Page 82 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
The girl jumps at his tone and I roll my eyes. I reach out and touch her arm, redirecting her attention. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I ask.
She narrows her eyes at Brian in one of the best annoyed teenager looks I’ve ever seen before answering me. “You basicallysavedNASA. I want to work there too. Maybe I could work in the payload division. I’ve read that they help organize all the experiments that astronauts conduct in space. I’ve been getting really good grades in all my science classes, and I read that you did too. I’m not so great at math, but my parents said they’d get me a tutor so I can take some AP classes. I’ve also been going to Space Camp every summer at Space Center Houston and I’m hoping to go to the more in-depth one in Alabama next year. I’m even thinking of going into the Air Force so that I can be a pilot. NASA loves military experience, don’t they?” She’s slightly out of breath after speaking.
My smile is wide and genuine for the first time since leaving Flynn’s place. It always makes me happy seeing young women interested in space exploration. “That’s really great. NASA performs some pretty amazing experiments in space. We’re always looking for new things to test and people to test them. And it’s true that in the past most all astronauts had a military background, but that isn’t always the case now. Engineers, scientists and even teachers have become astronauts.” I glance back at her family, who are all smiling in our direction. “What’s your name?”
“Myname?” The girl’s eyes widen, and for a moment I think she’s forgotten her own name. “Megan!” she shouts, winces, then repeats herself more softly. She yanks Brian’s Sharpie from his hand and thrusts it and a napkin at me. “Can you sign this?”
“Hey!” Brian protests.
“Of course.” I speak over him and scribble on the napkin.
Megan reads it aloud, “What would you attempt to accomplish if you knew you could not fail? Jackie Darling Lee.”
I smile. “I’m not quite that philosophical. The quote is usually attributed to Robert Schuller, an American pastor who used it in inspirational sermons and books. Somehow NASA acquired it, and I must say itdoesfit.”
“Awesome.” Megan holds the napkin with both hands. “Thanks, Dr. Lee.”
I slide the marker over the table toward Brian. “Call me Jackie. I’m sure you will sooner or later when you’re working at NASA alongside me.”
I’m not prepared when she launches herself at me, but my arms automatically go around her and tighten a moment before she straightens, waves and heads back to her table. An older woman, probably her mother, nods at me with a smile.
“Can you believe that loser?” Brian laughs, jerking a thumb in her direction. “Isn’t she going to feel like a dumbass when she realizes she missed the opportunity to get my autograph? I mean, seriously, what couldyoursignature be worth?” He tosses some food in his mouth with his chopsticks while I contemplate taking them from his hand and stabbing him in the throat.
Unaware of my homicidal thoughts, Brian continues, “But this could work to our advantage. When you go with me to these things, you can get the nerd vote and I can get the cool vote. People love that shit. We’ll be at the top of Houston’s high society in no time. Probably Hollywood too.” He swallows. “Doesn’t hurt that you know people like Rose West, either.”
“Wait. How do you know that I know Rose?”
“You’re in a lot of her Instagram shots lately. That’s how I figured out you were here.” He stabs another piece of fish with his chopsticks. “Couldn’t believeyouknew a West.” The fish falls off the wooden spear. Honestly, he should just use a fork.
“What do you mean, ‘a West’?” And why is he following Rose’s Instagram?
The waiter interrupts before he can answer, asking if everything is okay. Ignoring, or simply not caring, that I haven’t touched my plate, Brian nods and waves the guy away. He keeps talking, even as he shovels in the food. About how the Wests are a well-known, old family name in Houston. Then he’s rambling on about publicity photos, endorsements and how the two of us could garner thousands just for making appearances at parties. I don’t bother telling him that as a government employee I can’t accept money for those sorts of things. Or ask him any of the many follow-up questions I have about his interest in the Wests. I don’t bother saying anything. I figure the more I talk or ask, the longer this will take.
Instead, I wonder at my eighteen-year-old self. Had I been that naïve? Had I not known what kind of douchebag he was? Maybe it was because he’d been the first guy who showed me that kind of attention. But that train of thought dies as I flip through my memories like a slide show. Brian was the first guy I’dletshow me that kind of attention. I might not have been popular, being the youngest kid in high school and college, but if I’m honest with myself, I’d had other opportunities. I’d just been more interested in school than boys. Brian had probably gotten through to me because he’d been driven by a bet, an ulterior motive making him unwilling to back down. But Flynn...
Flynn had gotten through because he’d been the first man whom I’d deemed worthy of my brain time. Instead of my head always being full of cosmos, probabilities and mathematical angles, I’d taken time to think of him. Of his smile, his laugh, his hands. The way he seemed to love my glasses, my body, but best of all, my mind. He’s the one guy I hadn’t resented for taking up space in my thought process. Thoughts of him make me just as happy as thoughts of science. Happier, even.
It’s quite a jolt to my senses when I come back in focus and see Brian on the other side of the table. Why am I even here? I’m so beyond this, beyondhimand the feelings of inadequacy I used to let him fill me with. I rise from my seat, intent on leaving, when Brian’s hand grips my arm.
“Whoa, where are you going? Didn’t you hear what I said? We could make some serious money if we—”
“Stop talking.” I try to shake off his arm.
“Excuse me?” His hand tightens and I wince.
“I said stop talking.” I yank on my arm, not caring about the bruises that are sure to appear later. “And let go of me.” But his hand just clamps down harder and he uses brute strength to shove me back in the chair.
“I wasn’t done talking. And no one tells me to shut up.” He’s pointing a finger in my face. I don’t like that. I don’t like any of this.
In a few seconds I calculate the probable angles and necessary torque needed.
“Jesus, you’re not even listening to me, are you? I’ve always hated when you space out. I’d hoped you’d outgrown such sh—”
I grab his finger and apply the correct amount of pressure at a forward angle, which immobilizes Brian while not actually breaking bone. Although I’ve calculated for that too, if he tries anything. His mouth drops open and his complexion pales.
Slowly, I rise from my seat, making sure to keep the necessary angle to ensure Brian’s physical cooperation. When he tries to swing his other arm in my direction, I simply apply more pressure. He yelps.
“Don’t even try it,” I tell him.
