Bounders Page 2

  I peek at my reflection in the info screen mounted above our mantel, and adjust my mosh cap. I have to admit, she’s right. No one would guess I’m twelve. I look fourteen, at least.

  The Earth Force cadet uniform isn’t comfortable, but it’s crisp. The cotton is heavy, and the color is rich, a thick navy with a hint of purple. The Earth Force officer uniforms are dark gray, but they decided on a deep indigo for the cadets. The insignia is the same: a russet orange circle with a ring of smaller circles along the outside edge, the slanted letters EF in the center. Most people think the insignia represents our solar system—the planets revolving around the center sun—but I read in Earth Force: Rise of the New Frontier that the center circle is the Earth and the outer circles symbolize all the planets we’ll explore. So according to Earth Force, our planet really is the center of the universe.

  Addy slouches on the couch. I can’t believe Mom won the battle and forced Addy into such a flowery, poufy dress. It’s about as anti-Addy as possible. As soon as Mom turns around, Addy pumps her armpit, sending fart sounds through the room.

  Priceless.

  I fall onto the couch, laughing. Mom spins around. Addy points at me, and I jab her in the ribs. Mom just shakes her head.

  Well played, Addy. What’s Mom going to do? Send me to my room and make me late for my own launch?

  Addy flicks the webs remote, and the info screen snaps on. She flips to EFAN. They’re running old footage of a bounding mission, but the ticker at the bottom reads: Tune in today at noon for live coverage as the first class of Bounders ships out for the new EarthBound Academy.

  “Look at that,” Addy says. “You’re a celebrity.”

  “Right,” I say, “just like Sheek.”

  “You wish.”

  Dad walks in and claps his hands. “It’s time.” He picks up my duffels and walks to the door. I grab my clarinet case. Addy hops off the couch.

  Mom freezes in the middle of our kitchen. She always buzzes about like she has a built-in motor, so her stillness is strange. Plus, her face is super pale, and her hands are shaking. I think maybe I’m imagining things, but then Addy laces her fingers through Mom’s hand. That’s even more un-Addy-like than the dress. She wouldn’t do it unless she thought Mom needed help.

  Maybe she does. Today everyone will know about Addy and me. It’s a big deal. Maybe for Mom the most. She’s been the one always making sure we kept the secret.

  Dad holds the door, and we shuffle into the hall. We make it to the lift without running into any of our neighbors. The bell chimes, and the lift doors open. It isn’t crowded, but there are probably thirty or forty people inside. As we step on, the passengers move back, creating a huge hole for us to fill. Dad has both of my duffels in one hand. He places his other one on the curve of Mom’s back and pushes her in.

  “Jasper, whoa!” someone shouts. A seventh grader I know from school steps forward.

  Heat creeps into my face like a spotlight is shining on me and my Earth Force uniform. I brace, expecting him to call me a B-wad right here in front of my family.

  “A Bounder?” he says. “Cool. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I stand as straight as I can and stare out the window. Lifts like the one we’re on cling to the skyscrapers like mythical beasts scaling the crossbeams.

  Mrs. Garfield, my mother’s friend, slides to the front. I didn’t notice her when we first got on. Her gaze trails from my mother, to me, to Addy.

  My mother stares at her shoes. She doesn’t look up, not even when Mrs. Garfield touches her forearm. “How come you never told us, Emma?”

  The silence stretches out, and the same lump that crept into my throat last night while I was with Addy comes back. I try to stand tall, but I slump.

  My father drops his arm from my mother’s back and drapes it across my shoulders. “We didn’t want Jasper to be distracted,” he says. “We wanted him to build a solid academic foundation before serving with Earth Force. Now he’s ready. We couldn’t be more proud.”

  I lean against Dad. He’s right. I get pretty distracted as it is. If everyone knew about me, school would be doubly distracting. Plus, the novelty of a Bounder on the lift seems to be wearing off. The chatter is up, and only a few pairs of eyes stare in our direction.

  Still, Addy has Mom’s hand again.

  When we board the sea shuttle to the aeroport, I want to grab Mom’s hand, but I don’t. My eyes almost pop out of my skull as we approach. The Earth Force Aeronautical Port. The place is even more enormous than I imagined. It rises like Atlantis, a city in the sea.

  I pull at my collar. The starched cotton scratches my skin. Mom says I’ll get used to it, but right now the cadet uniform feels like a straitjacket. The fifteen-minute ride from the retaining wall dock to the aeroport feels like fifteen hours. I step closer to Addy so our shoulders touch, but just barely.

  Buildings of all shapes and sizes spring from the aeroport platform, everything painted the dark blue-gray of the sea. A dozen rocket launch sites, ten passenger craft landing zones, a mega-size zero-gravity training center. And now adding to its list of hugeness: the biggest bunch of Bounders ever brought together in one spot.

  The guard boats surround us and escort our shuttle to the dock. The systolic pump lifts the shuttle level with the platform. As we cross onto the tarmac, the ocean rages beneath us, shooting spray onto the deck and dousing my uniform. A large placard with an arrow reads WELCOME BOUNDERS in black block print. My family moves with the herd in the direction of the arrow.

  There’s a weird thickness in my chest that makes it hard to breathe. This is what being a Bounder’s all about, right? The upside. My nerves are cutting off my oxygen supply, but I’m actually pretty excited. Really. I am.

  Dad’s got my duffels, and I carry my clarinet case. I hold it low against my leg. Clarinets don’t exactly equal cool. I better stuff it into my duffel before we launch.

  Media crews from EFAN and other networks border the walkway. Mom covers her face with her purse. Reporters shove microphones at me, one after the next:

  “How does it feel to be in the first class of Bounders to attend the EarthBound Academy?”

  “Have you always known you were bred to be a Bounder?”

  “Are you excited to visit the Paleo Planet?”

  “Is neurodiversity really the answer to expanding the space program?”

  Neuro-what? I stumble and swing out my hand clutching the clarinet case to break my landing. Dad grabs my arm and yanks before I fall on my face. Geez, Jasper, I thought you were leaving the clumsiness here on Earth. I look around, hoping none of the other cadets saw me trip.

  Dad hurries us past the row of reporters. Earth Force officers line the path, too. Their gray uniforms blend into the gray buildings behind them. They usher the crowds, passing us along to the next officer in line.

  “Welcome to the Earth Force Aeronautical Port.”

  “Bounders, proceed this way.”

  “Please keep moving.”

  As we bump along with the crowd, I end up next to another cadet, a small blond boy. Addy kicks my shoe. When I look at her, she rolls her eyes and nods at the cadet.

  Oh yeah. “Hi,” I say.

  “Hello.”

  “I’m Jasper Adams.”

  “Cole Thompson.”

  The officers herd us to a roped-off area near the passenger crafts, where dozens of Bounders in their cadet uniforms stand with their families. I stick with Cole. “Pretty cool, huh?” I ask.

  He doesn’t look at me when he says, “I estimate there are already three hundred and twenty-eight people in this roped-off area, roughly sixty-two of whom are Bounders.”

  So he’s good with numbers. “Yep,” I say, “you’re probably right.”

  He still doesn’t look at me, but he smiles. Okay, then, I have a friend. A Bounder friend. I smile, too. The vise grip on my throat loosens a little. This is going to be okay. No, this is going to be great. I’ve been waiting my whole life for today. And I�
�m ready to do this.

  A tall woman dressed in black, wearing big round sunglasses and spiky high heels, click-clacks over to a podium set up in front of the center passenger craft. The news crews close in with their cameras.

  Addy jabs me in the ribs and whispers, “That’s Florine.”

  As head of public relations for Earth Force, Florine Statton would be hard not to recognize. Her face is plastered all over EFAN every day. Not to mention, she stars in all the Bounder info vids they make us watch every year when Addy and I go for testing.

  Florine’s hair is white, the same bright white as her big teeth, which she’s flashing at us through a forced smile. She taps the microphone with a long fingernail, sending coughlike sounds through the speakers placed across the tarmac. “May I have your attention, puh-leeeze? Good morning. Ladies, gentlemen, men and women of the press corps, esteemed and honored guests, Bounders . . .”

  She sounds bored. Come to think of it, she always sounds bored, like she could be doing something so much better.

  “Who’s excited?” she asks in a voice that clearly says she’s not. She brings her fingertips together in a butterfly clap.

  Why did they send her, anyway? Why did they pick the world’s snootiest person to run their public relations? If the gawk sites are right, all she cares about is getting her pic snapped with celebrities. I bet that’s why she wanted the Earth Force gig. She gets to hang out with the famous aeronauts all the time.

  Addy kicks my foot again. Florine kept talking, and I completely zoned out.

  “Twelve-year-old Bounders from every metropolitan area on Earth will be initiated as the first class of cadets at the EarthBound Academy,” Florine says with absolutely zero enthusiasm.

  “You’ll be bounding soon enough, kids,” she continues. “But don’t get ahead of yourselves. First you’ll be trained by the best quantum aeronauts, some of whom were bounding before you Bounders were even born. Your genes might give you superior aptitude for bounding, but aptitude is meaningless without hard work. And our ranks of quantum aeronauts have already put in years of hard work. You’ll do well to remember that.”

  Thanks for the lecture, Florine.

  “Now, what else was I supposed to tell you?” she says.

  Whispers flutter around me. A hunched hairy form in an Earth Force uniform approaches the podium. Oh wow, I’m pretty sure . . . Yep, it’s the Tunneler from the air rail. I’m glad he’s wearing his sunglasses, or the glare off the sea sure would be bugging him. He says something to Florine. Or I guess he grunts, and his translator box fills in the blanks.

  She waves him off, but he persists. Finally she covers the microphone with a long-nailed hand and spins to face him. She towers over the poor guy. I can’t hear her words, but I can tell the Tunneler is getting reamed. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.

  A few tense seconds pass before she turns back to the microphone and smooths her black business suit. “I’ve been asked to announce that bags and belongings should be stacked behind the rope. Now say your farewells and prepare to board.”

  Dad joins the stream of parents flowing to the luggage dump. Around us, Bounders huddle with family, giving hugs and good-byes.

  Mom stares out to sea and bites her lip. When she faces me, her cheeks are damp. “Six weeks,” she says. “Then you’ll be home.”

  Who is she reminding? Me or her? “I love you, Mom.”

  Dad returns from depositing my bags. He grips my shoulder and bends down so his eyes line up with mine. “We’re proud of you, Jasper. Be safe.”

  “I will, Dad.”

  I turn to Addy. “So this is it.”

  She paints her face with a determined smile. “That Cole kid seems all right,” she whispers. “A good first friend. Stick with him. And pay attention! You better remember everything about the Academy and your tour of duty. I need to get ready for next year, okay?”

  “Sure,” I say. “And, Addy, you always tell me not to care what other people think, right? Well, you shouldn’t either. Being a Bounder doesn’t change who you are. Remember that.”

  She tips her eyes to mine, and I hear her voice in my mind. You remember, too, Jasper. You, too.

  A straight-faced officer trades places with Florine Statton. “Welcome, families. I’m Lieutenant James Ridders. I need all the cadets to join me in front of the podium. We’ll be boarding momentarily.”

  Cole and I cross to the roped-off area along with the other Bounders. A few parents escort their children, but officers step in and wave them back as soon as they reach the ropes. A couple of kids cling to their parents. A few cry. I can’t watch. The massive lump in my throat returned as soon as I stepped away from my family, but I refuse to crumble. I’ve dreamed of this moment too many times not to be brave when it matters. I suck the salt-tinged air into my lungs and fix my eyes on the waves behind the passenger crafts, watching the spray jump onto the flight deck and roll back into the sea.

  Still, it’s hard not to look. A tall girl with a golden braid down her back jostles Cole and me as she darts for the front of the group, chased by her mother, who wedges past the officers.

  The girl moves lightly, like a scrap of paper in a breeze. She wears a pale-blue tank top and a silver chain. She holds her thin arms out by her sides, gently brushing her fingers against everything she passes. Every few strides, she twirls.

  “Mira. Mira!” her mother yells. She holds the girl’s indigo shirt in her hands. The shirt billows out behind her like a flag as she runs.

  Lieutenant Ridders stares at the girl. He has the same expression as most of the kids. The same expression as I have, probably, because I ache with frustration and a familiar shame for the girl. We watch in slow motion, no one knowing what to do.

  The seconds stretch until Lieutenant Ridders leans close to the microphone. “Miss, you need to be in uniform.”

  She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t even seem to hear him. But her mother closes in and seizes her. The girl goes rigid as her mother drapes her with the indigo cloth, slips her arms into the sleeves, and fastens the buttons. I can tell by her mother’s expert fingers it’s not the first time she’s wrestled the girl into her clothes.

  The mother guides her by the shoulders and places her in the line. She leans in and kisses the girl’s cheeks before returning to the family area. The girl—Mira—stares straight ahead, but her eyes are vacant. Whatever spirit possessed her was tamed by the Earth Force uniform. I’d never admit it, but I liked her better the other way.

  3

  AS WE STAND IN LINE BENEATH the mammoth silver disk of the passenger craft, we’re shielded from the sun and the glare off the sea. As I wait my turn to board the craft, I check out the other Bounders. Even though we come from all over Earth—the Americanas, Eurasia, Amazonas, everywhere, really—we’re the same. We’re dressed the same. We’re going to the same place. We share the same future. Finally I can blend in. I can stop trying to force myself into a space I don’t fit.

  When I make it to the top of the boarding ramp, I turn back and scan the crowd for my family. Dad folds Mom into his chest. Neither of them notices me. But Addy does. Across the sea of people, Addy locks eyes with me and stretches her arm straight in the air. I raise my palm. “Good-bye,” I whisper. I swear I hear her whisper back. Addy will be coming with me next year on my third tour. Then I’ll be able to connect my two right spots in the world—home and space.

  As I board the craft, Cole tugs my sleeve. “Quick. There are seats near the back. We’ll have the best view out the rear windows when we exit the atmosphere.”

  We dash past the sealed cockpit and the side sections reserved for Earth Force officers. I tail after Cole across the sturdy brown carpet, past the rows of seats covered in tweed and tan pleather. We dodge a dozen Bounders milling around in the aisle, and jet for the back. We choose two seats in the center zone, last row.

  I flop down on the oversize seat and sink into the tweed. The seat backs in front of us have built-in to
uch screens. Cole activates his screen and pages through the safety instructions for the craft. I get up on my knees and look out the back window. The maintenance crew is checking the craft, making sure we’re ready for flight. Beyond them is the edge of the tarmac and the open ocean. The sea is a dark steely gray with tips of white and shadows of black.

  Something slams into the back of my head. Ouch!

  A standard-issue brown lace-up shoe lies on the ground beside my seat. As I reach for it, a short freckly kid dives in front of me and tackles the shoe.

  “It’s mine!” he yells.

  I stare at him. Obviously, I didn’t steal his shoe. Geez, it nearly knocked me unconscious.

  The freckly kid spins around in the aisle and freezes. A meaty boy with sloppy hair and bad skin saunters down the aisle. He takes his time. The huge grin on his face is mesmerizing and nauseating at the same time.

  The freckly kid squares his shoulders. He raises the shoe in the air and shakes it in the meaty boy’s face. “You shouldn’t have stolen my shoe, B-wad! It wasn’t funny.” He makes a decent show of confidence, but his hand trembles as he holds the shoe.

  The smile on the meaty boy’s face grows until it floats in space like the Cheshire Cat’s. “Yes, it was. It was really funny. We’re all here to have fun, right?”

  That seems to confuse the freckly kid. “Uh, sure.”

  Another guy I didn’t notice at first steps up. He has an unbelievably relaxed posture, like you could pummel him with a dozen apple pies and he’d just shrug them off. He stares down at the freckly kid. “Why’d you call him that?”

  “What?” the freckly kid asks.

  “B-wad.” The guy has dark hair and brown skin and is almost a head taller than the rest of us. “You know what it means, don’t you? What the B stands for?”

  “Sure, but, you know, everyone says it.”

  “Do you do everything everyone else does?” the tall guy asks. “Last time I checked, every kid on this craft is one of the Bs in B-wad. So figure out a better way to swear, okay? Let’s start treating ourselves with a little more respect. And have some fun, like the guy says.”