by Jo Franklin
The flying chair rebounded off the wall and flew toward the front of the room. The legs got tangled in a piece of string suspending a globe of the world from the ceiling. The world and the chair came crashing down onto Mr. Pitdown’s desk.
“How’s that?” he panted.
“Toxic,” I said. I gave him a thumbs-up.
“Fan-tastic!” Eddie said as he crumpled the bag of his early-morning potato-chips and threw it in the trash. “Class photo today! I forgot my comb. Do you think anyone will notice?” He slid his salty, greasy fingers through his hair.
“Nah,” I said. “Looks normal.”
Eddie never worried about stuff like washing his hair. I could see a few potato-chip crumbs up there. I didn’t say anything, because if he tried to get rid of them, the teachers would think he was picking out lice. I didn’t want Eddie to be sent home from school with a lice letter today. I had important adoption stuff to discuss with him.
“Great T-shirt, by the way,” he said, and slapped me on the shoulder.
T-shirt? I’d been so hung up on the sock problem, I hadn’t checked what T-shirt I’d chosen in the darkness. I looked down at my chest. The T-shirt I was wearing had WORLD’S NUMBER ONE DAD printed across it. One of Dad’s shirts, not mine.
“I’m not ready to be a father yet,” I said.
“Try this one for size.” Eddie pulled a brand-new T-shirt out of his school bag. “Dad got a shipment.” Eddie’s dad runs a discount store, and Eddie has inherited his knack for always having exactly the right thing at the right time. And lucky for me, Eddie likes to share.
“Thanks.” I took the wrapped-up T-shirt.
Rooners bellowed that Mr. Pitdown wanted us to go to the gym for the photo.
“Come on. The evil photographer awaits.” My number-one best friend disappeared into the hallway.
I dashed into the boys’ bathroom to change. I didn’t need any of the jocks making a joke about my body. Gordon, a.k.a. Gordon the Geek, my second-best friend, stood in front of the mirror adjusting his necktie. I didn’t want to look at my scrawny self. I turned my back on the mirror and on my friend to change.
Gordon the Geek is the only kid in class who wears a necktie. He wears it with a real shirt that has a collar, every single day. But Eddie and I let him hang out with us because he has lots of cool gadgets and lets us fool with them if we wash our hands first.
Eddie thought Gordon might be a very short adult spy disguised as a kid. I didn’t agree. Gordon was just a geek with terrible taste in clothes.
Also, Gordon had a nasty habit of speaking the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So I didn’t think he could be a spy. Spies have to be very good at keeping secrets.
“Good morning,” Gordon said.
“Nightmare,” I said, and dumped Dad’s shirt in the trash.
As I pulled on the new T-shirt, the door to the hallway flew open and our teacher came in.
“Gordon. Daniel. Gym, now!” Mr. Pitdown shouted.
Gordon took one more look in the mirror and flicked an invisible speck off his blazer.
“Very sharp,” Mr. Pitdown purred as Gordon left the room.
Then he looked me up and down and muttered something under his breath. It sounded like “Where did that come from?” Of course he was talking about me like I wasn’t a person.
Even though I wasn’t the World’s Number-One Dad anymore, Mr. Pitdown, the weirdest teacher at school, could see I didn’t fit in.
5
Photographs—Who Needs Them?
The other kids in my class were already in the gym, sitting in chairs on risers. For some reason, they all started laughing when I walked in.
I took the closest empty seat. Front row, far left. Eddie was somewhere in the middle, a million miles away from me. Gordon was sitting at the other end of my row.
“Hey, you! The abnormally tall one with the T-shirt!” the photographer shouted. “Back row, please.”
I slouched down in my seat, trying to be less abnormal. I didn’t know why he was picking on me. I wasn’t the only kid wearing a T-shirt.
“Back row! You’re ruining the shot.” The photographer waved a laser pointer at me. I stood up and shuffled around to the back of the scaffolding.
“I’m not sure I can . . .” I looked up at the empty seat in the back row. “That’s high.”
“Daniel, back row. Now!” Mr. Pitdown shouted.
I started to climb. The whole class groaned as I scrambled over them to join the boys way up in the back row. I swear those risers were made of jelly or something. The higher I climbed, the more unstable they became.
By the time I was at the top, the room was one great shimmering hologram. Nothing solid. Nothing real. I grabbed hold of something to steady myself. The something screamed, and when I looked down, I realized I had my hands full of a girl’s hair.
“Daniel, leave Susan alone!” Mr. Pitdown shouted.
The class burst out laughing.
“It’s no good. Your head sticks way up.” The photographer waved his red dot all over my face as if he was trying to erase me. “Come and lie down at the front.” He drew a red laser line across the feet of the front row.
The minute my feet touched the floor, the wobbly feeling in my guts was replaced with a heavy feeling of doom. Lying at the feet of my classmates was a bad idea. Someone in the front row only had to twitch and they’d kick me.
I hoped Eddie would do something to rescue me. But the best-friend telepathy wasn’t working. Eddie just grinned, stroked his top lip (which is our code for “Mr. Pitdown is a jerk”), and gave me a thumbs-up.
I raised an eyebrow at Gordon, at the end of the front row, hoping for a show of solidarity, but he ignored me. His eyes were focused on the camera, and he was ready to have his photo taken. Gordon always does exactly as he’s told.
I lay down, with a class full of sixth-grade feet two inches away. I put my head in front of Gordon’s feet. He was the only person I could trust not to kick me. Gordon doesn’t do touching.
“What is that on your legs?” Mr. Pitdown said.
My jeans had ridden up, so everyone could see the dirty felt-tip marks on my calves.
“Mr. Pitdown, I can’t sit here,” the girl sitting by my ankles said. “I’ve got my best shoes on and my mom will kill me if I get them ruined.” She pulled her feet up and hid them under her skirt.
“Daniel Kendal!” Mr. Pitdown shouted. “Out in the hall, now! And take your trash with you.” He pointed at the scrap of newspaper that had fallen out of my pocket.
I stood out in the hallway while the sadist photographer made everyone say “cheese” ten thousand times.
That’s when I looked down and saw what was on the T-shirt Eddie had given me. It said I ♥ above a picture of a giant mustache exactly like Mr. Pitdown’s. Thanks, pal! I snarled telepathically. I was about to crumple the newspaper clipping and slam-dunk it in the trash can when I noticed the date printed at the top corner.
April 25. My birthday. The day I was born.
I smoothed out the paper to see what had been so important that Mom had kept the clipping in with the family photos.
METEOR CRASHES TO EARTH IN PARK
Police have been inundated with reports of a possible meteor crashing to Earth in local Park Hill Fields. Investigators are mystified by a large crater that has appeared in the middle of the football field, but no evidence of the meteor itself has been found. They speculate that fragments of something from outer space may have been removed by meteor hunters. A Defense Department spokesperson says that it is highly unlikely to have been an alien spaceship crash-landing on Earth.
It happened on my birthday. Mom kept the newspaper clipping because it was about me.
My head buzzed with a billion thoughts. I tried to line them up so they made sense.
Jessie said I was an alien.
Alien spaceship landed.
Baby alien inside.
Mom and Dad pulled alien baby from crashed
ship.
Dad put remains of spaceship in a Dumpster.
Mom took alien baby (me!) home.
They decided to keep me.
Baby alien became Daniel Kendal.
Mom kept newspaper clipping to remind her of how I came to be in this world.
Jessie was right.
I wasn’t just adopted.
I was an alien.
No wonder I didn’t fit in. No wonder they didn’t want me in the class photo. I’d tried being human my whole life but I’d been wasting my time. A shiver went up and down my extra-long body as my brain took in the truth. I was a different species. One that didn’t belong on Earth.
I was the ultimate misfit.
I was an alien.
Mr. Pitdown called me back into the gym. “Individual portraits now, Daniel. I hope you are going to behave.”
I nodded. My inner alien wanted to tell him I hadn’t done anything wrong. But years of human experience told me not to bother arguing.
I got on the end of the line.
“These portraits are going to be very important.” Mr. Pitdown was addressing the whole class. “We are going to create a Wall of Wonders in the classroom.”
“What’s that?” Susan asked.
“I’m going to put up all your portraits on the classroom wall. Whenever you do a particularly good piece of work or are picked for a sports team, I will post a commendation under your picture.” Mr. Pitdown rolled the tip of his mustache between his finger and thumb. “In addition, you can add personal messages to your friends’ pictures. At the end of the year, all of you will have a memento of your last year at this school.”
“Cool!” The Jock Squad bumped each other’s fists and whooped.
The girls huddled in groups and whispered.
I didn’t want to have my photo taken with these humans. I had nothing in common with them. I didn’t need anything to remind me of my last year at this human school.
As I edged closer to the photographer, an epic idea started forming in my head. The emptiness in my stomach changed into a warm fuzziness. A feeling of certainty. A feeling of strength. At last I knew who I was.
I planted myself on the chair in front of the camera.
“Too tall!” the photographer said.
“You could adjust your tripod,” I said.
“I really need individual pictures of the whole class,” Mr. Pitdown said. “Daniel, kneel down.” He pointed to a spot on the floor.
The kids snickered. Eddie shoved his hand up his sweater and armpit-farted the theme from Mission: Impossible.
Humans enjoy humiliating species from other planets. Even human best friends.
I sank to my knees.
“Smile!” the photographer said.
I put on my most demented alien face and made a decision.
Click! The photographer took the shot.
Mom could stick the photo in her album if she wanted to. It was going to be the last picture ever taken of me on Earth.
I didn’t belong here. I needed to return to wherever I came from.
The alien known as Daniel Kendal was going home.
6
Assembling the Mission Team
“Are you crazy?” Eddie said at recess.
He was supposed to be my best friend, but when I told him my earthshattering news, he didn’t believe me.
“I’m an alien,” I said. “It explains everything.”
“Like what?”
I listed everything I could think of. The stuff I already mentioned, plus some new evidence.
MY FAMILY’S FAVORITE THINGS
MY FAVORITE THINGS
Coffee
Chocolate milkshake with bacon bits
Toast
Baked beans
Lying in the sun (sometimes naked)
Hiding in the dark (always fully dressed)
Eddie looked at me as if I was the biggest dork on the planet.
“Maybe your family doesn’t like your chocolate-shake combo because it’s disgusting. I wouldn’t eat it,” he said, stuffing potato chips in his mouth.
“That’s because you’re human and I’m not,” I said. “I’m telling you, I don’t fit into my family, and I certainly don’t fit in around here. I’m not even in the class photo. I must be from somewhere else. Besides, my favorite candy is flying saucers.” That was a lie. Flying saucers are UFO-shaped candies made of rice paper and filled with fizzy powder. I’d never eaten one, but Eddie didn’t need to know that.
“I’ve never seen you eat flying saucers,” Eddie said.
“I don’t eat them because I want to fly in them,” I said. I turned to my second-best friend. “You believe in aliens, don’t you?”
Gordon the Geek was glued to his laptop as usual. He’d fastened a strap on it and hung it around his neck. It made him look like he was selling something from a tray.
“I’m an alien. Do you believe me?” I waved my hand in front of Gordon’s face, being careful not to touch him.
“Cosmic,” he replied, but he wasn’t listening. He didn’t look up, and his fingers kept moving over the keys as we walked across the playground.
Eddie and I had to guide him everywhere. We could have led him straight into an open manhole or the cracks of doom and he’d never have known. But at least he’d die happy.
“If you are an alien, which planet are you from?” Eddie asked.
I didn’t know the answer.
Eddie ripped open his potato-chip bag and licked the inside. He folded the wet bag into a paper airplane, but before he could fly it, the plastic had flopped open into a ripped potato-chip bag again.
He’d tried to make an airplane out of a potato-chip bag every day since school began. It never worked.
Gordon looked up. His eyes blinked furiously as he adjusted to the big wide world rather than the eleven-inch virtual world he’d been glued to. “Kepler 22b,” he said.
“Are you sure?” I said.
“Kepler 22b. Two point four times the size of Earth. Probable surface temperature seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. Six hundred light years away.”
“What’s that in English?” Eddie gets fed up with Gordon sometimes. Luckily, Gordon doesn’t seem to mind. Otherwise I’d only have one friend on this planet.
“Approximately thirty-six hundred trillion miles from Earth. It’s the answer to global warming. When this planet explodes, that’s where we’re heading.” Gordon turned his laptop around and showed me a screen. It was a page from some scientific news service. It had a video showing what the scientist thought Kepler 22b looked like.
It was amazing. I’d never heard of Kepler 22b before, but now that planet was calling to me.
“So you mean there is a planet out there with aliens on it?” Eddie squinted at the screen.
“I don’t suppose they consider themselves aliens when they’re there.” Gordon opened an online dictionary. “‘Alien—a nonnaturalized foreigner, a being from another world.’ Kepler 22b is home to them. They’re not aliens there. Humans would be alien to the inhabitants of that planet.”
The way they are to me.
7
When Is an Alien Not an Alien?
I thought I’d be happy if I could get back to Kepler 22b. I did have a few burning questions that needed answers:
Did chocolate exist on Kepler 22b?
What did an alien bike look like?
Was a high-five a suitable alien greeting?
It was really important that I fit in the minute I got there. I wouldn’t be an alien or a misfit or a beanpole. For once I’d be normal. I’d be a . . .
“What do you think the inhabitants of Kepler 22b call themselves?” I asked the mission crew while we lined up for lunch.
“Fries, please,” Eddie said to the lunch lady.
“Keplerites?” I said. “What do you think, Gordon?”
Gordon the Geek lined up for lunch with Eddie and me every day. He rested his laptop and his briefcase on a tray and shoved the tray
along the cafeteria rail while we talked, but he never ate anything. He thought school food was contaminated.
“Kepler is the name of the telescope that spotted the planet,” Gordon said.
“So Kepler is a human word?”
Gordon looked at me over the top of his glasses like a fed-up professor. “Yes. Kepler is a human word. There are only human words, because we don’t know any aliens or how they speak.”
“You know me,” I said.
“But you weren’t an alien until yesterday,” Eddie said. He rolled his eyeballs so far back into his head, he must have been looking at his brain. If he had one.
“Yes, I know you,” Gordon said. “But you were brought up by humans and speak human. English, actually. I guess you could call it a dialect of human speech.”
“Do you think the inhabitants of Kepler 22b have different languages?” A meteor of panic hit me hard in the stomach. “What if I finally get to meet some of them and they come from North Kepler 22b and I came from South Kepler 22b and I can’t understand a word they’re saying?”
“Mr. Kendal, do you speak any language other than English?” Gordon only calls me Mr. Kendal when he’s bored.
“No.”
“So if some Spanish girl walked in now and spoke to you, you wouldn’t understand her. Right?” Gordon said.
Eddie smirked. “I’d understand every word.”
I turned my back on Eddie and slammed my tray onto the table. I felt like slamming it on my best friend’s head.
“I’d understand any kid if they pointed to the food and used sign language,” I said to Gordon.
“There you go,” said Gordon. “You’re going to have to make do with sign language if you ever meet anyone from Kepler 22b. Because you won’t be able to understand them unless they speak English.”