The Gravity of Us by Phil Stamper Page A

so overconfident. But he’s different. Real.
    I’m jerked out of my daydreaming by a palm on my back. I turn to see a woman in a dark blue blazer, and I’m caught off guard by her intense body language. She’s too close for comfort, and now her hand’s outstretched, and I wonder if my face reflects my shock.
    “Donna Szleifer,” the woman says. “I’m NASA’s deputy social media manager, and this is Todd Collins, who directs our public affairs team.”
    She pulls another suit next to her, and the man in it smiles briefly.
    “Hi,” I say. Because I have no other words to say to these people right now. Because I should not be the one interacting with NASA staff. “I’m Cal.”
    “We were surprised to see that you broke the news,” Todd says.
    “But we shared your clip right away on Twitter and Facebook,” Donna says, “and tied it in with our press releases, and it’s gotten a lot of attention, which is great. Just great.”
    I reach behind my head and rub my neck, just to give myhands something to do. My cheeks grow warm, and my shoulders form into a shrug.
    “Yeah, look, I’m sorry abo—”
    “Calvin Lewis,” Dad cuts in, and appears beside me, and I sigh as I’m saved from a potentially awkward conversation.
    “Rebecca Lewis. But you can call me Becca,” my mother says and offers her hand. Her shyness is in full force, and she clutches her purse to her body as if someone here was going to snatch it from her. But she’s taking the lead in introducing herself. She’s putting herself out there. She’s really trying. Either that or she’s stocking up on stories to tell her therapist.
    Out the corner of my eye, I see Kat by the back door. It’s a sliding glass door that’s propped open, though no lights or anything seem to be on. She nods toward the door and widens her eyes to give me the hint.
    I slip out of the conversation, remembering the promise of champagne and time with Leon and Kat. Thankfully, it’s not too hard to go unnoticed.
    But then I feel a presence behind me, a mammoth one, and it sends chills all over my body. The kind of chills that spike at your neck and raise hairs you didn’t even know you had, then rush down your back in shuddered pulses.
    Craning my neck, I recognize the star of the astronauts’ volunteer day: Mark Bannon. Up close, it becomes even clearer that he is the tallest astronaut of all time.
    That’s not an exaggeration. It’s his claim to fame. He’s six foot five, the exact tallest an air force fighter pilot can be, waytaller than astronauts used to be allowed to be. But the Orpheus capsules are bigger, and he has the room to exist there.
    His smile is huge, unmoving, like his face is made of stone. Actually, his whole body might be made of stone. I have a feeling that if I were to punch him in the gut, I’d be the one hurting.
    “Mark Bannon,” I say, as if he doesn’t know his own name. “Um, Mr. Bannon. I mean, Mr. Mark Bannon. I enjoyed your speech at the park.”
    “Just Mark is fine,” he says with a heavy laugh. “Thank you, thank you. You Calvin’s boy? I suspect we’ll all be getting to know each other quite well.”
    “I guess so. Maybe you’ll get to fly with my dad someday.”
    Mark laughs. “That’s not likely.”
    “What do you—”
    He holds up a hand. I obey his rock-palm and stop speaking. So much for my meaningless small talk.
    “You know how long I’ve been here, right?” he asks somewhat condescendingly, as if I’m supposed to do anything but agree with him.
    I do. He was one of the first.
    “But there are six spots.”
    “The role your dad would play in a mission—it’d mostly revolve around maneuvering the ship. Your dad’s a pilot, just like me and Mrs. Tucker. Only one of us will be picked for the mission. The other two will be alternates, so we’ll all be working the same drills, day in and day out.”
    “Oh, well, that’s nice,” I say. “Look, it was great meeting you, but I have to go find