31

Principal Lochner smiles and adjusts his tie—the same one that he wore on the last day of school.

“Where were we?” he jokes. “I think we had just finished the slideshow.”

You can feel the whole school roll its eyes so hard that the ship might flip over.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I know we’ve all been through a lot. And the last thing you probably want is an assembly.”

Actually, I don’t mind. We’ve been waiting two whole days for the teachers to talk to us about what we’re going to do next, and I’m more than ready for an update. Though I do mind that we’re sitting in the cafeteria of our mostly-destroyed schoolship when we could be having this meeting ANYWHERE ON THE ENTIRE PLANET. We could at least take a field trip ten minutes away to New York City, right? Empire State Building. Coney Island. Do you know how badly I want to go to the beach?

Instead the teachers put out the usual folding chairs and are having us sit by grade in our broken-down ship, still hammered into the streets of Newark, New Jersey, where we crashed. I’m in the front row with Becka and Ari. Becka never would’ve sat with us before all this happened, but now it feels totally natural.

“We’ve given you some time to rest up and absorb our . . . situation,” Principal Lochner says. “But all of us—we’re important. Too important to sit on our hands any longer.”

Out of nowhere, one of the last remaining roof tiles falls and hits the floor a foot away from him.

“So where is everyone?” one of the fifth graders yells from the back. Antonio, I think.

“We don’t know,” Principal Lochner answers honestly. “And please raise your hand if you have a question.”

“Seriously?” Antonio snaps back.

Principal Lochner gives his classic eyebrow raise and I turn around to glance at Antonio. He grunts and raises his hand.

“Yes, Antonio?” Principal Lochner calls.

“Um, seriously?” he asks again.

“Thank you,” Lochner says firmly. “And yes, seriously. Just because we’ve hit some . . . bumps in the road doesn’t mean that we can’t stay civilized. And as I was saying, we’ve rested long enough. It’s time for a plan.”

I look sideways at Ari and Becka. We’re back to being plain old kids, just along for the ride. It’s a serious relief. Once we explained everything, Principal Lochner decided not to punish us for all the trouble we caused. “You three have managed to do things that I don’t think most adults could have done,” he told us yesterday. “And you showed bravery in the face of real danger, when some of us would have given up.” He paused. “When some of us did give up.”

After all the times I was sent to the principal’s office this year, it felt weird to sit across from him and get complimented. But I guess the mistakes the Grahams have made don’t have to be the full story here. Technically, we did save the 118 from the Quarantine, even if we messed up a lot along the way.

And our classmates don’t seem to hate us either. If anything, we’ve gained popularity points. Even me.

In fact, just before the assembly, Riya Windsor came over to me to say that she was sorry about my dad. That she knew the last few months had been hard for me and that it hadn’t really been fair. Which was pretty cool.

“So here’s the situation,” Principal Lochner explains. “They’re out there, somewhere. Likely teleported far away by an Elvidian process called the Quarantine. And as the only ones who are still free, we have a responsibility to search for our friends and families and the whole human race. It’s our job to bring them home.”

The teachers and crew are standing in a line next to Principal Lochner. Most of them—except the ever-unimpressed Mrs. Watts—are nodding like they’re listening to the president give some important speech. And I have to admit, Principal Lochner’s really stepped up to the plate. The teachers aren’t the ideal rescue party for the entire human race. But if three kids and a hamster can pull off what we did, there’s no telling what the whole school—together—is capable of.

“To do that,” he continues, “we need a ship. We need this ship.”

Half the room groans.

“DON’T ALL CHEER AT ONCE,” the ship says. The AI’s fully back online, even if most of the rest of it isn’t.

Most of our classmates were hoping that we’d ditch the 118 and find some other ship to fly, like a military carrier or maybe a luxury cruise liner. Something with a waterslide.

But I knew that Principal Lochner would make this choice.

“The 118 is the only ship we have that can travel faster than light. Which means that, step one, we need to repair it. When the assembly is over, you’ll all get your work assignments. Small groups of students will be paired with a teacher and given a system to work on. Life support. Hull integrity. School components. Engineeri—”

“Wait.” Antonio again.

Principal Lochner puts his hands on his waist. “Yes?” he asks, after Antonio remembers to raise his hand.

“School components? Like . . . the classrooms and stuff?”

“Exactly.”

“But what for? Don’t we have better things to do?”

“We have a crucial mission. True. But that doesn’t diminish the importance of your education. In fact, it makes it even more important. It’s summer right now, so we’ll give you a break. But if our search takes a long time—and it might—school will start in the fall like it always does. The fifth graders will start sixth grade, the sixth graders will start seventh, and the seventh graders—even though the 118 technically only goes up through seventh—they’ll start eighth. In fact, Mr. Cardegna is already hard at work planning the curriculum for eighth grade English Lit.”

“Summer reading lists by the end of the week!” Mr. Cardegna announces.

More groans. But I don’t know—I wouldn’t mind a little “normal” in my life.

“We’ll figure out the details as we go along,” Principal Lochner tells us. “But I also wanted to say that you’ve all been incredible. I couldn’t be prouder. We’ve got the best school in the solar system. And when we bring everyone back—not if, but when—they’re going know it too.”

“St. Andrew’s Prep sucks!” Ming yells from the row behind me.

Everyone starts laughing and wooing. Even Principal Lochner lets out a chuckle.

“Settle down, settle down.” He waits a beat. “But go Champions!”

And it’s weird, considering how much has gone wrong, but that gets the room cheering louder than we’ve ever cheered for ourselves before.

I feel Ari take a deep breath and exhale. I look over at him. Things are good with us now. I’m really going to try to be a better friend. Hopefully, it doesn’t take a second unimaginable alien conspiracy to keep me focused on what’s really important.

Principal Lochner raises his hands up in the air to quiet us down again.

“Seriously, though,” he says. “This isn’t going to be easy. But I know we can do this. We can bring everyone home. We can save the world.”

“No we can’t!” someone shouts. Hunter LaFleur. Obviously. “We’re just a bunch of kids. You’re only teachers. This is a school. How can we possibly save the world?”

The room goes suddenly silent again, like we’re all holding our breath. But Principal Lochner is undeterred. “Aliens or no aliens, there’s no such thing as just kids. No such thing as only teachers. Schools are where we make the future. There’s nothing we can’t accomplish. So I have to ask, are you with me?”

He lets the question hang out there, dangling over us. It’s a little awkward and a little forced—and, at first, it goes unanswered.

“I’m gonna ask again,” he says louder, like he’s trying to get us excited for a homecoming game. “Are. You. With. Me?”

“Yeah!” Becka shouts. Ari and I echo her. We owe Principal Lochner that much, at least.

“Are you with me?”

“FINE,” the ship mutters. But more kids join in now. The teachers too: “Yeah!”

“Are you with me?”

“Yeah!”

The room shakes and he nods, grinning from ear to ear. And maybe he’s right. Maybe we really can do this. Bring everyone home. Save the world.

“Okay,” he says. “Then let’s get started.”