This Place Has No Atmosphere by Paula Danziger Read Free Book Online Page B

Then the crew, who are issued special suits and have special training, will assist you in getting off the wall.”
    Off the wall—that’s exactly what this whole experience is. I wonder what’s happening at the Monolith Mall.
    My father nods and then puts his arm around my mother’s shoulder.
    She puts her arms around his waist.
    They’ve stick-a-bobbed themselves together.
    I can’t believe it.
    As they try to pull apart, you can hear the sound.
    Buzz shakes his head. “We’d better rethink these new life suits.”
    Starr laughs and hugs them both, stick-a-bobbing herself to them.
    They’re laughing hysterically.
    So is April, who joins their group.
    Soon everyone else is laughing and joining in,including the Mendez quads, who jump on people’s backs.
    I watch for a while, not sure of whether I want to be part of it.
    If only the Turnips were here.
    They’re not.
    Matthew’s not.
    I am.
    I decide to join the group, careful not to end up sticking to any barfburgers.
    Moving is going to take some real getting used to.

CHAPTER 13
    “T his is it.” My father places the carry-on luggage in the overhead racks.
    All around us, people are getting settled into their seats.
    Out of the group of one hundred, ten are no longer going.
    One woman had claustrophobia and got hysterical when the trainers closed the space shuttle simulator door. The decision was made by all concernedthat she would probably have a rough flight and most likely would not do well living in the space shield bubble.
    The Smith-Joneses left when they realized that they couldn’t convince the officials to break the rules and allow their dog, Puppy-Guppy, to go to the moon because “he’s so cute.”
    Another couple decided to go to London instead, and a third couple decided to divorce.
    Three people didn’t get past the psychological counselors.
    Everyone in my family did.
    Amazing.
    A voice comes over the p.a. system. “Good morning. This is your captain speaking, Lance Letterman. The crew and I welcome you aboard Orion Flight 114. A nonstop trip, the shuttle will orbit for a day and then we’ll take another two to get to our destination.”
    Three days in space in a closed ship. It’s kind of scary to think about. Maybe I’ll just pretend that I’m at the Monolith Mall—that’s enclosed too. Of course, there, when you step out of the door, there’s a sidewalk. And there are a lot of shops to keep you busy. So it’snot the same thing. Here there is only one boring “essentials” store. And no sidewalk.
    Captain Letterman continues. “Make sure that all of your carry-on is safely stowed and that your seat harnesses are securely fastened.”
    We all do as he says.
    The flight attendants move through the cabin, checking on each of us.
    The captain’s voice comes over the loudspeaker again. “We have a special announcement. Emily Doowinkle will now recite her poem to commemorate the start of the flight.”
    There’s a cough and then Emily recites.
    “ODE TO TAKEOFF”:
    “Sky.
    High.
    Bye.”
    Then there’s silence.
    We hear Captain Letterman say, “That’s it?”
    “Sure.” Her voice is very breathy. “Less is more.”
    What a flake she is. It’s funny to think about a bad poet introduced by some guy named Letterman.
    Looking around, I see everyone buckling into thechairs, which look like space eggs. The seats are round and white and padded with Polystyrofoam.
    “Push the button marked Close.”
    I do.
    A clear plastic shield closes off the rest of the seat. Now the chair’s really shaped like an egg.
    I’m in the middle, feeling like I’m the yolk.
    “Now,” the captain says, “push the button marked Incline.”
    I do. The space egg and I tip back. It’s almost as if I’m in a bed—or a frying pan.
    We’ve rehearsed this procedure a million times, but this one’s for real.
    The captain’s voice booms out. “Flight attendants take your seats.”
    This is it. There’s no backing out now.
    “T minus