Orpheus V Launch
Cape Canaveral, Florida—Eight Months Later
T-minus three minutes to launch.
“I don’t know what to do with my hands,” I say. “What do I do with them?”
It was an actual question, but no one’s answering me. This is a surreal experience. I’m no stranger to being on camera—it’s kind of my thing. But that’s when it was on my phone. Now, I’ve got a real camera pointed at me. And a whole production team to edit the video. Oh, and the multimillion Teen Vogue LIVE followers to please.
I adjust the microphone attached to my face and wipe the sweat off my hands and onto my chambray shirt. It’s a mild spring morning, meaning it’s like eighty (mild for a Texan, at least), but my hands are ice right now.
“Three, two, one,” the camera guy says, “and you’re on.”
“I’m standing here in Cape Canaveral, Florida, and if you can’t tell by the giant rocket behind me, we are in for a spacecraft launch today. The Orpheus V launch is happening in—how long?—two minutes. Astronauts Grace Tucker, Amira Saraya, Stephanie Jonasson, Dr. Guarav Jeswani, Joseph Sedgwick, and Lloyd Osborne are in the craft, and they won’t be touching Earth’s soil again for 582 days. That’s almost two full years in space and on Mars. It’s getting loud here as we approach launch, so we’re going to switch feeds and wait for blastoff.”
One camera stays on me, but I turn to look at the spacecraft. There are three distinct parts: the Martian module, which will transport the full crew from orbit to the surface of Mars; the thrusters that get the spaceship out of Earth’s orbit and then break away shortly after; and the command module, which houses the crew for nearly two years in space. We’re so far away, but the rumble of the engine still rocks the ground under our feet. The families, alternate astronauts, and special guests all sit in stands to my right, but a thin rope separates me from the rest. I’m in the press zone.
And I have a badge to prove it that says Cal Lewis, Teen Vogue.
A few weeks after the broadcast that helped save the Orpheus mission aired, an editor from Condé Nast contacted me. As it turned out, Kiara actually passed my information along to her, with a recommendation. The editor said she wanted me to help with their new live programming. Which means instead of working in fast food or retail like all my new friends at school, I can technically say I’m a real-life reporter. Cue the surrealness again.
I scan the crowd, but I still don’t see him. The families of the Orpheus V astronauts have been in and out of interviews and briefings all day. Finally, I spot Kat, who’s leaning into her dad. Tears brim her eyes. But where is he?
I get a text: “I know you’re a little busy, but can I send you something?”
I look around for Leon, wondering where he’s texting from, and I’m starting to get worried. I send back a quick “okay?” and wait. Immediately, like he was just waiting for my response, he sends over an image. It’s a screenshot. When I expand the image, I see that it’s the University of Texas site, with an acceptance letter. I got my acceptance months ago, because I’m on top of my shit, but he never even told me he applied.
He said he would make a decision and apply somewhere if and when he was ready, and I told him I would support him no matter what.
I’m not done here. I’m staying in Texas for a lot of reasons. For one, the UT at Austin journalism school is one of the best in the country. But with Dad’s mission slated for two summers from now, I don’t want to leave. I want to be here for all the highs and lows of training—not, exactly, here … but close enough that I can get here if anything exciting is happening. I want to be close to the astronaut families and still attend parties. I’ll end up back in New York eventually, but for now, I’m okay in Texas.
Hell, I’m happy in Texas.
A warm hand is on my back. I jump at the touch.
“Leon,” I say. “You … aren’t allowed here, babe.”
“I don’t think they can kick me out. Benefit of being an Astrokid on launch day is everyone treats you like you’re super fragile.”
Like we’ve done thousands of times in the past nine months, we kiss. We kiss with all the highs and lows of a relationship behind us, and in front of us too. I don’t know what the future brings, but I don’t care as long as I’m here. Here, with him.
“You got into Texas?” I ask. “You didn’t even tell me you applied.”
“Was going for the surprise factor. Or … being sneaky in case I didn’t make it in.”
I put my palm on his shoulder. “You have better grades than me.”
“I’m not famous.”
He’s got a point there. Starting a new school for your senior year is a strange experience. I tried to stay in the background, finish my studies, make a few new friends, and see Leon and Kat every chance I got. But everyone kind of knew me already. If they weren’t following me on Flash, they’d heard of me thanks to the NASA-saving video. Whether people were intimidated or they thought I was too full of myself, they left me alone. And I put my head down and worked toward the only things I really cared about: becoming a real journo and spending time with Leon.
“Should you get back to your dad?” I ask.
“I’d like to stay here, if you don’t mind.”
I don’t. And he’s right—none of the journalists are going to kick him out of here. Even the Teen Vogue cameraman squats low to get us both in the shot.
The countdown starts. It trails from fifty seconds to forty to thirty, then down one by one until we get to the last ten seconds. The rumble of the engine gets louder. Deafening. But I can’t cover my ears or my eyes. I hold my breath, and Leon clutches my hand. He squeezes hard, and I squeeze back.
“I love you,” I shout into his ear.
The earth shakes underneath us, and Leon loses his footing. He leans into me, and I hold him steady.
The spacecraft rises, slowly at first, steadily getting higher in the air, until it shrinks to a small but vibrant light piercing through the already bright sky. I close my eyes and force myself to remember this moment. To capture the hope, the dreams, the happiness.
I bring Leon’s hand to my lips and give him a light kiss. And we enter a new era.