R is for Rocket Read Free Page B

."
        I caught my voice. "Jhene — how — how will we tell Ralph? What about him?"
        "You're going away, that's all, Chris. Tell him that. Very simply. Tell him no more. He'll understand."
        "But, Jhene, you —"
        She smiled softly. "Yes, I'll be lonely, Chris. But I'll have my work and I'll have Ralph."
        "You mean . . ."
        "I'm taking him from the ortho-station. He'll live here, when you're gone. That's what you wanted me to say, isn't it, Chris?"
        I nodded, all paralyzed and strange inside.
        "That's exactly what I wanted you to say."
        "He'll be a good son, Chris. Almost as good as you."
        "He'll be fine!"
     
        We told Ralph Priory. How I was going away maybe to school in Europe for a year and how Mother wanted him to come live as her son, now, until such time as I came back. We said it quick and fast, as if it burned our tongues. And when we finished, Ralph came and shook my hand and kissed my mother on the cheek and he said:
        "I'll be proud. I'll be very proud."
        It was funny, but Ralph didn't even ask any more about why I was going, or where, or how long I would be away. All he would say was, "We had a lot of fun, didn't we?" and let it go at that, as if he didn't dare say any more.
        It was Friday night, after a concert at the amphitheater in the center of our public circle, and Priory and Jhene and I came home, laughing, ready to go to bed.
        I hadn't packed anything. Priory noted this briefly, and let it go. All of my personal supplies for the next eight years would be supplied by someone else. No need for packing.
        My semantics teacher called on the audio, smiling and saying a very brief, pleasant good-bye.
        Then, we went to bed, and I kept thinking in the hour before I lolled off, about how this was the last night with Jhene and Ralph. The very last night.
        Only a kid of fifteen — me.
        And then, in the darkness, just before I went to sleep, Priory twisted softly on his cushion, turned his solemn face to me, and whispered, "Chris?" A pause. "Chris. You still awake?" It was like a faint echo.
        "Yes," I said.
        "Thinking?"
        A pause.
        "Yes."
        He said, "You're — You're not waiting any more, are you, Chris?"
        I knew what he meant. I couldn't answer.
        I said, "I'm awfully tired, Ralph."
        He twisted back and settled down and said, "That's what I thought. You're not waiting any more. Gosh, but that's good, Chris. That's good."
        He reached out and punched me in the arm-muscle, lightly.
        Then we both went to sleep.
     
        It was Saturday morning. The kids were yelling outside. Their voices filled the seven o'clock fog. I heard Old Man Wickard's ventilator flip open and the zip of his para-gun, playfully touching around the kids.
        "Shut up!" I heard him cry, but he didn't sound grouchy. It was a regular Saturday game with him. And I heard the kids giggle.
        Priory woke up and said, "Shall I tell them, Chris, you're not going with them today?"
        "Tell them nothing of the sort." Jhene moved from the door. She bent out the window, her hair all light against a ribbon of fog. "Hi, gang! Ralph and Chris will be right down. Hold gravity!"
        "Jhene!" I cried.
        She came over to both of us. "You're going to spend your Saturday the way you always spend it — with the gang!"
        "I planned on sticking with you, Jhene."
        "What sort of holiday would that be, now?"
        She ran us through our breakfast, kissed us on the cheeks, and forced us out the door into the gang's arms.
        "Let's not go out to the Rocket Port today, guys."
        "Aw, Chris — why not?"
        Their faces did a lot of changes. This was the first time in history I hadn't wanted to go. "You're kidding, Chris."
        "Sure he is."
        "No, he's not. He means it," said