Out of the Blue (7 page)

THERE WERE STILL THREE
weeks until the wedding, and already it had thoroughly invaded the house. The kitchen was action central, as catering plans geared up to full swing. Wonderful food kept appearing, only to disappear hours later into the freezer. Little meatballs and tiny quiches, walnut squares and pans of brownies. Now you see them, now you don't.

“There's never been so much good food in the house,” said Dad mournfully, “and we aren't allowed to eat any of it.”

And Mum's conversations were bizarre. “How many celery sticks would you eat at a buffet lunch?”

“If they have cheese in them, I would eat ten,” said Betsy.

“None,” said Dad. “You get those long strings in your teeth, and if you don't have your dental floss— and who's going to bring dental floss to a wedding? —then you spend your whole time trying to suck the celery strings out from between your teeth, without looking like you're doing it.”

Megan didn't offer an opinion. Mum didn't notice.

Then there was the business about the Gift. Natalie and Franklin wanted a tent for a wedding present. So outdoor equipment catalogs began appearing, with complicated descriptions of aluminum alloy poles and geodesic construction.

“This yellow one is jolly,” said Dad.

“No,” said Mum. “It has to be dark green. Natalie says that bright colors on tents are a form of visual environmental pollution.”

“Come off it,” said Dad. “What about dandelions and, oh I don't know, yellow birds. Are they environmental pollution?”

“Well, don't ask me,” said Mum. “She just feels very strongly about this.”

“Oh well, if Natalie has spoken.” Dad rolled his eyes and retreated to the garage. The garage had never been so neat. Even the nails were sorted.

Megan's retreat was her room, and she felt, as she closed the door, like someone in a medieval castle pulling up the drawbridge. But that wedding-free zone didn't last. One day Megan found Betsy sitting on the bedroom floor taking coins out of her fuzzy-dog purse and piling them up into towers.

“What are you doing?” asked Megan.

“I need four hundred more cents.”

“So, save your allowance for four weeks.”

“But four weeks is after the wedding, isn't it?”

“Is this another wedding-present idea? You know, we're included in the tent thing. We don't have to get Natalie a present on our own.”

Betsy pulled a torn, creased piece of paper from her pocket and spread it out on the carpet. “But I want to. Isn't this beautiful?”

A full-page glossy photo showed a big hunk of glass, carved to look like waves. Attached to the top was a silver killer whale, jumping: “The Monarch of the Deep.”

“Where did you get this?”

“From a magazine. And look, it's got one of those send-away things. Like when Mum sent away for rubber stamps with our names on them. And I only need four hundred more cents.”

Megan looked at the clipping again. “An heirloom in the making. Only $15.95.” Funny, it looked like a pretty jazzy thing to get for $15.95. It must be made of cheap plastic or something. Then she noticed the asterisk.

“Betsy, it's not $15.95. It's $15.95 a month.”

“What do you mean, ‘a month'?”

“It means you have to pay $15.95 every month for a whole year. It really costs”—Megan grabbed a pencil and scribbled on a corner of the picture — “$191.40.”

Betsy snatched back the clipping. “It does not. Look, $15.95. Right on top of the whale.”

“See that star?” said Megan. “That means small print. You have to watch out for the small print.”

“How many weeks' allowance is one hundred, what you said?”

“Too many,” said Megan, standing up. “Sorry, kiddo.” She went to the door. When she glanced back, Betsy had her head down on the table and was toppling her piles of coins, one by one. Megan paused. Maybe she should take Betsy down to the hardware store, where you could buy a present for ten dollars. But that would take all morning. Besides, it wasn't her fault. It was all this wedding thing. Practically making people buy you presents. Phony baloney.

It was a relief to go to school. Two more weeks and nobody was taking anything seriously. Mr. Mostyn spent his time telling them stories about how he worked on the fish boats rather than warning them about how the ax was going to fall when they got to junior high school next year if they didn't pull up their socks now. He brought in his tape deck and played music in the afternoons. There was a lazy, winding-down feeling in the air.

The librarian asked for volunteers to help mend textbooks, and Megan and Erin spent long afternoons in the library with glue and tape. Often they stayed long after the bell. The librarian brought them Cokes. They looked at the first-grade readers and remembered Jason and his happy dog, Bud. They talked about seventh grade.

“What do you think is going to be the best thing?” asked Erin.

“I don't know. Maybe lockers and electives.”

“Wrong,” said Erin. “Cafeteria and dissection.”

“Are you sure we get to dissect in seventh grade?”

“Well, I sure hope so. Otherwise, what's the point?” Erin stood up and stretched and went to the sink to wash library paste off her hands. “Hey, there's some kid on the lookout tower in the playground sitting under an umbrella, and it's not even raining.”

“Let's see.” Megan went to the window. “That's an orange dinosaur umbrella just like Betsy's. Hold it, I think that is Betsy. She should have gone home half an hour ago. What's she doing? I better go see.”

Megan crunched across the gravel of the playground. Yes, it was Betsy. There were her yellow sneakers sticking out from under her Dinosaur Museum umbrella. Megan rested her chin on the floor of the lookout and then reached through the railings and tipped the umbrella up.

Betsy's face was blotchy with tears, and her nose was running. “Go away.”

Megan searched through her pockets for a Kleenex. No luck. “Betsy? What's wrong? Are you in trouble?”

A sob hiccuped out from behind the umbrella.

“Come on, I'll walk you home.”

The umbrella tilted back. “I don't want to walk with you.”

“Well, you can't stay here.”

“Can, too.” Betsy reached out and grabbed the railing.

“Betsy. Don't be a dumbball. You're so stubborn.” Megan tried to pry Betsy's fingers off the bars.

Betsy roared: “Get away from me. I hate you I hate you I hate you.”

“Oh, all
right
. Stay here, see if I care.”

Megan stamped off. At the edge of the playground she turned back. Betsy was hidden under the umbrella again. She really shouldn't be left alone. Oh, forget it. She knew the rules about coming home. It wasn't Megan's fault if she was being difficult.

Mum was supervising a large boiling pot when Megan walked into the kitchen.

“Betsy's on the lookout tower at school and she won't come home.”

“Why didn't you bring her?”

“Because
she wouldn't come
. She's really getting to be a brat.”

“Okay, okay. Look, watch these eggs. When the timer dings, drain them and then put them into the bathtub right away.”

“The bathtub?”

“It's the only way to cool three dozen eggs quickly enough. There's ice water in there. I'll go get Betsy.”

Mum arrived home ten minutes later with a sobbing, hiccuping Betsy in tow.

She sat her on a chair and gave her a glass of water. “Now, what's wrong?”

“I got a
note
. From Mrs. Kozol. All during first grade I never got a note and this year I never got a note and now I got a note.” Betsy's voice ended in a wail as she pulled an envelope out of her pocket.

“It's probably just some year-end party or something,” said Megan. “What's the prob?”

“That's a
notice
” said Betsy furiously. “This is a note”

“Let's have a look,” said Mum, slitting open the envelope. She pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. As she read she got a funny twitching around her mouth. She coughed. “So, Betsy, it seems as if Kevin Blandings's parents are a bit upset.”

“Tattletale. Anyway, I gave him back his crummy five dollars.”

Mum arranged her mouth again. “Mrs. Kozol says that you were trying to sell Kevin a lottery ticket. Is that right?”

Betsy nodded.

Megan grinned. “Where the heck did you get a lottery ticket?”

Betsy glared. “None of your beeswax.”

“Megan, we don't need to hear from you. But, Betsy honey, where
did
you get a lottery ticket?”

Betsy looked out from under her eyebrows. “I just made it, with my junior printer. I made lots, but only Kevin Blandings would buy one, because he was the only one with five dollars. He keeps it in this little pocket in his shoe. He showed me. It's his emergency money.”

Megan stared at Betsy. Not bad. As a money-making scheme it sure beat collecting pop bottles. There was one problem, though. “But if you only sold one ticket, then Kevin Blandings would win for sure, and you wouldn't make any money.”

“He would
not
. Nobody ever wins the lottery. Dad says. When we go to the corner store and he buys one of those tickets he always says, ‘I don't know why I bother. Nobody ever wins the lottery.'”

Megan snorted. “But, Betsy, that doesn't mean that nobody actually . . .”

Mum jumped in. “Megan, we know that you know. Put a lid on it. Oh rats, there's the phone. Can you get it? No, not in here. Get it in the living room.”

Megan jogged into the next room, closing the door behind her. She flopped onto the couch. Maybe it was Erin.

“Hello. Is this Megan? This is Natalie.”

“Oh, hi, Natalie. I'll get Mum.”

“No, hang on. It's you I want to talk to.”

“Yes?” No, I still don't want to be a bridesmaid.

“I just wondered if you would like to come out to the university with me tonight to look through the telescope. It's a nice clear night and we'll have the place to ourselves.”

Alone with Natalie? “Um, I don't know.”

“The only thing is, and I need your advice on this, can I get away with not inviting Betsy? I don't want to leave her out, but she really is too young.”

Megan heard the rising tones of Betsy in the kitchen. She was approaching blastoff. Escape was an attractive idea. Besides, to look at real stars, not fake ones at the planetarium — that would be fun.

“No, that's okay. Betsy doesn't need to come. But I'd like to. Wait a minute and I'll ask.”

Back in the kitchen Mum was leaning against the counter, holding the note and hooting with laughter.

“Where's Betsy?”

“She went out to play. You know her powers of recovery. Thank goodness. I thought I was going to die if I had to be the responsible, serious parent for one more second. You know when you have to laugh but you're not allowed to?”

“Mum, can I go with Natalie to the telescope at the university tonight? She'll pick me up.”

“What?” Mum dried her eyes on a tea towel. “Okay. Sounds like fun. I'll be bowling with Marie as usual. Dad and Betsy can stay home and think up some illegal scam.” She exploded in another snort of laughter. “I do like this Mrs. Kozol. She thinks that Betsy has a bright future in the new economy of self-reliance and will leave the Kevin Blandings of this world behind in the dust. She's probably got a point. If only we can keep Betsy on the right side of the law.”

THE CAMPUS WAS VERY
quiet as Natalie and Megan walked from the parking lot. “Crazed astronomers are the only ones out here on a Friday night,” said Natalie.

The observatory was small, dominated by the mysterious looming telescope. Natalie pressed a switch and a panel in the domed roof slid open, exposing a rectangle of night sky. She sat down at a computer terminal and blipped a bit.

“So, what would you like to see?”

“The moon, but it's not in that part of the sky.”

Natalie grinned. “No problem.” She pressed another switch and with a sliding sound the dome began to turn until the moon was framed perfectly. “The moon is a good choice for tonight. First quarter is good for shadows, you can really see things.” She typed at the terminal and the telescope turned. “Okay, have a look.”

Megan slid into position. The moon filled her vision. Light grey, like plasticine. Clear, with a sharp edge of darkness, and huge. Two smooth areas against a rougher area, and little pockmarks dotted over it.

“The top blob is the Sea of Tranquility,” said Natalie, “and the one below is the Sea of Nectar. Not really seas, of course—plains.”

“Fancy names,” said Megan, holding one eye shut with her hand.

“Yes, I like them. The features of the moon were named three hundred years ago, and they went in for more romantic names than we do nowadays. The Lake of Dreams, the Bay of Rainbows.”

“What are those pimple things?”

“Craters. Probably the result of asteroid collisions. See the one with the bright dot in the middle?”

“Yeah.”

“That's Theophilus, sixty-seven miles wide, one of the biggies. The dot is a mountain at its center, catching the light.”

“Wow.” Megan stared. What did it remind her of? Oh, yeah, drops of water from the canoe paddle. But these things were miles wide. It would take days to walk across them. She tried to imagine walking on the moon. “It's hard to believe that it really is the moon and not, you know, made up. Do you spend a lot of time here?”

Natalie looked through the second eyepiece. “Yup, and in the winter it gets really cold. Sometimes I seem to spend all my time twiddling with the computer. But other times I don't work at all. I just stare. I like the flip that my mind does when I realize that I'm not looking out into space but back into time.”

“Back? I don't get it.”

“Do you know about light-years?”

Megan shook her head.

“Well, distances in space are so huge that we use light-years as a measure. A light-year is how far light travels in a year, about six million million miles.”

“Wow, but how does that mean we're looking back in time?”

“Well, if a star is ten light-years away then we are seeing it as it was ten years ago.”

Megan's brain started to hurt. “But we're still seeing it right now.”

“Right now here, but not there. I had a professor who used to say that looking out into space is looking elsewhen rather than elsewhere. The stars we're seeing may not even exist anymore.”

“What a rip-off!”

Natalie laughed. “I never thought of it that way. I guess I'm just used to living in two times.”

“Find me one of those light-year stars.”

“Okay.” Natalie typed away at the computer for a minute, and the telescope moved above them in the darkness. “Here's Vega, twenty-seven light-years away. Fifty-eight times brighter than our sun.”

Megan looked and looked, trying to believe that she was looking into the past. She started to feel as though she were floating, with nothing to hold onto. Something in her got big. She was falling into space, evaporating, going fuzzy at the edges. She caught herself grabbing onto the chair.

Natalie was talking. “It's all there. The whole history of the universe, written in the sky.”

Megan thought of the asterisk leading to the small print, the truth. A message from each star.

Natalie continued: “All that information and we've only figured out how to read the tiniest bit of it.”

It sounded as if Natalie were talking to herself. It was very relaxing.

“Megan, can I ask you something?”

Uh-oh. End of things being relaxed. Was this telescope thing just going to be an excuse for some revolting sister-to-sister talk? Was this question going to be, How come you've been acting like such a brat?

“Okay.”

“What can you smell at the moment?”

Megan pulled her eyes away from the telescope.

“Smell?”

“Yes, right at the moment. If you concentrate on all the things you can smell, what are they?”

Megan closed her eyes and inhaled. “Nothing. Air.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why?”

Natalie laughed. “Because I have this ridiculously strong sense of smell. If I could see like I can smell, I would have eyes like this telescope. And I've always wondered if it's something I inherited. I asked Judy, but she says her sense of smell is just normal. And I figured if Betsy had an extraordinary sense of smell, we'd all know about it. So I just wondered about you.”

Wondering.

Dad looking in the mirror. “Glad you got my curly hair, Megan, as I have less of it every year.”

The way Mum and Aunt Marie both had stick-out ears.

Mum standing back to back with John. “You're growing into a real beanpole, just like your dad.”

Natalie didn't have any of this. Was she sad about it? Megan put her eye back to the telescope and tried to choose a safe way for the conversation to go. “So what can you smell at the moment?”

“Floor cleaner, the plastic smell of this equipment, and a whiff of Mike Swanson's aftershave. He must have been here earlier this evening. How come men don't realize that aftershave is completely unacceptable.”

“Plastic doesn't smell.”

“That's just what I mean. It does to me. I don't go around telling everyone this, though, because it makes them self-conscious. Like, everybody has this secret fear that they smell bad.”

“Everyone?”

“I figure. Whenever I see—oh, I don't know, politicians, blabbing on and on about something like they know it all — I find it very comforting to know that in some part of their minds they're worried about their armpits.”

Megan snorted. “They could hire you to tell them if they were okay.”

Natalie grinned. “Good idea. That's a career opportunity I hadn't contemplated. If astronomy doesn't work out, I'll think about it. So, have you had enough for one night?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. Next time we'll find some planets, the next-door guys.”

Next time. So Natalie was going to invite her again? Megan felt suddenly shy and put her eye to the telescope for one last look at Vega. Everything had already happened on Vega. But on planet Earth there was still next time.

Natalie typed briskly on the computer. “Let me put things to bed here and we can go make hot chocolate in my office. It drives the janitor nuts when we make hot chocolate in there. One of a number of things that drive him nuts. We call him Dismal Seepage.”

The panel slid shut and the night sky disappeared. Natalie turned on a light. The here and now crowded in.