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“You, without a doubt, are the most useless excuse for a human being I’ve ever encountered.”
“Don’t be a sore loser.”
My character on screen reloads after I take a particularly skillful shot at Sean’s, scooping his character’s head clean off in a spray of red mist. Sean flips me the bird and tosses his controller down on my bed before flopping down on my pillow and thumbing through the latest issue of Astronomy Today that's been sitting on my nightstand.
“We should go out and do something,” He says after hardly a moment’s pause, setting the magazine back down and snatching up a model of the moon encased in glass. Sean is the kind of person who talks slightly too fast and can't sit still for more than half a second before getting bored. He's always wanting to “go do something.” The problem with August in Sunview, however, is that the heat made it impossible to do anything that doesn't involve chlorinated water or air conditioning.
“What would we even do?” I gather up his discarded controller and return it to the drawer under my small television along with my own. Although basically a genius on paper, Sean is often completely incapable of cleaning up after himself, a fact that he knows irritates me to no end. Sean is also the kind of person who seems completely unirritated by anything, to my further irritation. He and I are functionally polar opposites, which makes me appreciate our friendship more.
“Melissa said she and Julie are going to the mall. We should go with them.”
My disdain at the idea must be immediately evident because Sean rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, dude. Julie isn’t that bad. What she lacks in the, ahem ‘gray matter department’, she certainly makes up for in the ass department.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, ever the tactful charmer.
“I don’t know. I don’t really feel like it.” My gaze wanders to a poster on my wall of the historical timeline of significant astronomical discoveries dating back to the earliest Babylonian star catalogs of 1200 BC; I’m only pretending to read, though, because I’ve had the whole thing memorized since middle school and can pretty much list them all by heart.
Discovery of the celestial sphere - Ancient Greece.
Discovery of planetary motion - 1543
Discovery of moons of Jupiter - 1610
Discovery of phases of Venus - 1610
Discovery of the nebulae - 1764
Discovery of Uranus - 1781
Discovery of Neptune - 1846
Discovery of Pluto - 1930
Discovery of cosmic background radiation - 1964
Discovery of exoplanets - 1990-present
The list is far from comprehensive, but one can only expect so much from a three-dollar poster from the middle-school book catalog. I can’t help but glance at the unopened envelope from Mesa Grande University lying like a poisonous viper on my desk and an unhelpful pang of anxiety does a few turns before settling itself in my stomach like a contented feline.
“Still haven’t opened it?” Sean’s eyes follow my gaze and he deftly snatches the letter off the desk and holds it up to the window, like he’s examining a hundred-dollar bill for authenticity. He casts me a sidelong look, examining my expression for any sign of weakness. “Want me to do it?”
“Give me that.” I roll my eyes and reach over his head to snatch it away. I’m at least six inches taller than him but I’m about as athletic as an overripe banana. Sean tucks the envelope like a football and deftly spins out of my way, nearly swiping my plastic Saturn V model off a shelf in the process. “Sean!”
“Shit, sorry!” Sean steadies the 18-inch rocket with his elbow, still holding my letter out of reach. “C’mon, my dude. Why haven’t you just looked at it already?”
“I’m waiting ‘til school starts,” I reply, and it’s only halfway a lie. “I want to talk to Ms. Herrera about it in case…”
“In case you didn’t get in? What’s a guidance counselor going to do about it?” Sean scoffs. “Dude, you’re a shoe in. Just show them this--” he gestures wildly around my room, “--shrine to outer space. No one in their right mind would deny you to their astronomy program. Especially not a third-rate state school in the middle of nowhere. No offense,” he adds hastily.
“I don’t think they base their decisions on shrines, or whatever.” I grimace and slump backward onto my unmade bed. “In case you weren’t aware, my grades are kinda crap.”
“A shitstorm, yes, from an admissions perspective.” Sean flips the envelope between his fingers in contemplation. “Not that I haven’t been on your ass for years.”
“I try,” I say with some indignation. “I… have trouble with follow-through.”
“That’s an understatement,” he says with a grin. “If only the valedictorian offered to tutor you every once in a while.”
“I thought Libby Rice was going to be valedictorian?”
“Damn dude, ouch.” He smiles but I can see that competitive glint flash behind his eyes. “Her GPA is like, point-zero-two above mine as of last semester. If Libby Rice gets valedictorian over me, I’ll jump off a bridge.”
The statement hangs in the air for a moment the way a glass does after it slips from the table and shatters on the floor. Sean stares at me for a moment before he realizes what he’s just said, then fumbles backward at breakneck speed. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Elliot, I didn’t mean to. I always forget, I’m--”
Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.
“Dude. hey. SEAN!” I almost have to yell to cut him off. He stares at me with remorse written painfully on his face. “It’s fine, man. It was a joke.”
“It was kind of in poor taste though. Sorry.”
“It was six years ago,” I say, as much to myself as him. “It's fine.”
“Yeah, and my dad died, what, fifteen years ago? It still fucks me up a little. It definitely still fucks my mom up.” He sighs heavily and spins my envelope over and over in his fingers. “I know that thing still fucks you up, Elliot. I get it.”
“Six years,” I repeat, shaking my head and staring up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the textured drywall are six years old; that’s when I started waking up screaming in the middle of the night. The images would flash through my mind at breakneck speed:
A bright blue coat.
Red sneakers.
The sound of flesh meeting steel and glass at sixty-five miles per hour.
My mouth suddenly feels as dusty as the shoulder of I-10 in the summertime.
“Seventy-two months,” Sean replies, and I can feel his eyes glued to my face, trying to decipher my thoughts.
“Three hundred and twelve weeks.” I know Sean is better at math than I am, and it doesn't take more than ten seconds for hir reply:
“Two thousand, one hundred and ninety one-days.”
“That’s, like…” I try to do the figures in my mind. “Five round trips to Mars.
“Only you think about things in terms of round trips to Mars” Sean says with a grin.
“As long as it keeps my mind off… other things,” I say, a little too honestly. The statement hangs in the air like thick smoke, threatening to choke us both. I’m waiting for it, for the same thing everyone else tells me: I need to get some help. But, it never comes. He plops the envelope back down onto my desk and gives me a pointed look. “How about we take your mind off things and go meet up with my girlfriend?”
“I don’t feel like it.” My true displeasure is directed at the idea of playing third wheel for Sean and Melissa for the thousandth time. It always ends the same way: me stumbling through the world’s most painful small talk with some girl who barely remembers we go to school together, while Sean and his girlfriend eat each other's faces on the other side of the table.
“You never feel like doing anything,” He groans and throws up his hands. “Come on, dude.”
“That’s not true,” I reply absentmindedly, which isn’t a complete lie. If I’m going to leave the familiar confines of my basement bedroom, I’d at least like to be intellectually stimulated, and watching Sean and Melissa gnaw eachother’s lips off falls far short of that category. Thinking of leaving the house reminds me that my first group therapy session is tomorrow night and another shot of anxiety pushes the first a little higher, nestled between my heart and my throat.
Tha-thump. Tha-thump.
I feel the sudden urge to tell Sean about the visit to Rodruiguez’s office at the clinic yesterday, but the swirling mass inside smothers my words and makes it impossible to say anything, so we sit in silence for a little while.
“School starts on Monday.” Sean's voice seems to float disembodied through the empty air in the room.
“I know,” I say, wondering why he’d even bring it up. With only four precious days of summer vacation left, I wanted to spend as little time thinking about school as possible. “Why are you thinking about school?”
“Your class schedule was just sitting here.” I hear a rustling of papers and turn to find him shaking it in my direction. “Not bad at all. I already know we’ve both got your dad for European History this year, that should be a bit of a blow-off, right?”
I scoff, imagining Dad’s expression if he heard Sean call any of his classes a “blow-off.” Mr. Bishop was not known for handing out underserved grades, for better or worse.
“No gym this semester, that’s good…” Sean trails off before making an odd snort through his nose. “Oh, man. You’ve got Dr. Grabber for American Lit. That dude is tough.”
“Who?” I frowned. “I don’t even remember signing up for American Lit.”
“Dr. Grabinski. You know, that kind-of hunchbacked old guy with the accent?” He gives me a sympathetic look. “He only teaches seniors. I’ve never had him, but I’ve heard stories. They call him Dr. Grabber ‘cause he supposedly choked a kid for talking in class way back when you could get away with stuff like that.”
“That sounds extreme. And hopefully untrue.” I really don’t want to think about school right now.
“I’m just telling you what I’ve heard,” Sean says with a grin and a shrug. “Tenure, man. Hey, did you get anything cool for your birthday? You did tell your parents you wanted a car, right?”
“Oh, yeah, actually.” Every thought of school evacuates my head immediately. “I mean, no, I didn’t ask them for a car. Mom and dad did splurge a little bit, though.” I use my toe to wrestle open the closet door to reveal what has instantly become my absolute pride and joy.
Seans mouth hangs open slightly. “Dude, are you serious?” I can’t tell if it’s shock, awe, or something else.
“Right?” I swipe a speck of dust off the lens cover and I can feel myself beaming. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s way nicer than the one I asked for, but I’m totally okay with that, obviously.”
Sean shakes his head and lets out a noise halfway between a scoff and a snicker. “Elliot, my man, don’t get me wrong: this thing is pretty frickin’ sweet. But, you are the only high school kid on the planet who is totally okay with riding his bike to school, and yet gets excited about getting a damn telescope for your birthday!”
“You know this is a Demi modelAltair 200 Series telescope, right?” I cry indignantly, pointing to the bold script printed in a very tasteful crimson near the eyepiece. “This thing might as well be a car, it probably costs twice as much as yours--no offense,” I add hastily. I’m trying not to be too excited about the Altair, but I did nearly lose my eyeballs out of their sockets when I came downstairs on Saturday morning to find it sitting in the family room.
“No offense taken,” Sean puts on a falsely haughty air. “For your information, sir, I specifically pride myself on exactly how little my Spanish-Galleon-with-wheels cost me. You can’t impress me with your fancy magnifying glass.” He pauses for a moment and taps his chin. “You know who you could impress, though? I’m sure there’s some female version of Carl Sagan out there who would be positively moist over your Altair 5000, or whatever.”
“200 Series,” I correct him. “And gross,” I add, making a face. “If you ever find a girl even remotely interested in telescopes, I’ll give you five bucks as a finder’s fee.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Sean replies, waving a finger at me. “Just don’t let her braces scrape up your--”
“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” I say hastily, before he can finish his sentence in detail. I shrug absentmindedly and carefully swipe a speck of dust off the black glossy paint on the optical tube of the Altair. I’ve never even owned my own telescope, let alone had my hands on such a nice one. I know that if I wear Sean down enough I can convince him to help me bundle it into the trunk of his horrendous maroon Grand Marquis and haul it out into the desert to look into the abyss. The mere prospect of that brightens my mood noticeably.
“Elliot you in there?” Knuckles rap sharply on my door, which is pointless because Dad barges in half a second later. “Oh, hello, Sean. I didn’t know you were here.” He smiles pleasantly at Sean and I notice him perk up when he sees we’ve brought out the Altair. “Showing him your new prize, huh?”
“Hey, Mr. Bishop!” Sean rolls up to his feet with a smile and shakes Dad’s hand firmly. Dad is even taller than I am, which makes Sean’s five-foot-eight look comically small. “You’re really spoiling him, aren’t you?”
Dad laughs, a little haltingly. “It was either this or an old car, but I think we both know him well enough to know which one he’d choose.” His mouth twitches in amusement. Mom and Dad get a kick out of Sean because he’s well versed in “adult conversation.” I know it’s just for his own amusement; he sees it as some kind of challenge. “Ready for your last year of ritual imprisonment?” Dad asks, using Sean’s favorite term for school.
“So ready that I wish it were over already,” Sean quips easily. “I’ve still got to decide what I’m doing with my life afterward.”
“Haven’t nailed down a dream yet, huh?” Dad pushes his glasses up his nose and for a moment, looks oddly… old. His hair is beginning to gray at the temples and I have a feeling that convincing high schoolers to care about history is the main culprit.
“Robotics sounds interesting,” Sean replies with a whimsical air.”Computer science is an obvious choice. Or maybe I could become a cop, like my dad was.”
An expression halfway between bemusement and alarm flashes acros Dad’s face for just a moment. “You’ve still got plenty of time to figure that out. That goes for you, too, Elliot.” He looks the Altair up and down and offers me what I think is some sort of sympathetic look. “Dinner will be ready in a minute. Meatloaf. Are you staying, Sean?”
“I’d love to, sir.” Sean flashes a smile and Dad nods. “I’ll let Lisa know we need an extra plate. Maybe you boys can test that bad boy out tonight?” He gestures at the telescope.
“Oh, we were sort of planning on going to the mall tonight,” Sean says, giving me a side-long look. Mall is an extremely generous term we all use for the strip of businesses that share a parking lot next to the Wal-Mart out by the interstate. “I’ve got some last minute school things to buy and, frankly, Elliot needs to get out of the house.”
“I think we can agree on that one,” Dad replies with a grin. “Maybe tomorrow night, after…” The pause hangs too long in the air and I stare at him, trying to telepathically convey the fact that I haven’t told Sean about Dr. Rodriguez and his therapy group yet. “...our family thing.” He finishes a little too stiffly.
“Yeah, whatever,” I mumble, and begin gingerly sliding the Altair back into my closet in hopes of distracting Sean from the inevitable questions. “ We’ll be up in five, okay?”
“Make sure you wash up,” Dad gives an awkward little wave and nods at Sean before closing the door. As his footsteps climb the basement stairs, Sean gives me a long, inquisitive look.
Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.
“Well, that sure was weird,” Sean purses his lips, and for a moment his expression is unreadable. Luckily for me, Sean has the attention span of a hummingbird on narcotics. He throws open the door to my room and gestures for me to lead with a sweep of his arms. “Man, I can’t wait to absolutely demolish your mom’s meatloaf.” He stops and lets out a bark of laughter. “Well, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Dude!” I roll my eyes and hoist myself out of my chair with a groan.
“I promise won’t ever repeat that, moms are off-limits.” Sean swears, holding up a scout salute.
“That’s cause your mom is--”
“Don’t you dare say it,” Sean warns, holding up a finger.
“--A very classy lady,” I finish, holding back my laughter. Mrs. Hernandez is very attractive--for a mom--which leads to an endless torrent of locker-room ribbing aimed in Sean’s direction from other guys in our class.
“I’ll forget you brought it up,” He narrows his eyes menacingly. It’s hard to be intimidating when you’re Sean’s size, but he tries his best. “If you do me a favor, that is.”
“What’s that?” I’m wary of any favors, especially for him.
“I need you to actually come to the mall tonight and keep Julie busy, please.” He holds his clasped hands out practically underneath my nose. “Just for an hour or two. Hey, I bet Melissa can even talk her into doing some over-the-pants stuff with you or something.”
I try not to make too disgusted of a face. His expression is so pitiful that I can’t help myself. “Fine, I’ll come with you. But no over-the-anything with Julie, please.”
“Suit yourself,” Sean grins before climbing the stairs as fast as his short legs can carry him, leaving me alone at the bottom.
“Maybe I’ll hold out for the girl who’s into telescopes,” I say to no one in particular, and then snorted at my own little joke. The odds of a person being struck by a meteorite have been calculated at somewhere in the neighborhood of one-in-seven hundred thousand.
My odds of finding love in our sun-choked desert paradise were probably far smaller.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
