CHAPTER 11

Sally’s Biggest Fan

“I have to go home,” Raining said at about five that afternoon.

“Me too,” said Wilson. “School tomorrow.”

“Oh, right,” Clementine said. “I should write that down.”

Amal sighed. The four of them lay on the soft, bouncy ground of the moon room. The Sally Ride fans had long since left, their bus gone from the parking lot.

“I hope the space suit wasn’t on that bus,” Raining said as he stood up.

The others stood too, and together they headed for the front exit, passing through the space suit collection as they went. Wilson stopped in front of the suits one more time.

“It had to be one of them,” he said. “I mean, all these suits. Whoever took it had to be a Sally Ride fanatic, right?”

“Why else would they not take one of these?” Wilson said.

Amal stepped up to the collection and read the placards one more time. “Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong, Alan Bean, Frank Borman … ,” she said. Suddenly she stopped and grabbed Clementine’s wrist.

“Ow!” Clementine exclaimed. “What?”

“Sorry,” Amal said, bouncing on her toes. “Clementine, is there anything odd about this collection?”

“Sure,” Clementine said, lifting one shoulder like it was no big thing. “There are no women in it.”

“Exactly,” Amal said. “Not a single woman’s space suit in the whole collection.”

“Well,” Raining said, “there haven’t been too many female astronauts, I guess.”

“There have been lots, actually,” Wilson said. He held up his tablet computer and pointed to a list of names. “See?”

“Let me see that,” Amal said, grabbing the tablet.

Clementine looked over her shoulder. “The collection here needs updating,” she said, squinting at the list.

“I agree,” said a voice — a very distinct voice.

The four kids spun, and through the nearest archway, out of the darkness, appeared a familiar figure — Ms. Bocharova. “Such a shame that Ms. Ride’s space suit should be the first woman’s space suit to ever travel through our city,” she said.

“You should talk to my dad about it,” Amal said. “He’d probably listen to you.”

“A good idea!” Ms. Bocharova said. She didn’t have her rolling garbage can with her. In fact she was still in her Sally Ride T-shirt. “The museum is closing in a moment, though, so you kids better find the exit now.”

“What about you?” Clementine said. “Don’t you have to leave too?”

Ms. Bocharova laughed. “Of course not,” she said. “I will start work in twenty minutes. Why bother leaving?”

Amal stepped up to her. “I guess you can be here pretty much whenever you please, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Ms. Bocharova asked.

“You have a key card, right?” Amal said.

The old woman pulled a card on a retractable leash from her belt and held it up. It showed her grim face and her last name. “Of course I do,” she said. “How else can I get into all the rooms to clean up? Very important.”

“How important?” Amal said. “Double-A important?”

Ms. Bocharova laughed and let the key card snap back into place. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, sounding a bit nervous. “Who pays attention to that stuff? You kids better get moving before they lock the front doors.”

“Ms. Bocharova,” Amal pressed. “How long has it been since you went … up there?” She looked up at the ceiling.

“To the second floor?” Clementine said. “What does that matter?”

Ms. Bocharova laughed and sat down on the metal bench in front of the space suit collection. “No, child,” she said. “Not the second floor — space.”

“You’ve been to space?” said Clementine, Wilson, and Raining all at once. Amal wasn’t surprised at all, though.

Ms. Bocharova shook her head. “Not quite, but I was close. The Soviet Union once had a space program to rival that of the United States,” she said. “I was one of the first women to train to go into space — before Sally Ride, even.” She turned to Amal. “How did you figure it out? No one here has ever known about my past.”

“First I realized that the thief might have taken the suit not just because she was a Sally Ride fan,” Amal said, sitting beside her, “but also because it was the only one that would fit her properly.”

Ms. Bocharova nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “But I am also a great fan of Sally Ride, of course.”

“But I still didn’t put it together until Wilson showed me that list of female astronauts and cosmonauts,” Amal continued. “I saw your name.”

“Oh, my,” Ms. Bocharova said. “That vould give it away, vouldn’t it?”

“The only thing I don’t get,” Amal said, “is how you got the space suit out of the history museum and into the underground garage.”

“The garage connects to all the museums,” Ms. Bocharova said, “if you know vhich door to use — and you have Double-A clearance.”

“A collection of secret doors and tunnels connecting all the museums underground,” Wilson said. “That must come in handy.”

“I still don’t get it,” Clementine said. “What difference does it make if it’s a woman’s space suit? It’s not like you’re going up there now, right?”

Ms. Bocharova sighed. “Probably not,” she admitted. “My time has past.”

“Then why? And what are you doing back there with all the clanging and banging?” Raining asked. “Are you building something?”

Ms. Bocharova sighed. “I like you kids very much,” she said. “But you are too smart for your own good. I vanted the space suit for myself. No one appreciates the contributions female astronauts have made — but I do. I planned to add the space suit to my own collection. I vas building a shipping container vith a false bottom to smuggle it out.”

Amal shook her head. “That’s not fair,” she said. “There are people who appreciate the contributions female astronauts have made — people like me. And if you take that space suit, you’re stealing that history from all of us.”

Ms. Bocharova looked ashamed. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I did not think of it like that.” With a groan, she rose to her feet. “I suppose I’d better get the space suit back to its rightful place. Perhaps, if I do, you vill take pity on an old woman vith big dreams and not turn me in.” She gave them a hopeful look.

Amal and her friends all looked at each other. After a moment, they all nodded. “I think that’s fair,” Amal agreed. “But it has to go back tonight.”

“Not yet!” Clementine exclaimed, thrusting her finger into the air. “First you have to try on the suit.”

“Vhatever for?” Ms. Bocharova said, surprised.

“So I can take a photo of you with my phone,” Clementine said. “I finally know just what to put in the foreground of my space-scape!”