We Dream of Space: List 2

At the Nelson Thomases’, the key was tucked into the mailbox—not exactly the most ingenious place to hide something.

Bird inhaled discreetly as she slipped off her shoes and placed them obediently by the door—one of the “house rules,” Dani said, rolling her eyes—then followed her new friend into the house.

“His name is actually Chekov Scotty McCoy, because we couldn’t decide what to call him. I wanted to name him Chekov, my dad liked McCoy, and my mom wanted to call him Scotty. We argued about it all the way home from the shelter until my mom finally said we should reach a consensus and name him all three.”

The trackball was unwieldy, unpredictable, and almost impossible to control.

Somehow, though, as he reached his highest score yet and escaped into Major Havoc’s galaxy, he’d managed to invite an unexpected comrade into his otherwise solitary wormhole.

Somehow, though, as he reached his highest score yet and escaped into Major Havoc’s galaxy, he’d managed to invite an unexpected comrade into his otherwise solitary wormhole.

Fitch whipped around, his body burning with annoyance and adrenaline.

A small, impossible part of him always hoped to feel the ridges of a wayward quarter in the recess of his jeans, but it never happened.

He knew how deeply Major Havoc hated the Vaxxian Empire, which is why he insisted on alluding to it in the most ridiculous ways.

“Yeah,” said Fitch, dismissively. “See you around.”

Fitch sighed and watched Marsh sidle up to Rachel’s friends.

Marsh stood still, eyes focused on the screen, watching Rachel maneuver through the maze, eating pellets and chasing ghosts.

The fire blazed from his marrow to his skin, but instead of moving forward, Fitch forced his hands into his pockets and pushed his fists deep, deep, where they’d be safe.

He raised his eyebrows toward Rachel Hill, who had just sauntered in, always the last to arrive.

Had he been playing Major Havoc, he might not have seen her and she may have been inclined to leave him alone—you can’t really have a casual conversation with someone while they are in the middle of a game, after all; even Marsh knew that, and he was just a kid.

Rachel Hill and her entourage—namely, Jessica Diaz and Jessica Brantley—were back at Ms. Pac-Man.

Bird was flitting around the house, working on one of her new schematics.

He, too, had been intrigued by Ms. Salonga’s talk of stars and space, but the spark of interest had died as soon as he left the classroom.

The sound of knocking had become an irritating itch to him. His hackles went up the minute he heard it.

He expected to hear the loud cacophony of basketball, peppered with shouts from his father or brother, but they had the volume down and were talking quietly and slapping hands about something, as if they’d just made a business arrangement.

Ms. Salonga said that many of the stars were bigger than the sun, but they looked minuscule from down here.

“Pretty” isn’t real, Bird. It’s one person looking at another and saying yes or no, based on their own personal judgments. And it’s transient. It’s like the wind—society says something is pretty one minute, then they decide it’s not pretty anymore, and everyone moves where it takes them.

When he opened his eyes, his first thought was: I don’t want to go to school. This was often his first thought, but today it ran through his mind like a mantra, and he lay there for twenty extra minutes.

And now she launched into a breathless description of all she’d done—she went to the mall with her mother, she bought new sneakers, she rented movies—as Fitch faced forward, suddenly mesmerized by Ms. Salonga standing at the classroom door, his knee bouncing up and down and up and down, his skin buzzing, beads of sweat pushing their way out of his neck.

He shot out of his chair with so much force that his desk shook and wobbled out of place, and he faced her, this Amanda, this girl who had ruined his mornings and now his afternoons, this girl with her round, ruddy cheeks and her big hair, this girl who just had to talk about his red face, who played Skee-Ball and gave him stickers, and he realized now why she looked different—she was wearing makeup, makeup.

Penny turned her desk completely around to face him and when she sat down and smiled, his stomach dropped. For a fleeting moment, he thought he might throw up.

Cash put his arms under his desk. He didn’t want her to get a whiff of the disgusting sweat smell emanating from his cast.

He moved slowly to the bathroom even though he didn’t need to go. When he got there, he walked in and out with every intention of meandering back to class.

He took a tentative step forward and narrowed his eyes, like he was looking at a mirage.

There is a lot of discourse over whether this will be to our detriment or not.

There is a lot of discourse over whether this will be to our detriment or not.

A four-foot cardboard cutout of the space shuttle was on the wall between Ms. Salonga’s door and the lockers. Bird absently pressed a wayward square of tape with her index finger.

“You know we don’t condone that kind of talk,” she continued.

Dinner was meat loaf and mashed potatoes. After preparing a modest plate, Bird followed Dani to the table.

Bird was about to politely explain that they were crews, not space teams, but something moved in the corner of her eye and she turned, hoping to get a glance of the elusive Chekov.

Sometimes Bird wondered what would happen if she ever dismantled the television.

Would she find one of those swinging pendulums inside, the kind hypnotists use to put people to sleep?

Fitch spent the afternoon in his room, blasting U2 and reading a Choose Your Own Adventure, trying to push the previous day out of his mind, but inevitably he returned to Amanda.

When she peeked her head inside his room, she had a strange look on her face. It was so different than her usual demeanor that Cash noticed for the first time that she had a demeanor.

You have many profound things to say, Bernadette Nelson Thomas.