First Day On Earth Read online

  57.

  When I rejoin them at the car, they don’t say anything. They keep talking among themselves. I sit there, leaning against the car. Letting the waves of feelings roll off me.

  I am fluctuating between feeling like I want to throw up and being happy about walking away. Maybe the unknown-ness, of letting it all go, is exactly like shooting off in a rocket headed for the stars. Maybe my heart is already in orbit.

  So much of this isn’t going the way I expected.

  Hooper seems to really like Darwyn and Posey. They’re all getting to know one another in an easy way. Hooper tells them both how I got him a place to live. Posey tells Hooper how much her mother respects my care for abandoned animals. Darwyn says how I always have a nice word for him at school. I know that they’re talking about me, but it doesn’t feel as though I’m the person that they’re talking about.

  “Actions,” Hooper says. “Actions are the true words of humans. Words can be said or written and they can seem so beautiful. Seem so true. But I have noticed that a human speaks much louder with his or her actions and not with their words at all.”

  “What is it like where you’re from, Hooper?” Posey asks.

  She asks it like she thinks he’s from another country. Like he’ll say Albania. Or Zimbabwe.

  Darwyn stares at Hooper while Hooper thinks about his answer.

  “Where I am from, words match actions. All of the environment works together. We think of the long goals and not the short ones. We never lie. But sometimes that can cause great pain. But where I am from, the truth is much better served. Consequences are weighed very carefully.”

  “How so?”

  “You have a game here. I have played it at the shelter. Chess.”

  “I love chess,” Darwyn says. “I’m very bad at it.”

  “In chess, you have to consider a few moves ahead. What the action and the reaction will be. You observe before you act. Here it seems as though you act before you observe.”

  58.

  Everything is taking longer than we think. Darwyn wants snacks. Hooper is interested in a mound of dirt. Posey needs to use the restroom. It’s late afternoon and we’re still in Victorville and the winter sun is setting and I couldn’t be more glad to have the day leaving me behind.

  The sky is orange and pink and purple. There are some incoming clouds that make every color reflect every other color. It looks like that migration map. I am filled with a longing for the sky and its promises. The swirl of color mirrors my confusion about what I want and where I am.

  I wish a storm were coming.

  59.

  We see it before we hear it. It’s right on the edge of town. The house is pulsating with color in the desert. Then the bass of the music hits us. It’s a house party. People are lingering outside of the crap-looking prefab house. They hold red plastic cups. There are blue Christmas lights in the window. There’s a keg stuck in the dust.

  Cars are parking in the front yard. And I don’t know why, maybe because I’m tired and I want to stop, but I pull over.

  “What are you doing?” Hooper asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “It’s a party,” Darwyn says, stating the obvious.

  “I don’t want to miss the launch,” Posey says.

  I look at Hooper. Hooper shakes his head. Posey looks at me.

  “We still have some time,” I say. “We’re not that far away.”

  We get out, and no one looks at us like we’re weird or like we don’t belong. No one here belongs. They are all hip and punk and crazy. The music is blasting from inside, and it’s more than just an iPod mix. It’s a live band.

  Once inside the house, Hooper’s face lights up, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I would say that he looks happy.

  Here we are at a party where we don’t know anyone. And we join the crowd standing in front of a band that consists of two keyboards, a saxophone, a stand-up bass, a drum kit, and a guitar.

  A girl is singing into the microphone. She’s wailing. She’s got on heart-shaped sunglasses and a glittery miniskirt.

  The bodies are moving all around us. Jerking this way and that. The bass player in a yellow shirt jumps so enthusiastically from side to side that it’s a miracle he doesn’t just throw himself right on the floor.

  I feel the bass and drums right through my body. People are screaming. Pumping their fists in the air. Even I am. I look over at Posey and she’s screaming, too. Laughing and singing. The tune is infectious. And I think I’d like to kiss her. And I think that Hooper might not be an alien. And it doesn’t matter. It’s not scary that he is or that he isn’t. Because everyone here is an alien. Posey with her burnt boob. Me with my dark cloud. Darwyn with his sad brown eyes. That girl over there with the blue hair. Or that dude with his beltless pants showing his butt crack. Or that older woman with the tattoos on her face.

  And all that matters is this moment and the sound that’s in it.

  60.

  Before we reach the car, I stop. They deserve to know.

  “I have to tell you guys something,” I say.

  “What?” Posey asks.

  I look at Hooper. Maybe he’s an alien, or maybe he’s not. I don’t need to out him as a faker. Just like he would never deny me what I think happened. But Darwyn and Posey, they deserve something closer to the truth.

  Truth is truth is truth is truth.

  “We’re going to a space launch — it’s just not the one you think we’re going to.”

  “But we’re on the road to the Mojave Space Port,” Posey says.

  “I don’t understand,” Darwyn says.

  “I’m an extraterrestrial,” Hooper says. “And I’m meeting a spaceship in the desert to hitch a ride home.”

  He points to the sky.

  Posey swears under her breath.

  “So there is no civilian space launch?” Darwyn asks. “I’m confused.”

  “No, there is one,” Posey says. “I have the info here on my phone.”

  “We’re just not going to that launch,” I say. “Is this some kind of joke?” Posey asks. “No,” Hooper says. “I don’t joke. I am an alien.” “I don’t know if I believe you,” Darwyn says. “You look human. Statistics imply that alien life will be alien.”

  “That’s fair,” Hooper says. “But the rendezvous is very soon. Either it’s true or I’m lying. But I have to be there.” “Did you know?” Posey asks me. I nod.

  “And you didn’t tell us?” she says. I shrug.

  “What is wrong with you?” she says. “We need to talk.” She waves me and Darwyn over. Hooper starts to join us. “Alone,” Posey says.

  Hooper hangs back and we three walk out of earshot. “He wants to go home,” I say. “There’s no such thing as aliens,” Posey says. “Yeah, statistically, it’s not very encouraging,” Darwyn chimes in. “It seems more and more likely that we are alone.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true,” I say.

  “You think Hooper is really an alien from outer space?” Posey asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But he might be.” “I might be a secret princess, and Darwyn might be the reincarnation of Einstein,” Posey says. Darwyn guffaws.

  “I believe that aliens have visited us,” I tell them.

  “There’s no proof of that,” Darwyn says. “Rumors. Speculation. Conspiracy theories. But no proof.”

  This is the moment. I look up at the stars.

  It’s impossible to be out in the desert and not stare up at the stars. They dot the night. They twinkle. They hang like jewels. Every star a sun. Every single one.

  “I was taken,” I say. “Four years ago, I was taken.”

  It hangs there between us. My truth. Told not to a group that is predisposed to believe me. Not to a man who thinks he’s an alien. But to two people.

  “Oh, Mal,” Posey says.

  For a long time, no one says anything. Darwyn gets more and more uncomfortable the longer the silence goes on.
He shifts on his feet.

  “Okay, what if he is?” Posey asks.

  “All we have to do is drop him off at these coordinates,” I say.

  “That’s it,” she says.

  We all look over at Hooper. He gives us a little wave. We all wave back.

  “You realize that he’s probably just a crazy person?” Posey says.

  “Aren’t we all a little bit crazy?” I ask.

  “I don’t mind,” Darwyn says. “We’re already out here.”

  “What if he is an alien?” I ask. “And just because we think he’s crazy, we blow his chance to go home.”

  “Mal, you need help,” Posey says.

  “It’s important to me, Posey,” I say. “I need to see this all the way through.”

  “Okay,” Posey says.

  We’re going to drive into the middle of the desert, on a tiny dirt road, to bring Hooper to the end of the line.

  61.

  Hooper looks nervous as we walk toward him, so I smile to try to make him feel comfortable.

  There isn’t that much to say in the car. We’re all lost in our thoughts. There’s no moon. The desert is dark.

  Hooper is the first one to speak as he begins to navigate us off the main highway and onto a small dirt road. The more turns we make, the more excited he gets, but as I glance in the mirror, I can see that Posey is becoming more worried.

  Finally, we reach a sign that simply says ROAD ENDS.

  “Here it is,” Hooper says. “You can let me off here.”

  “Here?” I ask. “Are you sure?”

  “There’s nothing here,” Posey says.

  “Good place to land a spaceship,” Darwyn says.

  “The road is finished. We can drive no farther,” Hooper says. He gets out of the car and we all follow him.

  “Well, good-bye, then. And thank you,” he says.

  “We’re going to take you,” I say. “We’re not going to leave you to wait alone.”

  “I must be alone, or they won’t come,” Hooper says.

  “Right,” Posey says. “Well, we’ll leave you, then. Good-bye, Hooper. Nice meeting you. Have a good trip.”

  “Good-bye, Posey. Good-bye, Darwyn.”

  Darwyn looks kind of sad as he slides into the backseat of the car.

  I’m standing with Hooper and I don’t know how to say good-bye. It’s not so easy for me as it is for them.

  “Thank you,” I say to Hooper. He doesn’t ask for what. He knows that I needed him. To listen to me. To let me be weird.

  “I’m sorry,” Hooper says. “I hope you understand.”

  And then, without a big to-do, not even a hug, he turns and walks into the desert.

  As he leaves, I see him for what he really is — a man with a kind heart who cannot bear this world, just like me. He’s probably a little bit mentally disturbed — just like me.

  I watch him walk until the darkness swallows him up.

  62.

  As we’re driving away, putting distance between us and the end of the road, the darkness in front of us lights up.

  A sign flashes by us — Mojave Air and Space Port, next exit.

  Lifting out of the sky in front of us is a rocket, like an arrow heading straight into the sky. It’s beautiful and the night lights up and the whole of the white ship is dotted with colors.

  “Stop the car! Stop the car!” Posey says.

  I pull over and we scramble out so we can all see it disappear into space.

  “We can’t leave Hooper there with no water,” I say. “We have to go back.”

  We jump back in the car and I do a U-turn and step on the gas, listening to the GPS voice tell me how far I am from my destination.

  “Hurry,” Posey says.

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” I tell her.

  “You have arrived,” the GPS voice says.

  I grab the flashlight I brought with me and run out of the car.

  “Hooper! Hooper!”

  We’re all yelling.

  “Hooper!”

  “You guys stay by the car,” I say. “I’ll head in a bit.”

  “Be careful,” Posey tells me. Her voice is genuinely worried.

  I walk out into the desert, scanning the ground for tracks. I see something that looks like it was made by a human. I follow.

  My flashlight flickers out. I bang it with the palm of my hand. It doesn’t go back on. Dead.

  It’s black and I can’t see the car anymore. It’s so black that even with my eyes open it looks dark. There is no moon. The sky is now covered with clouds. I hear the wind.

  I stop walking.

  I close my eyes.

  Something is happening to me.

  I feel warmer than I’ve ever felt in my life. Warm like a bath. Or a blanket. I open my eyes. And I am looking at the planet Earth through a window. It is hanging there in the sky like a blue jewel. The landmasses look exactly like they do on a globe, only real. There are clouds forming over Africa. A clear day for most of North America. Antarctica is impossibly white.

  A hand, if I can call it that, rests on my shoulder in a familiar way. And there is that weird animal smell.

  Hooper.

  I turn around.

  The thing in front of me is translucent.

  It cocks its head to the side.

  I understand in my mind what it’s trying to tell me. I can stay if I want. I can leave and go away from here. I can leave all my sadness behind.

  My dad’s words ring in my ear.

  Are you ready for an adventure?

  Yes, but.

  Yes.

  But.

  Space, when you have more of it than you’ve ever dreamed of, is bigger than anything you can imagine.

  But.

  Yes.

  I want to say yes.

  I consider everything that I would leave behind. I can see it. It hangs there in front of me like a blue jewel.

  It strikes me that a heart can be blue and still live. A heart can be blue and, with enough time, can warm again.

  I am hit by the enormity of it all.

  I feel it.

  Back down there, in the desert, Darwyn and Posey are waiting by the car.

  Back down there, in a town in California, a mother will be worried.

  Back down there, in a country called America, a person is needed.

  Up here, in space, this human decides to go back.

  Back down there, to live on a planet called Earth.

  Or, as I like to call it, home.

  About the Author

  CECIL CASTELLUCCI is the highly acclaimed author of the novels Boy Proof, The Queen of Cool, Beige, and Rose Sees Red, as well as the graphic novels The PLAIN Janes and Janes in Love. To get a better glimpse of her world, visit her at www.misscecil.com.

  Copyright

  This book was written in part with a fellowship from the MacDowell Colony.

  Copyright © 2011 by Cecil Castellucci

  Cover photography © 2011 By Michael Frost and Ekaterinastarshaya/Istockphoto

  Cover design By Whitney Lyle

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.

  First edition, November 2011

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be rep
roduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-38810-8