It Came from the Sky Read online

  Technically, yes.

  But before I could share that information, I saw a sight even more alarming than the crater: the chief of police walking across the field toward us.

  Interview

  Ishmael: When I saw Chief Kaufman I totally freaked, because, like, how did she even get there so fast? And I kept looking at you for—

  Interviewer: Do you remember what we talked about? About pretending I wasn’t there?

  Ishmael: But you were there, dude. It’s super weird to pretend you weren’t.

  Interviewer: Ishmael. This is supposed to be impartial. If the readers of this account know the person conducting interviews was intimately involved in the situation, they’ll think the data is compromised.

  Ishmael: But isn’t it compromised?

  Interviewer: Please just do this my way.

  Ishmael: Also, can you not use the word “intimate”? It sounds sexual, which is pretty awkward.

  Interviewer: It has nothing to do with sex. Intimate means close. I was closely involved with the situation.

  Ishmael: Then why can’t you just say closely? Why do you have to make it weird?

  Interviewer: Ishmael!

  Ishmael: Okay, fine. Whatever. Should I start over?

  Interviewer: Just pick up where you left off.

  Ishmael: There’s no reason to get upset, dude. Anyway, as I was saying… What was I saying? Oh yeah, I saw Chief Kaufman and was like, “Whoa, did you teleport here?” Then I realized she’d come over to see Dad and it was just, like, majorly bad timing that she got there during the explosion. I guess I wouldn’t have said something fell from the sky if I’d known the police were gonna get involved, but by that time it was too late to take it back. But, I mean…it wasn’t that bad of an excuse, was it?

  Event: Interrogation

  Date: Sept. 7 (Thurs.)

  Chief Kaufman was sharp. Too sharp.

  Father had been friends with her since their junior year of high school, when she’d petitioned to join the boy’s baseball team—he was one of the few players who supported her. The petition failed, and some people say Kaufman’s revenge for the slight was becoming the highest-ranking law enforcement official in town. Revenge or not, the job wasn’t given to her unjustly. Since she’d become chief, Lansburg had the third-lowest crime rate of any town in Pennsylvania. (It should be noted that the top two towns were Amish communities.)

  While Father took the chief aside to speak privately, Ishmael and I retreated to our house. We waited in the living room, slumped on opposite ends of the floral-patterned sofa that had probably been in our family for as many decades as the farm itself.

  Ishmael’s eyes were fixed on the flat-screen television that hung above the fireplace—the only sign of modern life in the room. The sound had been muted, but the TV was still tuned to Pitch, Please, where a couple pitched a competition involving kittens and an obstacle course.

  “This is bad,” I announced.

  “I know,” Ishmael agreed. “It has to be animal cruelty or something.”

  “Not the show, Ishmael. Our current situation. Remember? The explosion?”

  Ishmael waved off my concern. “It’s fine, dude.”

  “Nothing is fine right now. Who knows what repercussions this might—”

  I stopped abruptly when Mother burst into the living room, holding damp washcloths and a small pill bottle.

  “Let’s get you two cleaned up,” she said.

  She passed me a cloth and began wiping soot off Ishmael’s face with the other.

  “Mom, stop. I can do it myself,” Ishmael said, pulling away.

  “Take one of these at least,” she replied, passing the pill bottle to him. “You need to recharge your electrolytes.”

  Ishmael rolled his eyes.

  “You too, Gideon,” she added.

  “Mother. We’ve discussed this. I won’t take those.”

  She ignored me and continued to move around the room, smoothing our hair and forcing glasses of water on us. When Ishmael tossed the bottle of myTality™ Recharge to me, I caught it because the other option was getting hit in the face. But I was not going to take any supplements.

  After what felt like an eternity but must have been closer to thirty minutes, Father and Chief Kaufman entered the living room with Maggie in tow. My sister practically bounced up and down with joy over what was sure to be my and Ishmael’s undoing.

  “This is quite a mess,” Kaufman said, giving me a discerning look.

  She and Father sat in armchairs opposite the couch while Mother perched on the edge of the piano bench that, in my lifetime, had never been used for its intended purpose. Maggie hovered near the doorway to the kitchen.

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Mother said. “The state of the field. When I think of what could have happened…”

  “Yes, Jane. Your boys are very lucky they’re not in the hospital right now.”

  I liked nothing about how seriously she was taking the situation.

  “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?” Kaufman said, directing her shrewd gaze at Ishmael and me.

  Though everyone knew Ishmael was the talker, the people person, Kaufman focused on me. I swallowed hard. I’d never done well in high-pressure situations. Nor did I excel at reading people. Perhaps the chief was merely being inquisitive. On the other hand, she could be building a case against me.

  “Chief Kaufman…would you say that right now you’re acting more as an officer of the law or Father’s friend?”

  She stared at me for a long beat. “Why would you ask me that?”

  Why would I ask her that? I had quite possibly chosen the worst thing to say. I began to sweat.

  “So, we were in the lab,” Ishmael cut in, saving me, “working on an experiment.”

  Kaufman turned to my brother while pulling a pen and notebook from her pocket. “What kind of experiment?”

  My heart sank. As soon as she heard about the seismograph, she’d guess the truth.

  Luckily, Ishmael realized this as well. He leaned forward and smiled conspiratorially at Kaufman. “Okay, you caught us. There wasn’t really an experiment. Gideon and I have been really busy lately. You know, it’s my senior year, and both of us have jobs now. And Gideon’s taking these online classes, like, for fun. We hardly have time to spend together. We were actually just hanging out in the lab. Bonding.”

  Maggie snorted and Mother shot her a sharp look.

  “Bonding,” Kaufman repeated.

  Ishmael nodded and smiled again. The chief seemed to thaw a bit. It never ceased to amaze me, Ishmael’s ability to charm anyone and everyone.

  But then she said, “Is there a reason this bonding had to take place in a makeshift lab?”

  I bristled at the word makeshift.

  “Well, you know,” Ishmael said, “sometimes we talk about things we don’t want our parents to hear.”

  “Like what?”

  Ishmael glanced at Mother and Father. “Well, like…Gideon was asking for relationship advice.”

  I was going to kill him.

  “Gideon, do you have a boyfriend?” Mother asked eagerly, as if there weren’t more important matters at hand, as if I wasn’t currently the subject of a police investigation.

  “Yeah, Gideon,” Maggie said, her face glowing. “Do you have a boyfriend? Because I heard that you and Owen Campbell—”

  “Must we discuss my love life right now?” I snapped. At the time, I was blissfully unaware of how much my love life would become intertwined with what eventually befell Lansburg.

  Chief Kaufman said, “Right, let’s move on. You were in the shed talking, and you heard an explosion.”

  Ishmael nodded. “So we ran outside and, well, you saw what it’s like out there.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you saw,” Kaufm
an replied.

  “Well, there’s a crater, you know? It’s pretty obvious something fell from the sky.”

  “A meteor,” I offered. “Or, technically, a meteoroid.”

  “You saw evidence of this meteoroid?”

  I hesitated long enough for Ishmael to jump in. “Well, not saw, exactly. But there was a sound right before the explosion.”

  Kaufman raised her eyebrows. “What sound was that?”

  “Sort of a falling sound,” Ishmael said.

  I cringed. Maggie laughed out loud.

  “Maggie, go to your room,” Father said.

  “But—”

  “Right now.”

  With a huff, Maggie stomped up the stairs. When she was gone, Kaufman said, “What exactly is a falling sound?”

  “You know, like a whooshing,” Ishmael replied confidently.

  He was going to give me a heart attack. I needed to reel him in.

  “Actually,” Mother spoke up, “I might have heard a falling sound too.”

  What?

  “Didn’t you hear it, Vic? Right before the explosion?”

  Father frowned. “I must have missed it.”

  What in the world was going on?

  Chief Kaufman looked back and forth between my parents before jotting something on her notepad. Then she turned to Ishmael and me again. “Don’t meteors usually leave residue?”

  Finally, something I could answer with confidence. “Actually, this isn’t unprecedented. Have you heard of the Tunguska event?”

  Chief Kaufman shook her head.

  “In the early 1900s there was an explosion in Russia that destroyed several hundred square miles of forest. It’s generally accepted that a meteoroid falling to Earth burned so hot it burst before hitting the ground, creating a massive explosion but leaving no trace of itself.”

  Ishmael nodded hard enough for his hair to flop forward into his eyes. “Yes, something exactly like that must have happened.”

  “The Tunguska event, you said?” Kaufman asked.

  I nodded and she wrote it in her notepad.

  “And in the 1930s there was an event along the Curuçá River in Brazil where—”

  “That’s all right,” Chief Kaufman said. “We don’t need to cover every instance.”

  I was somewhat disappointed. It was rare for me to find people to discuss my interests with, and nothing interested me more than astronomy.

  “I think I have enough for now,” Kaufman said. She flipped her notebook shut and stood. “I’ll look into this and call with any developments.”

  A wave of relief washed over me. Father walked the chief to the door, goodbyes were said, and I knew from the light in Ishmael’s eyes that he thought we’d gotten away with something spectacular.

  “We’ll discuss this more tomorrow,” Father told us. “I’m going to bed.”

  Mother stood to follow him. She watched him ascend the creaky, wooden stairs, and it wasn’t until he was gone that she said, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Is there anything I can get you before I go up?”

  Ishmael and I shook our heads.

  “I love you boys so much.”

  “Love you too, Mom,” Ishmael said.

  “I want you to take the myTality Recharge,” Mother told me.

  I sighed.

  She moved toward the stairs, but stopped and turned back. “And boys?”

  We looked at her.

  “If there are more explosives on this property, I want them removed immediately.”

  Event: Immediate Aftermath

  Date: Sept. 8 (Fri.)

  I woke up with a sense that something was missing. My gaze flicked around the bedroom to my NASA posters, the scale model of the Saturn V, the mural of the solar system I’d painted on the wall when I was twelve. Everything seemed to be in place, except…

  Data, I suddenly realized. I’d been so caught up in the explosion the night before, I’d forgotten my experiment.

  I sat up quickly. Despite everything, I was still anxious to know if my seismograph had worked. If it had, the rest of the mess would almost be worthwhile. Almost.

  Unfortunately, to check the seismograph, I’d have to go to my lab, which would mean passing my parents. I was sure they weren’t any happier about the explosion after having the night to dwell on it.

  There was no use putting off seeing them, though. I got out of bed, dressed in my usual T-shirt and cargo pants, and followed the smell of breakfast down our rickety staircase.

  In the kitchen, Father stood at the stove. His favorite apron was tied over his workout clothes, the one with script across the front that said What’s cookin’, Mr. Hofstadt? Maggie already sat at our splintery farmhouse breakfast table, devouring a pile of pancakes.

  Was my family going to proceed with the normal morning routine, as if unexplained explosions and police investigations were everyday occurrences on the farm?

  “Morning,” Father said, passing me a plate.

  I sat across from my sister and began eating. The pancakes were flavorful, but dry. I eyed the syrup. Should I risk it? Syrup made pancakes significantly more appetizing, but it was impossible to use without getting traces on my face or hands. And I despised being sticky.

  “What are your plans today?” Maggie asked.

  I swallowed a bite of food, deciding that dry pancakes were the more practical choice. “It’s a school day. My plan is to attend school, like I do every school day. Why?” (Technically inaccurate, being that there were days I hadn’t attended school on a school day, e.g., days when I was sick.)

  “Just wondering if there’s anywhere I should avoid. You know, places you might blow up next.”

  “That’s enough, Maggie,” Father said, pointing at her with the spatula.

  Maggie smiled sweetly.

  My intention was for there to be no more explosions, on that day or any day. Unless, of course, a future experiment called for it.

  Mother buzzed into the kitchen, briefcase in hand. She wore a blazer with a purple shirt underneath, which meant she was anticipating a busy day. Purple was her power color, worn whenever she needed a boost of luck.

  “You have time to eat?” Father asked.

  Mother opened the pantry. “Barely. I’ll just grab a myTality Power-Up.”

  She unwrapped the energy bar and ate while standing at the counter.

  MyTality™ was Mother’s latest venture, following an aromatherapy business, a yoga studio, and her involvement with the church before that. She usually lost interest around the five-year mark—it was unfortunate for my siblings and me that our names were chosen during her religious phase.

  “Big day?” Father asked.

  “Recruiting,” Mother said. “And lunch with a member of my downline this afternoon. What are your plans today?”

  “Gym, grocery store, and a meeting about next week’s bake sale.”

  “Bake sale?”

  “For Maggie’s softball team.”

  “You also said you’d pick up my acne medication,” I reminded him.

  “Right,” Father said, snapping his fingers. He pulled out his phone and added the errand to his schedule. “You know, you could do that yourself if you learned to drive.”

  The syrup-less bite of pancake in my mouth grew even drier. “I don’t want to discuss that right now.”

  “Honey,” Mother said to me, “I really wish you’d give the myTality line of acne products a chance.”

  “I’d prefer to stick with dermatologist-recommended options,” I told her, for what must have been the tenth time.

  “Well, think about it,” she replied. “I’m off now! Someone needs to wake up Ishmael.”

  She moved around the kitchen doling out kisses before grabbing her briefcase and venturing forth to sell questionable health products
to the masses.

  “Which one of you wants to wake your brother?” Father asked.

  “Not it,” Maggie replied instantly.

  I sighed. “Why should we bear the responsibility of getting Ishmael out of bed? He’s seventeen. If he can’t wake up for school, he should face the consequences.”

  “That’s true,” Father agreed. “But then how will you get to school?”

  Point taken.

  I grudgingly stood, bracing myself for the Herculean effort of getting Ishmael out of bed.

  “Hey,” Father said before I left the kitchen. “You still need a ride from debate team this afternoon?”

  I didn’t look him in the eye. “Today’s meeting was canceled.”

  “Wasn’t last week’s canceled too?”

  Canceled only in the sense that I’d skipped it to work on my seismograph.

  “I think you’re misremembering.” Before he could call me on the lie, I said, “I better get Ishmael now.”

  “Ask him what he plans to blow up today!” Maggie called as I hurried from the room.

  Interview

  Subject #2, Magdalene (Maggie) Hofstadt: Of course I knew my brothers blew up the field. I figured it had something to do with one of Gideon’s experiments. And I wasn’t the only one who thought so, by the way. No one believed that meteor story. No one.

  Event: Immediate Aftermath (Cont.)

  When I stepped through the doors of Irving High School, I still hadn’t gotten a chance to check my seismograph reading. Maybe that was for the better. I should forget the explosion. It was much more important to concentrate on my studies—more important than ever, since Sara Kang’s GPA had alarmingly surpassed mine, jeopardizing my chances of being valedictorian.

  Unfortunately, it turned out ignoring the explosion wouldn’t be simple. When I checked my phone between second and third periods, I had a text from Cass. (Cassidy Robinson, age sixteen, my longtime best friend.)

  CR: A METEOR CRASHED INTO YOUR HOUSE LAST NIGHT???

  I stopped in the middle of the hall and briefly shut my eyes.

  Ishmael.