meteorites and the not-doing-of-homework
original fiction (Pass it On), Alex & Finchley, "A dark object fell from the sky.", writerverse.
meteorites and the not-doing-of-homework
Alex is nearly packed up to go home (thank God) when Finchley comes crashing into the classroom. His hair is messier than usual, one of his shoes is missing, and his clothes are soaking wet. "Alex! Alex, you have to come, there's a thing, you need to see it, come on!" the taller boy says, grabbing him by the sleeve with a wet hand. "It's important."
According to Finchley, anything that interests him is of vital importance. Alex is far from convinced.
"... What is it?" Alex sets aside his binder to shove his laptop into his bookbag with unnecessary violence, tugging his arm out of Finchley's grasp. "I have homework to do, you know. Not all of us are fatalistic slackers."
"Forget homework, this is better than that. Well, anything's better than homework. But. Come see." It really is no use trying to dissuade Finchley when he gets excited (an unfortunately common event), so Alex forfeits his bookbag with another heavy sigh. "Excellent. C'mon." Finchley flounces away, glancing back at the door to gesture him along.
This isn't going to turn out well. Alex knows these things.
"Why are you all wet, anyway?" He follows Finchley down the hall and out into the sports yard, casting apologetic smiles at every student Finchley banged past. "You didn't fall in the pool again, did you?"
"Naw, I jumped in."
"With all your clothes on?" He's starting to sound more and more like his mother, and it should really be more worrying than it is. But a disapproving tone comes standard with dealing with Finchley. "One of these days, you're going to drown. And I'm not going to save you, because you'll have it coming."
"Don't be stupid, I know how to swim. Now. Look." Alex rolls his eyes as Finchley seizes him by the arm (again), and pulls him over, into the longer grass.
What he sees doesn't seem all that impressive, let alone important.
"You dragged me out here to look at a rock?" It's not even a pretty rock. Actually, it's quite ugly, all pitted and shiny in random places. "Finchley."
"It's not a rock." Finchley gives him an overly-scandalized look, gesticulating at the rock (because that's what it is, a rock) with his free hand. "It's a meteorite. From space."
"Then where's the crater?" It's just barely embedded in the dirt, the oddly-shiny surface covered with a light film of dust.
"It's small. Plus, it's an igneous rock. We live in Half Moon Bay, Alex. No volcanoes. Meteroite." Finchley stoops to pick it up, fingers running ponderously across the pitted surface. "It's not hot or anything."
"You're probably gonna get some kind of weird space disease from touching it." It's infantile of him, but he really just wants to go home. "Bring it with you, if it's so damn important. We're going home."
"It's gone through the atmosphere. There's prob'ly nothing alive on it." Finchley mutters, releasing him to turn the rock over in his hands. It glints rather ominously in the sunlight, and Alex huffs. "Yeah, I'll have my dad look at it. But when I get a million billion dollars for finding the first meteorite from, like, Neptune, I'm not going to share any of it with you. Actually, I'm going to hire someone to come to your house every day at this time and remind you that you're a big jerk who doesn't believe his brilliant friend when said friend is, in fact, a genius who found a meteorite from Neptune."
"Mhm."
The next morning (Alex still hadn't gotten his homework done), three federal officers from the Department of Whatever-It-Was come and take Finchley's rock. Alex tries to ignore how smug his friend is, but ultimately fails. But it's not like Finchley actually got a million billion dollars.
"They promised that they'd call it Meteorite Finchley." Even if the damn rock is named after him.
meteorites and the not-doing-of-homework
Alex is nearly packed up to go home (thank God) when Finchley comes crashing into the classroom. His hair is messier than usual, one of his shoes is missing, and his clothes are soaking wet. "Alex! Alex, you have to come, there's a thing, you need to see it, come on!" the taller boy says, grabbing him by the sleeve with a wet hand. "It's important."
According to Finchley, anything that interests him is of vital importance. Alex is far from convinced.
"... What is it?" Alex sets aside his binder to shove his laptop into his bookbag with unnecessary violence, tugging his arm out of Finchley's grasp. "I have homework to do, you know. Not all of us are fatalistic slackers."
"Forget homework, this is better than that. Well, anything's better than homework. But. Come see." It really is no use trying to dissuade Finchley when he gets excited (an unfortunately common event), so Alex forfeits his bookbag with another heavy sigh. "Excellent. C'mon." Finchley flounces away, glancing back at the door to gesture him along.
This isn't going to turn out well. Alex knows these things.
"Why are you all wet, anyway?" He follows Finchley down the hall and out into the sports yard, casting apologetic smiles at every student Finchley banged past. "You didn't fall in the pool again, did you?"
"Naw, I jumped in."
"With all your clothes on?" He's starting to sound more and more like his mother, and it should really be more worrying than it is. But a disapproving tone comes standard with dealing with Finchley. "One of these days, you're going to drown. And I'm not going to save you, because you'll have it coming."
"Don't be stupid, I know how to swim. Now. Look." Alex rolls his eyes as Finchley seizes him by the arm (again), and pulls him over, into the longer grass.
What he sees doesn't seem all that impressive, let alone important.
"You dragged me out here to look at a rock?" It's not even a pretty rock. Actually, it's quite ugly, all pitted and shiny in random places. "Finchley."
"It's not a rock." Finchley gives him an overly-scandalized look, gesticulating at the rock (because that's what it is, a rock) with his free hand. "It's a meteorite. From space."
"Then where's the crater?" It's just barely embedded in the dirt, the oddly-shiny surface covered with a light film of dust.
"It's small. Plus, it's an igneous rock. We live in Half Moon Bay, Alex. No volcanoes. Meteroite." Finchley stoops to pick it up, fingers running ponderously across the pitted surface. "It's not hot or anything."
"You're probably gonna get some kind of weird space disease from touching it." It's infantile of him, but he really just wants to go home. "Bring it with you, if it's so damn important. We're going home."
"It's gone through the atmosphere. There's prob'ly nothing alive on it." Finchley mutters, releasing him to turn the rock over in his hands. It glints rather ominously in the sunlight, and Alex huffs. "Yeah, I'll have my dad look at it. But when I get a million billion dollars for finding the first meteorite from, like, Neptune, I'm not going to share any of it with you. Actually, I'm going to hire someone to come to your house every day at this time and remind you that you're a big jerk who doesn't believe his brilliant friend when said friend is, in fact, a genius who found a meteorite from Neptune."
"Mhm."
The next morning (Alex still hadn't gotten his homework done), three federal officers from the Department of Whatever-It-Was come and take Finchley's rock. Alex tries to ignore how smug his friend is, but ultimately fails. But it's not like Finchley actually got a million billion dollars.
"They promised that they'd call it Meteorite Finchley." Even if the damn rock is named after him.