I don’t feel like leaving yet. It’s so wet and cold out, and so nice and warm in the tent by the fire, and I want to hear more about Cam’s planet. I crawl back inside and break off a piece of cheese for me and one for Josie.
“So,” I say, chewing, “tell me more.” I wriggle into a more comfortable position, gaze at the fire, and wait.
Cam begins talking in a very soft, slow voice. “Well, people there—”
I can’t help interrupting to ask, “Are they all like you? I mean, you seem to be, you know, a normal”—I hesitate—“Earthling.”
She laughs. “Thanks. I think.” Then she continues. “Yeah, people there look like people here, pretty much. There are small differences, like in skin and hair and eye colors but you have to really look to notice them.”
“Like your eyes,” I blurt out, without thinking. “So green and glittery.”
She seems surprised, then smiles. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that people here always remark about my eyes. Anyway, we evolved along with Earth for a long time, so we have a lot in common. Our two planets were really similar until we had a big war, kind of like your First World War.”
I nod. It’s not hard to imagine that.
“It was awful. But what came out of it, finally, was what we call the New World. That’s the world I grew up in.”
I’m concentrating on her words, trying to keep up.
“Home would be like Earth, except, well, we learned from our mistakes.”
“And we didn’t?” I ask.
Cam shrugs. “Listen to the news.”
I say, “Most people here try to be good …” I hesitate, thinking of all the terrible stuff we hear about on the news. “Don’t they?”
Cam says, “All I know is that kids on my planet are never unwanted. They don’t have to be afraid.”
I can hear in her voice that she’s trying not to cry, and I feel awful. I think her time on Earth must have been really terrible.
Cam gazes directly into my eyes and says, “Kids on my planet aren’t lonely, either.”
“What are you looking at me for?”
She doesn’t answer for a minute, but just keeps looking at me. Then she whispers, “That’s one reason I thought maybe you’d come with me.”
“What? You think I’m lonely?”
She looks flustered, and hesitates before saying, “I— I was thinking about what you said about your mom dying, and how your dad and you don’t talk. And it doesn’t seem like there’s anybody else … I don’t know, I could be wrong. But don’t you just feel there’s got to be some better place out there somewhere?”
I don’t know what to say.
After a second, Cam adds, “I understand if you don’t want to leave here. I mean, this is the life you know. And your dad—”
“Oh, man,” I say, interrupting, “speaking of my dad, he’s probably starting to freak. I told him I might be late, but I’ve never stayed out this late.” I untangle myself from the sleeping bag. “I gotta go.”
Cam nods.
It’s hard to leave the warmth of the tent to go into the darkness and rain. I step out and Josie rouses herself and follows. I turn back to Cam. She looks so alone and vulnerable in the tent by herself, it makes my heart twist up.
“I really have to go,” I say.
“I know.”
“I’ll come back early and we’ll move the tent somewhere safer,” I tell her.
“Okay.”
“Okay. Bye, then.”
“Owen?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you think about it?”
“What?” I ask, although I know.
“Coming with me.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sure.” How could I not think about it? What kid wouldn’t want to take a ride on a spaceship? Who wouldn’t want to live on the kind of planet Cam had described? I turn to leave, but she goes on.
“You know what’s weird, though? Now, when it looks like I’m actually going home, I suddenly have a reason to stay.”
She says this and looks at me, and I think maybe she’s talking about me, but I’m not sure, and I don’t know what to say to that, if it’s true. So I say, a little desperately, “I really have to go, Cam.”
“I know.”
I turn from the fire and at first I can’t see anything. “Hey, by the way,” I say, looking back. “What’s the name of your planet?”
She blinks and looks surprised. After a second she says, “We just call it … Home.”
“Oh. Okay.”
This time I actually do leave. Sliding down the hill is pretty hairy in the dark. And once I’m riding down the trail, nothing looks familiar, and I wish I had a light on my bike. I don’t feel sure of how far I’ve gone and how far I still have to go. I keep thinking I hear things— footsteps or movement—under the dripping of the rain. I’m really, really grateful for Josie’s company.
Over and over, I tell myself that no matter how big and mean Ray is, there’s no way he’d be out here on a night like this, and that the tent is well hidden, and Cam is safe.
12
BY THE TIME I PEDAL UP OUR DRIVEWAY, I FEEL SO exhausted I wonder if I’ll be able to make it to my room and my bed. I notice that the house looks different, but it takes a minute for me to figure out why. Lights are on all over the place. This is strange, because Dad is a stickler for conservation—of energy and money. It’s not a good sign.
Sure enough, as I’m stashing my bike in the garage, the door from the kitchen opens and Dad is standing there.
“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”
Josie goes up to him on a peacemaking mission, her tail wagging, but he ignores her and keeps looking at me.
“And what in the world were you doing out in this weather?” he continues before I have a chance to say anything.
I’m so beat I can hardly think, but I have to come up with something. “I was on the trail. When it started to rain, I holed up in the abandoned mill I’ve told you about, waiting for it to stop, but it didn’t. I tried to call then, but there’s no reception down there so I turned off the phone. Finally, I just came home.”
Dad looks puzzled. “When did you leave me the note?”
“Around six, I guess.”
“It was already raining hard then. What was so important that you had to go out in it?”
My brain scrambles frantically for something to say. Lying seems like my only choice.
“I had some money in my pocket this morning and when I got home, it was gone. I figured it fell out on the trail, so I went back to see if I could find it.”
He nods, and I silently congratulate myself for coming up with a reason he would understand. “Any luck?” he asks.
I make a face. “Nope.”
“That’s too bad. But, Owen, you really had me worried. I don’t want you out at night like this, especially when I have no idea where you are.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
I follow him, blinking, into the brightly lit kitchen. In spite of the snacks I ate in the tent with Cam, I am suddenly ravenous, and I open the refrigerator.
Dad says, “I bought two steaks. Yours is in there. Here, give it to me. I’ll cook it.”
“Thanks,” I say, handing him the plastic-wrapped meat. He heats up the frying pan and asks me to get the butter. When it hits the pan, my stomach lets out a loud growl, and we both laugh. After that, the usual silence falls between us.
I fill Josie’s water dish and put some extra food in her bowl, figuring she’s burning up a lot of energy on the trail. Then I sit down at the table, watching Dad’s back as he stands at the stove.
“Dad?” I say. “Are you ever … lonely?”
I can see from the way he stiffens that my question has startled him.
After a minute he says carefully, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Oh, boy. This is new territory. I wish I’d never brought it up. But then I flounder on. “I don’t know. I mean, since Mom died.”
Dad
continues cooking my steak, and just when I think he’s not going to answer, he says, “I don’t think about being lonely. I think about my clients and what’s going on in the world and what to pick up for dinner. And I think about you, of course.”
“Oh,” I say after a minute.
Dad puts the pan on the tile floor for Josie to lick. She circles it and sniffs, then lies next to it to wait for it to cool.
“Smart dog,” says Dad.
“The smartest,” I say.
He brings my plate to the table, sets it in front of me, and sits down.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“What you need is a hot shower and a good night’s sleep,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m really tired.” I eat my steak. The sound of my chewing seems very loud in the quiet kitchen.
Josie has apparently determined that the pan is cool enough, because she stands up. The rhythmic lapping of her tongue fills the silence.
When I finish my steak, Dad takes my plate and washes it. For some reason this almost makes me cry.
I have the sudden thought that Dad and I are like two planets spinning in separate orbits, and that an unexpected little wobble just caused our paths to intersect for a moment. I feel like I want to stop everything before we spin off in different directions again, but I don’t know how.
And I’m so tired, way too tired to think about it now.
13
THE NEXT MORNING, DAD HAS ALREADY LEFT FOR work when I get up. But there’s a note on the kitchen counter.
Owen,
I’m still working on that big audit, but I’m going to try to get home early tonight. Maybe we can talk some more.
Dad
I read the note over several times, shaking my head about how strange life can be. For the first time ever, Dad wants to talk? I mean, I’m glad. But why does it have to happen just when I’m up to my eyeballs in something I’m sworn to secrecy about, and just when I’m more or less counting on his being too busy and distracted to pay attention to me?
I don’t leave him a note, because I figure I’ll be back before he is. It shouldn’t take all day to move the tent somewhere safer, and I’ll be home in plenty of time to keep him from worrying and asking questions.
I’m glad to see the sun is shining. The water from last night’s downpour is evaporating off the fields around our house and rising in a shimmery mist. It’s pretty, and I smile, remembering Cam’s comment that Earth isn’t all bad.
I feed Josie, then start to make breakfast. Thinking that Cam is probably hungry after her rainy night alone in the tent, I make four fried egg and ham sandwiches on English muffins. I eat one, and wrap the rest in aluminum foil and put them in my backpack, along with some other food and drinks to get her through the day.
Then Josie and I head out. I’m glad not to have a reason to stop at the store, but I imagine Mr. Powers’s droopy eyes on me as I pass by. A little way down the trail, I see the Dog People, or, rather, their dogs, all racing toward me.
Then Charlene and Ernie appear, calling, “Pierre! Simone! Jasper! Come!” The dogs ignore them and start roughhousing with Josie.
“Hello, Josie!” Charlene says. “Hi, Owen!”
“Hi,” I say, stopping and straddling my bike.
Charlene gives Josie a treat and says, “What a glorious day. Especially after that gully washer we had last night. You weren’t out in that, were you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Actually, I was.”
“You poor thing,” she says sympathetically. She looks at me, and I notice that her eyes are bright blue. Not icy blue, but warm and bright like this morning’s sky. They crinkle up at the corners when she smiles, which she is doing now as she watches the dogs. I’ve never really looked at her face before. It’s nice.
The dogs have stopped playing and are gathered around me with their noses going a mile a minute.
“I’m going to take a wild guess that there’s food in your backpack,” Ernie says.
I laugh. “Yeah. Sandwiches. Still warm, too. I bet they smell great to these guys.”
Charlene says, “I would love to have a dog’s nose, just for one day, to see how the world smells to them. Can you imagine all the information they get that we don’t even notice?”
I glance at Josie and Pierre, who are sniffing each other’s butts with great concentration. I grin and say, “I think I could live without some of that information.”
Charlene lets out a whoop, which causes Pierre and Josie to glance at her inquisitively, then go back to what they were doing.
“I’m with you on that, Owen,” Ernie agrees.
“I’d still like to have the nose, just for a while,” declares Charlene, adding, “but I’d use it with more discretion than those two.” To me she says, “So are you going on a picnic?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” I mumble. “Sort of.”
“All by your lonesome?”
I shrug and say, “Well, me and Josie.” To change the subject I ask, “Is that Sidney?”
Ernie nods, beaming proudly. “Can you believe it?”
I can’t. He barely resembles the dog I’d seen cowering and shivering by the van. He’s standing by Charlene’s side, his head up, and his tail wagging.
“Wow,” I say. “He’s doing great.”
Ernie leans down to give Sidney a pat. “We thought it might take longer for him to come around. But he seems to know he’s safe now.”
“When I think of what he must have gone through, it makes me so sad,” Charlene says. “All he needed was kindness and attention.”
I give Sidney a pat, too. “Well, I should get going,” I say. “I’ll probably see you soon.”
“I sure hope so,” Charlene answers. “You two have fun now.”
I call to Josie, and we head off. Some of the other dogs follow us for a while, but eventually they turn back.
When I get near where the tent was last night, it’s nowhere to be seen. I panic as images of Cam being discovered by Ray run through my mind. But then a figure drops down out of the branches of the big sycamore tree, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“You scared me for a second,” I call.
Cam grins and says, “Yeah, I could tell. What took you so long?”
I reach into my backpack and hold up the sandwiches. “I was preparing a gourmet feast.”
“Excellent!” says Cam. “I was about to start eating leaves and bark.”
“What happened to the Tootsie Rolls?” I tease.
“I don’t have a watch, but I bet they only lasted five minutes after you left last night,” she says.
“Where’s the tent?”
She points to the cornfield. “I took it down and hid everything. I even spread the ashes from the fire around and sprinkled leaves over the ground.” She grimaces. “I guess I’m getting paranoid.”
“Good thing we only have”—I stop and think— “wow! Only one more day, right?”
Cam nods. “Yep, one more day until the full moon. Hey, was your dad mad last night?”
“Not really. More worried than mad. But he wants me home early tonight, so we’d better get going.”
“First, food,” says Cam.
We sit in the grass, close to the cornfield in case we have to hide, and eat.
“I found a good place for the tent,” Cam says. “Come on.” I walk with her over to the edge of the bank and look down. Here, the shale slopes gently down to a level area, making a kind of step in the hillside, before it drops off more sharply above the trail. “I sat there,” she says, “and I’m sure no one on the trail would be able to look up and see it. And someone would have to walk right to the edge of the bank and peer over to see it from up here.”
After we finish eating, I check it out. She’s right. It’s a good spot. So we set up the tent and put her stuff inside, except for the four-foot-long board, which we leave out.
When we’re all done and feeling as safe as possible, I say, “So,
tomorrow afternoon we’ll make the signal. Then what?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Up to me?”
“Well, tomorrow night I’m going to wait in the center of the circle for my parents, and when they come I’m going home with them. The only question is, will you and Josie be with us?”
I avoid the question by asking one of my own. “How can you be so sure your parents will want me to come? I am a degenerate Earthling, after all.”
I’m only partly kidding when I say this. It would be just my luck to go to another planet only to discover that everybody there thinks I’m the equivalent of a Neanderthal.
Cam says, “Of course they’ll want you. First of all, the very fact that you’re with me will let them know you’re okay. But, really, Owen, you’ve got to believe me. They wouldn’t want you to live like this.”
“Live like what?” I ask indignantly. She makes it sound like I’m holed up in a cave gnawing on bones.
Cam looks away. “So alone.”
“What are you talking about, alone?” I protest. “I just moved here. How am I supposed to know anybody until school starts?” She doesn’t say anything, and I go on. “Oh, I know. You’re talking about me and Dad. Well, for your information, when I got home last night he cooked me a great dinner, and we sat down and had a real good talk.”
This is a slight exaggeration, of course. But it was a good talk, for us.
“And he left me a note this morning, saying he’s going to come home early tonight so we can talk some more and do something together, maybe practice some soccer moves or something.”
The last part isn’t strictly true, either, but I feel pretty sure that’s what Dad was thinking when he wrote the note.
“That’s good,” Cam says softly.
“Look,” I say shortly, “I’ve got to go.” I take the rest of the food out of my backpack and push it over toward her. “Be careful. You should be okay if you stay hidden.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll be careful.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and she seems distant and sad all of a sudden.
“All right,” I say, trying to sound a little less abrupt. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll build the signal.”
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