8. He was seven when he decided he wanted to be a scientist.

Jeremie's prized possession at five-years-old was a model rocket that he and his father built one weekend using scrap parts his father had brought home from work. His mother had fashioned him a make-shift astronaut suit out of an old duvet. The rocket took up most of the floor space in his bedroom, and he'd sit inside it for hours pretending he was exploring the deep reaches of space. It was awesome.

During the summer his parents would take him out into the fields, away from the town lights, and his mother would point out constellations as they lay on a blanket. The cicadas and his mother's soft voice would soothe him to sleep and he'd dream about exploring those stars she pointed out, of finding new constellations to teach her. Sometimes, he'd wake to his father picking him up and carrying him back to the car, but mostly he'd wake the next morning still in his make-shift astronaut suit.

Jeremie isn't the only one in his class who wants to be an astronaut. Lots of kids do, or doctors or veterinarians or ballerinas. But, he is sure that he's the only one who will be an astronaut. The other kids don't have his mother's knowledge, don't study the books he does, don't have his father to teach them how to make their own rocket. In his eyes, he's halfway there already.

. . … . .

"So, did you always want to be a computer nerd?" Odd asks. He spins in one of the office chairs he and Ulrich found in one of the side offices and dragged into the super computer room. Ulrich is reclined in his own office chair now that they've stopped racing across the dusty floor, declaring the debris-littered ground a makeshift obstacle course.

"What do you mean?" Jeremie asks.

Odd shrugs and kicks off for another rotation. Jeremie looks back to the screen so he doesn't get motion sick watching Odd goof around. Ulrich looks mildly interested in the conversation, though keeps quiet. "You just seem to know your way around computers really well. Like, I like computers. They're good for games and music and videos and stuff…but you…" Odd shrugs. "You get them."

Jeremie feels strangely pleased with Odd's random praise. "Actually," he says, looking up from the computer screen, "I just kind of fell into them."

Odd laughs, spinning around at a speed that will either result in dizziness or falling over. "Don't tell me you wanted to be something normal like a doctor or pirate or accountant."

"Pirate?" Ulrich asks, looking up from the designs he's been scuffing into the dirty floor.

"Duh," Odd replies, looking at him like he's crazy. "Pirates are awesome!"

Jeremie shakes his head and returns to the program he's working on. "Actually," he says, keeping his eyes focused on the screen, "I wanted to be an astronaut."

"Huh," Odd replies, "that's actually pretty cool, Einstein."

"What changed?" Ulrich asks.

Jeremie shrugs and doesn't look at them. "Decided to focus on something closer to Earth," he says finally.

. . … . .

Jeremie is seven when he comes home from school to find his parents in the kitchen. It isn't unusual to see his mother enjoying a cup of tea, but his father usually doesn't get home until supper time. It makes him instantly wary and he sets his bag down carefully on the floor by his feet, pushes his glasses up farther on his nose.

"Jeremie," his mother says, smiling warmly at him. "How was school?"

"What's going on?" he asks. He hangs out in the doorway and stares at his parents. His father looks like he's been crying and Jeremie suddenly doesn't want to know the answer to his question.

"Come on in and sit down, mon petit chou," his father says. Jeremie takes a seat at the small round table between his parents. His father looks at a loss suddenly and they sit there silently for several moments. "How was school?" he repeats his mother's question.

Jeremie pulls a face involuntarily, sticking his tongue out and wrinkling his nose. "We had to run in gym. I hate running."

His father laughs, ruffles his hair. "Fresh air is good for you."

"You need to be in shape to go into space," his mother adds. They fall silent again and Jeremie catches the look his parents exchange.

"What's going on?"

"Jeremie," his mother says. She reaches out to take his hand in hers. "We do not want to frighten you," she says finally. "I went to the doctor, remember?" He nods and wonders if they're about to tell him he's getting a baby brother or sister. Noelle Laurent's mother just had a baby and Noelle wouldn't stop talking about it in class. His mother shares a look with his father and then squeezes Jeremie's hand again. "It looks like I'm sicker than they first thought," she says finally.

Jeremie frowns, looking at his mother. She doesn't look sick. She looks tired, but she's looked tired for months now. "Will you need to take the pink medicine?" he asks. He'd been sick in bed for a week last year and he still remembers the taste of the spoonfuls of pink medicine he'd been fed.

His mother gives him an amused look and his father actually smiles as well. "Something like that," she says. She squeezes his hand. "I'll have to go to the hospital," she explains, "and they'll have to put the medicine directly in me. But it's okay," she adds, reading something in his expression. "The doctors are confident that it will be fine." She smiles at his father, places her free hand over his clasped hands. "I will be fine."

"Of course you will," his father replies. He takes his mother's hand in his, kisses her fingers. Jeremie sits there, feeling his mother's grip tight on his hand, and stares at his father's large, sun-browned hands carefully holding his mother's pale fingers. It's the first time he's noticed how thin and fragile they look.

. . … . .

Jeremie tilts his head, studying Yumi critically. She frowns at him from across the kitchen table. "What?" she asks.

"I just never pictured you studying economics and political science," he says finally. He looks back at the Sciences Po website on the computer, reading through the program description. "History makes sense…humanities I can see…even law, I guess."

Yumi huffs and scrolls down the webpage. "It's a good school."

"It is," Jeremie agrees.

Yumi bumps her shoulder against his and smiles. "It even has some things that might interest you and Aelita."

Jeremie laughs quietly. "What do you want to do after school?" he asks.

Yumi thinks about it for a moment before shrugging. "I'm not sure," she admits. "Maybe teach." Jeremie gives her a surprised look and she nudges him again. "What about you? Computer science?"

Jeremie shrugs. "Maybe," he agrees. He leans back in the chair, letting Yumi scroll through the website. "I wanted to be a scientist when I was younger," he admits.

"Really?" Yumi asks, looking at him in surprise. "Not that you aren't good in chemistry and biology…I just thought it'd be something more technical."

Jeremie offers another shrug. "Maybe," he agrees. He fiddles with a loose pen on Yumi's dining table. "I haven't decided yet."

"Well," Yumi says, "you have some time left. But this school is seriously awesome."

Jeremie smiles and lets her carry him away with her excitement. He'll miss these chats, he realizes, when she leaves at the end of the year.

. . … . .

Jeremie hates the medicine treatments his mother goes through. It's nothing like the pink medicine he'd had to take. His mother doesn't even get to lay in bed and watch television or read like he'd gotten to. Instead, she comes back from the hospital and crawls into bed to sleep the rest of the day. Jeremie hates that too.

He's extra quiet when he gets home from school on the days she goes for treatment. He does his homework while she sleeps and makes himself a bowl of cereal while he waits for his father to get home. His father looks tired now too, and it scares Jeremie. His mother had looked tired at first.

"Papa," he says as his father tucks him into bed. "Are you sick like Maman?"

His father looks startled. "No, mon petit chou, why would you say that?"

Jeremie shrugs. "You look tired." He doesn't add like Maman, but it's on the tip of his tongue.

His father brushes Jeremie's hair back and gives him a smile. "I have been working a lot, but I am not sick, Jeremie," he states firmly. "You've been very brave through all of this, I don't think we've told you how much we appreciate it."

Jeremie squirms, feeling his cheeks flush. "Will Maman get better soon?" He misses seeing her dance in the living room; he misses her taking him out into the fields to stargaze.

His father smiles at him. "She will, Jeremie. The doctors just have to get the dosage right. The sickness…it is stronger than they thought."

Jeremie frowns and his father ruffles his hair. "They should figure it out faster."

"Just be patient, Jeremie. It will work out."

. . … . .

Aelita stretches out on her bed, idly flipping through a university catalogue while Jeremie works on a civics report. He looks over at her every so often, watching the way she unconsciously mouths the words she reads, the way she twirls a strand of hair around her finger.

"There are so many options," she says, looking up to meet his eyes. "How do you know what to do?"

Jeremie shrugs. "You just do," he says. She frowns at the non-explanation and he shrugs again. "Some people go for the jobs that pay a lot. Some go for things you're passionate about…you just figure it out."

Aelita heaves a sigh and looks back at the booklet in front of her. "What if you want to do everything?" she asks.

He laughs, not unkindly, and gets up from her desk chair to sit next to her. "I don't think anyone can do everything." He picks up the catalogue and looks at the majors she's reading through. "There isn't enough time to do everything."

She rolls over, staring up at the ceiling. "We have a whole lifetime," she says finally. "It should be enough."

He reaches over, tangling his fingers with hers. "Sometimes it isn't," he says. "If it was, then life could get boring."

Aelita plays with his fingers, squeezes his hand in hers. "Did you always want to study artificial intelligence?" she asks.

He glances at her, wondering if it's a loaded question, but she seems relaxed and genuinely curious. "No," he says finally. "I wanted to save the world." He can't suppress the small smile as he says it.

Aelita gives him a smile, shifts closer so that her head is resting on his shoulder. "I think you already accomplished that," she says. "So, what's next?"

. . … . .

"Jeremie, what are you doing?"

Jeremie's head jerks up and he looks over his shoulder to see his mother leaning on the doorframe to his room. She has her robe pulled tight around her and he realizes she's lost weight. It's the first time she's been up this week.

"Maman! Should you be up?" he asks.

"I am fine." She takes in the destruction of his room, the tools he'd liberated from his father's tool chest spread out on the ground. "What's all this?"

"I'm dismantling it," he says proudly. He looks at the spaceship that he's begun to take apart with his father's tools.

"I see," she says. She sits down on his bed and looks tired. "Why?"

"I'm not going to be an astronaut anymore," he announces. He climbs onto the bed next to her, takes her pale hand in his and brushes his hand over her bony fingers. He tries to remember how they looked on the piano keys, strong and flexible. "I'm going to be a scientist."

"Are you?" she asks.

"Yes. I'm going to find a medicine that works for you," he tells her. He looks up and frowns. "Why are you crying, Maman? Are you in pain, do I need to get the bottle in the kitchen?"

"No, no," she says. She wraps him in a hug and beneath the smell of sickness, he picks up the lavender smell of her soap and perfume. He buries his face in her shoulder and breathes deeply. She pulls back, brushing the tears from her face. "That is a very big thing to do," she says finally. "Are you sure you want to devote your time to it?"

Jeremie nods resolutely. It's something he's been thinking about and reading about at the library. Cancer. It's such a simple word for something that can completely change his mother. "Yes," he says firmly. "I'm going to find a way to make you better, Maman."

His mother pulls him into another hug and he lets her, even if he is too big for hugs now. He wraps his arms around her and pats her back awkwardly. "I might not be able to make you better right away. The books say I need to go to school for a long time."

"That's alright, mon petit étoile," she says. "You're already making me feel better."