Chapter 7

Meteorites are naturally of the greatest scientific interest and value since they are the only samples of material from beyond the Earth-Moon System which can be studied and analyzed in the laboratory.

—Robert Burnham, Jr., Burnham’s Celestial Handbook

LATER IN THE DAY, when Birdie is up at Bower One with Nana, I visit the meteorite by myself.

“Okay if I sit on you?” I ask.

The surface ridges and thumbprints make it easy to get a toehold in the glassy outer crust and climb up. I sit on the flat top of the giant stone and write in my homeschool notebook.

Where did you come from?

Why did you leave?

Do you miss the place you came from?

Was it dark where you were or were there stars to light up the sky?

Was it ice-cold or was it so hot that it melted your metal?

Was it noisy or quiet?

Did you break off from a bigger rock?

How old are you?

Why are you melting the snow?

It’s like sitting on a rock island with a moat around it.

Did you ever see a bigger sun than our sun?

Did you steer yourself to land here or was it by accident?

How far into the ground are you?

If my father tried to drill through you, would you break?

Or would the drill break?

The meteorite is the new sun in my universe, the very center of everything, and I’m like its Earth.

If the rest of my family were planets, Birdie would be Mercury, the smallest planet, and Mom would be Venus, the second planet, shrouded in clouds. Dad would be Mars, the fourth and only planet besides Earth with liquid water on its surface. James would be the moon, Earth’s closest companion. Even if Earth and the moon are traveling at different speeds, they always keep each other in sight.

Braggy would want to be Jupiter, the biggest planet. I feel bad that he’s going to drive around looking for a glow-in-the-dark rock, when the big stone is right here in our field.

The snow is all gone from the field, and the ground is soggy. When I get back to the house, I hang my socks and jeans on the drying rack in front of the wood stove. Even my body is damp, and my feet smell like Nana’s dirt floor cellar after a rain.

While my clothes dry, I sit barefoot at the kitchen table in my pajama pants, looking at the M volume of The World Book Encyclopedia. I read about the biggest meteorite discovery ever—the sixty-six-ton Hoba meteorite that fell in Africa. It was discovered by a farmer when he was plowing his field with an ox.