My aunt vacuumed every room, aired out all the pillows and blankets, and changed all the sheets. She didn’t talk to me. She didn’t yell or even tell me I had to stay in my room. She kept at it for three days, until the house smelled like it used to again, like toast and her orchid perfume.
* * *
—
A week after the fire my aunt called me into her bedroom. She sat at her desk with a stack of papers in front of her. She wore a dark blue dress and a gold necklace that hung down like a pendulum. Everything in her room was soft or shiny. A large canvas hung over the bed; it had gray lines that looked like a dancer touching her toes.
Do you like living here June? She looked at the papers on her desk instead of me.
I didn’t answer.
She waited.
No, I said softly.
You don’t like living with your cousin and having books and toys and nice clothes to wear? She gestured to my cotton tights and new sneakers. And good things to eat?
I said nothing because I didn’t care about any of those things.
Do you want to go away to school?
I don’t know.
If you went to school you wouldn’t see me or your cousin more than three or four times a year. But maybe you wouldn’t miss us.
My face turned hot. Would you miss me?
She frowned and shifted the papers on her desk, and her rings glittered in the light from the window. I’d stared at one of them before—an emerald shaped like a cushion that sat cradled in gold—and thought how perfectly the gemstone fit inside the gold prongs, like they were of one piece, like they were made to go together.
The truth is— She ruffled the papers. We needed him to make this family work, and now that he’s gone, it doesn’t.
I didn’t say anything. Snow flecked the windows.
I’ve made some calls and you can begin at Peter Reed next week.
I’m not old enough.
They’re going to make an exception.
I thought about this. A thin layer of snow grew in the window frame.
Why? I asked.
She paused. Because I asked them to.
Because of Uncle. Because I’m his niece.
Yes. She nodded. That too. So it’s decided? she asked.
Yes, I said. I’ll go.
9
We watched the road, my aunt and me. The bus to the NSP campus was late. It was just after eight o’clock in the morning and there was a hard frost in the air. Above our heads a rocket crackled through the sky and I felt a ripple of excitement because I was going to school where I would learn how they were made. I might even, someday, leave Earth inside a capsule powered by one.
Finally a yellow vehicle appeared at the top of the road. When it stopped my aunt didn’t say anything. I was quiet too. She handed me my bag. Then she put her hand on my head. She pulled at the tangles in my hair and sighed. I worried the bus would leave, but I held my body still. I didn’t pull away. She combed her fingers through, tugging at the biggest knots until they gave way.
When she let go I climbed the bus’s tall steps, lugging my bag ahead of me. I chose a carpeted seat next to the window and pushed my duffel under my feet. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my aunt was still there. But I didn’t turn my head. If I did I would cry.
The bus hissed and staggered away, belching exhaust. It moved down the long, straight road. I turned; my aunt was nearly to the door. I watched her, the carpeted seat shuddering against my back. When she reached the front steps, she let her hands loose, and they swung a little at her sides.
The house was gone now; out the window was only gray sky and frozen trees. Inside was just the driver and a sea of empty blue seats. But, no, a person sat a few rows ahead of me. I hadn’t noticed him because his blue uniform matched the color of the seats.
The shaking of the bus was horrible, the noise of it worse. There didn’t seem to be any heat, and my body felt cold and hot at the same time. My stomach rolled as we went around a bend.
The person stood up and held on to the back of a seat, and I was relieved to see it was my uncle’s student Simon. I hadn’t seen him in at least a year but he looked the same, tall and thin, with soft wavy hair and a book under his arm. On his sleeve was the insignia of the NSP Explorer program. June, he said. I’m glad to see you.
I’d always liked how he spoke to me, not like he was talking to a kid at all.
Are you going to campus? he asked.
I’m starting school, I said.
He sat down next to me. I didn’t mind him being close—he smelled like shampoo and snow—but I wished he wasn’t looking at me so intently. My stomach was bad. The smell of the exhaust and the rumbling under my seat made it churn.
Are you all right? he asked.
I nodded.
You’re young to be going to Peter Reed.
I know.
We were on the highway now and the road was smoother. My stomach calmed a little.
Feel better?
Yes. Thank you.
We were quiet for a minute.
You’ll have Theresa in class, he said. She teaches math—
I think he said this to make me feel better, but I’d always been a little afraid of Theresa so it didn’t help.
—and I have shifts at the dive pool. So I’ll see you too.
Really?
I’ll look at my hours and make sure. Okay?
The heat finally switched on below our feet and blasted our boots. I let my body soften a little in my seat. He opened his book, Space Materials Science. The pages were dense with small text, and bookmarked with a photograph of a woman with cropped dark hair.
Anu, I said. Inquiry’s commander.
Yes.
She’ll figure it out, I said quickly. What’s wrong with Inquiry. Right?
Yes. His voice was soft but certain. I think she will.
The bus exited the highway and slowed. I looked out the window at the frosty trees and thought about my uncle’s fuel cell schematics. Early that morning I’d searched the house and found them in my aunt’s desk drawer. Now they were in the duffel bag at my feet. I could get them out and ask Simon about the cell—
But we were already approaching a large compound and I recognized the familiar outline of the NSP campus. We stopped at a red gate that blocked the road, and the driver waved at a man in a small shed. We traveled down a curved street past sleek modern buildings and bright white hangars, and after an expanse of field dusted with snow we approached three gray buildings, blockish, octagonal.
As we slowed my eye was drawn to the path that ran beside the road. It was etched with something—names. Four or five of them per square of pavement. I tried to read them. Marcus Slinger. Jill Morales. Chris Chambers. Alexi Petrova—
Simon put his book away and stood up. He said, We’re nearly there. He walked toward the front of the bus, holding on to the backs of seats as he went. We stopped in front of one of the squat buildings, and I rose and dragged my bag down the aisle and steps and over the names engraved in the pavement below my feet. Henry Feinstein, Lisa Church—
Who are these people? I asked Simon. I pointed a toe at a name, Susanne Waters. Famous astronauts?
No. Just ones that died.
The air was icy against my hands and face.
Simon turned to go but then he stopped and rummaged in his backpack. The food’s terrible, he said. He threw a granola bar into the air and I caught it. In case you get hungry.
I pulled my bag to the metal-and-glass door, and when I looked back he was walking away over the frosty, name-covered path.
10
The girls’ dormitory at Peter Reed wasn’t a real dormitory but an old gymnasium; it smelled of damp concrete and dirty socks. There were rows of beds at one end, and the rest of the cold, ech
oing room was empty, except for the large photographs of planets and moons that lined the walls.
That first night I laid my suitcase on my bed and found my pajamas—their blue plaid was vivid against the worn gray blanket—and undressed as quickly as I could, shivering. I kept my eyes on the floor as girls changed around me. Their long legs and sock-covered feet shuffled; some hopped up and down. I raised my eyes only once, when I pulled my pajama top over my head. Everyone was older than me—I was twelve and the rest of the girls were at least fourteen. Some of them had breasts like my aunt. Some of them had hair under their arms. A girl nearby frowned at me and I looked away. I got under the thin covers. The lights above were bright and I turned onto my side.
On the wall opposite my bed was the same drawing of the Pink Planet that hung in my uncle’s office. It was strange to see it in this unfamiliar place, the circle of rose-colored light that glowed in the midst of darkness. It had always made me feel better, looking at it. But this time it didn’t. This time the inky black seemed more like the ocean than the sky, and the Pink Planet itself—June’s moon—like a ship lost at sea.
A few girls pulled out books and started to read, and others sat together and played games. There was the snap of cards, whispering, laughter, someone blowing her nose. And then the repetition of these sounds, down and down and down the long room.
Someone called, Ten o’clock! And the lights went out at the end of the room. The girls around me quieted. There were still whispers, but the laughter and card sounds went away. Then the lights above my head went out.
At home my aunt and John would be in bed, the dogs curled up with them. The clock in the hallway would be making its gentle tac tac tac. I couldn’t make out the drawing of the Pink Planet anymore. The room seemed to grow colder and my teeth chattered. I didn’t mean to whimper.
A whisper from nearby: Hey you.
The beds were only a few inches from one another, but I had forgotten this as soon as the lights went out. It seemed I was in the middle of outer space, free floating in the deepest black.
Another whisper: I’ll never be able to sleep with you going on like that. Come over here. It’s warmer.
Okay.
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I could make out one of the lights, a gray cage high above, and the girl who whispered. She had a long face and loose silvery hair.
Come on. I’m Carla. She reached out between our two beds and I did too, and she squeezed my hand, her fingers smooth and warm.
I let one foot touch the icy ground and got into her bed. She had more blankets than I did. Her sheets were rough against my skin but warm; they smelled faintly of flowers. I lay perfectly straight and tried to quiet my trembling body, my tapping teeth. She turned her back to mine.
I’m June, I said.
Put your feet against mine, June.
I did and my shivers eased. I felt the rise and fall of Carla’s breathing. Soon it slowed and became shallow. Minutes passed. But for me sleep didn’t come. Now I heard the sounds of all the other girls around me. Snores, sniffles, coughs. The creak of someone rolling over. Sighs. I tried to differentiate each sound, to figure out what it was. Who had made it. How far away that girl was. What she looked like, how tall, how heavy. Was her hair tied up or loose? Did she have extra blankets or not?
Carla was very still; I tried not to move because I didn’t want to wake her. I became conscious of the sounds my own body was making. The slight whistle of air from my nose, a rumble from my stomach. I’d never thought about the noises my body made. I’d never listened to them.
I wished I didn’t have a body. That I was made of air or dust or light. Of nothing at all. To my left my bed was a rumple of gray and white. I wanted to stay with Carla but I’d never slept next to another person and I didn’t seem to be able to do it. I crawled back to my bed, my covers freezing to the touch.
11
When I woke everyone was up and moving around. Carla stood at the foot of her bed. Her hair wasn’t silvery in the daytime, but plain light brown. She was pulling a sweatshirt over her head, pushing her feet into sneakers and her hands into gloves. Other girls were grabbing running shoes and hats and scarves and gloves too, so I dug my sneakers out of my bag and put them on. I had gloves but no hat. I put my wool coat on.
A bell sounded and everyone hurried to line up at the other end of the long room. I stood behind Carla in line and said, I have to go to the bathroom.
There’s no time to go now, she said.
Everyone was moving out the far door and onto a snowy path between two hangars. A woman’s voice from the front said, Let’s go! Three laps! The group started running all at once and the thumping crunch of fifty girls’ feet filled the air. I was jostled and then shoved; I stumbled and ducked out of the way and was immediately left behind. Everyone headed for a track that circled the dormitory. I hurried in that direction, my hands held out in front of me as my feet slipped on the snowy ground. I tried to catch up but the mass of legs and feet and ponytails was already far away. Only a couple of kids straggled behind, one whose ankle was wrapped in a stretchy bandage and another large dark-haired girl with a red face.
A teacher with a puffy blue coat was waving to us from the side of the track—Let’s go, let’s go!—and I tried to propel my body forward. Ahead of me the horizon bumped and jerked. Beyond a narrow stretch of snowy field was another track, this one fully cleared of snow, with lanes marked in chalk. I slowed to watch a group of men and women in blue uniforms run past—like Simon they had the insignia of the NSP Explorer program on their sleeves. They were fast; I could barely make out their faces. In only a moment they were around the bend and gone, and I forced my legs to start moving again.
My breath came out in big clouds; my thick jacket rubbed against my neck and my underarms. My body turned from too cold to too hot. I took off my gloves and unbuttoned my coat. A sharp pain pressed at the underside of my rib cage, more insistent with each icy inhale. I still had to pee and the pressure in my bladder grew. I managed to pass the girl with the dark hair and red cheeks; the one with the ankle wrap was still ahead of me. Then I felt a trickle of wet down my leg. I stopped and stood perfectly still. I turned around—the teacher was waving at me. Go on! I backtracked slowly to where she stood.
I have to go to the bathroom, I said.
She frowned. All right.
I hurried to the toilets in the dormitory, and when I got back outside everyone was lining up again and moving into another building.
I found Carla in the middle of the line. It still hurt to breathe, and my stomach felt empty and raw. When’s breakfast? I asked her.
After math.
I’m starving.
You won’t be when you see the food.
Inside, girls split off in different directions and Carla pulled me along with her into a classroom that smelled like dust and dry-erase markers.
I was relieved to sit down at an empty desk, its surface cold under my hot hands. A teacher faced the board and wrote a math problem on a large whiteboard at the front of the room. She had a smooth brown ponytail and the kind of blue uniform Simon and the runners outside wore. She wrote fast with big loping numbers. Even still, girls started calling out before she was finished. None of them raised their hands—they just yelled things. A girl with red hair got up and started scribbling on the board below the equation.
The teacher faced the class—it was my uncle’s former student Theresa. I hadn’t seen her in at least a year and she was taller, her eyebrows sharper.
Another girl wearing a sports jersey got up from her desk: No, not like that. And she took the marker away from the girl at the board, erased what the first girl wrote, and started again.
I tried to follow what they wrote. I had thought all math was easy, but this was beyond anything I’d encountered at school. I tried to focus on each voice; they were talking over on
e another, and some of the words they used I didn’t understand. A girl with yellow tights jumped up to the board a lot. What she wrote almost always got erased, but she didn’t seem to care. The writing on the board grew. Carla drew a shape with numbers at each of its points and Theresa nodded, and it didn’t get erased. The next girl worked from what Carla wrote.
Soon a quarter of the board was filled with numbers and symbols. I was able to extrapolate, to some degree, from the math I already knew. I concentrated hard and began to understand Carla’s diagram. I even tried to call out an answer, but other girls shouted over me. My answer had been the right one, or one of the right ones, and it was exciting.
The board was nearly half full. The short equation had turned into a tumbling mass of branching lines, the numbers and symbols and diagrams reaching fast like limbs. The girls’ voices rushed and stretched too. They pushed against and alongside one another, asserting, correcting, expanding, rephrasing.
I followed the lines of thought for several more minutes. Then my mind snagged on something that had been posed early on but abandoned. I wondered if there was a quicker way—
Theresa took the marker back. She gestured to the board and said, with her slight accent, What do you have to add?
She was asking me.
All the heads turned, and the room went quiet.
I—
My face turned hot. I’m not sure.
She said, A wrong answer’s better than no answer at all. She waited, her eyebrows raised, expectant. Nothing?
All but one corner of the board was filled with numbers and diagrams. I could have said something ten minutes ago, even five minutes ago, but now they were past me. My throat tightened. Carla avoided my gaze. Finally she shook her head slightly as if to say, Do not cry.
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