“Our missions here at NASA are not without risk,” Antonio said. “You will put your life into the hands of your directors and your fellow astronauts, as well as the researchers and engineers who make space exploration possible. But, if chosen, you may become one of a very small number of people who can say they have left the Earth and who can report back to the rest of us on what our planet looks like from afar. You will usher us into the future. I can assure you that this will be the greatest technological achievement in the history of NASA. It may well be the greatest endeavor in the history of mankind.”

Joan tried to process just how close this opportunity was to her grasp, but as she did, her eyes met those of the woman with the curly hair, a few seats away. The two of them held each other’s gaze for a moment.

Was this really happening?

That week, she sat for heart-rate monitoring, hearing and vision tests, blood draws, and full assessments from the flight surgeons. Her body was poked and prodded in ways that shocked her.

But she was determined to show all of her NASA evaluators that what she had to offer was exactly what they needed: determined, stoic composure.

She stepped onto a treadmill connected to electrodes and ran for over five miles before even beginning to slow down.

She sat for interviews in which the intense tone made even a question like “Would you like me to turn down the thermostat?” seem complicated to answer. She spoke calmly and clearly as she answered each one.

Joan’s favorite part of the week was when she was put in a suit and instructed to climb into a three-foot-wide white fabric ball. Her only source of air was an oxygen tank. She was ordered to stay in there for fifteen minutes. The moment Joan got in and could feel the quiet solitude of the ball, she understood.

It wasn’t a test of dexterity or mechanical aptitude. They wanted to see if she’d freak out, unable to stand the sensory deprivation and claustrophobia. She smiled to herself. Piece of cake.

She fell asleep.

—

One evening two months later, the phone in her apartment rang. Joan was eating Chinese food and sketching a portrait of Frances to give Barbara as a birthday present. She put the pencil down and walked to the phone.

It was Antonio. “Are you still interested in joining the astronaut corps at NASA?” he said.

Joan looked up at the ceiling and steadied her voice. It was the closest thing she’d ever felt to the way women look in the movies when they are proposed to. “Yes,” she said. “Absolutely yes.”