Then he fired the retros and began the long fall home.
His dad, a launch coordinator who’d died two days before Leo’s fourteenth birthday, had left him two things: the shuttle and a single notebook. The first page read: “By 18, you’ll know if you’re ready.” teen 18 yo
The intercom crackled. Not from mission control—from a handheld radio duct-taped to the dashboard. A voice came through, rough with sleep and worry. Then he fired the retros and began the long fall home
He froze. “Mom. Don’t try to stop me.” ” he whispered. “Let’s see.”
“Okay, Dad,” he whispered. “Let’s see.”