8. Power Cycle
EIGHT
POWER CYCLE
Jackie
“Houston, we have a problem.”
I sigh. Tom Hanks’ voice from one of my favorite movies, which I’d turned into my text notification, is quickly becoming the most annoying sound in the universe.
This is the second day since we kissed that Flynn has blown up my phone.
I haven’t gotten any work done today. Flynn, it seems, does not know when to quit.
And still I don’t know what to make of our kiss.
The text messages started out innocuous enough. What’d I do? and I’m sorry.
When I didn’t answer, the texts changed. Earth is the largest planet, right? Elon Musk should run NASA.
It’s getting harder not to respond.
Flynn: What’s your favorite planet? Mine’s Pluto.
He has to be joking. Tom Hanks speaks again.
Flynn: It was named after my favorite Disney character.
Okay. That’s too much.
Jackie: Pluto was discovered in 1930, before the creation of Mickey’s canine companion. This is a moot point anyway. Pluto was stripped of planetary status in 2006 and reclassified as a dwarf planet by the IAU.
Jackie: Stop texting me.
I don’t get it. If I was right, and he was just messing with me when he kissed me, then why bother texting?
Has his pride taken a hit because I called him on his game of ‘kiss the nerd’?
And if I was wrong, which is highly improbable but still statistically possible, then why would he want to talk to the crazy girl who kissed him like a porn star then slammed the door in his face?
There is no way a guy like him—tall, sexy, and immensely cool—would want to be with a clueless, inexperienced geek like me.
It just doesn’t make sense. I don’t like things that don’t make sense.
My phone sounds again.
Flynn: IAU? The Interstellar Astronaut University?
I roll my eyes. He has to be messing with me.
Jackie: No. International Astronomical Union.
Jackie: And stop texting me.
“Jackie, what did you think of the EVA proposal I emailed you?”
Startled, I jump in my seat, causing my chair to roll back a few feet from the desk. Ian is leaning up against the edge of my cubicle.
Another reason to be aggravated with Flynn. He’s taking away time and brain space I need for work. I use my heels to walk my chair back to my desk and turn to Ian.
“Sorry. I didn’t get a chance to read it. What’d it say?”
One of Ian’s eyebrows arches up. “I sent it first thing this morning.”
Seeing as it’s past lunch, I should have read it.
“Sorry, I’ve been, uh, really busy with the...”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll run it by Sean.”
“Sorry. Really. I’m just a bit…preoccupied.”
Ian grins and turns back into my cubicle. Or, as I like to think of it, my personal command center. James is nowhere to be found. Another reason he’s a great cube-mate.
I’m lucky in that our cubicle backs to an actual window.
Windows at NASA are like a rare hybrid eclipse.
They exist, but no one really believes it until they see one.
Especially in the older, space race era buildings, when the U.S.
thought the Russians were spying on them.
Which, you know, they were. But still, now it’s like working in the Bat Cave.
“I was just thinking about The Progress supply shuttle going up soon,” Ian explains. “I know we have new software going up to install on the old EXT, but I made an additional EVA plan should we want to incorporate a procedure to attach a protective panel to shield the external wires.”
“Yes.” I nod, thinking through his idea.
“Totally agree. The odds are astronomically against this happening again, but we thought that before the main computer wires got hit too. I’m actually surprised there’s any external wiring left on the station, let alone these two vital computers.
We should reposition and run everything internally. ”
Ian nods as I speak. We’re often in agreement on space-related updates.
“But good luck getting Sean on board, or the higher-ups to fund the materials or the EVAs needed to accomplish that,” I continue, letting my exasperation show.
He chuckles and sighs. “Yeah, I know. The odds of that happening are probably lower than wires getting hit with more space junk.”
We share a familiar smile. It’s nice having someone who speaks my language, so to speak. But looking into Ian’s pretty face, I can’t help but wonder if he knows how to hotwire a car.
“Beep. Beep.”
I’ve finally given Flynn his own personal ring and text tone.
He’d been destroying my love for one of the best movies ever made and the voice of one of the finest actors.
I can’t let that continue. I don’t watch car movies.
Or I hadn’t. Yet. I might have bought a few on Amazon this week.
Fast and the Furious . Gone in Sixty Seconds .
American Graffiti . For research. No correlation to a certain mechanic. Nope.
Anyway. I don’t know any car movie quotes. So Flynn gets a car honk for his ring tone.
Flynn: The moon landing was a hoax.
He. Did. Not.
Jackie: High definition photos taken by the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter have shown evidence of the Apollo landing site and the actual tracks left by the astronauts.
In addition, the photographic evidence also reveals that five of the six flags put up by the Apollo 11 crew still stand on the moon today.
Flynn: Photoshop.
Jackie: Seriously. Stop texting me.
Rose and Trish have stayed in contact all week. Though I’m careful not to tell Rose when I get off work, in case she decides to tell Flynn. I don’t need him showing up again. At least, I tell myself that, even though I miss his car. Just his car.
I’m thinking our recent texting is safer than face-to-face contact. Even if he is the world’s most annoying texter.
I’ve actually had to call my cell phone provider andchange my plan to unlimited texting. The phone guy was astounded that I hadn’t already had that plan. Like I’m the only holdout in the world of continuous texting under the age of thirty.
Rose says she’s turning over a new leaf, which includes ditching toxic friends.
I’m not entirely sure what that means, except that I must not be toxic as she’s declared us new besties.
This both delights and frightens me. Trish is new to the area and seems amused to be besties with a twenty-one-year-old co-ed and a NASA geek.
I guess I’m turning one over myself. I’ve started looking at houses for sale in the area, and even called my financial planner about liquefying some of my investments. A new car and a house don’t come cheap.
Jules would be so proud of me if she wasn’t too busy being distracted with the potential failings of the ISS. Luckily, there haven’t been any more random failures with the EX-2 since our last meeting.
I keep thinking about the cherry red GTO and Flynn’s Mustang.
I’ve done a bit of research, and though not necessarily expensive to buy, the upkeep on vintage cars is a pain.
My research also shows that although relatively new to the area, Flynn’s garage is the best reviewed and most trusted in a sixty-mile radius for rebuilds and maintenance on vintage cars.
I’m not sure any car is worth putting myself in Flynn’s hands, albeit mechanical, in the future.
Rose never mentions Flynn.Part of me wants to ask her, “What the heck is with your brother?” But the bigger part of me doesn’t want her to take sides. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure family trumps the girl who drove you home after getting shit-faced. Declared bestie or not.
Work is stressful, but the girls keep me amused via group text.
Trish: Did you ever get boots?
Jackie: No
Rose: How do you not have boots?
Trish: She’s an engineer. Engineers don’t have cowboy boots.
Rose: That’s racist.
Jackie: I’m pretty sure that is not the definition of racist.
Rose: It should be.
Trish: You can borrow mine. See how you like them.
Jackie: That’s okay.
Trish: What? My boots not good enough for you?
Jackie: No. That’s not it.
Trish: Then what is it? You don’t like my style?
Rose: You’ve gone and pissed off the Southern midget now, Jackie.
Trish: I’m not a midget, damn it!
Rose: Tell me the truth, did you stomp your tiny foot after you texted that?
Trish: I hate you .
Jackie: Calm down, both of you!
Jackie: I have big feet, okay? They won’t fit.
Trish: Oh.
Rose: If you were a boy, big feet would mean a big ding dong .
My thumbs hurt. From texting.
I can’t decide whether to be disgusted with myself or proud.
Stretching my arms overhead, I push myself deeper into the couch, while also flexing my sore thumbs.
Doors slam, people pound up and down the stairs…
the white noise of my apartment complex washes over me, allowing the stress of my day to drift away.
“Beep. Beep.”
I close one eye and squint at my phone, which is lying face down on the coffee table. I can feel my heartrate accelerate.
Studies have shown that every time a person receives a call or a text, their brain releases a shot of dopamine into their system.
Dopamine is created naturally in various parts of the brain and is critical to thinking, moving, sleeping, mood, etc.
Dopamine also causes you to want, desire, seek out and search.
It increases your level of arousal and is most powerfully stimulated when given small amounts of information that doesn’t fully satisfy the system, i.e.
, a text message. Text messages are akin to drinking alcohol, doing drugs and having sex.
So it isn’t my fault that in six days I have gone from frustration to excitement at the sound of Flynn’s ringtone. And that even though I know I shouldn’t, I reach out and pick it up off my coffee table, eyes glued to the screen.
It’s science.
Flynn: I love when you talk smart to me.
I’m losing whatever game he’s playing. Because a big part of me really wants to believe him. Another part of me knows from experience that he’s so far out of my league it’s astronomically unreal.
“Beep. Beep.”
Flynn: It gets me hard.
Annnnnd…brain shutdown.
I can do nerdy. I can lecture on astronomy and combat the musings of weird conspiracy theorists. But what am I supposed to do with that ?
I switch the volume off my phone and shove it between the cushions of my couch.