We Dream of Space

by Erin Entrada Kelly

Ms. Salonga had taught them all kinds of facts about space—not that Bird needed to be told; she knew many of them already—but the most fascinating fact was that there was no sound in space. Not really.

Space is a vacuum, Ms. Salonga said. If a piece of debris hits an orbiting spaceship, the astronauts inside would hear it, but someone outside wouldn’t.

Bird snapped a picture together in her head, like a puzzle. Then she imagined her brothers and parents inside a spaceship. And her: outside, floating. In silence.

Ugh. Why couldn’t he ever be left alone? He wished he could transport to another planet. He wished he really was on an important space mission instead of dealing with his stupid family. He’d rather face brainwashed Vaxxians.

A familiar energy filled the room, as if there were many things to say but no one knew what the words were. The Thomas family was like its own solar system. Planets in orbit. No, not planets. More like meteors or space junk. Floating objects that sometimes bumped or slammed into each other before breaking apart.

Coach is right, Brant had said, Cash can run fast. He runs from his homework every night. That was a favorite joke for a while. So really. Why even go? Well. There was one reason, he supposed. Penelope Barnard. Also known as Penny. She sat in front of him in Ms. Salonga’s class. She said hello to him every morning—a quick

“hey,” like the chirp of a bird—then sat down and swept her brown hair off her neck until it dangled over the back of her chair. A waft of shampoo exploded into the air every time, and Cash wondered (every time) what scent it was.

Penny Barnard wasn’t one of the popular girls, but she wasn’t unpopular, either. Sometimes Cash wondered if anyone else ever noticed the way her freckles dotted her nose, or how her hair smelled, or h...

For a machine to work the way it’s supposed to, all the parts have to do their jobs. And what is a family but a complicated machine? One loose bolt, one badly oiled gear, and the whole thing gets cranky, loud, and unpredictable.

Bird prided herself on being the most reliable gear in the Nelson Thomas Family Device, so when she walked into the kitchen the next morning, she was cheerful—as cheerful as she

could be at seven-thirty in the morning, anyway—but r...

The mission of Bright Star One was easily decided: They were going to study Halley’s Comet, just like the Challenger astronauts. When the bell rang, Dani raised both her arms in a victory pose and shouted, “Bright Star One to space!” at the top of her lungs and everyone laughed—not at her, but with her—because, like Bird, they knew it was all in good fun, and no one was really going into outer space like the Challenger crew, no matter how badly they wanted to.

Ever since Fitch got to middle school last year, he had the sense that everything was about acting casual no matter what, like nothing in the world mattered and you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything, even though everyone cared about everything.

The problem was dinner. When their mother got home, it was 6:40 and no one had eaten. Their mother was usually the one who made dinner, so their father said they would wait for her. That was a mistake. Bird knew it was a mistake. She could predict an argument a mile away. Nothing could be done about it, though. Bird didn’t know how to cook, so it’s not like she could prepare a meal for them.

“I was thinking about how much we look alike,” said Bird. She held up the photocopy. The astronauts smiled from the paper. “Don’t you think?” The crew studied the photo. “I guess,” said Jessica Diaz. “But she’s pretty.” The words came out casually. But she’s pretty. Bird heard it again. But she’s pretty. That word—“but.” What did that mean? “I mean, it’s not that you’re not pretty, Bird,” said Jessica, quickly. “Just . . . well.” She looked at everyone else in the circle. “Being pretty really isn’t your thing.” She shrugged, as if this concluded the whole conversation. Not her thing? “Being smart is your thing,” Jessica explained.

“I’m serious, Marcus—close your eyes,” said Ms. Salonga. Kids snickered. Not Bird. “Okay,” Ms. Salonga continued. “Now I want you to imagine that you’re not in your desk at all. You’re not in Delaware. You’re in Houston, Texas. You’re strapped tight to your chair, on your back, pointed to the sky. You’ve got your helmet on. What do you hear?”

“The first thing you have to do is complete your series of preflight checks,” Ms. Salonga said. “Once all your preflight checks are complete, you’ll have to—eyes closed, Jessica Diaz—wait for the crew to finish final rocket preparations. Your heart is pounding in your ears. There’s something you keep wondering about—stop that, Christopher, I see what you’re doing—and what you wonder is: What will it look like up there? What will it feel like?”

There’s nothing holding you down but your harness. Everything is floating, including you.” The Earth becomes so small, like the head of a pin or a grain of sand. The Earth is round and

blue and beautiful and everything is far away. Out here, no one is pretty. Everyone is pretty. No one is smart. Everyone is smart. Out here, there is only you. Copy. Copy.

“Do you have a treehouse back there?” she asked.

Dani glanced outside. “Yeah. Well, I used to. My dad built it a long time ago, but most of it has fallen apart. It’s basically just pieces of wood nailed to a tree at this point.” “I always wanted a treehouse,” said Bird. “Me, too,” Dani said. “That’s why my dad built it.” Bird wondered what that was like, to want something and then get it. Especially something like a treehouse.

Until now Bird thought treehouses only existed in books or television. An optical illusion, like ...

“His name is actually Chekov Scotty McCoy, because we couldn’t decide what to call him. I wanted to name him Chekov, my dad liked McCoy, and my mom wanted to call him Scotty. We argued about it all the way home from the shelter until my mom finally said we should reach a consensus and name him all three.”

Consensus. When Bird’s parents argued, one of them usually wound up leaving the house for a few hours. One time her mom stayed away overnight. Apparently they never came to a consensus, since their arguments often repeated themselves.

What a world Danielle Logan lived in. Treehouse...

At that moment, Fitch really hated her. His mother said “hate” was a powerful and ugly word, only to be used when you really really meant it, “which shouldn’t be often, if ever,” she always added, but at that moment—at that very, very moment—Fitch really hated

Amanda Piper. Why did she have to say his face was red? Why did anyone ever say that? He knew his face was red. Anyone could see his face was red, and now, because she’d opened her big mouth, his face was even redder.

“Come on, ask me.” “Well . . .” He paused. “There’s this girl.” Mr. Thomas sat up. “Oh,” he said. He turned down the volume and looked directly at Cash.

Eye contact is one of the simplest gifts you can give someone, Ms. Salonga once told Cash when he’d mumbled an answer—an incorrect answer, of course—to his notebook. People need to feel seen.

Fitch didn’t like when he had to turn down his music. He kept the dial of his boom box on four—loud enough for him to feel like he was in his own music vacuum, but low enough that his parents didn’t bang on the door and tell him to “turn it down” or “have some respect.” The sound of knocking had become an

irritating itch to him. His hackles went up the minute he heard it. Like right now.

There was a time when they’d done many things together. Races to the end of the street. Hide-and-seek with just the two of them. Once they’d even tried to read each other’s minds because they’d heard twins were supposed to

be able to do that. They’d sat across from each other, squeezed their eyes shut, and communicated telepathically. Tried to, at least. Now Bird’s mind was more foreign than it’d ever been. That bond they shared—that twin thing—had weakened somehow. Or maybe somewhen.

Bird: What do you think Halley’s Comet will look like from the Challenger? Judith Resnik: I don’t know. Spectacular, probably. Bird: Everything looks spectacular from a space shuttle, I bet. Judith Resnik: That’s true. Bird: What’s it like, anyway? Judith Resnik: It’s like being far away and close at the same time. Floating in a world that belongs only to you, but also belongs to everyone else.

Bird: That doesn’t make much sense. Judith Resnik: True. But neither does life on Earth.

Judith Resnik: Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. Bird: A girl at school said being pretty isn’t my thing. She says being smart is my thing. I already know I’m smart. Judith Resnik: So, what’s your question?

Bird: Am I pretty? Judith Resnik: In my opinion, being smart is pretty.

Judith Resnik: Exactly. “Pretty” isn’t real, Bird. It’s one person looking at another and saying yes or no, based on their own personal judgments. And it’s transient. It’s like the wind—society says something is pretty one minute, then they decide it’s not pretty anymore, and everyone moves where it takes them. Pretty is nothing. Pretty is invisible. Pretty is what you make it.

Bird repeated that phrase in her mind: Pretty is nothing. Pretty is invisible. Pretty is what you make it.

Bird wondered what would happen if she ever dismantled the television. Would she find one of those swinging pendulums inside, the kind hypnotists use to put people to sleep?

The nervous energy inside of Fitch sparked and itched. “I got news for you, Bernadette. You’re never gonna be a shuttle commander for NASA and you’re never going into space. Reality check. You’re just a girl from Delaware who’s nothing special,” said Fitch. He didn’t know why he was saying it, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, one by one, like poison. “You’ll

end up just like Mom. Not Sally Ride or Judith Whatever.” The words dangled in the air. Fitch didn’t move. Didn’t make eye contact. That sick feeling rose up again as Bird left the room. Before she’d walked in, he’d wanted to break something. And he had.

“Bird!” Cash called. When she peeked her head inside his room, she had a strange look on her face. It was so different than her usual demeanor that Cash noticed for the first time that she had a demeanor.

“Are you okay?” he asked, which wasn’t what he’d planned to say at all.

Cash had the distinct sense that his sister was not fine. Not at this moment, at least. But she would be. She always was.

Bird: The universe has no beginning and no end. Just a vast space that goes on forever. A person could easily disappear into it. I think that’s what is happening to me.

Bird: Isn’t it strange? Judith Resnik: Isn’t what strange? Bird: That a person can be surrounded by other people and still feel alone. You could be in a house full of people, even. Judith Resnik: Loneliness is an emotion. It comes from inside, not outside.

Fitch wanted to be a housefly. He wanted to be so small that no one noticed him. He would fly into Ms. Salonga’s class and sit on the walls and listen to what everyone said. Did they think he was a lunatic?

Bird was aware that there was a phenomenon

called “going together,” and that some of the girls had boyfriends, and some guys liked girls and vice versa and all that, but she never considered it part of her life. More like a cosmic event that happened outside of her solar system, which she would study with detached curiosity before going about her normal business. If people were “cute,” she didn’t notice. If “going together” was a social badge of honor, she didn’t need it. It didn’t occur to her to enter into this orbit herself. As far as she knew, it didn’t occur to anyone else.