CHAPTER 9

What Are We Missing?

All day Sunday, Amal did her best to think about anything other than weird noises in back hallways and Sally Ride space suits. But on Monday morning, when she accompanied her father to the museum, the mysteries confronted her almost immediately.

“Oh, great,” Amal muttered to herself as the morning security guard opened the side door for her and her father.

Gathered in a loud, agitated group were dozens of women in Sally Ride T-shirts.

“I guess they heard that we have a pretty decent Ride collection right here,” her father said proudly as they went inside.

“I heard they were leaving on Saturday night,” Amal said.

“Where’d you hear that?” her father asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t remember.” She couldn’t tell him she interrogated the bus driver, after all.

Amal followed her dad as far as the MUSEUM EMPLOYEES ONLY door. “Dad, I’m going to call my friends,” she said. “You go ahead.”

“All right,” said her father. “You know where to find me if you need me for anything.”

“Right-o,” Amal said. She waited a moment, until her dad was well behind the door, and then dialed Clementine.

“Morning!” Clementine answered cheerfully.

“You have to come down here right away,” Amal said. “The Sally Ride fans are here.”

“Here?” Clementine repeated. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the Air and Space Museum,” Amal said. “Obviously. Where are you?”

“I’m locking my bike up at school,” Clementine said. “Class starts in like five minutes! Shouldn’t you get down here too?”

Amal rolled her eyes. She adored Clementine. But sometimes …

“Is it kind of quiet down there?” Amal said.

Clementine was silent for a moment. “I guess,” she said. “Oh no, am I late? Is everyone inside already?”

“Clementine,” Amal said, “there’s no school today. It’s a holiday.”

“It is?” Clementine said. “Wow, that explains why the bus never came.”

Amal shook her head. “I’m going to call the others. Come down here, okay?”

Anyone else would have felt pretty silly. Maybe embarrassed. Maybe angry. But not Clementine. Her voice was as bright as a mirror in the sunshine when she said, “I’ll be right there!”

Next Amal called Raining and Wilson — they were both at home with nothing better to do — then headed to the front desk. She found Kenny, the newest member of the staff, getting ready to open the ticket counter.

“Hi, Amal,” Kenny said, nearly as cheerful as Clementine. He’d only been with the museum for a short time, but Amal liked him already. He was always friendly to her, and he remembered her name right away. That almost never happened.

“Hi, Kenny,” Amal said. “What’s with the group at the doors waiting to get in?”

Kenny glanced at the T-shirt-clad fan club. “I guess they’re a bunch of Sally Ride fans,” he said. “You know who she is?”

Amal rolled her eyes. “Of course I do!”

Kenny shrugged. “I had no idea,” he admitted. “But apparently we have a bunch of stuff about her here at the museum, and they’re here to see it.”

“I saw them at the American History Museum on Saturday,” Amal said.

Kenny nodded and frowned. “Their guide told me,” he said. “They had to rework the itinerary for their trip to make the time to come over here after the disappointment over there.”

That explains why they’re still in town, Amal thought. I guess Dad was right.

“Well, time to unlock the doors,” Kenny said, rising from his stool. “See you around, Amal.”

Amal nodded and leaned against the ticket counter. As Kenny unlocked the glass doors, she watched the group of Sally Ride fans outside. They were all on their toes, any depression and disappointment gone from their midst. As soon as the door was open, the Ride fans walked in, pressed together, each of them vying for the chance to be the first to reach the collection of Sally Ride artifacts.

The mob of red, white, and blue T-shirts moved through the lobby. Their guide, a tall woman wearing the same T-shirt plus a bright white baseball cap, headed through the first archway, from which visitors could go anywhere in the museum.

“This way!” the guide chirped back at the group. They trailed after her like a flock of ducklings following their mother.

“Amal!” Clementine called as she ran into the lobby. Raining and Wilson were right behind her. “Did you see who was with the group?”

Amal shook her head.

“Ms. Bocharova!” Clementine exclaimed. “The cleaning lady!”

Amal turned to look and caught a glimpse of the old Russian woman as the Ride fans disappeared through the archway. She ran after her and caught her at the next corner.

“Hello,” Ms. Bocharova said. “Why do I keep running into you?”

“What are you doing with the tour?” Amal asked, ignoring Ms. Bocharova’s question. “Were you at the American History Museum last week too?”

“Why shouldn’t I be with the tour?” Ms. Bocharova said.

“Um, because you live in this city,” Amal said. “And you work in this museum? Why would you need a tour?”

“I didn’t ride the bus with them, child,” Ms. Bocharova said. “But I am a member of the Sally Ride fan club. In fact, I’m the local chapter president.”

“Huh,” said Amal.

“You are so surprised?” Ms. Bocharova said. “Sally Ride was an inspiration for many women in the sciences, including me.”

“Including you?” Amal said. “But —”

“But nothing,” Ms. Bocharova cut her off. “I must go. You’ve made me lose the tour. I will catch up. Goodbye.” She hurried off down the wide, white corridor toward the History of NASA exhibit, leaving Amal alone in the hall.

Her friends joined her a moment later.

“I don’t get it,” Amal said after she’d told the others everything the Russian woman had said. “She said ‘women in the sciences.’ But she’s a janitor at a museum. That doesn’t count as ‘in the sciences.’ What are we missing?”