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ASTRONAUT ICE CREAM
“MR. WATERMAN’S ON his way up,” Carla says from the doorway. I’m finally putting
the finishing touches on my model for architecture class. I’ve had to cut short two nights
of IMs with Olly to get it done. I don’t want my mom to get worried again. The
assignment was to design an outdoor shopping/dining center in my favorite style. I chose
art deco because the buildings look like they’re flying even though they’re standing still.
The centerpiece of the complex is a grassy outdoor seating area populated with
oversized, oddly shaped chairs painted in bright zigzag patterns. I’ve already “planted”
miniature plastic palm trees in the grass, and now I’m strategically placing miniature
plastic people holding miniature plastic shopping bags to give it the “vigor of life,” as Mr.
Waterman would say.
In two years of tutoring I’ve only met Mr. Waterman in person twice. Usually all of my
tutoring, including architecture, takes place via Skype. My mom made a special exception
this week. I think she’s still feeling bad about Kara and Olly’s visit from a couple of weeks
ago. I told her she had nothing to feel bad about, but she insisted. Having a visitor is a big
deal because they have to agree to a medical background check and a thorough physical.
Also they have to be decontaminated, which is basically like getting a high-speed air bath
for about an hour. It’s a pain to come see me.
Mr. Waterman bustles in looking merry but harried, like Santa Claus on Christmas Eve
just before the big ride. The decontamination process makes him cold, so he’s rubbing his
hands together and blowing on them for warmth.
“Madeline,” he says happily, clapping his hands together. He’s my favorite of all my
tutors. He never looks at me pityingly and he loves architecture like I love architecture. If
I were going to be something when I grew up, an architect is what I would be.
“Hi, Mr. Waterman.” I smile awkwardly, not really knowing how to be around someone
who’s not Carla or my mother.
“So what have we got here?” he asks, gray eyes twinkling. I place my last two tiny
shoppers next to a toy store and stand back.
He circles the model sometimes beaming, sometimes frowning, all the while making
weird clucking sounds.
“Well, dear, you’ve outdone yourself. This is quite lovely!” He straightens from the
model and is about to pat me on the shoulder before he catches himself. No touching
allowed. He shakes his head slightly and then bends over to examine some more.
“Yes, yes, quite lovely. There are only a few things we should talk about. But, first!
Where is our astronaut hiding?”
Whenever I make a new model I make a clay astronaut figure and hide him in it. Each