Bridget was gone.
And Nova was angry.
Nova was angry because Bridget was gone.
She imagined herself stomping her feet in the moon dust, punching her fists against her own thighs, looking left and right for her missing sister. Bridget had to be there too. She had to! Nova certainly couldn’t have flown all the way to the moon alone.
“Tell me, Mrs. West, how is Nova doing in school?”
Nova played David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” over and over and over again in her head to block out the angry thoughts, to push away the sight of her standing alone with Earth barely visible in the distance. She did not like feeling angry, especially not with Bridget. It was not fair. Bridget almost never got angry with her, not even when Nova was hitting.
Every now and then, a bit of what Mrs. Steele or Billy or Francine was saying would force its way into her brain, but mostly Nova could tune them out, wrapped up in her own world, far away, and safe.
“…floating in a most peculiar way…”
“…think she can read! She was able to identify several words and most of her letters. Not one hundred percent of the time but enough that it couldn’t be a fluke…”
“…stars look very different today…”
“…lovely that you’re so supportive, but remember, Nova is an autistic, cognitively impaired child. You can only expect so much…”
“…sitting in a tin can…”
“…we have faith that a good school and a stable, loving family will make all the difference in the world…”
“…far above the world…”
“…if you’re sure you understand what such a commitment would entail…”
“…planet Earth is blue…”
“Yes, we understand.”
Suddenly they were standing. Nova jumped up too. The song stopped. The moon evaporated into space dust. She was all ready to say goodbye to Mrs. Steele but instead of heading to the coat closet by the front door, the three adults headed to the parlor, cups of coffee in hand.
Nova grabbed NASA Bear and grunted.
“You can go upstairs and play,” said Billy. “Or watch TV. The remote’s on top.”
Nova did not know how to use the remote control, which was square, had too many buttons, and weighed as much as an actual brick, but she was eager to escape the conversation. She had made it halfway up the front stairs, which led to the landing outside the master bedroom on the opposite side of the house from her room, when Francine’s words halted her.
“…don’t know what she understands about Bridget.”
“I tried to explain it,” said Mrs. Steele. “Those first few days I was with Nova constantly. I felt she might be looking for Bridget, and I did my best to make her understand. But like I keep telling you, though she’s a nice girl, she simply cannot comprehend most of what we say. Why keep explaining what she’s never going to get?”
“We don’t agree,” said Billy. “We think she’s much smarter than you realize.”
Nova smiled. She was nice. She was smart. This was good. She sat on the step to listen some more.
“Do we know why the girls tried to run away?” asked Francine. “Were they being neglected?”
“No, nothing like that. I’ve completed an investigation of the family. They have four other foster daughters, all perfectly fine. The mother blamed that boyfriend…”
Nova cocked her head to one side. What boyfriend? Who had a boyfriend? Nova certainly did not have a boyfriend.
“You think he was a bad influence?” asked Billy.
“How did Bridget meet him?” asked Francine.
Oh, Bridget, remembered Nova. That’s right, Bridget had a boyfriend. The boy who drove the car, dressed like a vampire, and held her hand at the movies. That boyfriend.
“Through friends. After a while, she was failing two of her classes, which should have been a red flag.”
“Because…?”
“Because despite everything that happened after their father was killed in Vietnam, even with their mother’s issues and eventual death, despite moving around from family to family and changing schools multiple times, and even with…even with having Nova around like her shadow, Bridget was always an honor roll student.”
Nova was suddenly presented with the mental image of Bridget as Peter Pan, trying to stick Nova, her shadow, back on with soap, the way it happened in the story. She liked that thought, that they would always be attached to each other, and didn’t understand why Mrs. Steele said “shadow” like it was bad. Peter Pan loved his shadow. Who didn’t love their shadow?
“Their previous foster parents told me during a wellness check a few months ago that they weren’t happy about Bridget’s grades and behavior, but with more pressing things to worry about…”
“You’re telling us she fell through the cracks?” asked Francine, her voice rising. Nova sat on the carpeted stairs and pressed NASA Bear’s furry belly against her face, inhaling his scent, a mix of musk and laundry detergent.
“I hate to say ‘fell through the cracks…’ ”
“But she did! Like her mother, and Nova too. As my husband said, she’s far more capable than she’s given credit for. If only she’d had proper special education from the beginning, if she’d had consistency, if she’d stayed in one place long enough to—”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted Mrs. Steele, sounding not-sorry, “but we have a lot of kids in terrible situations.” She huffed indignantly. “I regret what happened with Bridget, but considering all the kids on my caseload, I couldn’t devote a lot of extra resources toward a girl whose primary offenses were talking back, slipping grades, and coming home late for dinner—in other words, a typical teen!”
“But she—” Billy started. Mrs. Steele cut him off.
“She was acting like every other girl her age! To be perfectly honest, when she started dressing up, going out, taking life a little less seriously, I thought, Great! This will be good for her! When I first met the Vezina girls, Bridget was twelve. She was the most serious and responsible seventh grader I’d ever seen, an academic overachiever, determined to change the world. She was practically raising her sister, she had few friends, and I rarely saw her smile. She had many good qualities, don’t get me wrong, but she was such a stressed-out little girl! She once called me crying because she earned a C on a science quiz and wanted to be moved to a new family so she could attend a different school before some big test. I had to tell her we don’t recommend removal for reasons like that and suggested she just keep studying. Two weeks later, she called to tell me she’d earned an A on the exam, highest score in the class. She said she didn’t expect praise, she just thought I should know.”
“She sounds just like Joanie,” said Billy. “Joanie’s grades were always very important to her too. Anything below a B was a disaster.”
Nova smiled. If Bridget was “just like Joanie,” maybe Bridget and Joanie would like being sisters. A forever family. With Nova, Billy, and Francine.
And NASA Bear, of course.
“I’m not sure what Bridget was thinking when she ran away, nor can I say why she took Nova with her,” said Mrs. Steele, her voice wavering. “It was uncharacteristically irresponsible. I’m just glad…”
“You’re glad she’s with us now,” Francine said. “So are we.”
Mrs. Steele changed the subject to paperwork. Several minutes went by with no more mention of Bridget, so Nova continued upstairs, down the hall, past the TV room, and into her bedroom, where she stopped only long enough to grab Bridget’s Walkman and the tape before heading up to the attic. Thoughts were falling through her brain faster than shooting stars in the planetarium.
She was going to stay with the Wests.
For now.
But Bridget was still gone.
And Nova was confused
.
She rested on her knees facing the round attic window and slipped the headphones over her ears. She hit Rewind and rocked back and forth while she waited for the click signaling that the tape had reached the beginning. She pressed Play. David Bowie filled her ears. Rocking back and forth, she could almost hear Bridget singing along.
Goose bumps trickled up her arms.
Bridget had sung “Space Oddity” to Nova so many times they felt like they’d written it, like it was theirs and theirs alone, not to be shared with the rest of the world.
“Ground Control to Major Tom…”
JAN 26, 1986
Dear Bridget,
T-minus two days until Challenger launch.
Mrs. Steele came today. She talked to Billy and Francine. She told them about your boyfriend and running away and the bad grades you were getting.
Francine said you fell through a crack and I fell through a crack and even Mama fell through a crack and she sounded mad about it.
I don’t know what crack she’s talking about.
I know it’s not okay to step on a crack. Mama used to say that.
“Don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back!”
I remember one time Mama was walking me to the store and I did step on a crack and then I cried and cried and cried because I thought her back was broken, but she picked me up and laughed and laughed and carried me the rest of the way so I guess it didn’t hurt too bad.
Billy thinks your boyfriend was a bad influence. I do not know what influence means, but I thought he was bad too. I know you liked him, but I did not. He sang too loud and drove too fast and he was always taking you away from me.
I was mad at you the day I met him, Bridget.
I was mad at you even though it was your birthday.
I was mad because we were supposed to go straight to Sugarbaker’s Sweets Shoppe to get ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles, but you took us to that boy’s house instead.
I was mad because you said “I’ll be quick!” but you were not quick.
I was mad because I could hear you talking to him and laughing with him and kissing on him while I was supposed to be watching TV.
I did not want to watch TV.
I was mad about that too. I was mad because I had to sit and watch the news when I was supposed to be eating rainbow sprinkles.
By the time the boy’s sister got home and all four of us were in the car, I didn’t even want ice cream anymore. I felt too sick in my stomach. I made a lot of noise because I wanted you to know I wanted to go home, but you buckled my seat belt and promised me rainbow sprinkles and asked me to “Pretty, pretty please, with a cherry on top, just be good.”
You handed me NASA Bear.
And it was your birthday.
So I tried to just be good.
But I know I was not that good. I know it was not good to accidentally step on his foot while we waited for a booth. I know it was not good to accidentally dip NASA Bear’s paw in his banana split. I know it was not good to accidentally throw my cherry at him…twice.
I did not try too hard to just be good.
I am sorry I did not try.
Before Mrs. Steele came today, Joanie took me to the diner. Just us. I was very good.
On the way back, we stopped by a cross on the side of the road. Joanie got sad but I don’t know why. She said it’s okay to miss someone we love when they’re not with us, but I already knew that. You told me the same thing a long time ago. You said it was okay to miss Mama but she was too sick to take care of us. Then, after the visits stopped, you said she went to Asteroid B-612 to “rake out her active volcanoes,” like the Little Prince in our book.
You said I should be happy because Mama wouldn’t feel sick in space.
You said she wasn’t coming back.
Tomorrow, Joanie will leave for college. But she will come back for Easter.
Bridget, tell me the truth.
Where is Mama?
You told me she went to space to feel better, but people come back from space. Like Buzz Aldrin. And Sally Ride. And Valentina Tereshkova.
Is Mama with the Little Prince, like you said?
Where are you?
I miss you.
Love,
Your Super Nova
On Monday, Nova awoke extra early again, but instead of slipping up to the attic she sat on the floor beside the wooden crate with JOANIE ROSE painted on it and pulled out her toys. She hadn’t touched most of them since the last time she’d played with Bridget because they used to play together and Nova wasn’t sure she could figure out pretending on her own. Bridget was always the one who came up with the ideas for their games, the one who assigned roles and decided what would happen to their little astronauts or aliens.
Even though she wasn’t as good at imagining as Bridget was, Nova needed to pretend. She needed to feel the way she felt when they’d play pretend.
Mostly, they played alone. But for the months they lived in the temporary home with the seven other kids, Bridget let everybody join. Nova had just turned ten. Bridget was almost fifteen. They were exploring in the woods behind the horse pasture when they found the tree house.
“It’s perfect, Nova!” Bridget shouted from inside. Nova was on the ground, too cautious to climb. “This can be our space station!”
They returned to the house to gather the other kids. Four of them were in foster care too, but the twins and the toddler were the family’s biological kids.
“I’ll set the scene,” said Bridget, once everyone was gathered at the base of the tree house. “It’s 1969.” She pointed at the twins. “You two are Ground Control in Houston. Me, Nova, Suzanne, and Anthony are headed to the moon. You two”—she pointed to the oldest two, who were eleven and twelve—“are President Nixon and First Lady Pat, watching from the White House Communications Room.”
“What ’bout me?” asked the toddler, who was still in diapers.
“You? You’re…um…you’re very important! You’re in charge of…um…you’re…why, you’re the Nixons’ dog, of course! Checkers! Good dog, Checkers.”
The toddler barked. Bridget patted his head. He was a good dog.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m Buzz Aldrin. Nova, you’re Neil Armstrong, first man to set foot on the moon. Anthony, you’re Michael Collins, the one who stayed on the spacecraft. And Suzanne, you’re…um…Sally Ride.”
“What?” Suzanne put her hands on her hips. “Sally Ride wasn’t on the moon mission. She just went to space last month!”
“It’s pretend! Geez!” Bridget let out a frustrated puff of air. She hated it when anyone questioned her during Space Play. “Wanna play Checkers’s groomer instead? No? Then be Sally Ride. This tree house is Apollo 11. Armstrong? Collins? Ride? Up here.”
Bridget scrambled about two-thirds of the way up the tree house ladder, which was really a bunch of uneven boards nailed into the tree. Nova followed slowly, cautiously, clinging to the trunk, afraid to fall even though it was only a couple of feet to the ground. Collins and Ride hopped on the ladder after her, though Ride muttered something about “Bossy Bridget.”
“Okay, Ground Control? It’s your job to help get us in the air. President Nixon, take your wife and dog over there. You’ll be waiting for confirmation once we make it out of Earth’s atmosphere. President Kennedy, before he died, swore we’d make it to the moon before the decade’s end. It’s already the middle of 1969. We’re running out of time. Let’s show those Russian cosmonauts who’s winning the space race! Let’s do it for President Kennedy!”
“For Kennedy!” shouted the Ground Control twins, pumping their fists in the air.
“It’s nine-thirty a.m.” Bridget pretended to check her watch. “T-minus two minutes.”
Nova�
��s tummy fluttered. She knew it was pretend but at the same time it felt so real. She blinked as the forest around them faded. In two minutes she knew she would be soaring above the clouds and into the dark abyss of the universe beyond tiny planet Earth. She was scared but excited.
“Ten, nine, eight…”
Everyone except Nova and Checkers the dog counted down.
“Seven, six, five…”
Bridget nudged Nova. She wanted her to count too.
Nova tried.
“Foh, tee, two, uhn…”
Lift-off!
The four on the ladder scrambled up to their space shuttle tree house. It had two rooms. The room in front, where the ladder led, had a balcony railing attached from one tree branch to another. Sally Ride and Nova held on to it, watching the stars slip by on either side, while Collins and Bridget-as-Buzz moved to the back room, pretending to mess with controls.
“Success!” shouted Bridget. “A perfect launch!”
“They made it!” President Nixon hugged his wife. “We’re going to the moon, Pat! Ahead of those Soviets. Eat our space dust!”
“I don’t think President Nixon would say ‘Eat our space dust,’ ” snickered one of the Ground Control Twins. The others laughed too, but not Bridget or Nova, because space is serious business.
“No fooling around!” Bridget ordered. “That’s how mistakes are made.”
The Ground Control Twins turned back to their controls, adjusting acorn knobs, pretending to speak to the shuttle through a pinecone.
“Apollo 11, this is Ground Control. What’s your status?”
Bridget-as-Buzz spoke into her own pinecone. “Ground Control, it’s been three days and we’re now in lunar orbit. All systems still go? We good for a soft landing on the moon? Has to be a soft landing. A hard landing could destroy the craft and kill us all.”
“Sure thing,” answered a Ground Control Twin. “Bring her down.”
“Collins, steer us manually,” Bridget-as-Buzz ordered. “Over these boulders into the Sea of Tranquility.”
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