Sex on the Moon by Ben Mezrich

hold out her hand. When she did, he placed a small glass vial in her outstretched palm.
    “This is what we call a calcareous meteorite. It’s the lowest-density meteor we’ve ever found. They usually break all the way up when they come into the atmosphere, but this little piece survived the journey.”
    “This is amazing,” Sonya exclaimed. “This isn’t from the moon, is it?”
    “No,” Gibson said. “Moon rocks are a little too valuable to give away. Even for scientists like me to get a lunar sample, you have to go through numerous steps. You conceive an experiment, you write a research proposal, it goes through peer review by non-NASA scientists—there’s a checks-and-balances system. Because all the moon rocks we’ve got came from those six Apollo missions. There aren’t any more, and there aren’t going to be any more. It wouldn’t even be legal for me to own a moon rock. The ones I have in my safe, I’ve acquired over thirty years of research proposals, and when I retire, they’ll go right back to the lunar vault.”
    “But this meteorite?” Sonya asked.
    “That’s a gift to you guys.”
    Sonya looked like she wanted to give the man a hug. Thad felt himself swell with pride, even though he had nothing to do with the gift.
    Gibson waved their gratitude away.
    “It’s our job to inspire young people like yourselves. That’s really the point of this place. Thank you both for a lovely afternoon.”
    With that, Gibson stepped back into his lab, closing the door behind him. Thad listened as the cipher lock clicked shut. Then he grabbed Sonya’s hand so that they could look at the meteorite together. And for that moment, as brief as it was, all of the friction between them disappeared.

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I can still hear it, Rebecca. I feel it when I close my eyes—when I open my hands to the tides of air that dance around me. For years I’ve held on and hoped in little whispers as I lie awake in the middle of the night alone, as the leaves are dashing near the end. My treasures are still the life-giving images that dance inside me … of how your eyes would light up as we talked of the next adventure—of how your body would gracefully release as I brushed your hair, of how the rest of the world always disappeared when I held your hand. I still tremble in the lonely moments, when the business fades and everything around me goes quiet. That’s when I hear it the clearest. That’s when the chimes echo, when my heartstrings amplify the harmony of their most treasured moments. It’s always with me. It wasn’t just a passing tune .
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12
    From a distance, the scene probably looked like some sort of bizarre suicide cult: a dozen young men and women splayed out in a circular formation on the flat surface at the peak of the giant granite dome, resting, supine, against overstuffed down sleeping bags, with backpacks for pillows—and only a pair of butane-gas lanterns to battle against the encroaching soup of night.
    Thad was at the center of the human circle, crouching over his own sleeping bag. He’d been frozen in that awkward position for a good few minutes, and by now most of the makeshift campsite was watching him. He smiled toward the person closest to him, a mousy girl with spiky blond hair, dressed in boy shorts and an oversized NASA tank top.
    “I’m conflicted,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “On the one hand, the geologist in me wants me on my stomach, because this is the kind of rock formation you don’t see every day. On the other hand, the astronaut in me wants me on my back. Because this is like a movie theater, with the entire solar system splashed across the screen.”
    The girl smiled shyly back. Even that little bit of effort pasted splotches of red against her lightly freckled cheeks. She was one of the few campers whom Thad didn’t know very well. Her name was Sandra, and she had signed up for the weekend excursion at the very last minute.
    “I guess the astronaut has