At lunchtime on Monday, George was sitting quietly in the school cafeteria, minding his own business. He got out his lunchbox and looked inside it, wishing he could have bags of chips or chocolate bars or orange soda like the other kids. Instead, he had a spinach sandwich, a hard-boiled egg, yet more broccoli muffins, and some apple juice pressed by his mother. He took a large bite of his sandwich and sighed. He wished his parents would understand that he wanted to save the planet as much as they did, but he wanted to do it in his own way. It was all very well for his parents to lead their alternative lifestyles because they only hung around with their friends, who were just like them. They didn’t have to go to school every day with people like Ringo and his gang laughing at them because they wore funny clothes and ate different food and didn’t know what happened yesterday on the television. He tried to explain this to his dad, but all he heard back was, “We all have to do our part, George, if we’re going to save the Earth.”
George knew this was true; he just thought it was unfair and rather pointless that his part meant him being a laughingstock at school and not having a computer at home. He had tried to explain to his parents how useful a computer could be.
“But, Dad,” he had pointed out, “there’s stuff you could do on a computer too, stuff that would help you with your work. I mean, you could get lots of information from the Internet and organize your marches with e-mail. I could set it all up for you and show you how.” George had gazed hopefully at his dad. He thought he saw a spark of interest in his dad’s eyes, but it flickered and died.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” his dad had said. “We’re not getting a computer and that’s final.”
That, thought George as he tried to swallow his lump of spinach sandwich, was why he had liked Eric so much. Eric had listened to George’s questions and given him honest replies—ones that made sense to George. George wondered if he dared stop by and see Eric later that afternoon. There was so much he wanted to ask him, and also he really wanted Eric to check his talk for the competition.
Just before lunch he had finally summoned up the courage to sign up on the board for the science competition, the one with a computer as the first prize. Under “Topic” he had written, My Amazing Rock from Outer Space. It looked great as a title, although George still wasn’t sure his talk was any good. He’d taken his lucky rock from outer space out of his pocket while he stood in front of the bulletin board, but to his horror had found it was crumbling into dust! It was his lucky charm—the little piece of the Solar System he had picked up near Saturn. The principal had been delighted to see George writing his name on the board.
He had bounced up as George filled out the form. “There you go, George! That’s the spirit! We’ll show them, won’t we?” He beamed at George. “We can’t just let Manor Park walk away with every trophy in the area, can we now?” Manor Park was a private school that hogged all the prizes and won all the sports matches with boring regularity.
“Yes, sir,” said George, trying to stuff his outer-space rock back into his pocket. But the sharp-eyed principal spotted it.
“Oh dear, a handful of dirt,” he said, grabbing a nearby trash can. “Toss it in here, George. We can’t have you going off to lunch with a pocket full of dust.” When George just stood there, rooted to the spot, the principal rattled the can impatiently under his nose. “I was just the same as a boy,” he said, a claim George doubted. As far as he was concerned, the principal had never been a boy; he’d been born wearing a suit and making enthusiastic comments about the Under-12 Football League. “Pockets full of nonsense. Drop it in and off you go.”
Reluctantly George dropped the gray, crumbly remains of his most treasured possession into the can. He promised himself he would come back later and try and save it.
As George munched his way through his sandwich, he thought about Eric and outer space and the competition the next day. While he was thinking, a hand crept over his shoulder and snatched a mufin out of his lunchbox.
“Yum! This looks good!” said Ringo’s voice behind him. “Georgie’s famous muffins!” Ringo took a large bite, then made a spluttering sound as he spat it out.
George didn’t need to look around to know that the whole dining room would be staring in his direction and snickering.
“Ugh, that’s gross,” said Ringo, making fake gagging sounds behind him. “Let’s see if the rest is just as horrible.” His hand made another dive for George’s lunch, but George had had enough. As Ringo’s big paw rooted inside the handmade wooden box in which he kept his sandwiches, George slammed the lid down on his fingers.
“Ow!” squealed Ringo. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” George opened the box again, allowing Ringo to pull out his hand.
“What’s all this noise?” said the teacher on lunchroom duty, walking over. “Can’t you boys manage to do anything without causing trouble?”
“Sir, Doctor Reeper, sir!” screeched Ringo, who was cradling his damaged hand. “I was just asking George what he had for lunch when he attacked me, sir! You better give him double detention, sir, for the rest of term! He’s broken my hand, sir!” Ringo smirked at Dr. Reeper, who gave him a cool glance.
“Very well, Richard,” he said. “Go and see the school nurse and come to my room when she’s looked at your hand. I’ll deal with George.” He ordered him away with a point of his finger, and Ringo slouched away, grinning to himself.
The rest of the dining room had fallen silent while they waited for Dr. Reeper to announce George’s punishment. But Dr. Reeper surprised them. Instead of giving George an earful, he just sat down next to him on the long bench. “Go on!” He waved a red hand at the rest of the room. “Get on with your lunches. The bell will ring soon enough, you know.” After a couple of seconds, the usual hubbub started up again as everyone lost interest in George and went back to his or her conversations.
“So, George . . . ,” said Dr. Reeper chummily.
“Yes, Doctor Reeper?” asked George nervously.
“How are you?” Dr. Reeper sounded as though he really wanted to know.
“Oh, um, fine,” said George, somewhat taken aback.
“They’re . . . well . . . okay,” said George cautiously, hoping Greeper wasn’t going to ask him about Cosmos.
“And how about your neighbor?” said Dr. Reeper, trying and failing to sound casual. “Have you seen him lately? Is he around at the moment? Or perhaps he has gone away . . .”
George tried to figure out what answer Dr. Reeper wanted so he could give him the opposite one.
“Perhaps people on the street are wondering where he’s gone,” went on Dr. Reeper, sounding spookier and spookier. “Maybe it seems that he has just disappeared! Vanished from view! No idea where he might be! Is that it?” He peered hopefully at George, who was now convinced that there was something very wrong with Dr. Reeper. “Almost as though”—Dr. Reeper sketched a shape in the air with his hands—“he just flew off into outer space and never came back. Hmm? What about that, George? Is that what’s happened, would you say?” The teacher was gazing at George, obviously wanting to hear that Eric had somehow melted away into thin air.
“Actually,” said George, “I saw him this morning.” He hadn’t, but it seemed very important to tell Dr. Reeper he had.
“Drat,” muttered Dr. Reeper angrily, suddenly getting to his feet. “Miserable boys.” He walked off without even bothering to say good-bye.
George closed up his lunchbox and decided to head back to the bulletin board so that he could look for his rock in the trash can. As he hurried down the corridor, he passed Dr. Reeper’s office. He heard raised voices and stopped to listen through the door for a second.
“I told you to deliver the note!” rasped the familiar voice of Dr. G. Reeper.
“We did?” whined a boy’s voice, which sounded all too like Ringo’s.
“You couldn’t have,” insisted Dr. Reeper. “You just couldn’t have.”
George would have stayed to listen longer, but then the bell rang and he desperately wanted to find his special outer-space rock before class began. However, when he got back to the can, it had been emptied. There was only a clean plastic liner inside it. Saturn’s mini-moon had gone.
