It Came from the Sky Read online

  “Now I’m going to use my oscilloscope to verify the jamming frequencies,” I dictated to the phone, which recorded audio.

  “Why are you saying everything you do?” Ishmael asked.

  “We’ve been over this,” I replied absently. “I’m recording everything related to the hoax.”

  “You must be blowing through your phone’s memory.”

  I was. The hoax had taken over my life to the point where I was recording nearly every conversation I had. (For full transparency, I admit not every conversation was recorded with permission. I was pleasantly surprised by how clean my audio recordings were, even when my phone was hidden in my pocket.)

  Ishmael craned his neck to see what I was working on. “You sure I can’t help?”

  “Considering that last time you ‘helped,’ you blew up the yard, no thanks.”

  Ishmael shrugged and spun in circles in the swivel chair. It made me dizzy just looking at him.

  “So,” he said. “We’re just gonna point this thing at cars and it’ll screw up their radios?”

  “In theory.”

  “What if they’re not listening to the radio? What if they’ve, like, got a podcast on, or they’re driving in silence?”

  “Then it won’t work.”

  “What if they have satellite radio?”

  “Then it also won’t work.”

  “What if—”

  “Ishmael,” I snapped, “this is the best I can do, okay? We’re targeting cars leaving bingo night at St. Francis, and presumably those cars will be filled with old people, which will increase the odds of them listening to the radio.”

  “Okay, cool.” Ishmael continued spinning. I was granted a full thirty seconds of silence before he said, “But are you sure—”

  “I’m really trying to concentrate.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  I took a deep breath and searched my mind. “Actually, there is something you can do.”

  “Are you just trying to get rid of me?”

  “No.”

  Yes.

  Ishmael stopped spinning. “Okay. What is it?”

  “We need masks. And find something besides a Hawaiian shirt to wear.”

  “What’s wrong with Hawaiian shirts?”

  My jaw was clenched tightly and I knew I’d have another headache soon enough. “We’re going to stand in the woods on the side of the road. Certainly, anyone passing by would find that extremely odd. Therefore, we’ll wear dark clothes to hide ourselves and masks in case we get spotted despite the clothes.”

  “Ah, got it!” Ishmael said.

  Dark clothes would be easy to procure. I was less sure about the ski masks. Most stores hadn’t stocked winter items yet. There was always the Winter Wonderland Emporium on Main Street, but that was an expensive tourist trap.

  “Get cheap masks,” I told Ishmael.

  “Dark clothes, cheap masks. Done.”

  He left the lab with a bounce in his step, enthusiastic about his task. I sighed and went back to work.

  I tested the jammer on the small radio I’d borrowed from the kitchen counter. The frequency mixer didn’t work as expected. I had assumed this would be straightforward, so what was the problem?

  I was getting frustrated and antsy. I’d been in the lab too long. As much as I hated to admit it, sometimes I needed to step out of my own head.

  When Cass texted and asked if I wanted to help her run her Hamelin! lines, it was a welcome distraction.

  Event: Running Lines

  Date: Oct. 4 (Wed.)

  Cass’s house was a tribute to sleek, modern lines. The walls were white, the floor was tile, and there was a lot of glass. It was the opposite of the farm in every way; Cass’s house looked like the future, while mine was firmly rooted in the past.

  “Your house has history,” Cass once said. “Think of all the generations of your family that have lived there. You’re sleeping in the same place as your great-great-grandparents.”

  “Yes, and the plumbing hasn’t been updated since the house was built, and there’s water damage and peeling paint, and no matter how much you clean, the rooms always feel cramped and dusty,” I’d replied.

  There was too much history at my house. It was overbearing. I wanted to start fresh. Make my own history.

  I walked up to the glass front door and rang the bell, knowing that inside Cass was pulling out her phone and looking at the video feed connected to the camera above me. Her house was equipped with the most modern alarm system innovations. My parents didn’t even lock the front door most nights.

  A moment later, the door swung open and Cass gestured me inside.

  “I like your…pajamas,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her baggy, purple unicorn costume.

  “It’s a Kigu,” she replied. “Most comfortable outfit ever. You should totally get one.”

  “Yeah, I definitely see that happening.”

  Cass snorted and led me to the basement, her domain, a swirl of color and texture that contrasted sharply with the stark, spartan upstairs.

  “We’re working on the third act,” Cass said.

  “We?” I asked.

  I entered the basement and stopped.

  Owen sat on one of the couches.

  “Oh. Hi,” I said, feeling the strange fluttering in my chest that always happened when I saw Owen. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

  He smiled. “I’ve hardly seen you lately. I told Cass she should invite you.”

  Despite the fact that Owen and I were…doing something that resembled dating, and I was happy to spend time with him, I felt like I’d been tricked. And it felt strange that they were hanging out without me. They were separate areas of my life. Yes, they were in theater together, and I knew their roles in Hamelin! intersected, but it still made me uncomfortable.

  What if they talked about me? What if Owen shared all the arguments we’d had lately and Cass gave him unique insight into my personality that no one else had?

  Owen walked over and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I tried not to flinch.

  It was only a peck. Cass knew we’d done more than kiss on the cheek. But we’d spent so much time keeping our relationship private that it was bizarre to suddenly show affection in front of another person.

  I moved to the couch and sat down. Owen sat next to me and Cass plopped into the opposite armchair.

  “How’s life on the farm?” she asked.

  “The usual.”

  “The usual meaning normal or the usual meaning alien attacks?”

  “Both?”

  “What do you guys have planned next?” Cass asked.

  Owen laughed. “Like Gideon would share his secrets.”

  The room fell silent for a moment, and I must have made a strange expression, because Owen glanced from me to Cass, as if realizing I did share my secrets with her. A wounded look came into his eyes.

  He was being unfair. Of course I talked to Cass about things I wouldn’t discuss with him. Cass had been my best friend since childhood and Owen was a fairly recent addition to my life.

  “How’s the play going?” I asked.

  Owen didn’t take the bait, but Cass sized up the situation and assisted my topic change.

  “It would be infinitely better if I was the lead.”

  Owen tossed a pillow at her. “Don’t be jealous. I personally support a male getting the male lead for a change.”

  “And I totally respect you as an actor,” Cass said. “I just wish the female lead had some substance.”

  “Maybe you should add your own,” I suggested.

  “I’ve considered giving her some kind of awesome possum backstory,” Cass admitted.

  Owen handed me his script. “You can read along. Cass and I mostly have our lines memorized.”

  I
flipped through the pages and took in the highlighted lines, the notes Owen had written in the margins. In the same way that I could look back on my own experiment notes and see how I’d come to specific conclusions, I could track Owen’s process and see how he built his character. How his mind worked.

  To me, that was romance.

  That was what counted.

  That connected me and Owen more than any over-the-top public display of affection.

  I felt a rush of emotion that I couldn’t define. There was a swelling in my chest and my hands tingled, and more than anything I wished Owen and I were alone right then so I could pour out my feelings to him, all the things he’d been wanting me to say but I hadn’t been able to.

  “Gideon?” Owen said.

  I was startled out of my musings.

  “What’s your problem tonight?” Cass asked. “Come back to Earth and help me turn this character into more than a damsel in distress.”

  Interlude

  The Pied Piper of Hamelin

  In case you’re unfamiliar with it, you should know “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” is a bedtime story you tell your children—if you want to make sure they never sleep again.

  Allow me to give a brief synopsis:

  The town of Hamelin has a rat problem. Because this takes place during the Middle Ages, one cannot simply call the exterminator. The poor townspeople despair.

  But wait! Hope isn’t lost! A stranger rides into town, a man referred to as the Pied Piper.

  This Pied Piper fellow tells the townspeople he can fix their rat problem. By playing a (magical) tune on his (magical) pipe, the Piper will charm the rats and lead them out of Hamelin forever. All he requires is monetary compensation.

  The townspeople agree. Despite the Piper coming across like a swindler, he does indeed charm the rats. He plays his pipe and the rats pour out of Hamelin and follow him to the river where they drown.

  The town rejoices! But the townspeople are opportunists—now that the rats are gone, they see no reason to pay the Pied Piper.

  The Piper is enraged. And one night, while the town sleeps, he gets revenge. He walks through the streets of Hamelin playing a new song on his pipe. This time it isn’t rats that pour into the streets behind him. It’s children. All the children in Hamelin.

  They follow him through town, up a mountain path, to a dark cave. In the cave, there’s a pool of water. And there, the Pied Piper drowns each and every one of them.

  The end.

  Excerpt from Irving High School’s adapted Hamelin! script

  The town of Hamelin is burning, lit by the spiteful glow of flames. In the distance, agonized screams of anguish can be heard. GRETA dashes into the street, tears streaking down her angelic face. She stumbles and falls to her knees.

  GRETA: Oh, please, won’t someone please save me?

  From offstage comes the melodious tinkling of pipe music. The PIED PIPER enters stage left, and rushes toward GRETA’S languishing form.

  PIED PIPER: I am here, my love!

  The PIED PIPER envelops GRETA in his masculine clutch.

  GRETA: I knew you would come.

  PIED PIPER: I would never leave you, my darling.

  GRETA: The mayor has turned the town against you. They think you’re behind the disappearance of the children. But I never doubted you.

  PIED PIPER: Nor have I ever doubted your love.

  GRETA swoons.

  PIED PIPER: But we must leave this place now.

  GRETA: Where will we go?

  PIED PIPER: I will be happy anywhere, if you are by my side.

  The PIED PIPER dips GRETA and kisses her passionately. Even as Hamelin burns around them, she succumbs to his loving embrace.

  Event: Running Lines (Cont.)

  I stared at the page, trying to remake the words in front of me. No matter how hard I tried to rearrange them, they remained as they were. Not only was it some of the worst writing I’d ever encountered, it ended with:

  The PIED PIPER dips GRETA and kisses her passionately.

  Kisses her.

  Passionately.

  It wasn’t just a kiss—oh no, that would be far too simple and not appease the romance-obsessed play-goers in the audience. No, it had to be a passionate kiss.

  “Um,” I said.

  Cass and Owen looked at me.

  “What?” Cass asked.

  “You have a kissing scene?”

  “Yeah?” Cass stared at me like she didn’t know what my problem was. Like there was no reason I should have a problem at all.

  “Neither of you thought maybe that was something you should tell me?”

  Cass and Owen exchanged baffled looks.

  “I didn’t even think of it,” Owen said.

  “You’re kissing my best friend passionately and you didn’t think it might be weird?”

  “Gideon…” Owen looked almost like he might laugh. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s acting. I’m obviously not attracted to Cass. No offense,” he added, glancing at her.

  “None taken. I’m not into you either, by the way.”

  I looked back and forth between them. They were acting so casual.

  “I’m sorry, I just find it a little awkward that my best friend is going to be passionately kissing my…”

  Owen and Cass stared at me with great interest.

  “Your what?” Owen asked, when it was clear I wasn’t going to continue. “You weren’t going to say boyfriend, were you? Because you’ve made it very obvious that this isn’t official.”

  Well, yes. That was accurate.

  Logically, I knew Hamelin! was a play, not real life. It was fake life. A fake kiss in a fake world between people who weren’t romantically involved. And even if it was a real kiss in real life, I’d have no room to be uncomfortable. Because I’d been the one holding back. I’d been the one preventing my and Owen’s relationship from progressing.

  Logically, I knew that. I was a logical person. Logic always won. Life would be meaningless without logic.

  And yet.

  And yet.

  Unhappiness surged through me.

  I took a moment to steady myself. Whether my feelings were logical or not, they didn’t need to be on display for Cass and Owen.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay what?” asked Cass, looking at me like I’d just said the Earth was flat.

  “Okay, fine, there’s a kiss. I’m sorry I acted strange.”

  Owen reached over and squeezed my knee. “I promise, there’s no reason to be jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous.”

  Interlude

  Jealousy

  I was jealous.

  I was jealous and I hated myself for it.

  It’s not that I thought Owen would leave me for Cass. But still, I was disturbed at the thought of him kissing someone else.

  And…

  Well, I promised I’d be truthful in this account.

  Owen kissing Cass bothered me because it was a glimpse of things to come. This time it was for a play. This time it was a kiss with someone he wasn’t attracted to.

  This time.

  What about all the times in the future?

  I had no illusions about my and Owen’s future. According to an article I read, less than 2 percent of high school relationships ended in marriage.

  While I had a year and a half of high school left before escaping to college, Owen was a senior. He’d leave in less than a year, while I was stuck in Lansburg. How could our relationship survive that?

  Especially when…when I wasn’t sure how much I meant to Owen in the first place.

  Do you recall what I said about people trying to force Owen and me together? Regardless of whether or not we liked each other, if there were only two openly gay kids at a school, surely
they must date?

  For me, that wouldn’t have been reason enough. But I happened to like Owen. A lot.

  Was it the same for him, though? Doubtful. He was smart, popular, attractive, talented. The kind of person everyone liked and respected.

  The truth is, I wanted to keep our relationship quiet because if people knew someone like Owen was dating someone like me, there’d be jokes. Maybe the jokes would be enough to make him step back and wonder what he was doing with me.

  And he’d realize he was with me because I was there. The very thing I hated so much—being pushed toward him simply because there were no other options must have been why he dated me.

  I knew I had redeeming qualities, and I was sure one day I’d find a man who appreciated them. But certainly that man wouldn’t be as impossibly perfect as Owen. He and I were mismatched. Our relationship was entirely unbalanced.

  That was why I wouldn’t make our relationship public. Why make it official in the first place when I knew the eventual outcome?

  And that was why it hurt to think of Owen kissing Cass. I knew it was the beginning of a long string of people he’d kiss, people who weren’t me.

  If heartbreak was inevitable, wasn’t it better that we never named the thing between us? Wouldn’t it hurt less when he left me? You can’t truly lose something you never had in the first place.

  Interviews

  Subject #3, Cassidy (Cass) Robinson: I felt for Gideon. But he was being a total drama llama. I wasn’t gonna, like, drop out of the play because he was jealous.

  Subject #5, Owen Campbell: Honestly, it was probably the first time I felt sure Gideon actually liked me.

  Event: Radio Jamming

  Date: Oct. 6 (Fri.)

  The radio jammer was complete. I wasn’t positive it would function in the field, but I was ready to find out.

  I dressed in dark slacks and a black sweater, then went downstairs to Ishmael’s room. He lounged on his bed, eating a bowl of cereal.

  “Is that your dinner?” I asked.