Bounders (2 page)

“Sorry,” I say. And I really am sorry. I wish Addy were coming with me. “Next year, when you're twelve, we'll get to go to the EarthBound Academy together.”

Once the kids at school find out I'm a Bounder, they'll know Addy must be a Bounder, too. They'll know our parents are part of the Bounder Baby Breeding Program. Just like you need the right combination of genes to have a baby with blue eyes or red hair, our parents carry the dormant genes needed to have a Bounder baby.

Being a Bounder is definitely a mixed bag. All the kids I know wish they could be an aeronaut—the next Maximilian Sheek or Edgar Han or Malaina Suarez. That's why they think it's totally unfair only Bounders can train to be aeronauts from now on.

Dad says other kids are jealous. That's why they say we're freaks with abnormal genes. That's why they call us B-wads. And trust me, it stinks. The kids at school call me a B-wad, and they don't even know for sure I'm a Bounder.

Yeah, they're probably jealous. But they're not wrong. I
am
different. A lot of the time I'm lost in space. Even when I do pay attention, I can't translate half of what my teachers say into my schoolwork. And don't get me started on my klutz factor. The other kids don't seem to have any trouble. It's like they were all there when the handbook for life was passed out, and no one saved me a copy.

Does Addy feel the same way? I'm not sure. She always seems to have it together. A lot more than I do, anyway. Still, it might be rough for her once the other kids find out the truth. Addy has another year before she ships out to the space station. She has to wait through my first two tours of duty.

I try to think of something to make her feel better, but I blank. Addy's the one who always knows what to say.

Dad peers in with a half-eaten cookie in his hand, letting me off the hook. “Okay, kids. Time for dinner. We need to get to bed early tonight. Jasper's got a big day tomorrow.”

Dinner is awesome. Mom wins the kitchen gold medal. We have spaghetti and meatballs with sauce made from scratch, garlic bread slathered with butter and weighed down with greasy cheese, and more chocolate chip cookies, of course.

No one says much. Dad offers up some compliments about Mom's cooking, and Addy and I shout out our agreement in between chews. I mean, the food really is good. We're mostly just busy eating. But the silence curls at the edges, like something is trying to get out. Something thick and dark and heavy, like the shadow that hung over Addy earlier. Tomorrow everyone will know we're Bounders. Tomorrow I'll be gone.

The first tour of duty is only six weeks. I won't be away that long. But when I come back, everything will have changed. I want to go. Really. I do. It's just, things are pretty good the way they are. And everything about the space station will be new and different. What if the food is terrible?

After I get ready for bed, Mom, Dad, and Addy show up at my door. Even though I vetoed tuck-in sessions two years ago, I give a special, one-time exception. Addy slides in beside me, and my parents sit at the end of my bed. Dad tells one of his classic made-up tales about Horace the House Mouse and his silly space adventures that Addy and I used to be obsessed with when we were little. After the story, Mom shoos Addy out of the room, settles me under the covers, and plants a kiss on my forehead. Dad kisses me, too, then lingers in the doorframe for a moment after flipping my light switch.

Finally the door shuts, and I'm left alone. Three layers of blankets pile on top of me. It's not cold, but I need the weight to fall asleep. I close my eyes, and I'm back on the flight deck. The sun's glare off Admiral Eames's medals is blinding.

I can hear Mom and Dad talking in the living room. Too loud. I try to shut out the noise. Will it be this loud in the space station dorms? Will I ever be able to sleep?

Mom's voice swells as Dad urges her to whisper.

Mom: But I don't get it. What on earth are a bunch of kids going to do?

Dad: We've been through this, Emma. Their minds are perfect for performing the quantum calculations. They'll be better than the aeronauts at piloting the quantum ships.

Mom: Come on, Richard. That doesn't make sense. They use computers for the quantum calculations.

Dad: Why can't you let this go? We have two healthy, happy children. And Earth Force has assured us they'll be safe. What more could we want?

Mom: Healthy, yes. Happy, I hope so. But they're not typical kids. You don't understand about these conditions. The old medical journals talk about attention problems, sensory difficulties, social challenges, impulsiveness, and many other potential issues.

Dad: I thought you told me Jasper and Addy didn't have those conditions.

Mom: I've said there's a lot of variation. And Bounders aren't typically the most severe. But one thing is sure: it's a big deal to reintroduce these genes.

Dad: How many times are we going to have this conversation?

Mom: You know there's something they're not telling us! What are we sending our baby into?

Baby? Please. Mom can be so dramatic. I pull the covers over my head and press my hands against my ears.

That kind of talk has been going on for years, and usually, I just ignore them. But really? On the night before I leave for the space station? Are they trying to make me nervous?

It doesn't really touch me, though. Sure, part of me wants to stay here—safe at home with Mom and Dad, and especially Addy. But a bigger part of me wants to go. I'm a Bounder. I've always been a Bounder. I belong in space, bounding between the galaxies.

I close my eyes. See the passenger craft lowering onto the flight deck. Grab Admiral Eames's outstretched hand.

There's a knock at the door. What now? I ignore it. I figure it's Mom, all emotional and wanting to give me another kiss my last night at home. The door isn't locked. If she really has to see me, she can walk right in.

The mattress sags near my feet. I pull the blankets off my face and scoot back on my elbows. Addy sits at the foot of my bed. Her purple pajamas have a rip at the left knee. She sniffs, and I can tell she's been crying. Then I see what she's holding. Her rosewood violin lies across her thin legs.

“Wanna play?” she asks.

Something wells up in me, too. Geez. I haven't cried in forever. I can't remember the last time we played together. I thought Addy was done with the violin.

I pull my clarinet case from my closet and place it on the bed. I fit the pieces together and raise the reed to my lips. Addy draws her bow. She pulls, and a piercing hum fills the room. I join, finding a natural harmony, and we feel our way together through a haunting, melancholy tune.

Addy leaves as silently as she came. I lay my clarinet in its velvet case and close the lid. I step toward my closet to put it away, then change my mind. I set the case on top of the duffel bags Mom packed for the EarthBound Academy.

MOM GASPS WHEN SHE SEES ME.
“You look so handsome.”

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.