It was Harper’s dad. No one could miss his van. It had enormous hardware store logos plastered on its sides.
Some disguise, thought Martin.
Then he realized that if he waited, Harper would be the first to see Martin’s truly out-of-this-world costume. And surely that would put an end to Harper’s ludicrous fabrications once and for all.
Martin set down his cumbersome things just inside the door, then confidently stepped back out and stood at the top of the stairs. His astronaut suit sparkled in the sun.
The van door flew open. Martin smiled radiantly as Harper climbed out. One silver leg, then two, then a rocket booster and finally, a helmet.
Martin gasped and quickly ducked behind his banner.
Harper was an astronaut.
Just like Martin.
“Wait, Dad!” called Harper before the van door slid shut.
He reached in and pulled out a light saber.
Harper was an astronaut with a light saber. He turned it on. A light saber with batteries! He bounded up the steps and into the school.
Martin stood up slowly.
“No fair!” he shouted.
Furious, Martin whirled around to go inside. But his rocket booster got caught on the banner, and the banner ripped in two.
Martin staggered backward, devastated. His world was spinning out of orbit.
“Hey!” called a fairy princess who had just rounded the corner of the school and was flouncing toward him. “Why’d you do that?”
Martin didn’t have time to explain. He decided it would be far better to wear his old costume than to go as a lesser version of Harper. So he bolted inside, scooped up his belongings and dashed to the boys’ locker room.
Sadly, Martin took off his rocket booster and climbed out of his space suit. It puddled at his feet, a flattened pool of shimmering gray. Then he reluctantly put on the lobster costume. As he did, he accidentally kicked his helmet across the floor. It rolled away, hit the wall and bounced back toward him.
Martin stared at the helmet as it landed at his feet. He reached for it.
A-ha!
Instead of the lobster head, he put the helmet back on and looked in the mirror. He needed one more thing. A rocket booster! He strapped it into place and saluted himself.
Perfect!
Martin was no longer an ordinary astronaut like Harper. Now he was an astronaut from Mars! A slow smile crept across his face.
The bell rang as Martin paraded into the classroom.
“Holy cow!” said Alex appreciatively.
“Terrific Martian costume!” agreed Stuart.
Martin saluted them with a giant red claw. Smugly, he took his seat, then turned to gloat at Harper. But Harper’s seat was empty.
“Where’s Harper?” asked Martin.
“Principal’s office,” whispered Stuart.
“What’d he do?” Martin whispered back.
“Ripped your banner in half,” Alex said in a hushed tone.
“What?!” exclaimed Martin.
“Laila caught him red-handed,” said Stuart.
The fairy princess in front of Martin wheeled around in her seat and grinned at him.
Martin slid his giant red claws under the desk. He realized with awful certainty that Laila had seen him rip the banner, not Harper. Cripes.
“When we asked Harper why he did it,” continued Alex, “he said he didn’t know what we were talking about.”
“But we didn’t believe him,” said Stuart. “You know how he makes things up. You were right about Harper all along.”
Martin said nothing.
“Attention, class!” called Mrs. Keenan, stepping smartly into the room with her clipboard.
Martin struggled to focus on her instructions about the parade, but his ears were on fire.
She was almost done when there was a sharp knock at the door. Mrs. Keenan stepped outside, then motioned for Martin to join her. He got up nervously.
Mrs. Hurtle, the school secretary, stood in the hall. She turned to Martin and said gravely, “Principal Moody wants to see you.”
“Why?” he squeaked, his stomach flip-flopping madly.
She lowered her voice. “I think he wants to give Harper the chance to apologize.”
Martin’s heart began to pound. He marched stiffly down the long empty hallway, Mrs. Hurtle clickety-clacking beside him. Harper sat waiting on the wooden bench just outside the principal’s door.
Martin’s pangs of guilt quickly dissolved. Seeing Harper as an astronaut with the added bonus of a light saber made Martin mad all over again.
“Shove over,” he said gruffly.
“I didn’t touch your banner,” said Harper glumly.
“Well, that’s not what everyone thinks,” said Martin, staring straight ahead.
The telephone rang, and Mrs. Hurtle picked up the receiver. From the way she was answering questions, Martin could tell she was talking to a reporter.
“No one will believe me,” said Harper pitifully. His shoulders sagged.
“Why would they?” demanded Martin. “You exaggerate all the time.”
They sat in silence for a while, Harper mulling this over.
But Martin had something to mull over, too. And it was making his hands sweat under the claws.
“Martin?” Harper finally said in a small voice as he took off his helmet.
“What?” Martin replied coldly. He readied himself for Harper’s next impossible story.
“My dad isn’t really a spy.”
Astounded, Martin turned to Harper.
“No kidding,” he said, eyebrow raised.
“Sometimes I say things … well, you know, for attention.” Harper scuffed at the floor. “I know my turrets and jet packs aren’t real like your rocket-covered curtains or your tree fort with its ‘Keep Out’ sign.”
He shrugged and gave Martin a quick, apologetic smile.
Martin was silent. Somehow, Harper’s confession had softened Martin’s anger.
So what if Harper embellished? At least his stories didn’t hurt anybody. And besides, Martin had to admit that it was kind of fun to think about a bike with jet packs, even if it was a long shot.
Martin pulled off his helmet, too.
“I know you didn’t ruin my banner. I did,” he admitted. “Accidentally,” he added.
“Are you going to tell?” asked Harper.
“Yes,” said Martin with relief.
More silence, and then Harper turned on his light saber. It blinked.
“I don’t suppose astronauts carry light sabers,” said Harper sheepishly, “but Martians might. Do you want to borrow mine?”
Gingerly, he held out the saber to Martin.
Martin didn’t hesitate. “Sure!” he said, mesmerized by all the flashing lights.
Outside, the school was gathering for the parade. From the window, they could see Mr. Avalon taping the banner back together. Brightly costumed students were milling about on the sidewalk. And decorated school buses were slowly moving into position.
Mrs. Hurtle put her hand over the receiver. “I have a reporter here who wants to interview a student about the crosswalk.” She held the telephone toward them. “Does one of you want to speak to her?”
Martin thought quickly. He knew the school badly needed traffic lights. He knew how important it was to get reporters out to the parade. And he knew he was sitting beside someone with enough imagination to get them to come.
“You do it, Harper,” said Martin as he turned off the saber and settled back on the bench.
He was ready for a good Harper story.
Spyder
One by one, Martin’s classmates announced what they wanted to be when th
ey grew up.
Martin could think of nothing more exciting than exploring bold, uncharted worlds like his cartoon hero, Zip Rideout, Space Cadet. So when his turn came, he proudly replied, “Astronaut.”
Just like his two best friends, Alex and Stuart.
It turned out that astronaut was the most popular answer in Martin’s class, with a few firefighters, police officers, hockey players, paleontologists and ballerinas sprinkled in.
“I’m delighted there are so many astronauts in the room,” said their art teacher, Mrs. Crammond, “because I have a special surprise for you.”
She paused so that the class could buzz with speculation. When everyone was fit to spin out of orbit, she announced, “I’ve arranged for an illustrator to visit our school. And this illustrator loves astronauts.”
Martin’s stomach did a happy little leap. He knew what illustrators did. They drew for posters and magazines and stuff.
And the work of his favorite illustrator was right there in his desk. Martin reached in and pulled out a dog-eared comic book. The cover featured Zip Rideout moonwalking across a steamy crater, his rocket standing at attention in the distance.
The story was written and illustrated by Spyder Mapleson. It said so right beneath Zip’s rocket.
“I’ll give you a hint about who it is,” said Mrs. Crammond. She walked over to Martin’s desk and held up his comic book.
“Spyder Mapleson?!” gasped Martin.
“That’s right!” said Mrs. Crammond, handing back the comic book.
The class whooped while Martin happily clutched Zip’s picture to his chest.
Mrs. Crammond returned to the front of the studio.
“He’s coming Monday, and we need to get this room shipshape for his visit.”
“Space shipshape,” Martin called out, all smiles.
“Very good, Martin,” Mrs. Crammond said. “So today we’ll paint scenes from outer space to decorate the studio.”
They quickly set up their easels, and Martin jumped right to work with his brush. Art was his favorite class, and space exploration was his favorite subject.
He decided he would paint Zip Rideout giving his official salute. But when it came time to add Zip’s badge of honor, Martin had trouble with the silver points.
I’ll have to ask Spyder Mapleson how to paint realistic details, thought Martin, and I’ll take really good notes so that I remember every word.
When the class was almost over, Mrs. Crammond clapped her hands. “Time to put your work up,” she announced.
The students pinned their art to the walls of the studio, transforming the classroom into a space academy. Martin was pleased to see that he was the only one who had tackled Zip’s portrait.
The other astronauts had painted satellites and planets with many moons.
The firefighters had featured flaming rockets and exploding suns.
The police officers had drawn intergalactic battle scenes.
The hockey players had designed protective space gear.
And the paleontologists and ballerinas had created futuristic museums and theaters filled with patrons who looked surprisingly like dinosaurs.
“Mrs. Crammond?” said Martin after surveying the room. “I think we should write Zip Rideout’s loyalty pledge on the blackboard.”
The class murmured their approval.
“How does it go?” she asked, picking up a piece of chalk.
The class recited the pledge while Mrs. Crammond wrote it out in her tidy teacher’s handwriting.
From star to star my ship will race,
The speed of light is my fast pace,
It’s bold, uncharted worlds I’ll face
’Cause I’m a brave cadet of space.
Then everyone gave each other the official Zip Rideout salute.
That Saturday, Martin sat in the cool shade of his tree fort with Alex and Stuart. They had their Solar System Explorer Sets and were deciding which Zip Rideout show to act out.
“How about episode twenty-six: ‘Return of Crater Man’?” suggested Stuart.
Martin knew all about episode twenty-six. Zip fought off Crater Man in a shoot-out on the planet Astro. It had been scary to watch because Martin was sure Zip would get hurt.
But Zip didn’t. As usual, he was able to dart away from the blasts and still manage to capture his archenemy in an ingenious trap.
“Sounds good to me!” exclaimed Martin and Alex together.
The three put on their official Zip Rideout space goggles.
“I’ll be Ground Control,” said Stuart. “Where are the walkie-talkies?”
Martin dug them out from under the old ship’s wheel that his dad had bought at a yard sale. He handed one of the walkie-talkies to Stuart.
“I’ll be Zip,” said Martin.
He knew Alex wouldn’t mind. Alex had been Zip the last time.
“Then I’ll be the King of Astro,” said Alex, agreeably enough. “And I’ll help Zip free my people from Crater Man’s evil grip.”
“Okay,” said Martin. “Let’s take our places.”
Stuart climbed down the ladder to set up Ground Control at the base of the tree, while Zip and the King of Astro stayed up top and discussed their lines.
“Testing, testing. One, two, three. Testing,” squawked Martin’s walkie-talkie.
“Ground Control, this is Zip. Over,” said Martin in his official radio voice.
“I read you, Zip. Over.”
“Ground Control, I’m here with the King of Astro. We’re about to make a lunar landing to see if we can spot Crater Man. Over.”
“Affirmative, Zip. This is Ground Control standing by. Radio again when you’ve touched down.”
“Roger,” said Martin, very Zip-like.
Martin quickly replayed the next scene in his head. Moonwalking was going to be a blast. No wonder he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up!
“You know what would be fun?” Alex asked in his regular voice. “If we could really feel what it would be like to moonwalk.”
Martin nodded and looked out the window of his tree fort. “Well, we’re high enough. We just need the bounce part.”
“Say, I have an idea. Where’s your pogo stick?” asked Alex.
“The garage,” said Martin, instantly on high alert. “Why?”
Alex was always full of harebrained ideas, like rescuing Polly, their class parakeet, from another school, bringing slime to Camp Kitchywahoo as a prank and locking his brother out of their bedroom by gluing the door shut.
“You’ll see,” said Alex, and he grabbed Martin’s walkie-talkie. “Ground Control? This is the King of Astro. Do you read me? Over.”
“I read you loud and clear. Over.”
“Astro’s orange moon has just come up on our sensors. We’re going to need our antigravity bounce device. Over.”
“Say again. Over.”
“Our antigravity bounce device. Over.”
There was a long pause, and dead air filled both walkie-talkies.
At last, Martin took pity on Stuart. He grabbed the walkie-talkie from Alex.
“My pogo stick, Stuart. It’s in the garage,” explained Martin.
“Roger,” said Ground Control. Then, forgetting to turn off his walkie-talkie, Stuart muttered, “Why didn’t they just say so?”
Alex rolled his eyes at Martin. Martin adjusted his space goggles.
A few minutes later, Stuart pushed open the trapdoor.
“We should switch roles soon,” he said peevishly. “I’m getting bored down there.”
“In a bit,” said Alex, taking the pogo stick from him.
Reluctantly, Stuart headed down to his post, banging the trapdoor shut behind him.
“Watc
h this,” said Alex eagerly.
He jumped on the pogo stick and began to bounce erratically around the tree fort.
“Stay clear of the window,” advised Martin. “It’s a long way down.” Something in his own voice reminded Martin of the worried tone his mom sometimes had.
“This is great,” announced Alex, ignoring Martin’s warning. He smoothed out his bounce. “I’m … practically … floating … in … space,” he said between sproings.
It began to look like a lot of fun, and the cautious voice inside Martin’s head faded away.
“Let me try,” said Martin.
Alex bounced a few more times before surrendering the pogo stick.
During his first few tries, Martin kept falling off to avoid hitting a wall or getting too close to the window. It was dizzying being so high up and in such a tight space. He decided to take smaller bounces to get better control.
“Look at me!” exclaimed Martin.
Bounce. Bounce.
“I’m moonwalking! Just like Zip on my comic book cover!”
It was then that Stuart, a look of curiosity on his face, pushed the trapdoor wide open.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. But he barely finished his question because, at that exact moment, Martin bounced past Stuart and rocketed through the open trapdoor.
Later, Alex and Stuart would say it all happened so quickly.
But not Martin.
As he plunged down, Martin saw everything in exquisite detail. Stuart, whose mouth was shaped like the capital letter O. The tree fort ladder flickering by like a picket fence. A squirrel staring quizzically and chattering at him to slow down. And the lawn springing up to meet him.
Then the pogo stick landed. It stayed put, but Martin kept going. He launched back into the air, passing that same chattering squirrel, then smashed high up against the tree.
Martin Bridge: Out of Orbit! Page 2