Every Soul a Star (4 page)
I close the book and stick it in the corner next to my stash of Ranch-flavored Doritos and Orange Crush. Mom doesn’t let me eat junk food since the doctor said I should watch my weight. But she never comes up here. Fear of heights, which works out well for me.
I’m about to pop the top off a can of soda when I hear Mike climbing the rickety stairs to the treehouse. I’m surprised he hasn’t given up bugging me. Usually at this time his girlfriend Suzy is over and they’re in his room “studying.” Of course he’d be dating the pret-tiest girl in school. Who else? I’ll probably never get to “study” with a girl.
The stairs give a final creak as Mike reaches the top. “Yo. I’m giving you a heads-up here. One of your teachers is on the phone. So whatever you did, you might want to think of a good excuse before you go back into the house.”
I sit up at this news, almost hitting my head on one of the hard wooden beams. My mind races with things I could have done wrong. Yesterday was the last day of school. Did I skip gym? Well, sure, but it was the last day. A lot of kids skipped. Did I pick up my report card? Yup. My homeroom teacher handed it to me, and I chucked it in the garbage can on my way out. Then when I remembered how mad Mom was last time I did that, I went back in and dug it out. Ray Smitty had already thrown gum on it. Did I leave an old tuna sandwich wedged in the corner of my locker? No, but I know the kid who did. Did someone see me drawing that spaceship on my desk? I don’t think so. I had my Earth Science notebook up the whole time. Plus it was in pencil, so it’s not really a big deal.
So why was one of my teachers calling me?
I scramble down the ladder, narrowly avoiding the bottom step, which has a large crack running through it. It’s going to break under my weight any day now. I find Mom in the kitchen, holding the cordless phone toward me. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look mad. There’s a mixture of amusement and surprise on her face. Weird.
“It’s your science teacher,” she says. “He has a question to ask you.”
Okay, so if it’s Mr. Silver that means it’s about the spaceship after all. I wonder what the punishment is for drawing on school property. He already failed me, dooming me to summer school—what more can he do? Although to be fair, he really did give me a lot of chances to bring my grades up. If only I’d remembered to include Saturn in my model of the solar system, I might have squeaked by with a D. If only science wasn’t right after lunch. I get so tired after lunch. When I don’t make a move to take the phone, Mom pushes it into my hand. Bracing for the worst, I say, “Hello?”
“Hello, Jack,” Mr. Silver says.
It’s very surreal hearing a teacher’s voice on the other end of my phone when school is out for summer. Well, out for the kids who actually paid attention in class. Maybe I fell asleep in the treehouse and am dreaming this whole thing. I push my feet into the ground, but can’t lift into the air. Okay, so I’m not dreaming.
“Jack,” he continues, “I have an offer for you. I’d like you to participate in a very special scientific project this summer.”
Oh, NOW I know what’s going on. Before he can say any more I jump in. “Mr. Silver, this is Jack
Rosten.
You’re looking for Jack
Rosen.
” Rosen gets straight A’s in science. Teachers confuse us all the time. But only our names. That’s the only thing that’s similar between us. I’m about to hang up the phone when he laughs.
“I assure you, I know who I called. Would you like to listen to my proposal? If you’re not interested, no hard feelings.”
“I’m listening,” I say, only half meaning it. I’m already thinking about getting back to my book. Plus I’m still pretty sure he has the wrong guy.
“I’d like to offer you the chance to come with me on a two-week eclipse tour that I’m leading this summer,” he says. “You’d be my right-hand man. The kid who was supposed to come broke his wrist skateboarding. You don’t skateboard, do you, Jack?”
I don’t answer. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not about to get on a skateboard. He continues as though I’ve responded, as though I’m possibly going to say yes to whatever it is he’s talking about.
“Good,” he says. “Because this is a very important job. No room for broken bones. And I hope you don’t mind roughing it. Camping for two weeks isn’t for the faint of heart. I’m also going to need your help setting up the equipment, monitoring the telescopes, making sure the rest of the participants have what they need, things like that. I can’t pay you, but it’s free room and board.”
What is this guy TALKING about? “Um, what are you talking about?” I ask.
He laughs again. “Let me make myself clearer. I’m inviting you to join me and thirty others, for a two-week eclipse tour up north. I’ll be doing some scientific experiments during that time, and at the end is the big solar eclipse we talked about in class.”
I remember him talking a few weeks ago about some eclipse. He seemed really excited about it. I don’t remember any details though, since we weren’t going to be tested on it.
“And you know the best part?” he asks.
I can’t imagine why he’s asking me, of all people, to do this. Maybe he lost a bet with the other teachers so he has to pick the most loser-ish kid. “What?”
“The
best
part,” he says dramatically, “is that if you participate in the program, and write a short paper at the end, you’ll get out of summer school.”
I blink.
“Think about it,” he continues. “Two weeks in the wilderness, camping under the stars. And then witnessing firsthand a total eclipse of the sun, the most amazing spectacle in the entire solar system.”
My heart starts racing. All I can think is,
no summer school!
I glance up at my mother, who smiles hesitantly. “It’s up to you,” she says in a loud whisper.
I turn back to the phone. “Just so I heard you right, if I do this, I don’t have to go to summer school? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
My mind races with the other things Mr. Silver said. Camping. I like camping. I used to be a Boy Scout until I was nine. That was the summer the kids joked about who they would eat if they were trapped in the wilderness. Guess who they said would feed the most people? I quit after that. Witnessing an eclipse? So it gets dark in the middle of the day. It gets dark every single night. Not sure what the big deal is. But who am I to say no to a chance to be outside for two whole weeks without Mom or Mike bugging me? And if it will keep me from summer school, heck, it’s a pretty easy decision.
“When do we leave?” I ask.
“Well, that’s the thing,” he says, hesitating for the first time. “The bus leaves from the town hall parking lot tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Tomorrow morning?” I repeat. Mom hears me and kicks into gear. She reaches up and starts taking cans of food out of the cabinets.
“I’m real sorry for the last-minute notice,” he says. “I can give your mom a list of things to pack for you.”
“Can I just ask you one more thing?”
“Ask away.”
“Why me? Lots of kids would be better at something like this than me.”
“How do you know that? I happen to think you’re the guy for the job, that’s all.”
I find it hard to believe I’m the guy for ANY job. I just hope when he sees me he doesn’t realize he’s got the wrong kid after all. I give Mom the phone to get the packing list.
Mike follows me down the hall to my room. “So what was that all about?” he asks.
“My science teacher wants me to go on some eclipse trip with him,” I say with a shrug. “No big deal.” I say it like it doesn’t matter, but it kind of IS a big deal. One minute the summer is one way, and the next it’s a whole other way.
“Sounds like a big deal to me,” Mike says, watching me as I try to yank my duffel bag from the back of my closet. It’s buried under my winter sweaters and a box of old toys. “Who else is going?”
I stop pulling on the duffel’s handle. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I didn’t get a chance to ask.”
“What if it’s you and the teacher and, like, fifty old people?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I give the bag another yank, freeing it. I plan on keeping to myself as much as possible anyway.
“Whatever you say.” Mike glances at his watch. “It’s gonna be quiet around here without your stupid Game Boy beeping and buzzing all day long. Why do you still play with that thing? Do they even make games for it anymore?”
I grin. “Is insulting my GBA your way of saying you’ll miss me?” Mike pushes me around and all, but he’s always looked out for me. I unzip my bag, grimacing a little at the musty odor. I haven’t used it since the Boy Scouts voted me Best Dinner Option. “I’m sure Suzy will keep you company,” I point out. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”
“What’s it to you?” he asks, his voice suddenly hardening.
“Nothing, jeez.”
“Whatever,” he says, and stomps off down the hall.
I shrug. I have bigger concerns than whether Mike and his girlfriend are on the rocks. Like whether I have enough batteries for my Game Boy to last two weeks.
Mom hurries into the room, waving a piece of notebook paper. She rattles off the list so quickly the words blend together. “Long pants, shorts, t-shirts, long-sleeved shirts, hiking boots, umbrella, heavy jacket, hooded sweatshirts, sneakers, a bathing suit, underwear, socks, detergent, backpack, notebook, pens, pencils, ruler, calculator, flashlight, bath stuff, first aid kit, compass, pocket knife, bug repellent, sunblock, toolbox, sleeping bag, water purifier, snacks for the bus, canteen, and a camera.” She lays the paper on my bed and then plops down next to it. “It’s going to be a long night,” she says. “You’re sure you want to do this, right? You’ve never been away from home this long.”
“I’m sure.”
“Good,” she says, jumping up and pulling open my top drawer. “I think you’ll get a lot out of it. Going away with a big tour group is a very social experience.” She starts tossing socks onto the bed.
I sigh. It always comes around to me being social. Or not social enough, to be specific.
I pause from throwing my socks into the duffel to look at her. I forget sometimes how young she is because she’s really tired from all her jobs, and from taking care of us. She had Mike right after high school, so she’s a really young mom compared to other kids’ moms at school. Not having me around to worry about for two weeks will give her a break, even though she’d never admit it. Maybe she’ll find SD4.
I leave Mom to work on the packing while I go out to the treehouse. It’s almost fully dark out now and I can see a few stars. It’s weird to think I’m going to be staring up at them every night, and studying them or whatever I’m supposed to be doing. I usually avoid looking up at them at all. The stars just make me feel even more insignificant than I already feel.
I hurry up the ladder and grab my stash of junk food, my book, my flashlight, and my dream journal. I hide the journal up here because I don’t want Mike to read it and make fun of me. Writing down my dreams makes it easier for me to recognize them when they’re happening. I can see patterns. SD3 said I’m a natural at it. No one else ever said I’m a natural at anything. I don’t know why he left. I don’t know why any of them left. SD3 had tried to interest Mike in the whole lucid dream thing, but Mike was too busy with his sports. It was our previous stepdad, SD2, who had taught Mike how to play baseball. Mostly what I remember about SD2 is that he smelled like onions and peppermint. Personally, I’d rather be able to fly than be a first baseman.
I shine the flashlight around the treehouse to make sure I’m not leaving anything important. I’m about to click it off when I see a pinkish-brown stuffed ear sticking out from the corner. I quickly grab the bunny and tuck him under my arm with the rest of the things to bring with me. If anyone at the campground asks, I’ll say I’ve never seen the old, ratty stuffed bunny before. I sure as heck won’t tell them that it used to belong to my dad when he was a baby and that he left it in my crib when he took off. And I definitely won’t tell them that I say good night to it every night before I go to sleep.
It’s just too pathetic.
3
I close the logbook and place it on the desk in Mom’s office. It had taken all day and most of the evening to get the Unusuals ready. I’m exhausted, but it’s been dark for an hour already and I’m itching to see Eta, Glenn, and Peggy. I need to talk to them about what my dad said about my necklace. Whenever I crossed paths with my parents today, I felt like they were always about to say something, and then changed their minds. Kenny thinks I’m just being paranoid. Kenny knows a lot of big words for a ten-year-old.
On my way out, I glance up at the huge calendar taped to the wall. It’s easy to forget what day it is, living out here. The first big group of eclipse chasers is due to arrive in three days. Then each day leading up to the one circled in red marker has more and more arrivals. We’ve been living toward that red day for as long as I can remember. I can’t even believe it’s almost here. I take one last glance at the calendar and then lean in closer. Tomorrow is June twenty-fifth? That means my friend Ryan and his grandparents are coming! They usually don’t come until the middle of August, for our annual Star Party. In all the excitement about the eclipse, I’d forgotten about Ryan! His grandparents have been bringing him here for the Perseids meteor shower ever since I was six and he was seven. His grandfather and mine were best friends—they met in the army when they were eighteen. Ryan is the only one who knows that I have friends on other planets. Last year I confided in him that on my seventh birthday, my grandfather pointed to the constellation Cassiopeia and showed me how the bright stars spell out the letter M. He said the star at the end is named Eta Cassiopeia, and that it was the same kind of star as the sun. He said that meant there could be a planet around it just like Earth, with another little girl on it just like me. And that little girl could be looking up at the stars herself, wondering if anyone’s looking back. I decided to call that girl Eta, since that’s the name of her star. Peggy came later when I found out that scientists had already discovered the first planet around a star other than our own sun. The star is called 51 Pegasi, but whoever heard of a girl named Pegasi? Peggy is much better.