Boy21 Read Online Free PDF Page A

to treat all Earthlings with kindness. Greetings. I am Boy21 from the cosmos. I am stranded here on Earth, but I will be leaving soon. Enter into my domestic living pod.”
    He turns his back on me and resumes what he was doing.
    I step into the empty room and see that the ceiling and walls have recently been painted black.
    Books are open all over the floor. They’re all about outer space. Hundreds of constellations and galaxies and universes are spread out at my feet.
    When I look up, Boy21 has a book in his hand and is arranging constellations on the wall using those glow-in-the-dark plastic stars—what little kids stick on their bedroom ceilings.
    He’s already filled an entire wall with constellations.
    “I just finished Perseus. That there is Algol—the demon star. This here is pretend outer space—or fantasy outer space—so we’re not really interested in arranging the constellations the way they usually appear.” His expression is blank—completely alien. “We’re just putting up our favorites so we’ll feel more at home in our domestic pod here on Earth. What’s
your
favorite constellation? And do you have a name, Earthling?”
    This isn’t a game or a joke. He’s crazy.
    “Earthling, is your audio intake system damaged? Can you hear me, Earthling?”
    “Um…” is all I can manage. What am I supposed to say to this insane kid who thinks he’s from space?
    “Is your audio output system damaged? What you English-speaking Earthlings call
the tongue—
is yours working?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So you are just
parsimonious
with your words?”
    “Parsimonious. Yeah. I guess.” I note the proper use of the SAT word. Is this some sort of game? Is Coach playing a practical joke?
    “I respect your parsimonious nature,” he says, and then continues arranging constellations his own way as he mumbles facts about outer space.
    I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing, like always.
    After five minutes or so, Boy21 turns and says, “Is it okay if I call you by your Earthling name—Finley?”
    His grandparents probably told him my name, but his using it without my telling him what it is sort of surprises me.
    “May I?” he says.
    “Sure.” What the hell is with this kid?
    “My name is Boy21. I’m a prototype. A test model. I was sent to your planet temporarily to gather scientific information on what you Earthlings know as emotions. But I will only be with you for a few more months. Soon my makers will come for me and take me back into the cosmos, where I will be studied and disassembled and ultimately freed. I realize that these are strange ideas and are therefore probably hard for your brain to process, because you are merely an Earthling. So perhaps we should nourish your system with sustenance at this juncture?”
    I just look at him blankly.
    “Would you like to consume atoms?” he says. “What you refer to as
eating dinner.
”
    Realizing that this will get me back into the company of sane people, I nod. “I’m starving.”
    “Very well,” he says, and then slips into a white undershirt on which he has written with Magic Markers.
    The rainbow lettering on his shirt reads:
N.A.S.A.
    (Nubians Are Superior Astronauts)
    “Do you like my shirt, Earthling known as Finley?” he asks when he sees me looking at it. “Black man and the cosmos. Two great things that go great together.”
    I’m speechless.
    He says, “Am I not using your Earthling language effectively?”
    Holy crap. What on earth is going on here?
    Boy21 smiles knowingly and says something with his eyes that I don’t quite understand.
    When he descends the stairs I follow and somehow I find myself eating a delicious meal with Coach, Boy21, and the Allens.
    Roast beef.
    String beans.
    Garlic mashed potatoes.
    None of the adults say anything about Boy21’s shirt, and he remains silent through the entire meal.
    “How’re you liking Bellmont so far?” Coach asks.
    “Russell,” Mr. Allen says. “Coach is talking to