Chapter 3
Why anyone even bothered to open school on schedule defied rational explanation, considering the demonstrators and nutcases that had descended, like locusts, upon Los Alamos. The start of junior year should be exciting, but all Heather could muster, as her mom's van weaved its way slowly through the throngs of demonstrators, was dismay.
To be fair, the demonstrations were not aimed at the school, nor were the demonstrators even allowed close to the school grounds. Still, the disruption threatened longtime residents' comfortable way of life.
Military security had been beefed up all around the national laboratory, but in the towns themselves, madness reigned. News reporters from nearby Santa Fe and Albuquerque stations arrived first, followed by national news teams in top-heavy satellite vans. Meanwhile, hordes of sundry groups filled hotels and campgrounds for miles around.
Los Alamos was full, White Rock was full, Santa Fe was full, Taos was full. Even all the hotel rooms of Albuquerque had been filled, and that herd of humanity now jammed the sidewalks, alleys, and streets of Los Alamos. Heather didn’t know how many forests must have been felled just to supply the wood and paper for the handheld signs, but it couldn’t have been good for global oxygen production.
Everywhere she looked there were signs, some of which were being used as pugil sticks to attack opposing sign bearers.
Mark leaned across the seat and prodded her with his elbow. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day.”
A man in a long robe and a sign that proclaimed, “Jesus loves us, not aliens!” was engaged in a wrestling match with a fellow wearing a shirt sporting a classic green alien figure with crossed bandoliers, twin six guns, and lettering that proclaimed him “El Vato Verde... Roswell, New Mexico.”
Heather averted her gaze as the El Vato guy pulled the other fellow's robe off, held it up over his head, and went running down the street waving it like a lasso to a loud chorus of catcalls from the other marchers.
“You’d think after a couple of weeks it’d calm down,” said Jennifer, “but it’s getting worse.”
Mark snorted. “I’d say this is just the beginning. Dad says both city councils, for Los Alamos and for White Rock, are considering curfews after dark.”
Heather moaned. “Oh that’s just great. Isn’t this going to be a wonderful school year? No football, basketball, or any other after-school sports. And forget about dances. We’re going to be restricted to the school grounds all day.”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer replied. “It’ll probably be good for the student body to pay more attention to their studies and a little less to all the extracurricular activities.”
Mark stared at his twin sister. “Oh, yeah. That sounds really, really fun.” He turned back to Heather. “You know, when we first heard about the starship, I thought it was cool. But now it looks like it’s just going to be a giant pain in the butt.”
Heather’s mother angled the Windstar van into the school parking lot, bringing it to a stop with a squeal of protest from brakes that her father had been promising to get fixed for the past month.
“Okay, kids. Enough complaining. Grab your stuff, get in there, and try to enjoy yourselves. This is high school. It’s supposed to be fun.”
The three grinned at her, nodded, and waved as they slung backpacks over their shoulders and then merged with the mass of other students making their way through the high school doorway.
Entering the bustling hallway was like leaving the Kansas farmhouse for the rainbow-colored Land of Oz. Students high-fived friends not seen all summer, smiled, chattered, and gave out hugs.
Heather stepped to one side, a grin spreading across her face, as she was jostled from side to side by students scurrying in search of assigned classrooms and lockers. She felt like she was in the midst of a salmon spawning run. The principal and teachers looked like bears wading out into the stream to sweep the fish to their ultimate destinations.
“Heather,” Mark yelled back at her. “Come on. We’re going to be late for math.”
Heather leaped back into the stream of young humanity, allowing it to propel her down the hallway toward her first period class. She only hoped her luck would be better than the salmon’s.