Chapter 7

Chapter 7
Even though my eyes were closed, I could feel the sun warming my face. Dang, I have got to get those blackout curtains I had when I was a kid. I wish this stupid apartment didn’t face the east so I could actually get a little sleep on a Saturday morning.

Lying in bed, my mind began to drift, as it normally does upon waking up, to the all consuming task of the rocket ship. Linear momentum equations are so engrained into my brain that it comes as easily to me as breathing does. Numbers and heights and depths ran through my mind. I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to. This time, however, it wasn’t just thoughts about the rocket ship, but there was a question I couldn’t quite shake: was I actually going to let Alex in on the project? This could potentially compromise so much. I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am now, working day and night to produce pieces that will somehow fit together and create something so monumental even John Glenn’s mind will be blown. And to think that I might just let someone else in. What is coming over me? I’ve wanted, more than anything else in my life, to be the sole person to get to the moon. Obviously, I need some sort of a crew at some point, but that’s not going to come about for at least a few more months. I need to show that I am capable of doing something great on my own.

I had to have somebody I can trust, don’t I? I couldn’t just walk around with this huge project bogging me down all the time and have no one to talk to about it. And wait just a minute, how can I honestly think about my own rocket ship when I have so much cleaning up to do with all of the hubbub about whether or not the moon landing really happened?

My mind was restless.

I pushed back the starch-white sheet and my hand automatically reached for my thin frames on the night-stand, forgetting once again that my eyes had been through multiple laser surgeries in order to ensure that nothing—not even my horrid, 450/20 vision—could get in the way of me going to the moon. My feet padded their way to the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. I still liked practicing being light on my feet, remembering the days I used to spin in circles as a young girl, hoping that one day I would be lucky enough to dance on a stage with Mikhail Baryshnikov from the Nutcracker, leaping and bending gracefully in front of an audience, the people clapping for me as I bowed at the end, knowing I’d nailed the performance. Now my mind was the only thing that spun in circles.

I reached for the box of Trix—only purchased because of the commercial that had been circulated at work about the silly rabbit going up into space—up on top of the stainless steel refrigerator and caught a glimpse of the calendar, color-coded to keep up with how much time I was devoting to each of the important tasks in my life. Thankfully, there was no “work” written in red on the calendar for today, but written in blue was the word “ride”. I wish I spent as much time with my horses as my calendar says I do. If anyone came to my apartment, and looked at my calendar, they would think I was the most dedicated horse rider in the history of world. What they didn’t know, however, was that “ride” actually meant spending time working on the rocket ship. If I didn’t schedule time for working on the rocket ship, I’d never make any progress.

I opened up the refrigerator and smiled when I saw that I hadn’t drunk the rest of the Tang last Saturday morning. I poured myself a glass and sat down at the table. As I shook the fruity flavors into my clear blue bowl, I couldn’t help but think of the phone call from last night. Why had Alex called so late last night? Most people would save the apology for a Monday morning over coffee. But Alex had called at three in the morning to make sure he hadn’t stepped on my toes. Interesting. Nobody has ever really gone out of their way to make sure that I was okay. I mean, I didn’t really think much of what he said. Or rather, what he didn’t say. Oh well, I guess I’ll hear more about it tonight.

I placed my dishes in the sink, thinking that I would just take care of them later, and walked back to my bedroom to get ready to go back to the office. I knew that I would never be able to get anything done in my apartment. All of my diagrams and charts were still locked in my desk.

Looking in my closet, I picked out a set of clothes I could wear to the office and out to dinner later. After getting dressed, I brushed my teeth, and got ready to leave, being sure to place my wallet in my purse before grabbing my keys and locking the door behind me and making my way down the stairs into the parking garage.

On the drive to work, my mind turned, once again to the dinner I would be sharing with Alex later in the evening. I wondered if that would be a good time to spring the idea about the rocket on him. It wasn’t like I could keep the plan to myself forever. Alex wasn’t stupid. He would figure out that we weren’t just building a fake rocket once we started constructing it. Not to mention, if he already knew I was working on something special, how much longer would I be able to keep it a secret from him?

I mentally slapped myself. No wonder I didn’t have a boyfriend. Every man I had ever been on a date with had said I made them feel dumb. And here I was, thinking about telling Alex that I wanted to build a functioning rocket over dinner tonight. Really?

Besides that, would I be able to explain that I already know how it would work without showing him all my plans? Even if I could show him all of my plans, would he understand all of the complicated calculations and diagrams? Would he believe that it would work? How could I be sure I could trust him with this? What if he went to Director Gooding with it?

My mind was racing with unanswered questions— most of them dealing with whether or not I could actually pull this off. My thoughts took another turn and I started thinking about the reason I needed this to work. I had to prove that I wasn’t as worthless as he thought I was. And, maybe, if I was lucky, Alex could help me to do that. This has to work. If it doesn’t work, it’ll just prove that he was right all along. I felt myself becoming more and more determined. If this didn’t prove that I wasn’t worthless, nothing would.

Now it just came down to how I was going to tell—

“Alex!” I said, surprised that he had beat into the office on a Saturday morning. He looked up from the notebook he had open on his desk once he had finished his thought.

“Good morning to you, too, Ms. Smith.” He replied with a slight smirk.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting to see you in quite so early. It sounded like you had a pretty late night.” I explained.

“Well, I felt bad about leaving you so quickly last night, so I thought I would come in and work for a little while to make up for it.” He told me.

That was thoughtful. Without pausing to give one final thought to whether or not I could trust Alex, I blurted out, “I think I know how we can quash the rumors.” He didn’t speak for a few seconds. I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment as he stared at me, looking perplexed.
When he finally spoke, his eager response was, “How?” He jumped up and followed me to my desk, pulling his chair along behind him.

“What if we built a rocket?” I asked, expecting him to immediately start interrogating me. Instead, broke into a smile

“That’s a great idea!” he assured me. I sighed in relief. All that was left to do was figure out how to break the news that this rocket would have the capability to actually reach the moon. My mind went to the thick file I had hidden away in a locked drawer of my desk. Should I go ahead and tell him what I was really up to? Or should I wait until I had absolutely no other choice but to tell him? I then realized that he was talking to me again, “So I guess the only problem left is whether or not this will actually convince people that we really did go to the moon. How can we make it look authentic?”

I almost panicked. Did he suspect? How could he possible know what I had been working on? My concern must have shown on my face, because the next words out of Alex’s mouth were, “Are you okay?”

I nodded and quickly decided that the news that the rocket would be real should wait for another time. “I guess I just hadn’t thought of that until now.” I lied, hoping he would not see through me. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it seemed like he was almost disappointed in my response.

Alex got out of his chair, and picked up the notebook from his desk. He turned to a blank page, and we started brainstorming on ways to make the rocket seem as “real” as possible. After several hours of bouncing ideas off each other, Alex stood up and stretched. “I think that’s a pretty good start, don’t you?” he asked, looking down at me.

“Yeah.” Was the only answer I could come up with. “But we still have to convince Director Gooding that this will make people believe the moon landing really happened.” He moved his chair back over to his desk, and started making more notes on the page he had been using before I entered our office. I kept wondering whether I had made the right choice. I looked down at the plans Alex had torn out of the notebook and left on my desk. Should I tell him this was a waste of time? That I already have plans for a real rocket? Was I sure I could really trust him to keep it a secret?

“What’s wrong?” Alex’s voice broke through my thoughts. He was giving the same worried look he had given me before.

“Nothing.” I said, “Do you really think this will work?” I asked this question both to myself and to Alex. Did I really think this would work? Could I really prove I was a worthwhile person by creating the plans for a rocket ship and then going to the moon?

“Are you really that worried about it?” Alex answered the question. “Of course it’ll work. It’s a great idea.” He said again.

I nodded absently, hoping he was right, but worrying he wasn’t. In my mind I kept seeing my father’s face telling me that I was worthless and I would never amount to anything. That I was wrong. The more I pictured him, the more determined I became. Alex was right. This would work. It had to.