It Came from the Sky Page 6

  But no.

  What was I thinking?

  Why was I even entertaining the possibility of an alien hoax?

  “It would be completely reckless,” I told Ishmael. “Not to mention, a colossal waste of my time.”

  “Dude, it totally wouldn’t be a waste. This could be like…like one of your science projects.”

  “This is nothing like a science experiment.”

  “Sure it is,” Ishmael said enthusiastically. “It’s just instead of chemicals or whatever, the experiment is about people.”

  I looked at my brother for a moment. While I had thus far spent my life focusing on the natural sciences (E.g., physics, chemistry, biology, and, of course, astronomy.), social science wasn’t without merit.

  “A psychological experiment,” I pondered.

  “Right! A psychology experiment involving the whole town!”

  I looked up. “No. Not psychology. Sociology.” (Sociology: the science and study of society.)

  I could take notes. Collect data. Record conversations and gather relevant materials. It would be a legitimate research project. If I compiled information and documented results, sociologists might study my findings long into the future.

  Suddenly, I had a realization that shot an electric jolt through my body. I’d read that to gain acceptance into MIT, one needed to be more than an exceptional student. The school favored applicants who demonstrated creativity and ingenuity. A sociological paper detailing the reactions of a town to an alien invasion might be the exact sort of innovation the admissions board was looking for.

  To Ishmael and me, the aliens would be a hoax. To the rest of Lansburg, they’d be fact. The MIT admissions board could believe in aliens or not—that part hardly mattered. Either way, they’d have my research paper, which would be unlike anything they’d seen before. For once in my life, I would stand out.

  My mind raced with possibilities. Where would we even begin? If this was an experiment, I’d use the scientific method. The first step of which was ask a question.

  The question was simple: Could people be convinced that extraterrestrials were real and had made contact in Lansburg?

  Could they?

  And could I leverage their belief into an acceptance letter from my dream school, which would pave the way into a career at NASA?

  Could I?

  “So?” Ishmael asked.

  I’m sure you’re wondering about my state of mind. I’m sure you’re having doubts about my decision-making skills. But how could I have passed up such a clear-cut opportunity to achieve my goals?

  “This is a terrible idea,” I said.

  “Terrible…but also brilliant?” Ishmael asked, hope written all over his face.

  “Possibly,” I agreed. “Possibly brilliant.”

  My brother grinned. He knew he’d won. “Are we doing this? Are we making a hoax?”

  I stood up. And before I could change my mind, I nodded solemnly. “Let’s do it.”

  Ishmael whooped and punched a fist in the air. Then he asked, “What comes first?”

  If he’d paid attention in science class, he would’ve already known that the next step in the scientific method was do background research.

  “It’s time to learn more about aliens,” I said.

  The internet search history of Gideon Hofstadt on the evening of Sept. 9

  aliens

  alien abductions

  alien hoaxes

  most famous hoaxes of all time

  ufos

  ufo blue prints

  weather balloons

  project blue book

  signs of alien abductions

  alien electronic interference

  famous alien encounters

  phoenix lights

  hudson valley sightings

  books about aliens

  communion

  fire in the sky

  close encounters

  crop circles

  betty and barney hill

  the andreasson affair

  how to keep your relationship secret without offending your boyfriend

  alien conspiracies

  movies about aliens

  area 51

  is my judgment impaired?

  Text Conversation

  Participants: Gideon Hofstadt, Cassidy Robinson

  GH: I need a favor.

  CR: Your wish is my command

  GH: Remember how we discussed aliens earlier?

  CR: Lol

  CR: You think Id forget that?

  GH: How would you feel about doing a little acting?

  CR: Oh holy cannoli

  CR: Seriously???

  CR: What are you planning

  CR: Gideon?

  CR: Please don’t leave me hanging

  CR: Gideooooooooooooooooooooooooooooon!!!!!!!!!!!

  GH: I’ll come over tomorrow. I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.

  CR: Afraid of someone tracing this conversion?

  CR: *conversation

  CR: Wait

  CR: ARE you afraid of that??

  CR: Gideon?

  Event: Another Awkward Breakfast

  Date: Sept. 10 (Sun.)

  Mother and Father should’ve been suspicious when Ishmael willingly got out of bed before 8:00. He and I had work to do, though. I warned him the night before that I’d be waking him early, and it was a testament to his commitment to the hoax that he agreed without a fight.

  Father scrambled eggs while Mother made notes in her planner about upcoming meetings with myTality™ distributors. Weekend or not, Mother worked. (Technically, Mother didn’t need to work, thanks to my great-great-grandfather, who’d made a hefty sum of money with a patent for an ultraspeedy corn harvester, and also thanks to subsequent generations who’d made wise investment decisions.)

  “Will you be home today?” Mother asked Father. “A large shipment of products is coming, and I don’t want the boxes left on the porch.”

  At the stove, Father paused mid-action. “More products? Janie, we’ve got a whole barn filled with myTality boxes. Maybe you should slow down.”

  “I won’t have that negativity,” Mother chirped. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pill bottle. “Here. Have a myTality Morning Burst. Vitamin C to help with your blahs.”

  “My blahs are just fine, thank you,” Father replied.

  I met Ishmael’s gaze across the table. He raised his eyebrows at me. It was time to begin phase one.

  “Would you mind if Ishmael and I drove to Pittsburgh today?” I asked casually.

  Father glanced over. “For what?”

  “I need electronic components for a Science Club project.” It was a lie. I needed supplies for the hoax.

  My parents glanced at each other. One of their most annoying talents was the ability to have entire conversations—complete with decision making—without speaking a word.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Mother said.

  “Why?” I asked calmly. Throwing a tantrum was never a successful negotiation tactic.

  “Because,” Father said, “we don’t trust your brother to drive all the way to Pittsburgh.”

  “But Father—” I began.

  “If you want to drive long distances, get your license and prove that we can trust you.”

  Mother reached across the table and placed her hand over mine. “Honey, we know you’re afraid of driving, but—”

  “I’m not afraid,” I said.

  Ishmael snorted. I glared at him. We were supposed to be on the same team.

  “I’m not,” I repeated. “I just don’t feel compelled to drive.”

  “Well, I don’t feel compelled to let your brother drive all the way to Pittsburgh,” Fathe
r replied.

  I looked at Ishmael, wishing we could have our own silent conversations. But he only shrugged and smiled wryly, as if he couldn’t help but agree with our parents.

  “I have an idea,” Mother said. “Why don’t you go to Pittsburgh with me this afternoon?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you going to Pittsburgh?”

  A fervent glaze came over her face, which I immediately took as a bad sign. “The myTality conference, silly. Don’t you remember? Oz himself will be there!” (Oz, a.k.a. J. Quincy Oswald, the CEO of myTality™ and, from what I could gather, a charlatan.)

  Father rolled his eyes, which Mother didn’t miss.

  “Oh, stop that, Vic. It’s a very big deal. Oz rarely leaves the West Coast.”

  “Apparently, Californians are more susceptible to health-supplement scams,” Father muttered.

  Mother gave him a look. “Maybe they’re more health conscious.”

  “Back to the issue at hand,” I said. “Could you drop me off at the electronics store and pick me up after your seminar?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Mother said brightly.

  Before we could continue our discussion, the front door flew open and a voice called, “Yoo-hoo, Hofstadts.”

  “In here, Miriam,” Father called. (Miriam Warren: my maternal grandmother.)

  Gram whirled into the kitchen, trailing the scent of perfume and cigars behind her. Her hair was dyed litmus-test red, and she wore her favorite fur coat. Not only was the coat inappropriate for early September, it was inappropriate for any occasion in Lansburg.

  “Mom, you smell like an ashtray,” Mother said.

  “The poker game ran late. I haven’t been home to shower yet.”

  “You haven’t slept?” Mother’s face was filled with disapproval. “Here, have a myTality Energizer.”

  Gram waved her hand at Mother. “Get that snake oil away from me. I will take some of those eggs if you don’t mind, Victor.”

  “Coming right up,” Father said.

  Gram sat at the kitchen table and regarded my brother. “Ishmael, stop slouching over your breakfast. You’re a young man, not seventy. What are you looking at, Gideon? You could straighten up too. And comb your hair before you leave the house.”

  “You’re a beacon of warmth, as always, Gram,” I said, and she threw her head back and cackled.

  “How was last night’s game?” Ishmael asked.

  I listened to Gram with vague interest. Gambling had never appealed to me. My brother, on the other hand, was eagerly waiting for the day he’d be allowed to attend the underground poker games that enriched Gram’s retirement fund.

  “When are you gonna let me play?” Ishmael asked, for probably the hundredth time.

  “Ishmael,” Mother said, “we won’t condone you losing money at a poker game we already disapprove of.”

  “I vote that you let him learn the hard way, Mother,” I said.

  Gram scowled at me over her plate of eggs. “I wish you’d stop that.”

  “Me? What?”

  “That mother and father business. Creeps me out. You sound like a nineteenth-century Dickensian street urchin.”

  “What an oddly specific insult,” I replied. “Also, a street urchin wouldn’t have parents.”

  Gram had already moved on from the conversation, though.

  The truth was that I’d switched to Mother and Father during my freshman year, because Mom and Dad sounded juvenile and needy. I no longer felt that way—I’d actually prefer calling them Mom and Dad again—but I’d gotten so much flack about it that I couldn’t back down.

  “Enough chitchat,” Gram said. “I’m here for a reason.”

  “Aside from pointing out character flaws in your progeny?” I muttered.

  Gram acted like I hadn’t spoken. “Conversation at last night’s game took a turn from the usual drunken sports blather.”

  I glanced at Ishmael.

  Gram continued. “For some reason, half the town seems to think aliens have attacked the farm.”

  Mother and Father did the silent conversation bit again. Something told me they’d already discussed the matter at length.

  Gram crossed her arms and raised a single drawn-on eyebrow, giving Ishmael and me a hard stare.

  “I see,” I said.

  Ishmael took a deep breath. We were at the moment of no return. “Yeah, well, that did happen. Aliens. On the farm.”

  “Oh Christ,” Father muttered from the stove.

  Mother sighed.

  Gram gave Ishmael and me a long, discerning look. “What are you boys up to? Is there some kind of profit in this?”

  The greatest profit. Scientific discovery.

  “No,” Ishmael said. “It’s just the truth.”

  “Funny, you didn’t mention aliens the night of the explosion,” Mother said.

  “We were worried you wouldn’t believe us,” I replied, making myself entirely complicit in the alien scheme.

  Father snorted. “That was a reasonable worry.”

  “Listen.” Gram raised a ring-clad finger and pointed at us. “I don’t know what your endgame is, but last night half the town showed up to talk aliens. I raked in more cash than I have in a year. So keep it up.”

  “Mom!” Mother gasped.

  “Miriam,” Father said, with only a bit more dignity. “We don’t want to encourage this.”

  “Oh, get over it,” Gram replied, waving her hand at my parents. “It’s high time this town had something interesting happen.”

  I glanced at my brother. He couldn’t suppress his grin.

  To-Do List: Sunday Sept. 10

  Gideon:

  • Continue research

  • Ready supply list

  • Travel to Pittsburgh to procure supplies

  • Meet with Cass and go over plan

  • Create online identity to post comment on Adam Frykowski’s blog

  • Lay out strategy for coming weeks

  Ishmael:

  • Hang out with friends and spread the word about recent close encounter

  Interviews

  Subject #7, Jane Hofstadt (Mother): Looking back, yes, I see that Vic and I made mistakes. Maybe we didn’t adequately prepare our kids for the world. Gideon especially had too insular a life, I think. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You did. In hindsight, allowing their alien hoax to continue was ultimately the wrong choice. But the boys were teenagers. We wanted to teach them consequences, that they wouldn’t always have their parents to step in. We never imagined it would get so out of hand.

  Subject #1, Ishmael Hofstadt: Dude. I’m plenty prepared for the world.

  Event: The myTality™ Seminar

  Date: Sept. 10 (Sun.)

  Mother thought she was sneaky. We were nearly to Pittsburgh when she said, “Why don’t you attend the seminar with me, and we’ll get your supplies after?”

  I liked nothing about that suggestion.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “I know how you feel about myTality,” Mother said, glancing at me instead of focusing on the road. Perhaps I’d feel more comfortable getting my license if I wasn’t convinced 67 percent of drivers had a death wish. “But if you gave it a chance, I think you’d change your mind.”

  “I don’t think I would.”

  “It would mean a lot to me,” she tried. “I’d like you to hear Oz speak. He’s inspirational. And who knows when you might have the opportunity again.”

  With any luck, never. Granted, I didn’t know much about J. Quincy Oswald, but he was the leader of an MLM (MLM: multi-level marketing. Essentially, a kinder name for a pyramid scheme.), and that was enough for me.

  “Mother,” I said. “Please don’t make me do this.”

  “I’m not trying to punish you. Nothing in this wo
rld is more important to me than the health of my children. And myTality offers a range of products to ensure that your health is stable long into the future.”

  That last bit was taken word for word from one of the myTality™ pamphlets she’d left lying around the house.

  “I’d really prefer if you dropped me off at the store.”

  Mother took a deep breath. She reached up and patted her hair, which I noticed she’d taken extra care with this morning.

  “Gideon, I’m worried about you. It’s not healthy for someone to spend all day holed up in a lab. You probably have a vitamin D deficiency.”

  “Surely there’s a myTality bar that can fix that,” I said dryly.

  She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “And I’m worried about your future.”

  “My future?” I gaped at her. “I’m at the top of my class. I’m going to MIT.”

  Except I wasn’t quite at the top of my class anymore, and I’d frequently been skipping the extracurriculars that would pad my MIT application. Anxiety fluttered in my chest, but I pushed my worries away. If the hoax went according to plan and I wrote a groundbreaking sociological paper, a slightly lower GPA wouldn’t matter.

  “There’s more to life than academics,” Mother said.

  “Well, I also don’t drink alcohol, do drugs, have unprotected sex, or engage in any other risky behavior. I’d say I have a brighter future than most people I know.”

  Mother shook her head. “This is exactly what I mean. Listen to your arrogance. It gets worse every year. And now you’re wrapped up in this scheme with your brother…”

  “There’s no scheme.”

  “When you were little,” she went on, “and your dad and I decided to leave the church, I thought we were doing what was best for you kids.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I thought you left because Father García disliked you trying to turn parish events into business ventures.”

  “There was a time when the Catholics would have appreciated that,” Mother said with a scowl. “Father García should get off his high horse.”

  “What’s the point of all this?” I asked.

  “The point is that the older you get, the more I see that you’re in need of spiritual guidance. I think myTality could offer that to you. It’s so much more than health products.”