Instead, Nick decides to jump in and say, “Oh! Jackson put your name in.”
In hindsight, not speaking first was a bad idea. I blow out a breath of air.
The look of shock has resumed its position on Rooney’s face. “Oh…”
“You’re kidding,” Talia says, crossing her arms. Why does she look amused?
“Your installation,” I interrupt in my defense. “What you do. It’s unique.Entangledshowed what you could do with science and art. The literal merging of the two. We thought you could potentially do something interesting with FATE.”
“Well, yes. Fate is at the core of my installation work,” she says, nodding in understanding.
“But also with FATE, the mission,” Nick clarifies.
I dip my head and groan silently.
“Wait. Your mission is named, what, FATE?” Rooney’s eyes sparkle. “No way. Who did that?”
I stuff my hands into my pockets. “I actually named it. It stands for Fuel Atomized Technology Equipment.”
She puts her hands up on her hips and smiles so hard that the constellation on her cheek morphs into a new shape I’ve never seen. I’ve fallen out of the habit of connecting the dots. I have a sinking feeling it’s a habit that will come back without any effort at all.
“You believe in fate,” she asks. “And you made it your mission.”
Rooney is warming up. She feels as familiar as she was that night in the city. It’s unnerving.
I shake my head. “It’s notmymission. It’s myteam’smission.”
“This guy! Team player right here!” she tells the team, pointing at me. Her word choice hits deep. Am I really a team player, though? Feedback in my last performance review would indicate otherwise.
Kenneth, Margie, and Nick all laugh. Talia gives a smile like she’splaying along, but I can tell she’s analyzing me. I don’t like being analyzed.
I check my phone for the time.
Talia grunts. “Oh, good. Glad to see you have a phone in working order. You can communicate with us, like you’re expected to,” she says. This feels loaded somehow.
Rooney nudges her and whispers something.
I attempt to redirect everyone’s attention. “Anyway. We’re looking forward to your time with us,” I say in my most professional tone. “As you can see, we’re in the Mars Yard.”
Rooney looks around, confused. “Where’s the ice?”
I sigh. The pamphlets.
Rooney walks over to a large rock and attempts to lift it. “Those aren’t very heavy,” she says.
I join her and tap the rock with the palm of my hand. “They’re volcanic rock,” I inform her as I bend down to lift a smaller one. “They help create a more accurate environment of the Red Planet.”
I place it back onto the dusty ground, a mix of beach sand, brick dust, volcanic cinders, and decomposed granite. The overall terrain takes on a tint of red. For a moment, if I ignore the houses on the hills and deer-crossing signs and the sounds of cars driving by on the road, I could pretend that I’m on a different planet.
Right now it certainly feels like I’m existing in an alternate world or plane. Like at any moment I might wake up and it will all have been a dream. Just like the way that night in New York felt.
Something catches Rooney’s attention. She kneels to the ground, looking excited.
“I found life! Our job here is done,” she shouts, pointing to a small green weed poking out of the soil. When she lifts her head, her bangs fall across her forehead, accentuating her eyes. It stirs something deep in me that I haven’t felt in six months.
I pluck the weed out of the ground. “We can try to leave this planet, but problems will follow us wherever we go,” I say grimly.
She must think I’m joking because she laughs. It’s the laugh that has accompanied—no, haunted—my dreams for half a year.
