Mrs. Juarez turned around to look at me. I braced myself for angry-mom face. But instead, her eyes looked soft and sad.
“I don’t think it’s going to be quite that easy, kiddo,” she said. “Some people are waiting for you back at the apartment.”
“Me?” I asked. “Why would they be waiting for me?”
• • •
“Because you’re the Dinosaur Boy!” Chancellor Fontana exclaimed, her face flushed with excitement.
“The what?” I asked, staring at her across the Juarezes’ coffee table. She and Ms. Helen were sitting on the opposite sofa, facing me. Elliot and Sylvie sat on either side of me. My grandfather and Mrs. Juarez were on the love seat nearby, and Venetio was perched on the arm of a chair across from them.
“The Dinosaur Boy,” she repeated. “You’re the talk of Mars!”
“What?” was all I could say in reply.
Chancellor Fontana gestured to Ms. Helen, who dumped an armload of magazines onto the table. They looked like the kind of Earth magazines you see in grocery store checkout lines. Except that these all had Martians on the front.
Well, Martians and me. Every magazine had at least one bad, grainy photo of me on it.
Elliot leaned forward and picked up one that had a close-up of my tail on the cover.
“I thought Sylvie was the famous one,” he said.
“Oh, she is. At first, Sawyer was just a faceless member of Sylvie’s entourage. You know, like the rest of you,” Ms. Helen explained, causing Sylvie to scowl and Elliot to stiffen. “But you know how people are. They’re always eager to find the next new thing. And right now, that’s Sawyer.”
She gestured to the magazines.
I shifted through the pile, cringing at the headlines. They were all in Martian, of course, but the English subtitles were worryingly clear:
Who Is Mars’s New “Stego-Cutie”?
ALL THE DETAILS
You Thought Earthlings Were Boring? Check This One Out!
Get the Look: Plates and Spikes!
What Kind of Dinosaur Would You Be? Take the Quiz!
There had been people yelling “Dino Boy” during our tour of Central. My teeth started to involuntarily grind at this, especially once I saw another magazine that claimed it had obtained “An Exclusive Interview with a Member of the Dinosaur Boy’s Inner Circle.”
A member of my “inner circle”? Who would—?
I looked accusingly at Venetio, who gave me an embarrassed smile.
“They, um, offered to upgrade my seat,” he said sheepishly. “I’m just two rows back from the Kuiper Kickers bench now!”
“Anyhow,” Chancellor Fontana said, pulling my attention away from the Plutonian and the magazines, “we’re here to ask you something important. We want you to be the next chancellor in charge of the summit.”
“What?” I exclaimed. I seemed to be saying that a lot lately. “What happened to the last guy?”
“Actually, the last ‘guy’ was a lady,” Ms. Helen said, squirming slightly in her seat. “Chancellor Gale took over for Chancellor Gio after he grew his second head. And she’s just fine. We were able to get her to Central Aquarium before she dried out—”
“The aquarium?” my grandfather asked.
“She was gened. We’re pretty sure it was dolphin DNA,” Chancellor Fontana explained. “This afternoon, right in the middle of a planning committee meeting, she developed a tail, a back fin, and…” She hesitated.
“And a blowhole,” she finished reluctantly. “Right on the top of her head.”
“Ew.” Sylvie and Elliot shuddered in unison.
“For the moment, Chancellor Gale is only capable of making high-pitched squeal sounds. But she has managed to communicate her desire to resign her position. At least, we’re pretty sure that’s what she meant to say…” Ms. Helen added thoughtfully.
“Why would you want me to be chancellor?” I asked them both. “I’m a kid. And an Earthling.”
“Not just any kid. You’re the Dinosaur Boy,” Chancellor Fontana corrected me. “You are well-known. Popular. And most importantly you are already…well, you’ve already got…that is to say, you’re not fully—”
“Are you alluding to the fact that my grandson is already a hybrid and therefore less likely to be a target for gene-ing?” my grandfather interrupted.
“Well…yes,” Chancellor Fontana admitted.
“No,” my grandfather said darkly. “No, absolutely not. I won’t permit it.”
“It’s just a figurehead position, Dr. Franklin,” Ms. Helen said. “The game and the summit are in less than twelve hours. There’s no way the BURPSers will have time to get to him in that amount of time.”
“And Sawyer is perfect for the job!” added Chancellor Fontana. “He’s known, he’s liked, and as an Earthling, he’s neutral. All of the previous Chancellors were Martians. We believe the Plutonians—even the BURPSers—might accept Sawyer as an impartial facilitator of the vote.”
“Might? Might accept him?” my grandfather snapped, shaking his head. “No, I will not allow you to put my grandson at such risk. I’m an Earthling as well. And a hybrid. I’ll do it.”
“With all due respect, Dr. Franklin,” Chancellor Fontana said gently, “no one on this planet knows who you are. We’re not asking you. We’re asking Sawyer. What do you say, young man?”
I swallowed.
“What would I have to do exactly?” I asked. “As…chancellor?”
“Your first job would be to officially start the game clock at the Friendship and Goodwill Game tomorrow morning,” Ms. Helen said. “You’ll watch the game from a lovely private box. The nicest in the entire arena.”
“A private box?” Venetio piped up.
“Of course you could invite your entourage,” Ms. Helen added, gesturing to Venetio and to everybody sitting around me. “The members of the council will also be present. At the conclusion of the game, you’ll preside over the vote. The actual summit will take place right there at the arena.”
“Speaking of the council,” my grandfather asked. “Where is everybody? There seem to be far fewer people here than the last time you came calling.”
“Most of them went into hiding,” Ms. Helen admitted. “They’re afraid of getting gened.”
“Then who exactly is running Mars at the moment?” my grandfather persisted.
Chancellor Fontana and Ms. Helen looked at each other.
“That would be us,” Chancellor Fontana answered.
“A Plutonian and a Martian who took office two weeks ago?” My grandfather shook his head. “No wonder this is the best plan you can come up with. The answer is no.”
“As we said before, Dr. Franklin,” Ms. Helen said icily, “we are not asking you. We are asking Sawyer.”
She turned to me.
“Well?”
I had no idea what to say. I opened my mouth, hoping that the right answer would come out. But instead, my stomach growled so loudly that everybody in the room jumped.
Mrs. Juarez patted my grandfather’s hand—wait a sec, had they been holding hands?—and stood up.
“He’ll think about,” she announced. “In the meantime, it’s time we all had dinner.”
• • •
Somehow, between arriving in Mars Central and rescuing us at the lab, Mrs. Juarez had managed to go grocery shopping. And unlike my grandfather, she knew where to find veggies in Mars. I could see several heads of lettuce, as well as some carrots, cucumbers, and radishes sticking out of the reusable grocery bags that were piled in the entryway.
My stomach growled even louder.
Mrs. Juarez stood over the bags, hands on her hips, and started issuing orders like an air traffic controller.
“Gavin and I will brief Ms. Tombaugh and Chancellor Fontana on the lab and the whereabouts of my
ex-husband,” she said. “Sawyer, Elliot, and Venetio, why don’t you bring the bags into the kitchen and start unloading? Sylvie, you can start the dough for the empanadas. I’ll come and join you in a moment.”
Elliot, Venetio, and I rushed to obey. But Sylvie made no move toward the kitchen.
“Why do I have to start the food?” she asked dangerously. “Because I’m a girl?”
Mrs. Juarez snorted, like these were the last words she expected to hear out of her daughter’s mouth.
“I’m not sure what being a girl has to do with it, mi hija. More the fact that I taught you how to make empanadas before you knew how to walk. But if you don’t think you can handle it on your own, you’re welcome to wait until I’m through here—”
“No,” Sylvie snapped. “I’ve got it.”
“You’re sure? Because if you’ve forgotten how to do it—”
“I said I’ve got it.” Sylvie flopped her arms up in exasperation and disappeared into the kitchen.
Mrs. Juarez turned to me, an amused look on her face.
“Sometimes you just have to know what buttons to push,” she said with a wink.
• • •
Our meal of black bean and banana empanadas (for them) and a huge salad of fresh greens (for me) tasted like heaven after all of those Nutri Nuggets. With my stomach full, I had no trouble drifting off to sleep. In spite of all the weird stuff on my mind.
When I woke up sometime later in the middle of the night, I had to remind myself where I was.
Mars. Where they want me to be the chancellor of the vote to kick the Plutonians out of the Intergalactic Soccer Federation.
That sentence definitely wouldn’t have made any sense to me last week.
I looked over to the other side of the guest bed, expecting to see Elliot passed out and snoring. But instead, there was just a crumpled blanket and a dent in the pillow where his head had been.
Elliot was gone.
The Thing about Elliot…
I didn’t have to go far to find him. Elliot was in the living room. Alone. Doing soccer drills with a single-minded determination that could only mean he was upset about something.
“Elliot?” I asked.
“Busy!” he called, running in place and tapping first one foot, then the other on top of a stationary soccer ball.
“Doing what?”
“Practicing!”
“It’s the middle of the night,” I pointed out. “Why are you practicing now?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because that triceratops scientist guy was right!”
“Huh?”
Elliot paused to wipe a streak of sweat off his forehead.
“I am a basic, run-of-the-mill, thoroughly uninteresting human,” he said and then abruptly turned his back, dribbling the ball toward the couch and away from me.
“That’s ridiculous!” I said.
“Is it?” Elliot asked over one shoulder. “I’m not a hybrid, like you and Sylvie and your grandfather. I’m not blue like Venetio. I’m just an Earthling. There’s nothing special about me.”
“Sure there is!” I said.
“Oh yeah? Name one thing!”
“Basketball!” I exclaimed. Which may have been sort of a weird thing to say when he was playing around with a soccer ball, but it was true. Basketball was Elliot’s thing. He’d been wearing his University of Oregon Ducks jersey for the past three days. Not that either of us had brought a change of clothes with us to Mars, but still…
“Ha!” he scoffed over his shoulder.
“I’m serious!” I said, leaning against one side of the couch. “You’re the best basketball player I know! You’re going to be the star of that traveling team this summer. Everybody says so.”
He stopped, letting the soccer ball roll away from him. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet I could barely hear him. “I didn’t make it.”
“Didn’t make what?” I asked.
“The team. The traveling team. I tried out, but I didn’t make it. They said no.”
“Oh.”
“Turns out, there’s more to basketball than just being tall.”
“Oh,” I said again.
I didn’t know what else to say. No wonder Elliot had been quiet lately. Ever since his growth spurt, basketball had been the only thing that made him feel normal. What would he do without that?
We stood in silence for a good minute or two. Finally, Elliot asked, “What am I doing here, Sawyer?”
I spread my hands.
“What are any of us doing here, Elliot? It’s Mars! It would be weird if we didn’t feel out of place.”
“But everybody else seems to have a reason for being here. Sylvie came to find her dad. Your grandfather is helping her. And he needed to bring you along to get us into the lab. And look at you! You’ve been here like five minutes and you’re already famous. They want you to be chancellor! While I’m still just… What did Ms. Helen call me? ‘A faceless member of Sylvie’s entourage.’ Or maybe your entourage now, I don’t know. I think I’m always going to be that. Faceless. Un-special.”
“Of course you’re not,” I told him.
He shrugged and then looked down at the soccer ball.
“Maybe I just need a new thing. Venetio says I’d make a good soccer goalie. Maybe if I practice enough—”
“Elliot, that’s not going to—”
“What do you know?” he demanded, starting to get angry now. “You don’t get it! You’re one of them now. You’re famous!”
“I’m not—” I began. But then I remembered the magazine articles, and I stopped.
“What are you guys doing out here?”
Sylvie walked through the doorway, wearing pink plaid pajamas and a frown.
Elliot threw his hands up into the air.
“Oh perfect,” he said to the ceiling. “Another one.”
“Another one what?” Sylvie asked, crossing her arms defensively and leaning against an armchair.
“Another ‘special’ person,” Elliot sneered. “I’m surrounded by extra-special people.”
Sylvie raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged, not really sure how to explain.
She pointed a finger at Elliot.
“You don’t know everything about me, Elliot,” she said warningly. “Don’t pretend that you do!”
“And whose fault is that?” Elliot demanded, staring her down. “You don’t tell anybody anything. I’m more mad at you than at anybody else.”
“At me?” Sylvie put her hands on her hips. “Why me?”
“Because! This whole thing with the Plutonians is your fault!”
“My fault?” Sylvie repeated, looking questioningly at me.
“Yes!” Elliot yelled. “Yours and every other stupid Martian on this planet!”
“What?” Sylvie exclaimed.
“Why do you hate the Plutonians so much?” he asked. “There’s nothing wrong with them. Why go to all this trouble to keep them out of the ISF?”
“Because of the BURPSers, you idiot!” Sylvie spat at him. “They’re dangerous! You heard what Dr. Marsh said they were planning to do—”
“The BURPSers didn’t exist until the Martians got everyone to officially declare that Pluto isn’t a planet anymore. Why’d you have to do that? Why couldn’t you have just left them alone?”
Sylvie opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again.
“There isn’t even a good reason for it, is there?” Elliot asked. “It was just mean. And the whole summit thing? The Friendship and Goodwill Game? It’s bologna. It’s just a show they’re putting on to make people think the vote is fair. But it isn’t. Everybody knows how it’s going to go. The Martian Council has already decided.”
“So what?” Sylvie hissed
. “Even if that’s true, what should we do? Let the BURPSers take over Mars? Let them gene all of the Martians?”
“Maybe we should!” Elliot spat back at her. “Maybe the Martians should find out what it feels like to be one of us un-special ones for a change!”
“You can’t possibly mean—” Sylvie started, but I cut her off.
“I have a plan,” I said. I did. Sort of. A strange, half-baked inkling of a plan, which Elliot’s words had just added some fuel to. “I think there’s a way we can save the Martians and the Plutonians. If we—”
“Just like we saved all of those bullies at our school from the Jupiterians?” Elliot scoffed. “Great. You guys go knock yourselves out. But I, for one, am totally sick of saving the bad guy. So you’re just going to have to do this one without me.”
He spun around on his heel and marched into our room, leaving Sylvie and me alone in the living room.
Sylvie’s lower lip was quivering.
“Are you OK?” I asked hesitantly. “He shouldn’t have said those things. Not after everything that happened with your dad—”
“I’m fine.” Sylvie sniffed, and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her pajamas. She marched off toward her bedroom, pausing only to step over Venetio, who was asleep in his pile of blankets in front of her door.
• • •
I found my grandfather in the kitchen. Eating the remains of the giant salad Mrs. Juarez had made me for dinner.
Without a word, he passed me a fork. We chewed in silence for a couple of minutes.
“Can I ask you something?” I said finally.
“Shoot,” he said, spearing a piece of cucumber.
“The Star Wars plan,” I said and then hesitated about how to phrase the question. “Did you bring me on this trip just to use me?” I asked finally.
“Use you?” he asked, his mouth full.
Dinosaur Boy Saves Mars Page 11