I keep saying that to myself as I stand outside the door, but it’s going to be very hard to walk into the classroom.

Everyone’s going to be staring at me.

I don’t even know if I can talk to Mr. Wilcox without crying.

It’s not just that my feelings are hurt. It’s also that I’m angry, and when I’m angry I cry.

I was really counting on the play to help me feel
better about having to be on the moon, and now it’s just another thing that makes me feel terrible.

I open the door a little.

The older kids are working at their computer terminals and Starr is reading to the little kids.

She’s doing my job. It’s my turn to work with the Eaglettes today. I was so upset that I forgot, and being with the kids is something that I’m really beginning to like doing.

Back on earth it would have been so “toady” to be with little kids. Up here it’s not. I’m glad, because I really like working with the Eaglettes. At this moment I’m glad there’s something that I still like.

I’m not sure how to handle this—whether to march up to Mr. Wilcox immediately, or do my job and talk to him later.

In some ways I’d love to get all this over with, to let Mr. Wilcox know how I feel, but it’s not fair to Starr to let her do my job. It’s not easy making the right decision. I’m not even sure there is one right or one wrong decision in all this.

Mr. Wilcox is at his desk holding an individualized writing conference with Vern—barfburger and my play husband.

I refuse to embarrass myself and make a scene.

I’ll do my job and speak to Mr. Wilcox when he’s alone.

It’s so hard to be grown up when all I really want to do is stamp my feet, scream, and throw a temper tantrum.

Walking into the classroom, I concentrate on looking straight ahead at the corner where Starr and the Eaglettes are sitting.

Once I get there I sit down on the floor as Starr continues to read the story. She takes a second to look up, smile, and wink at me.

One of the kids, Dani, kisses me on the knee and then puts her head down on my leg.

Another, Marilla, climbs onto my lap and hugs me.

Putting my arms around her, I kiss her on the forehead.

Starr continues to read, and Marilla sucks her thumb and pats my cheek.

I feel a weird combination of calm and crazed.

Starr finishes the story and I sneak a peek over at Mr. Wilcox’s desk. He’s meeting with another student.

The Eaglettes, Starr, and I start to build a robot out of Legos and Silly Putty.

I’ve finally started to relax when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

It’s Mr. Wilcox.

It’s time to deal with everything.

Watch out, I think.
Watch out!

I’m not sure whether the warning is for him or for me.

“O
kay, kids. I’ll be standing outside the door. No funny business,” Mr. Wilcox calls out. “I don’t want anyone to feed a peanut butter sandwich to the computer disk drive . . . or to put a carrot stick into the pencil sharpener to make cole slaw . . . or to tap-dance on each others’ heads.”

Everyone laughs. Everyone except me.

I hate it when teachers act funny and nice when I’m angry at them. It’s always better when everyone hates the teacher. Then I don’t feel so alone if I do.

Even Starr laughed.

I almost smiled but then remembered what he’d done to me.

Let Karlena laugh at his jokes.

“Okay, Aurora. Let’s go outside.” Mr. Wilcox looks down at me.

We stand in the hallway outside the classroom.

I have my arms folded in front of me.

He leans against the wall. “So, Aurora. Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

I take a deep breath and nod.

Mr. Wilcox says, “Don’t worry. We’ll work this out.”

I glare. “Don’t worry! How are we going to work this out? What you did was so unfair.”

“Aurora, tell me exactly what’s bothering you.”

This is so frustrating. He knows what’s bothering me.

Mr. Wilcox waits.

I try to organize my thoughts and then begin. “You know I want to be Emily, and I think I should be. I’m the one who suggested doing the play, and Hal and I went to the council and got permission and support to do it. Also, you said I read really well for the part and you know that I want to be an actress and I have more acting experience than anyone else
on the moon. I don’t see how you can be so mean and so unfair to give the starring female role to Karlena.” I stare up at him.

He returns my stare. “Aurora. You went to the council to get permission to put on the best play possible. You weren’t given that go-ahead just so that you could have what you think of as the starring role. And Emily isn’t the only major part. There are several, and Mrs. Gibbs is one of them. Karlena, without acting experience, is a lot like Emily. She’s grown up here in a small town and she wants a lot of the same things. In that way, the part is easier for her. When Emily dies ten years later, Karlena can handle that scene too . . . with some coaching from you.”

Coaching from me! How unfair can he get? Who does he think I am, St. Aurora?

He continues. “The part of Mrs. Gibbs was given to you because it’s very important to the play and it will be a ‘stretch’ for you. It will help you grow and try out new things.”

“But I know that I can be great as Emily.”

He smiles at me. “You can also be great as Mrs. Gibbs. You’ll just have to work harder.”

“Why do I have to try out another new thing? Isn’t it enough that I’ve had to move, to leave everyone and everything I cared about?” I start to cry. “Life isn’t fair.”

He waits for me to stop crying.

I keep crying because I feel like it and because I figure that maybe he’ll change his mind and give me the part of Emily if I keep crying.

No such luck.

Finally I get my crying down to a sniffle.

“Trust me,” he says. “By the end of the play you’ll see that the right decision was made.”

I give him my wide-eyed look. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Aurora. People used to think that the earth was the center of everything and the sun revolved around it.”

Why am I getting a science lesson right now?

Mr. Wilcox continues. “Eventually people discovered that earth wasn’t the center . . . just as we as people have to learn that we’re not always the center, that we’re a part of the universe.”

“You’re telling me that you’re not going to let me be Emily.”

He nods. “Yes. I’m also telling you something that
took me a long time to deal with—that takes most of us a long time to learn.”

I sigh. “And Barfburger—I mean Vern—is going to be my husband?”

He nods.

“You sure don’t make anything easy, do you?”

“Aurora.” He looks at me. “You made a commitment. Now how are you going to handle it?”

I think.

I think about how I promised to work on the play. I think about how hard it’s going to be to do the role of Mrs. Gibbs and to be married to Vern, El Barfo. I think about how boring and awful it would be to not be in the play. I think about how I wish the sun did revolve around the earth, to prove Mr. Wilcox wrong. I think about the chance to act again.

“Just call me Mrs. Gibbs.”

“D
id you hear?” Karlena flops down on the couch. “There’s a rumor that Rita Retrograde may bring her tour up here.”

Rita Retrograde up here—that would truly be lunar rock.

Wait till Juna hears. She’s going to be so crazed—this is one concert that not even her parents will lay out the bucks for her to attend. It would be so great if Juna could come up here for the concert and a
visit, but that’s impossible. Too expensive, everyone will say . . . and a waste of valuable shuttle space.

How can it be a waste to let someone see a best friend, someone like me who can be sitting some-place and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, starts thinking about earth and wonder what’s happening there . . . someone like me who sometimes, late at night, kisses her pillow and pretends that it’s Matthew even though we haven’t been in touch for awhile . . . . Someone like me, who once in a while thinks that she hears her grandmother calling “Aurora”? Seeing my best friend would definitely not be a waste, not to me.

I look at the group of moon kids. They really are nice. In fact, sometimes they’re so nice it’s almost boring. Cosmosa would never do well up here. The moon therapists would definitely have their work cut out for them if they had to deal with her. Anyway, she’s certainly not someone that I miss, but I do miss Juna. Even though I am really beginning to like some of the kids up here, none of them is a best friend the way that she was—is. Juna’s the only person who knows my deepest darkest secrets . . . . And I know hers.

Once, for example, when we were about eight
years old, we looked at all the people who collected stickers, stamps, and stuff, and decided to have the most unusual secret collections in the world. For two years Juna collected her belly button lint and I collected my earwax. It was so gross, with dust collecting on the earwax ball. At least with Juna’s collection, you couldn’t tell dust from lint. Finally, Asimov, her dog, ate both of our collections. Only best friends could know about things like that and still be best friends.