Life on Mars (8 page)

I grimaced, trying to swallow, but the food got stuck in my throat halfway down. They were house hunting. In Vegas. For some reason, this made our impending move all the more real. “Oh,” I squeaked.

Mom shut the cabinet and zipped the bag closed, stuffing it into her purse on the counter and looking at her watch. “Now, you'll be fine while we're gone. Aunt Sarin will play games with you like she always does. This may be your last chance to spend some time alone with her before the baby comes.”

Even better, Aunt Sarin would come up to CICM-HQ with me. She'd flash the lights toward Mars and look through Chase's Mickey Mouse binoculars and would swear she saw
movement—a boat on a Martian ocean, maybe?—and wouldn't call me weird or make fun of me. She might even help me rename it so we could make shirts.

Finding Arty's Real Terrestrials. FART.

Ugh.

“But don't you think Dad should make sure he's tried all the other jobs here first? Maybe he missed one.”

Mom sighed and leaned against the cabinet. “Arty, we've talked about this …”

But she couldn't finish her sentence, because just then the front door burst open, and a wailing rainbow rushed into the kitchen at us.

“Oh, Ayyymeee,” the rainbow cried. “I can't gooo without saying good-byeee!” The rainbow engulfed Mom under seven thousand layers of fabric.

“Hey,” I heard behind me, just before someone bumped my shoulder. Priya stood behind me, her bracelets clanking.

“Hey,” I said. “I thought you were at engineering camp.”

“I'm on my way there now,” she said. “But my mom was convinced that when we came back in four days, you would already be gone forever. She's freaking out about you guys moving.”

I am, too
, I wanted to tell her, but I clenched my teeth so no words would slip out. I didn't want to look like … like Orion. Weak, sappy, afraid of a wimpy little move.

“Devani,” my mom said, pulling herself out of the folds of Priya's mom's sari, which she wore over a pair of fancy-looking
jeans and high-heeled sandals, just like always. “We're just house hunting. We'll still be here when you get back from Lawrence.”

Priya's mom stepped back and wiped the corners of her eyes. “I just didn't want to take any chances. I can't believe my best friend in the world is moving … away.” With the word “away,” she burst into tears, and my mom was eaten by a rainbow again.

My mom and Priya's mom had been best friends since we were born. They washed their cars together and they took us to movies together and they sat in lawn chairs and watched us play together for our whole lives. It was going to be weird to look out the front window of our Vegas house and find someone else sitting in the front yard with Mom. Someone not wearing a brightly colored sari and high-heeled sandals.

“I wished dry rot on you,” Mrs. Roy said, stepping back and wiping at her eyes again, this time with a paper towel Mom had given her.

“Devani!” Mom chastised.

Mrs. Roy's eyes got big. “I couldn't help it. I don't want you to go. I wished dry rot and roof leaks and crumbling foundations on you so you'll have to stay.”

I was bummed that I'd never thought of that idea. Suddenly I was wishing those things on them, too. Whatever those things were.

“Looks like they're going to be at this a while,” Priya said. “Want to go upstairs?”

“Definitely.”

We went up to my bedroom. I flopped onto the floor and fiddled with a few Legos, while Priya walked over to the window, grabbing a space shuttle model along the way.

“Should we get Tripp?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I tried. He's not home.”

“Again?”

“I know. I thought Chase started to say something about practice, but Heave threw a huge water balloon at him and I didn't stick around to get caught in the crossfire.”

I pressed two Legos together. “Practice? What kind of practice would Tripp be in?”

“Got me. Whatever it is, he's not saying.”

Briefly, I thought about the types of things Tripp could be practicing. Sports? No way. Tripp was more likely to be used as the ball than to successfully catch, hit, or run with one. Maybe he was playing an instrument. The flute, or something else lightweight that he couldn't hurt himself with. But why would he keep that a secret?

Then again, maybe Chase was crazy. Tripp wouldn't be keeping secrets from us.

Suddenly Priya leaned forward. “Arty! Look!” She pointed out the window.

I got up and joined her. Mr. Death was outside. Wearing his hoodie. Carrying his bag and box. Coming out of the woods. He rubbed his eyes impatiently as he walked.

“Holy cow! He was out all night,” Priya said.

“Just like Tripp's theory,” I added, and this time she had no argument.

We watched him cross the lawn, pressing our foreheads against the glass as he moved out of our line of vision. When he'd gone, we were silent, unless you counted the beat of my heart, which was practically thumping across the floor with adrenaline. No wonder I'd never seen him come out of the woods—I'd never been looking for him in the morning.

“That's so weird,” Priya whispered. “What could he be doing out there?”

Oh, I don't know. Murder, mayhem, torture
… “Probably … barbecuing.” I'm not good with spontaneity.

“Barbecuing?” Priya looked skeptical. “I think Tripp is rubbing off on you.”

“Well, barbecuing is better than …”
Murder, mayhem, torture
…

My watch beeped on the hour, and Priya and I both jumped. “We should probably go back downstairs,” she said.

I nodded and followed, hoping my heart would hop back in my chest on the way down.

When we got downstairs, Mom was once again wrapped in Mrs. Roy's sari. Or maybe she'd never gotten out of it.

“We have to go,” Mom said. “Corvus needs a job and there just aren't many opportunities out there. We have to take what we can get.”

“But can't you get something closer?” Mrs. Roy whined. Her gaze landed in my direction. “Look at them,” she said,
gesturing toward Priya and me with her balled-up, snotty paper towel. “How will they ever get married if you're so far away?”

Priya and I groaned in unison. Our moms had been doing this since we were in preschool and I announced that Priya was “my wife.” The moms had thought it was so cute, they made a pact to get us married for real someday.
“Aren't they adorable together?”
they would croon, watching us play tag or look through Priya's telescope or chase lightning bugs.
“Like a little husband and wife. Oh, and won't we mothers-in-law have such a good time together?”
they would say.
“Won't holidays be so much fun!”

“We'll visit,” Mom said. She squeezed Priya's mom's shoulder. “We will. And you can come see us. When we have a house. Won't that be fun, Arty? To see Priya in Vegas?”

“Oh! A Vegas wedding!” Mrs. Roy gushed.

“That would be wonderful, wouldn't it, Arty?” Mom asked.

I opened my mouth, feeling heat surge in my face so hard it might have killed me if we hadn't been interrupted by the squeak of our front door opening. I let out a sigh of relief. Saved by the door.

“Don't worry, the cavalry is here!” a voice cried from the entryway.

“Aunt Sarin!” I heard, followed by the sound of Cassi's footsteps running down the stairs.

Dad came into the kitchen and dropped a suitcase by my feet. “Our flight leaves in three hours,” he said to Mom.

“We need to go,” Mom said apologetically, and Mrs. Roy burst into fresh tears and threw her arms around Mom again. Mom waved her arms through the fabric, trying to find a way out. She looked like someone who was swimming and got a cramp.

“Oh, man,” Priya whispered next to me. “This is going to be one long drive to camp.”

Aunt Sarin, belly as big as Pluto, lumbered in, both hands pressing into her lower back.

“There's my little butt-picker,” she said, and ruffled my hair as she walked by. I heard a snort of laughter come from Priya. I sort of hoped an asteroid would smash through the roof and kill me at that moment. “Go, Corvus. You don't want to be late. We'll be just fine here. Now, go, go, go.”

Mom somehow freed herself from Mrs. Roy's grip and grabbed her purse. “We'll be back in a couple of days,” she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “If you have any problems, feel free to go to the man next door. I talked to him briefly this morning and he's agreed to be a backup if needed. Not that it'll be needed, of course. Everything will be fine. We'll call when we get there. Cassi has cheerleading at six thirty, and Vega is not allowed to have her boyfriend in her room. Oh, and don't let Arty skip his baths.”
C'mon, asteroid, where are you?

“The flight, Amy,” Dad reminded. He'd carried the suitcase to the front door and was waiting there. The two pairs of shoes and the hairbrush had been dumped onto the stairs,
forgotten. “Sarin has it under control. She can bathe Arty just fine.”

“That's right,” Aunt Sarin said. “I've given Arty lots of baths in his lifetime. Right, butt-picker?”

“I can take my own baths,” I said, then cleared my throat and said it again in a deeper, manlier voice. “I take my own baths. I mean showers. I take showers now.”

What do I need to do, asteroid? Paint a target on my head?

“We should go, too,” Priya's mom said in a watery voice. “Come on, Priya.”

“Have fun at camp,” I said.

Priya made a face. “Oh, boy, I get to build bridges out of dried spaghetti and sit next to Britt the Smelly.”

“Maybe he's not smelly this summer.”

“He's smelly every summer.”

“And remember to tell Vega's boyfriend to leave by ten o'clock,” Mom called. Dad was dragging her down the front walk, griping about parking being a long way from the terminal.

Mom broke free from Dad and rushed back up the sidewalk toward me. She kissed me loudly on the cheek and hugged me. “Oh, my baby boy,” she said. “You be good for Aunt Sarin. I love you!”

“I love you, too, Mom,” I mumbled.

Dad slammed the Saturn's trunk. “Late! Late!” and Mom threw herself into the passenger seat of the car. She rolled down the window and immediately began waving through
it. “And don't let Cassi sass you!” she called. “Don't worry, Devani! We'll visit! We will!” she yelled. “Sarin, you call if you need anything!” she hollered.

And then, just as Dad pulled out of the driveway, she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “And Arty, make sure you change your underwear every day!” And they were gone.

Priya burst out laughing.

Dear asteroid. Now. Now is the time to kill me
.

Two nights after Mom and Dad left, they called to say they'd found a “cute little crackerbox house” on Celeste Street that they thought was meant for our family.

“Celeste, like celestial. Get it? Can you think of a more perfectly named street for your father, Arty?” Mom gushed on the other end of the phone.

Yes. Traitor Street. Giving Up Avenue. Will Never See the Sky Again Through All Those Lights Boulevard? All of those would be more perfectly named for my father.

“No,” I said. “It must be a sign.”

“It has a big backyard,” she said. “Lots of room to play in.”

“Comet bombs make it hard to play in the backyard,” I said. “And he pees on everything that doesn't move.” Once, Tripp and I tried to play hide-and-seek in our backyard, but Tripp was so still behind the shed that Comet sauntered back there, sniffed him twice, and hiked his leg.

That was actually pretty funny.

Which only bummed me out even more.

I would never get to see Tripp get peed on again.

So Mom and Dad went on about staying in Vegas for a couple of days to get an inspector to look at the house and see if their offer went through and blah blah blah. I honestly stopped listening. I was too upset to care.

I gave the phone to Aunt Sarin and picked through my dinner, pushing most of the food around my plate aimlessly.

The sun went down, and Cassi took off for cheerleading. Vega and the Bacteria hunkered over a tub of ice cream with two spoons in front of the TV, which left just me and Aunt Sarin. I went up to CICM-HQ and got out the contraption, climbed onto the eaves outside my bedroom window, and started flashing lights.

“Knock-knock,” I heard behind me. I turned to see Aunt Sarin standing in my doorway.

“Hey,” I said.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I scooted over to make room on the eaves next to me, but Aunt Sarin pulled my desk chair over by the window and plunked down on it instead. “You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not in top roof-climbing shape these days,” she said, and gestured to her stomach.