Planet Earth Is Blue

by Nicole Panteleakos

  Then you said we were going to rocket out of foster care together just like how the astronauts would be rocketing out of Earth’s atmosphere, remember?

  That was my favorite part.

  That’s why you need to come back soon.

  I do not want you to miss it.

  Recess is over. Mrs. Pierce wants me to put my scribbles away. That’s what she called my letters notebook—scribbles. My words to you look like scribbles to her, which makes her just like every other teacher, ever. Teachers think I cannot read like how Francine thinks I cannot read but maybe they are the ones who cannot read. You could always read my letters. You never called them scribbles. Babies scribble. I’m not a baby.

  I miss you.

  Love,

  Your Super Nova

  Tuesday morning was the same as Monday morning. Mrs. Pierce tested Nova’s ability to match objects and pictures by handing her random items from a box labeled MATCH and saying “Match.”

  Plastic fork. Bubbles bottle. Rubber ball.

  Piece of gummy worm. Piece of gummy worm. Piece of gummy worm.

  The candy was the right mix of sweet and sour, so Nova tried her best to ignore the squirrels, lights, heat, and other kids so she could concentrate and earn more pieces.

  At lunch, Mallory and Alex sat on either side of Nova and talked. They talked a lot. Sometimes they talked at the same time, which made Nova slightly dizzy, so she tuned them both out, but they didn’t seem to notice.

  At recess, Alex took Nova’s hand and dragged her toward the Morning Circle carpet in front of the bookshelves. Mallory was leading Bouncing Buddy over too, and Quiet Mary-Beth followed a minute later.

  “Sit down, Buddy,” said Mallory, tugging his hand. She was already cross-legged on the floor. When he sat beside her, she hugged him and he grinned. Unlike Nova, he seemed to love hugs. “We are playing the Ball Game.”

  “The Ball Game?” whispered Mary-Beth, who both had a lisp and talked so softly Mrs. Pierce was constantly asking her to repeat herself using “a loud and proud voice.”

  “Yes,” said Mallory.

  “I don’t want the Ball Game,” said Mary-Beth so softly Nova almost wasn’t sure she’d said anything at all.

  “Oh, well.” Mallory shrugged. “I’m in charge and I say we’re playing the Ball Game.” She grabbed a large neon-green bouncy ball from the bottom shelf, the one that held board games and toys instead of books. Nova sat NASA Bear in her lap and crossed her legs like everyone else.

  “Mallory can be real bothy,” Mary-Beth whispered in Nova’s ear.

  Nova was pretty sure Mary-Beth meant “bossy,” which made her smile. Kids used to call Bridget bossy too, because Bridget always chose and led every game they played, no matter who they were playing with. Nova didn’t mind bossy.

  “Love-a Ball Game!” said Alex, clapping. “I tell how-a play!”

  Everyone except Nova already knew how, but Alex said he wouldn’t start explaining until they all put their listening ears on. Finally everyone was quiet, even Buddy.

  “You bounce-a ball front-a you five times an’ say a color or number or letter or aminal—I mean, animal—then pass-a other kid, who do it too, then if-a other kid forget for five, start again!”

  Nova didn’t get it. Mallory could tell.

  “So I say ‘bird,’ then I roll it to Alex and he says ‘dog,’ then he rolls it to Mary-Beth and she says ‘pig,’ and we keep going until someone gets to five bounces before thinking of an animal. Then the next person picks a category and keeps it going. You know categories, right?”

  Nova did not have an answer, but that was fine because Mallory didn’t wait for one.

  “Think fast! I’ll start.” Bossy Mallory bounced the ball in front of her four times.

  “I never think fatht!” lamented Quiet Mary-Beth.

  Nova frowned. She had no idea how she and Bouncing Buddy would play without words.

  “Horse!” said Mallory. She rolled the ball to Buddy, who bounced it with one hand and with the other did what looked like the okay sign beside his cheek, slowly moving it away from his face.

  “He’s signing ‘cat,’ ” explained Mallory as Buddy rolled to Alex. “Good job, Buddy!”

  Alex bounced the ball five times. On his fifth bounce, he hollered, “Pigeon!” He rolled the ball to Mary-Beth. She whispered, “Duck,” on the fifth bounce. She rolled it to Nova. Nova was bouncing slowly, wondering how she would manage, when her eye caught the nursery rhymes posted on the walls above the shelves. Every single poster had one thing in common:

  “Seep!” shouted Nova, louder than she meant to. She pointed at the rhymes.

  “Sheep!” repeated Mallory. “Good one! Pass it.”

  Nova passed to Alex, who yelled, “Hippo!”

  It didn’t make it back to Nova before the bell rang but that was okay.

  This was the first time she had talked to other kids without Bridget, without a teacher, and without quite having the words.

  This was the first time she had really, truly felt like part of the group, just like everybody else.

  It felt weird.

  It felt great.

  It felt like being on a roller coaster, not the tick-tick-tick going up, but that first swoosh going down. It felt like fluff on a sandwich, confusing but sweet. And it felt like a soft landing on the moon, right in the Sea of Tranquility, surrounded by other astronauts, guided by Bridget.

  The afternoon was not so great, though. More testing. Nova was sick of gummy worms. Her tummy started to hurt, which reminded her of the day one of their first foster families took her and Bridget to an amusement park, where they rode roller coasters and spinning teacups and ate cotton candy and hot dogs until they felt like throwing up.

  Nova closed her eyes and covered her ears, wanting to remember that day, wanting to escape testing with Mrs. Pierce. Wanting to be back with her sister.

  * * *

  It was the very end of August right before school would start again. Nova was seven and Bridget was twelve. They had each worn their favorite outfits. Bridget’s was a blue-and-green-striped sleeveless shirt with Carnation Pink shorts. Nova’s was red OshKosh B’gosh corduroy overalls over a Lemon Yellow T-shirt. They wore matching cloth sneakers with no socks. Nova hated socks then, before slouch socks, because they always had a line across her toes.

  At dinnertime, their foster mom was not feeling well. She said she had to throw up, even though she had not been on a single roller coaster or had any cotton candy. Their foster dad took her to find a bathroom. Nova and Bridget sat and waited for them at a picnic table, eating hot dogs and fries.

  “Listen, Nova,” said Bridget. “I know I’ve been telling you since they took us away that it’s only you and me, right, but these two? They’re cool. I overheard them talking to that social worker about what’s gonna happen to us next. They sounded real worried we’d end up separated. They don’t want that to happen. So I was thinking, maybe they’re gonna ask to adopt us? They said we have something important to talk about, right? I think they want to be our forever family. Remember that girl at the last home who kept talking about wanting a forever family? And I told her that was stupid because there’s no such thing? Well, maybe I was wrong, okay?”

  Nova almost dropped her hot dog. Bridget was never wrong. About anything. Ever.

  “If that’s what they tell us tonight, if they say they want to adopt us, I’m gonna say it’s okay. Okay? But only if you want me to. ’Cause I’ll be a teenager next year but you’re gonna have more than ten years with these people, right? So it’s only okay if you say it’s okay. Think it over. Is it okay?”

  Nova swirled a fry in ketchup. She thought it over.

  “Kay-kay,” she said finally. Bridget squealed and hugged her, which made her drop the fry, leaving a grease-and-ketchup mess
on her overalls. Bridget cleaned it up.

  The foster mom and foster dad came back. It was time to go.

  In the car on the way home, they did not tell Bridget and Nova they wanted to adopt them.

  They told them they were having a baby.

  They told them it would be too much work, having three kids.

  They told them a new social worker would be coming the next day: Mrs. Steele.

  They told them they’d be moving someplace else.

  They told them they were sorry.

  That night, before bed, Bridget cried. Bridget never cried. This made Nova’s tummy hurt too.

  “I was right,” Bridget said as she tucked Nova into bed in the room they shared. “There’s no such thing as a forever family, Nova. You and me, that’s it! We’re our own forever family. No one else. You got that? No one else. I’ll always take care of you the way I’ve always taken care of you, just us. You and me and NASA Bear, our space shuttle, and the moon. Okay? Okay.”

  * * *

  “Nova?” It was Mrs. Pierce’s voice, not Bridget’s, interrupting her memory. “Nova? Is there something wrong, dear?”

  Nova put her forehead down on the desk table, ignoring Mrs. Pierce.

  Yes, Nova wanted to answer. Yes, there is something wrong. Bridget isn’t here. That’s what’s wrong.

  By the time she was ready to work again, the school day was over.

  At bedtime, Billy and Francine tucked her in together. Usually they took turns, so this was different, but Nova didn’t mind the change in routine too much.

  “Mrs. Pierce said you had a hard time concentrating on testing today,” said Francine as she drew the blankets up to Nova’s chin, the way she liked them. “It’s very, very important for her to figure out what you know so she can decide what you need to learn. That’s why we want you to do your best job, okay?”

  “Kay,” echoed Nova, annoyed by this. Her best job never seemed to be good enough, so why even try?

  “How about Horton Hears a Who!?” asked Billy, sliding the picture book from the shelf. Nova hit herself in the temple one-two-three-four times and grunted. Billy and Francine read Dr. Seuss every night. She was as sick of Dr. Seuss as she was of gummy bears.

  She reached into the nightstand beside her bed and pulled out Bridget’s beloved, beat-up copy of The Little Prince. She handed it to Francine.

  “Ah.”

  “You want us to read this?” asked Billy, returning Horton to his place between the Grinch and the Lorax. “I’m not familiar with it.”

  “It’s French,” said Francine. “Not this version, this is in English, but the story was originally written in French.”

  “Ah! Mm!” Nova waved NASA Bear’s paw. He wanted Bridget’s book too.

  The off-white cover of The Little Prince depicted a boy with wide-legged, mint-green pants, a red bow tie, and a shock of hair the yellow color of the sun and stars, standing on top of a planet that Nova knew to be Asteroid B-612. On the first page was another color illustration, this one featuring a snake about to make a wild beast his dinner. But Nova’s favorite picture from the entire book was on the next page—an elephant inside the body of a boa constrictor. The elephant had been swallowed whole. His one visible eye was rolled up toward the sky as if he was thinking, Oh, great. I’ve been eaten.

  “ ‘Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves,’ ” read Francine, “ ‘and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.’ ”

  Nova grinned. That was one of Bridget’s favorite lines, and hers too.

  On page six, the Little Prince insisted the author draw him a sheep. Nova sat up and reached for the book. Bridget always skipped this part because Nova did not care for sheep, all woolly and white, like the blanket Mama used to throw over the kitchen table to keep them safe. She flipped ahead to page nine and gave the book back to Francine.

  The Little Prince was very long, as far as bedtime stories go, so they did not make it to Nova’s second-favorite part, when the Little Prince meets the Fox. The Fox tells the Little Prince a big secret, the secret Bridget used to whisper to Nova before they’d go to bed at night—“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

  “That means we understand each other because our hearts are connected,” Bridget would whisper. “Others can’t understand us because they know only what they see.”

  Nova shut her eyes, head back against the soft pillow, and imagined her sister lying there beside her in the bed. She pictured a tiny wooden bridge spanning the length between them, from Bridget’s heart to hers, looking just like the one on the Bridge to Terabithia cover hanging in the middle school hallway, the one made by a sixth-grade student.

  A bridge. Bringing them back together at last.

  Francine closed the book and kissed her forehead. Billy said good night.

  Eventually, Nova fell into a dreamless sleep.

  JAN 21, 1986

  Dear Bridget,

  T-minus seven days left until Challenger launch.

  Seven days is one week.

  That means, in one week, you will come back to watch the launch with me, like you promised. Remember how you promised?

  And you never break a promise.

  There was another story about it in the newspaper today. Joanie read it to me over breakfast.

  “ ‘It’s such a quantum leap from what my life has been like,’ said McAuliffe.” Joanie laughed. “I’ll say! One day, you’re a high school social studies teacher in New Hampshire, the next you’re pretty much an astronaut. I can’t even wrap my brain around flying in a plane, never mind a space shuttle. Can you imagine, Nova?”

  I said “Mm” because of course I can. I wanted to tell her, “I have imagined it with Bridget for almost my whole life,” but since I could not say that I just made NASA Bear raise his paw and nod so Joanie knew he could imagine it too.

  Today I played a game with the other kids in my class. It was not an imagination game or a game about space, like what we always played with other foster kids.

  It was called the Ball Game.

  I had to bounce a ball five times and name an animal.

  This is the part you will not believe:

  I named sheep.

  I have never been happy to think of sheep before. I never thought I could be happy to think about sheep but today sheep was my best animal. Like Joanie says, “Can you imagine?”

  I want you to meet Joanie. I think you will like her.

  She is like you in some ways. She does the stuff you used to do that made our last foster parents mad, like listening to loud music and reading magazines, wearing purple lipstick, and leaving after dinner to “hang out” with friends, but Billy and Francine don’t yell “Get back here, young lady!” They just say “Have fun, honey.”

  Tonight she did not go out. Tonight, her friends came over.

  Joanie said they were having a Game Night, but they did not play the Ball Game. They played a boring game with a big rectangle board that had rooms painted on it, like Kitchen and Conservatory, with six little colored wooden pieces that were supposed to be people and teeny tiny objects like a candlestick and a rope.

  I did not play the game but Joanie let me stay in her room to watch and eat snacks. She called me “one of the girls.” It made me happy but also sad. It made me happy because I liked being one of the girls. It made me feel sad because it made me think of that movie we went to with your friends in December, I think it was called Clue. They had a candlestick and a rope in that movie too, just like in Joanie’s game.

  You and your friends thought the Clue movie was funny. You laughed and laughed until you had tears on your cheeks. But I did not laugh at all, not even once, because I thought it was loud and dark and scary and con
fusing. I wanted to hold your hand but you were already holding hands with that boy who drove us. You said you couldn’t hold both of our hands and eat popcorn at the same time. I was mad because you picked his hand over my hand even though he was just your ugly old friend and I am your Super Nova. That’s why I knocked the popcorn on the floor.

  Then one of your other friends said she could hold my hand instead, but I did not like her skin on my skin. That’s why I screamed and hit myself one-two-three-four times. I think you got mad because you dragged me out to the lobby the way Kindergarten Teacher dragged me to Principal’s Office. You said, “Please don’t ruin this for me, Nova! You have to stop screaming and crying so we can go back in!”

  I’m sorry I kept screaming and crying and would not go back in.

  I think that maybe means I ruined it for you.

  I promise when you come back, we can go to the movies every single day with all your friends if you want, even that boy. I promise I won’t ruin it. I’ll be one of the girls.

  I promise I won’t try to hold your hand. And after, maybe we can teach your friends the Ball Game.

  I miss you.

  Love,

  Your Super Nova

  On Wednesday, day three at Jefferson Middle School, Nova woke up excited, got dressed excited, and ate breakfast excited.

  It was Planetarium Day.

  “Tell her about it, Joanie,” Billy said, sneaking a spoonful of sugar into his coffee while Francine wasn’t looking.

  “You sit back in your chair and look up. The ceiling is curved like you’re inside a snow globe. Once the show starts, you feel like you’re there. I promise, you’ll love it.”

  Nova could not wait to love it.

  * * *

  “Concentrate, please.” Mrs. Pierce put her hand over Nova’s hand, which was tapping the picture for PLANETARIUM on her schedule. “We need to finish today’s testing. If you can’t pay attention on X-Block days, you’ll have to miss out on X-Block.”