“Yeah, but not this quality.”
Three other boys had gathered at their table in the empty classroom, their lunches in their laps. Each had a folder with their own pictures and their own CDs filled with images. “I’ll trade for it,” said one. He wore a t-shirt that read, IF I WERE AN ALIEN, I WOULDN’T TALK TO US EITHER.
Slade hardly looked at him. Dustin knew that Slade had already taken every image of interest from the boy already. The only other person in the school with anything that might appeal to Slade was Dustin.
“I’ve never taken a close up of an object smaller than a star. You’re like a small astral object genius. How are you finding them?”
Dustin thought about the hours of punching the send command, the boxes of batteries, the long stretches of useless images that made him wonder if his monitor still worked, the quiet creak of the door behind him that told him either Mom or Dad was checking up. He would hunch closer to the screen and pretend he hadn’t heard. Dad had told him once, when he was much younger, “Accept the things you can’t change and change the things you can.” He couldn’t get them to talk, but he could take pictures of the stars, so he pressed the send button again and again.
“I keep trying,” he said.
“Where’s this one from?” Slade put his finger on the violet planet from last night.
“Bellatrix. I like the named objects. Tonight I thought I’d go for stars in Pisces. Maybe Torcularis Septentrionali.”
“Too small. Too far away.”
Dustin put the planet’s image back into his stack. “I got this one, didn’t I? Persistence pays.”
A dark-haired girl with hair hanging over her eyes opened the door into the classroom, filling it with hallway sound. Another girl stood behind her, her eyes just as hidden. “Oh,” dark-haired said, “I thought this room was empty at lunch.” Dustin turned in his chair so he could see her better, his images in hand. She said, “Ewww, it’s the star geeks. Weren’t you guys doing role-playing games last year?” The two girls laughed as the door shut.
After school Dustin reluctantly put aside the romantically named stars he’d concentrated on for the last months: Dubhe, Alphard, Shedir and others (Their names made him think of an old Sunday school tale about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. The idea of their names and stars and fiery furnaces had mixed in his head ever since.), and instead turned to G, F and K class stars, all which possibly could support life if they had planets the proper distance away. Numbers and letters labeled them. Sunlight through the window warmed his desktop, and he thought about drawing the curtain, but the heat felt good on his hands and arms.
The Peek-a-boo database contained over two million celestial objects. He picked a G-class star randomly, set the coordinates and punched the send button. The Peek-a-boo rested on its display base by his keyboard, a bit of dust marking its smooth curve. It didn’t twitch, but within seconds a few pinpricks of light showed on the monitor. “Thank you for participating,” said the popup message. He sent the Peek-a-boo again. A completely empty image this time. He rested his chin on his forearm, pressed the send button over and over. Eventually the sun slipped below the horizon, and for a while the maple tree stood as a shadow against the sunset sky. But the tree faded away, and only the early evening stars were visible. Vega and Altair shone brightly high on the window.
He thought about the Earth’s orbit. If an Earth-like planet circled this star (which he hadn’t even seen yet—it was possible the Peek-a-boo was missing it by dozens of light years), then it was like trying to find a dime on a high school track in the dark. He pressed the send again.
Downstairs, the front door opened. Dustin didn’t stir. It would be his mother. She came home first. Her keys clattered into the bowl on the table by the coat closet. Her steps creaked on the squeaky third and seventh stair. Without looking, he knew when she stopped in the hallway behind him.
“Hi, Mom. You’re home late.”
“Did your father call to check on you?”
“No.”
“It was his turn.”
Dustin turned in his chair. Mom’s hand rested on the door’s frame. Everything about her, her hair, her make-up, the tidy lines of her blue pantsuit, was realtor neat. Her matching blue purse dangled from the crook of her elbow.
“Did you sell a house?”
“He’s supposed to check up on you today. That’s the agreement.”
“It’s no big deal.” Dustin squeezed the back of his chair. His knuckles ached. “Maybe he did call, and I missed it. I’ve been on the computer.”
The rumble of Dad’s engine filled the driveway. Then, the click of his car opening and closing. Mom looked panicked for a moment, before coming into the room. She sat on the edge of Dustin’s bed, her purse in her lap.
“What are you working on?” She glanced at the door.
“It’s a new star,” said Dustin. “I haven’t tried to find it before.” On the screen, the popup said, “New object! You have contributed to man’s knowledge of the universe.” Heart thumping, he cleared the message, and behind it, dead center, glowed a white disk the size of a silver dollar. “I got it,” he said.
“That’s a star?” She sounded doubtful.
“A new one, or at least I’ve taken a picture that no one else has. That’s what the message meant. Look, I can manipulate it.” He clicked on the “effects” choice in the toolbar and chose “eclipse.” The disk blinked out, but the star’s corona remained, a bright ring of light marked by a small flare on the lower right side. “This star is a lot like the sun.”
“It probably is the sun,” said Dad.
Mom flinched.
“I hope your grades aren’t suffering because of this game.” He walked past Mom without looking at her, then said to Dustin, “I brought Chinese if you’re hungry.”
Dustin saved the image, nudged the coordinates and sent the Peek-a-boo out again.
Dad picked up the Peek-a-boo, and flipped it from one hand to the other. “There’s a guy in my office who brought one of these to work.” Dustin rose partway from the chair, then forced himself back.
“They’re a little fragile.”
“They caught the guy playing with it during work hours.” Dad tossed the sphere to Dustin. He caught it with both hands, cushioning it, before putting it back on its stand. Dad said, “They fired him. Good career shot because of a kid’s toy, but I figured he wouldn’t last anyways. Talked about Star Trek episodes like they were Shakespeare. Idiot.”
Mom said, “I’ll fix something for myself later, if you want to eat, Dustin.” Dad closed his eyes for a second. She stood, then walked stiffly out of the room. Dustin wanted to ask her to stay, but he didn’t speak. The two of them together were like split-screen videos: both animate and responding, although not to each other.
“You’re not sending these Peek-a-boo people any money, are you?”
“Dad, there’s just the connect charge, and I pay for that.”
“With allowance money I give you. No one can prove the images you are taking are of anything, son. There’s an article in today’s Newsweek that shows it’s a fake. Why don’t you just get involved in online games like a normal kid?”