We Dream of Space: List 1

“Henry Nelson Thomas, my favorite patron! What brings you to the front office?”

Vern was so obsessed with Star Wars that Fitch had developed unfounded resentment toward Luke, Han Solo, and the whole lot of them.

Vern was so obsessed with Star Wars that Fitch had developed unfounded resentment toward Luke, Han Solo, and the whole lot of them.

The smell of Magic Marker wafted in the air as he taped it across Bright Star One.

But twelve-year-old Bernadette—“Bird,” as she was called—was not one to follow instruction manuals. She threw it away instead, assembled the desk perfectly, then created a manual of her own. Her stack of schematics was growing, and thanks to the new desk, she now had a safe place for them.

She navigated around the hallway clutter—laundry baskets stuffed with clothes, short stacks of books and magazines, a box of old toys (including a Barbie that Bird had never played with, and her brothers’ plastic toolbox, which she had)—and listened as she sidestepped the seemingly endless array of sneakers that littered the house like land mines.

Bird detoured into the adjoining kitchen.

No, those belonged to Fitch, and he could really pitch a fit—hence his nickname—when someone messed with his things.

“Good morning!” Bird said, lifting her voice with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Bird had yet to disassemble a VCR. Now that would be a great undertaking to kick off the new year.

The words came out casually but firmly, as they always did, and he swallowed a thick seed of embarrassment.

You’d get obliterated in the blink of an eye.

Everyone was exhausted by the time they got home—everyone but Bird. Partly because she’d slept into the afternoon and partly because the X-ray machine that scanned Cash’s wrist had enchanted and mystified her.

When they got home, everyone siphoned off to their respective rooms, including Bird, who spent who-knows-how-long drawing and redrawing the innards of an X-ray machine (or what she thought it looked like, at least).

When they got home, everyone siphoned off to their respective rooms, including Bird, who spent who-knows-how-long drawing and redrawing the innards of an X-ray machine (or what she thought it looked like, at least).

Halfway through the second season, Coach Farnsworth finally articulated what everyone had been thinking.

Their father threw his head back in mock exasperation.

Bird forged ahead: “In health class we learned that girls develop at all different rates....”

The gears quieted.
Malfunction averted.

He dropped it on his desk and roiled with conflicting emotions.

Embarrassment, dread, mortification, and yes, guilt.

That didn’t dampen Ms. Salonga’s enthusiasm for space travel one bit.

When with her best friend, which was virtually all the time, they were known collectively as The Jessicas.

Instead, they beelined toward the more popular games and left Major Havoc to fend for himself.

Instead, they beelined toward the more popular games and left Major Havoc to fend for himself.

When she walked in, he was sprawled on the couch, watching He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.

Fitch came home at the same time ThunderCats ended. He gave an obligatory “hey” before disappearing into his room.
Thirty minutes later their father came in. He didn’t give an obligatory “hey.”

If they said something “uncouth,” as her mother would say, their father would blurt out, “Language!” as a reminder that they were using bad words.

They were allowed to use all the words. They could even pair some of the words together, like when Mr. Thomas called Mrs. Thomas a “stupid [expletive] cow,” or when she called him a “moronic [expletive] [expletive].” Every ugly word was on the table—especially when they spoke to each other.

Dr. J was poised to take a shot from the poster on the door.

Vern stifled laughter as he navigated his Trapper Keeper into his backpack.

By the time Ms. Salonga’s third-period class rolled around, Cash had signatures from most of the social elite of Park Middle School.

Penny situated her books.

Stars were always moving, Ms. Salonga said. Constellations were an optical illusion, in a way.

They seemed to stay the same, but really, each star was moving at high speed. Some were careening toward each other. Some were shooting in opposite directions.

“And”—he raised a ceremonious index finger—“dust particles.”

“I want all of you to learn the names of your counterparts on the Challenger,” Ms. Salonga was saying, her photocopies now in the crook of her arm.

Collective and tentative nods moved through the room.

“You hear the rockets jettison from the spacecraft.”

Dani Logan’s voice drifted in from the periphery.