15
OUR PHYSICS TEACHER, Mr. Jefferies, announces that we’ll be taking a field trip to watch an IMAX Theatre film. It’s about an expedition to fix some telescope in outer space called the Hubble.
“You won’t believe how much of what we’ll be talking about this year is applicable to space travel,” Mr. Jefferies says while passing out the permission forms. “You’re going to see images that will absolutely blow your mind!”
My classmates seem happy about the field trip, mostly because it’s something different and gets us out of school for half a day, but Boy21 doesn’t even crack a smile, which is weird. I thought he’d be really excited to travel through space, even if it’s only an IMAX movie.
In between classes, I say, “You excited about the field trip?”
“Sure,” Russ says, but that’s it.
I figure it’s best not to bring up outer space too much, so I just leave it alone. But whenever Mr. Jefferies talks about the trip, Russ starts opening his mouth really wide and tapping his pen on his desk, which makes everyone stare at him. I wonder if that’s his nervous tic.
On the day of the trip, as we’re lining up outside the high school, I’m disappointed to see that Mr. Gore is chaperoning along with Mr. Jefferies. But I say hello to Mr. Gore when he greets me.
Our class just fills the short bus that takes us to the Franklin Institute, which is in Center City, Philadelphia, only a half-hour drive away. This is only the second time I’ve ever been to Center City, and the first time I’ve been to the Franklin Institute. My dad’s taken me to a few Sixers and Phillies games over the years, but those aren’t in Center City.
Russ and I sit together on the bus. I look out the window the whole time, because I don’t often get a chance to leave Bellmont. Before we get onto the highway, we roll through this one town called Robin Township, where everyone lives in a mansion. There’s no trash on the streets, no graffiti on the trees, and shiny brand-new cars are everywhere. Some of the houses look as big as our school and the front lawns are longer and wider than football fields. It’s like what you see on TV. I wonder what it’s like to live in a town like that and if Boy21 had a big house out in California, but I don’t ask him.
We drive through the city and down a street lined with the flags of many different countries before we get out of the bus, climb a set of concrete stairs that lead to huge old-looking columns, and then into the Franklin Institute. While Mr. Jefferies picks up our tickets, we wait next to a gigantic white statue of Ben Franklin in the biggest chair I have ever seen. There are several high-school physics classes here, and our classmates mingle with kids from other schools, but Boy21 and I just hang silently by Mr. Franklin.
“You boys okay?” Mr. Gore says.
I nod.
“Yep,” Russ says.
I notice that Russ is opening and closing his hands over and over again, like he’s nervous or something.
Mr. Jefferies huddles up our AP physics class, distributes the tickets, and says, “When I was your age, I never dreamed I’d be able to experience what you are about to. Behold the modern wonders of science! Onward, young minds!” He’s a complete dork. He’s totally geeking out over the IMAX experience.
We follow him into the theater and take our seats.
It’s like being inside a globe, because the round screen looks like the inside of an opened sky-blue parachute—making me feel as though I am somehow falling.
There’s a general announcement about what to do if you feel nauseated. You’re supposed to close your eyes or exit toward the back, but as we are in the middle of a long row, I figure it’s pretty much impossible to escape. I hope the people behind me don’t puke on my head. The movie begins shortly after the announcement ends.
It’s an amazing experience, just like Mr. Jefferies promised. Loud and vivid, and almost three-dimensional. It feels like we’re floating through outer space and like we’re really going to be part of the space mission. The speakers are so loud they make my rib cage vibrate. It looks like I could grab planets and stars as easily as picking leaves off a tree. And they even got Leonardo DiCaprio to narrate.
“This really is pretty amazing,” I whisper to Russ, but he doesn’t answer—he has his hand over his mouth, like he’s trying not to get sick.
When a picture of the space shuttle appears on the screen, Boy21 yells, “I don’t want to see this anymore!”
Several people make the Shhh! noise, and then Russ is out of his seat, climbing over people’s knees, trying to escape the theater.
“Sit down!” someone yells through the darkness, but Russ keeps moving.
I stand and try to follow him, to make sure he’s okay, because it’s dark, the steps are steep, and Boy21 seems really upset, but Mr. Gore says, “Stay here, Finley!” and then he chases after Russ.
I figure Mr. Gore will take care of the situation, so I return to my seat and try to get lost in the movie, but I can’t.
Why did Boy21 get so upset?
The astronauts float around inside the space shuttle’s cramped quarters, where there is no gravity. I watch them put on space suits and fix the Hubble Space Telescope. Some pictures of the cosmos are really truly amazing. It messes with my mind a little, seeing how much there is out there, how big everything is. Leonardo DiCaprio says there are billions of galaxies, each with billions of stars. Hard to imagine. From time to time, I wonder where Russ and Mr. Gore might have gone and what they are talking about, but mostly I just watch the movie.
When the film is over, Mr. Jefferies herds us all out of the Franklin Institute and we eat our bagged lunches under the huge columns on the steps, where we watch a fountain shoot into the air between the Philadelphia Free Library and some skyscrapers. When I’m halfway done with my tuna sandwich, I spot Boy21 and Mr. Gore walking toward us. They cross the street and climb the steps. Our classmates are talking and laughing, so I’m really the only person who notices Russ’s return.
“You okay now?” Mr. Gore asks. His hand is on Russ’s shoulder—like they’re old friends.
Russ nods and sits down next to me.
Mr. Gore walks toward Mr. Jefferies, leaving me alone with Boy21, and the silence feels awkward—even to me. So I say, “You missed a good movie. Stars look really different up close than they do from far away. And some of the clusters—it almost looked like some giant stuck his enormous finger into the universe and swirled everything up, or something. Does that sound weird?”
Russ looks at the cars passing by and doesn’t answer me.
“Why did you leave?” I ask.
“I don’t really want to talk about it, okay?”
“Sure.” I understand about wanting to keep quiet—I really do.
16
LATE SEPTEMBER IS THE FIRST TIME the lunch ladies serve carrots. I wait for the dumping to begin, keeping my eyes on Terrell, but this other kid I don’t know approaches first. He’s looking sort of tiny in an oversize Eagles jersey, but he has this cocky look on his face. When we make eye contact he says, “Time to feed the rabbits.” He tries to scrape a mushy orange mound onto my food, and Russ screams, “WE ARE NOT RABBITS!” He’s not frantic, like he was at the IMAX Theatre. He’s just mad. He’s intimidating, with a fierce look in his eyes and a wild edge to his voice. Not to mention his size.
The kid jumps back and drops his plate on the floor.
Everyone in the lunchroom turns and faces us.
Dead silence.
My eyes are wide open, and then I’m smiling. I don’t need to worry about my new friend. He can take care of himself—and maybe me too.
No one tries to dump carrots on Boy21’s or my food ever again.
Through the fall, Boy21’s by my side every second of the day. Even on weekends, he comes to watch Erin and me practice, but he never once touches a basketball and he never really says anything of consequence to either of us.
He’s just always there.
We take him to the mall and to the movies a few times. I wonder if something will set him off again and make him get all angry like he did about the carrot dumper, but his facial expressions never seem to change. He doesn’t laugh when we laugh. He doesn’t smile when we smile. He just sort of hovers around us, and since Erin and I are pretty easygoing people, we don’t really mind, but we start to get curious.
Alone on my roof Erin asks me questions about Boy21, but I only shrug. I don’t tell her what Coach revealed to me, which isn’t much. I promised him I wouldn’t and so I don’t.
“Does he say anything interesting when I’m not around?” Erin asks.
“Not really,” I say. It’s the truth, maybe because I never ask him any questions.
“What’s wrong with him, do you think?”
“Some people are just quiet. Like me.”
She smiles. “Quiet can be sexy.”
Suddenly Erin’s lips are on mine and my mouth is all hot and slippery. Then she pulls away again and says, “I don’t mind quiet, but Russ is always around. We’re hardly ever alone anymore.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Yeah, a little. But at least he doesn’t invade our roof time.”
We’re kissing again. Hot sweetness.
After ten or so minutes of making out, my thoughts drift and I begin to wonder why Boy21 hasn’t mentioned outer space since the first time we met, but I also figure it’s probably best not to bring the subject up, because he’s surviving his Bellmont experience nicely and I don’t want to jinx that. Just surviving around here can be hard enough. Plus I don’t want to trigger another IMAX Theatre–type experience.
I respect privacy.
Also, I like kissing Erin, so I decide to concentrate on the present moment.
17
ONE NIGHT IN LATE OCTOBER, on my way home from Erin’s, Boy21 pops out from behind a tree and says, “Can we sit on your roof?”
It’s late, but it’s also Friday night, so I nod.
I’m no longer surprised to find Boy21 following me. It’s just what he does. And like I said before, he gives Erin and me space when we need it.
We head to my house. He’s carrying a white box tied with string, plus his over-the-shoulder bag. He looks a little fidgety and keeps opening his mouth extra-wide, as if he’s stretching out his jaw or yawning like a lion, only he doesn’t look tired at all.
My dad’s putting on his jacket, getting ready to leave for work, when we go inside. He’s wearing that resigned miserable face he dons whenever he thinks I’m not looking, or when he’s just too tired to fake it. When he sees us, he says, “Do your grandparents know you’re here, Russ?”
“Yes, sir,” Boy21 says. “My grandfather’s coming to pick me up in an hour.”
“What’s in the box?” Dad asks.
“Cupcakes,” Boy21 says.
“Seriously?”
Boy21 nods.
“Well, I’m off to work.”
Pop’s passed out in his wheelchair again, dead to the world with a beer can in one hand, Grandmom’s rosary beads wrapped around the other, and the TV remote in his lap. On the TV is an infomercial for some cleaning product endorsed by Magic Johnson, who keeps saying, “This is just like me—magic!” every time the hostess wipes a stain off a couch or rug with the “magic” wand cleaner.
“Wish I could watch the Lakers’ greatest point guard of all time humiliate himself on a cable infomercial station, but somebody has to pay the bills around here, so heigh-ho! Off to work I go!”
Boy21 laughs at Dad’s joke, which makes him smile and raise his hand. They exchange a dorky dad-type high five, and then Dad is gone.
“Be gone, old cleaning products!” Magic Johnson says as he shoots old bottles like basketballs into a faraway trash can. “Magic is here. Magic! Watch out, stains! You don’t stand a chance! Magic! Magic! Magic!”
Magic Johnson looks old.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Boy21 follows me up to my bedroom.
I pop open the window and we climb out onto the roof. It’s cool, but not too cold up here. Maybe like opening-a-refrigerator-door cool.
Once we’re seated he opens the box and, surprisingly, a small package of birthday candles. The two cupcakes are store-bought. Because the light is still on in my room, I can see that someone has drawn space shuttles on the cupcakes with frosting. I start to worry because of Boy21’s freak-out at the IMAX Theatre.
He sticks a candle deep into each cupcake so that the wicks stick out where the flames would exit each space shuttle.
He uses a lighter to ignite the wicks and then says, “STS-120. T minus ten seconds. Eight seconds. T minus five. Four. Three. Two. One. And liftoff of Discovery—opening harmony to the heavens and opening new gateways for international science.”
Boy21 starts singing “Happy Birthday.” His eyes look wild, crazy, manic.
“Happy birthday, dear Boy21. Happy birthday to you,” he sings, and then blows out the candles.
He hands me one of the cupcakes and says, “I got you a vanilla and me chocolate,” and then takes a big bite out of his cupcake.
I wonder if the vanilla and chocolate comment was a joke. He’s not laughing, so I say, “Happy birthday. If I had known—”
“One day short of completing my fifteenth trip around the sun, my father doesn’t drive me to my high school,” Boy21 says in this really serious voice. “In fact, we drive in the opposite direction. When I ask where we’re going, he just smiles and laughs. We end up at the airport and when we check in, I realize we’re headed to Florida. So I say, ‘Dad, are you delivering on your promise?’ When he winks at me, my heart starts pounding, because I know exactly where we’re going. We land in Florida and hit a hotel. He doesn’t even have to confirm it for me, because I know we are about to fulfill his lifelong dream and mine.”
The wind blows and the few dry, brittle leaves still hanging on to the trees rattle. I shiver a little.
“The next day we drive to the viewing spot and I can see it—space shuttle Discovery. It stands huge on the tower, and only a small body of water separates us. We wait for what seems like forever for it to take off, wondering if there will be complications. But it takes off twenty minutes before noon and there is this awesome noise when the rockets are ignited—and then these massive clouds explode from the bottom of the ship and billow out forever and ever along the horizon and then it rises real slow… pushed upward by what looks like a bright cone of orange lava, and a long tower of clouds forms in its wake. It may have been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I remember my father putting his arm around me as we stood and watched. When it was over neither of us said anything for a long time. We just stood there smiling. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had. The best day of my life.”
When Boy21 finishes his story, I don’t know what to say. So this is why he freaked out on the physics field trip.
“Eat your cupcake,” he says.
I eat the whole thing in just a few bites. Vanilla. Rich. Moist. So sweet it makes my teeth ache.
We sit in silence for a long time.
“You want to see that launch?” Boy21 asks.
“How?”
“YouTube,” he says while pulling a laptop out of his bag. “I downloaded it before I came.”
We watch the short video. Boy21 was quoting verbatim whoever was announcing the launch on the YouTube clip—all the talk about harmony for the heavens and gateways. I wonder how many times he’s watched this video.
“Your dad,” I say. “He was interested in outer space?”
“Fascinated by it. He used to read endless books. Was a big Star Trek fan. He loved the final frontier. We had several high-powered telescopes too. Still do, in storage out west.”
Boy21 looks into my eyes and I start to feel as though he’s making a decision. It’s weird. This is the most he’s ever said about his past. I feel as though he’s already let down his guard far more than he had intended. But then his facial expression changes and he’s gone again, just like that.
“My father sent me a telepathic birthday card today. He says he has a present for me, but due to an unforeseen meteor shower in a galaxy that you Earthlings don’t even know exists yet, he anticipates being a few Earth days later than he had originally planned, regarding the pickup. So it looks like you and I will be spending some more time together, Earthling known as Finley.”
Part of me wants to call him on the charade and put some direct questions to him, especially after all he’s revealed tonight. He came here uninvited. He freely offered up the story about his father. He obviously wants to talk about all this stuff. But for some reason I don’t ask him anything. Maybe it’s just my nature to remain mute when I am unsure, which is always, but I feel like I should be asking questions—that conversation would help—and yet, I realize he’s probably talking to me because I don’t ask questions and just let him exist as he wishes to exist. I don’t mind him being Boy21, but I sort of like Russell too.
Instead of talking we simply lie on our backs and look up at the sky, even though it’s cloudy and we can’t even see the moon.
When his grandfather pulls up to my house, Boy21 says, “Thanks for eating cupcakes with me, Earthling.”
I walk him through my room, down the steps, and out the door.
Just before he gets into the car, Boy21 turns around and says, “I wish you and I could travel through the cosmos together, Finley. You have that calming presence. Happy birthday to me—and thanks.”
“See ya, man,” I say, and then he’s gone.
18
I’M IN MY ROOM TRYING TO READ The Merchant of Venice for English class, which is proving to be pretty hard, when something hits my bedroom window. The splat remains of a snowball are sliding down the glass. I open up the window and cold air rushes into my room just before I get blasted in the face with another snowball.
“Snowball fight!” Erin yells from across the street.
I throw on my jacket and shoes and race downstairs.
“Where’s the fire?” Dad says as I pass him in the living room.
Erin drills me in the chest just as soon as I exit through the door.
The flakes are falling huge and fast and the whole neighborhood is coated in white. Something pretty magical happens whenever it snows around here. The neighborhood gets very quiet and all the trash, broken glass, and graffiti are hidden under the white, at least for a little while. It seems too early for snow, which makes this night even more beautiful—like an unexpected present.
While I scoop up some snow and pack it, Erin hits me three times, which is when I realize that she has stockpiled snowballs. Once I have one packed, I charge Erin and take aim. She ducks and I miss, so I decide to tackle her, but not too hard, because there isn’t all that much snow on the ground. She doesn’t put up much of a fight at first, but then she tries to wrestle me, so I grab her wrists and pin her arms with my elbows, and we kiss.
Our mouths are the warmest things in the world right now.
“Isn’t it amazing?” she says as the snow falls past my ears and lands all around her head.
“It is.”
“Let’s sit on the roof and watch it fall all night.”
“Okay.”
We see two headlights approaching, which seems weird because most people around here are afraid to drive in the snow.
We stand, and I recognize the Ford truck as Coach’s.
“Why is Coach here?” Erin asks.
“Dunno.”
Coach pulls up slowly, rolls down his window, and says, “Finley, take a ride around the block with me?”
I look at Erin and shrug.
“I’ll go hit Pop with a snowball,” Erin says. She actually picks one up from her pile and then jogs to my home. I wonder if she’ll really throw it at the old man, which she could get away with, because Pop loves Erin as much as I do.
I get into the truck and the heat streaming from the vents burns my fingers when I try to warm my hands.
Coach doesn’t drive around the block. He says, “How’s Russ doing?”
“Fine.”
“Have you talked to him about playing basketball?”
“Yep,” I lie. Ever since his birthday he’s been extra quiet, and I get the sense that he doesn’t really want to talk about basketball or anything else, so I let him be. But Coach doesn’t want to hear that.
“What does he say?”
“Nothing really.”
“Nothing?”
“No.”
“What does he say about basketball?”
“I don’t think he wants to play basketball.”
“Russ said that, or you think it?”
“He’s not really stable.”
“Are you a psychiatrist now, Finley?”
Coach has never talked to me like this before. There’s sarcasm in his voice and I can tell he’s annoyed with me, which makes me angry, because I have walked to school with Boy21 every day, eaten every school lunch with him, and allowed him to be my shadow for more than two months now. And tonight I was having a nice private moment with Erin before Coach interrupted us.
“No, sir,” I say.
“I expect you to make sure Russ gets his physical tomorrow after school in the nurse’s office and that he shows up to the team meeting on Friday. Understood?”
“Yeah.”
“When you see the boy play, you’ll understand why this is so important. Trust me.”
“Okay.”
Coach reaches through the darkness and squeezes my shoulder. “Thank you, Finley. This is about more than basketball. More than the team. Russ likes you. You’re helping him.”
I don’t know what to say to that, because it sure doesn’t seem like I’m helping Russ, and he really isn’t getting better, as far as I can tell.
“Tell your family I said hello,” Coach says.
I nod and then run through the falling snow toward the house.
Erin’s watching the Sixers game with Dad, and Pop’s shirt is all wet, which lets me know that she really threw a snowball at the old man.
“This is one feisty broad,” Pop says to me.
Dad laughs. “She ran in here and blasted Pop in the chest!”
“If I had legs…”
“Sure,” Erin says, “the old no-legs excuse.”
There aren’t many people who could get away with talking this way to Pop, but Erin’s special to us. She’s put her time in. She’s family.
“Come on, Finley,” Erin says.
And then we’re on the roof again, watching Bellmont turn white—one snowflake at a time.
“What did Coach want?” Erin asks.
“He thinks I should encourage Russ to play basketball,” I say.
“Cool,” Erin says as she climbs on top of me.
By morning almost all the snow has melted, so no snow day.
As we walk to school Erin says, “Russ, you interested in playing basketball?”
“Don’t know,” Russ says.
I glance at his face and he’s sucking his lips in between his teeth. He catches my eye and it’s almost like he’s asking for permission. I know I’m supposed to encourage him to play, but for some reason I don’t.
“Physicals are after school today in the nurse’s office,” Erin says. “Best get one just in case. You can go with Finley.”
Russ nods.
I don’t say anything.
We both pass our physicals later that afternoon, but we don’t talk about basketball.
On the day of the preseason meeting, Mr. Allen calls to let us know that Russ will be out sick. This is the first day of school he has missed, and I wonder if it has anything to do with the meeting.
After school our team meets in the lunchroom and Coach quickly hands out permission forms and a practice schedule that begins the day after Thanksgiving. Just tucking the papers into my backpack gives me a rush, because this moment is the first official basketball experience of the year.
After the meeting, as my teammates hustle off to football practice, Coach says, “Finley, can we talk?”
I stay behind and, once we’re alone, Coach says, “What’s Russ been saying to you about basketball?”
This again? Why won’t Coach lay off it?
“We got our physicals,” I say.
“That’s good. But the boy refused to come to school today—the day of the basketball meeting. His grandparents told me he’s talking about outer space again, saying his parents are coming to get him in a spaceship.”
I watch the janitor empty the trash cans on the other side of the cafeteria.
“Did you tell him that he should play ball? Have you been encouraging him, Finley?”
“He doesn’t want to talk about basketball,” I say. “We don’t talk about much at all.”
Coach sighs and gets this disgusted look on his face. “Listen. Just make sure he’s at the first practice. Let’s just see how he reacts to being part of the team, running drills, getting back to normal for him. He needs the routine. Even if he never plays in a game. Just being part of something can help. You, of all people, should know that.”
I have to admit, I’m getting a little pissed at Coach. Why isn’t he hassling Terrell or Wes or any of the other starters, asking them to help Boy21? Why is this my mission alone? I just want to play basketball.
“I know you won’t let me down,” Coach says, and then lightly slaps my right cheek twice.