At that point, Coriander had stormed up and snarled, “You’d better not have ruined my chances with that little stunt,” and apparently I hadn’t. As we went into the auditorium now, Mr. Fuyijama beamed at her proudly from the stage.
Whoever was announcing the appointment apparently wasn’t there yet. I looked for a seat way in the back in case it was the recruiter, waiting to see where Coriander and her cadre of screeching friends sat before I sat down as far away from them as possible. I stuck my compack next to me to save the seat for Kimkim, who still wasn’t here. She’d messaged confirmation that the assembly was indeed to announce the appointment of a cadet. “At least we won’t have to listen to a speech,” she said.
I wasn’t so sure of that. Mr. Fuyijama was on the stage at the podium, messing with the holopoint controls and saying, “Is this on?” into the microphone. Chelsea Goodrum sat down one row in front of me, squealing into her phone.
“You know it’s going to be you, Coriander! Where are you sitting?” she demanded. Apparently Coriander told her because she began to wave wildly. “Come over here!” she said. “No, there are plenty of seats!”
Oh, frick, I thought, and stood up, but the auditorium was almost full, I couldn’t see two other seats together anywhere except next to Chelsea, and it was too late. Mr. Fuyijama was saying, “Take your seats, students!”
I sat down, hoping Coriander hadn’t had time to move either, but no, here she came with four of her shrieking friends. “This is the most incred thing ever!” Chelsea screamed, hugging her. “You’re going to be a cadet!”
“Take your seats,” Mr. Fuyijama said again, “and please turn your phones off,” a totally unnecessary order since all wireless bands were automatically jammed at the beginning of every assembly.
“It’s starting,” I messaged Kimkim. “Where are you?”
“Denver. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Today we’re here to celebrate a tremendous honor,” Mr. Fuyijama said, “the appointment of a student to the International Space Academy. Winfrey High is extremely proud to have had one of its students chosen for this honor, one of many honors we have had over the years,” and proceeded to name every single one of them. It should have sent everyone to sleep, but the whole auditorium listened intently, except for Coriander’s friends, who were squeezing her arms and whispering excitedly.
“Did I miss anything?” Kimkim messaged me seven hundred and twenty-two honors later.
“No,” I sent back. “Did you know Winfrey High has won the Regional Koi-Growing Contest six years running? Where are you?”
“Over by the west door. I can’t get to you.”
“It’s just as well,” I sent, and told her about Coriander, who was now emitting little whimpers. “At least if you’re by the door, you might be able to escape.”
Unlike the rest of us. Mr. Fuyijama droned on for several more geological ages and then said, “But none of those honors come close to the one we’re here to bestow today. I’d like to welcome Admiral H. V. Washington, deputy chief of staff of the Space Administration.”
There was thunderous applause. “Ohmigod, they sent an admiral!” Coriander squealed.
The admiral came over to the podium. “Every year IASA appoints candidates from all over the American-European Union to the Academy. These students have had to undergo a rigorous four-tiered application-and-interview process and have had to demonstrate the qualities of—”
Oh, no, not you, too, I thought. “Why don’t they just give it to Coriander and put the rest of us out of our misery?” I messaged Kimkim. “Everyone knows it’s her.”
“Not everyone,” she messaged back. “Nearly half the money’s on Matt Sung.”
“What do you mean, nearly half the money? Is there a pool?”
“‘Betting pools are strictly forbidden at Winfrey High School,’” she quoted. “Of course there’s a pool. Do you want to place a last-minute bet?”
“Yes,” I said. “Who else is in the running besides Coriander and Matt? Tomas Rivera?”
“No, he didn’t pass the second-level interview.”
“You’re kidding.” I’d thought Tomas was a shoo-in. He had great grades, great SATs. He’d taken nationals in gymnastics.
“Our cadets, in other words,” the admiral was saying, “are not just the best of the best, but the very best of the best of the best.”
“Some of the sophomores are voting for Renny Nickson,” Kimkim messaged.
“Renny? I thought he wanted a Rhodes.”
“Not if he can get an Academy appointment instead. Nobody would turn down a chance to be a cadet. That’s why the Academy announces its picks before the universities do.”
“And today’s appointment exemplifies that excellence,” the admiral said.
It sounded like he was winding up. If I wanted in the pool, I’d better do it now. “Put me down for Matt,” I said, and then glanced at Coriander. She was squeezing the hands of her friends on either side of her and biting her lip. And if sheer wanting to be a cadet was part of the criteria, she’d win it hands down. She’d been trying to get in ever since first grade. And hadn’t that recruiter said something about determination and devotion? “Wait,” I said. “Change my pick to Coriander.”
“It gives me great pleasure to announce—”
Coriander’s eyes were shut tight and she was murmuring, “Please, please, please…” and squeezing the color out of her friends’ hands.
“—an appointment to the International Space Academy for—” He paused and looked straight at Coriander.
“I told you it was Coriander,” I typed. “Actually, this is a good thing. It means we won’t have to put up with her any—”
“Theodora Baumgarten,” the admiral said.
There was stunned silence, during which I had time to think, I must have heard that wrong, and then, Very funny, and to look around to see who was behind this particular stink bomb.
Coriander shouted, “Theodora Baumgarten?” and I knew he’d really said it.
“Wait,” I said, and the auditorium erupted in excited applause.
Fletcher grabbed my hand and pumped it up and down. “Wow!” he shouted over the clapping. “Congratulations!”
“But—” I tried to look at my phone.
“Oh, creez! Congratulations!” Kimkim’s message read. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d applied?”
“I didn’t,” I murmured, and tried to pull my hand free so I could message her, but Chelsea grabbed it, squeezed it, and then pushed me to the end of the row. “Go on! Get down there! What are you waiting for?”
I looked down at the stage. The admiral was smiling up at me from the stage and applauding, and Mr. Fuyijama was beaming and beckoning to me.
“There’s been some mistake,” I said, but no one was listening. They were patting and hugging me and shoving me down the steps toward the stage. “Can I touch you?” Marla Chang said in an awestruck voice, and Ms. Sionov grabbed me and kissed me. “You’ve always been my favorite student!” she cried.
“No, Ms. Sionov, you don’t understand,” I said, and then I was on the stage and Mr. Fuyijama was pumping my hand.
“Mr. Fuyijama, there’s been a mistake—”
“I can’t tell you how proud Winfrey High is of you!” he beamed, and pushed me at the admiral, who saluted and handed me a certificate.
I read it, hoping he’d just read the name wrong, but there it was in official-looking print, “Theodora Jane Baumgarten.” This can’t be happening to me, I thought. “This isn’t mine,” I said and tried to hand the appointment back to him.