Conspiracy

  Nell Armstrong. That’s what he was called. The kids at school always asked him, “Is your real name Neil? Are you named after Neil Armstrong?” And his answer stayed the same. “No, I’m not.”

Then, of course, there had to be a follow-up: “Are you related to him?”

         He could lie. But someone else would come along and contradict him. So, he was forced to tell the truth.

“Yes, he was my grandfather.”

         Then they would all gasp and crowd around with questions.

“Did you ever meet him?”

         “No.”

         “Do you have pictures?”

         “You can find them online.”

         “Did he ever take you to the moon?”

         Seriously?

         But the kids weren’t even so terrible. It was the grown-ups. More specifically, the teachers.

         In the first grade, they made him stand in front of his entire class and tell them about his grandpa. In second grade, the teachers couldn’t understand why his favorite historical American was George Washington. Third graders had to write a report on their opinion of the greatest event in history. Why didn’t he choose the moon landing?

         But nothing compared to his fourth-grade year. At his “Meet the Teacher”, Ms. Watkins had burst into tears and began sobbing about how his grandfather was her hero and asking if she could call him Neil for the rest of the year. Every day, after the Pledge of Allegiance, he had to come to the front of the classroom while everyone took a minute (and I mean a full minute, which is an eternity for twenty-three squirmy fourth-graders) of silence for the great Neil Armstrong. The end result being that, three weeks into the school year, he was the most unpopular person in the fourth grade.

         It was really his parents’ fault. They were the ones who had stuck him with that awful nickname: Nell. It wasn’t even his name! He was christened Nicholas Wilhelm and, somehow, by the time he was three weeks old, he was Nell.

         They swore that they had been calling him that for two months before they realized the connection to Neil Armstrong, but he didn’t buy it. 

         In mid-October of his sixth-grade year, Nell walked to school with his brother, Bobby. Lucky Bobby. No one cared about Bobby Armstrong.

         In the schoolyard, Eloise Fairfax ran up to Nell yelling something he couldn’t hear. “What?” he shouted. She stopped in front of him, gasping for air.

         “Never guess…. just found out…. total disaster…. better run.”

         Normally, he might be worried, but Eloise was always one for drama, so Nell waited patiently until she had caught her breath. Finally, she straightened up. “Mrs. Hutchinson is pregnant!”

         Nell blinked. “The whole school knows that, Ellie.”

         She shook her head. “That’s not the point! She went on maternity leave over the weekend, and now we have a substitute for the rest of the year! And guess who it is? Ms. Watkins!”

         Nell’s stomach dropped. “No!”

         “Yes!” Eloise nodded vigorously. Eloise had been in class with Nell ever since Kindergarten and had therefore witnessed all the horrors of his education, including fourth grade.

          “What can we do?” Nell whispered.

         “I’ve got it all worked out,” Eloise pulled him aside. “First, how do you feel about welding?”

         “What? No, Ellie, no welding.”

         She sighed. “Fine. Plan B. Operation Send Nell to Principal’s Office.”

         “Ellie!”

         “Okay, okay!” She thought for a moment. “What if we just put dead bugs into her sandwich? Then she’ll start throwing up, go home, they’ll get a new substitute for us, decide that she’s a better long-term option, problem solved!”

         “Ellie, I don’t know if that’s the greatest-”

         “Fantastic! I have the slugs in my bag.”

         “What kind of a person carries dead slugs in their backpack?”

         “Not the point, Nell. Listen,” she took out a small capsule packed dead, squishy slugs. “all you have to do is sneak into the teacher’s lounge, put the stuff in her lunch, and sneak back out!” 

         “Why me? Why can’t you do the sneaking?”

         “Because, when we’re taking that minute of silence for Neil Armstrong, I’m in the crowd.”

         Unfortunately, she had a point. Nell sighed, thoroughly annoyed with Ellie, Ms. Watkins, his parents, but especially, Neil Armstrong. Why’d he have to go land on the moon, anyway?

         “I really don’t see how this is going to help, Ellie.”

         “When Ms. Watkins finds the slugs, I will come forward and tell the whole school that you did it, you will confess, and Ms. Watkins will hate you forever. Genius, right?”

         Nell started. “Well,” he sighed. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t think of anything else, and he had to save his schoolyear. “Ok, fine. When should I do it?”

         “During recess. If you’re not back in time for the bell, I’ll cover for you. Ooh, I can’t wait!” Eloise pressed the capsule into Nell’s hands just as the bell was ringing.

         Back in the classroom, Ms. Watkins burst into ecstasy at the sight of Nell, declaring that he was the spitting image of his grandfather. Nell tried to excuse himself before the minute of silence, but his efforts were in vain, and he was forced back into his dreaded place at the front of the class, enduring the hostile glares of his classmates.

         The morning wore on and on. Nell watched the hands of the clock inch along as the minutes passed. At five minutes until recess, he raised his hand. “Ms. Watkins, I’m going to throw up!”

         Ms. Watkins physically jumped away from him. “Go!” she yelled. Nell sprang from his seat and bolted from the room. Eloise smiled and nodded eagerly as he passed.

         When he arrived at the teachers’ room, Nell found the door locked. Perfect, he thought. Where’s Ellie when you need her? He pulled out the capsule containing the slugs. He felt something cold on the back of the bottle. It couldn’t be, he thought, eagerly turning it over. Sure enough, there was a key crudely taped to the back. Nell smiled to himself. Thanks, Ellie, he thought.

         Nell quickly inserted the key and turned the lock. He pulled open the door and stumbled into the teachers’ room. He looked about. Where’s Ms. Watkins’ lunch? he thought, scanning the room. Finally, he spotted it hanging from a hook at the other end of the room. He began making his way towards the bag when, to his horror, he heard footsteps in the hallway. His heart racing, Nell frantically searched for a hiding place. The coat closet, he thought, striding quickly across the room. He had just managed to bury himself in the mass of furs and hangers when the door to the lounge opened. Footsteps sounded, and a man’s voice.

         “You’ll need to tell Mrs. Jenkins to deal with it herself. I’m sorry, but if she wants to be a teacher, she’s going to have to master the art of dodging spitballs.” Nell peeked through the keyhole of the closet and saw Principal Logwood talking to a young woman, whom Nell recognized as Ms. Aires, the Assistant Principal.

         “Yes, sir,” Ms. Aires made a note on her clipboard. “Also, Sally Fidowulf broke her toe on the playground last week, and her mother would like to meet with you to discuss the safety regulations at this school."

         Principal Logwood groaned. “She broke a toe!” He sighed. “Anything else?”

         Ms. Aires consulted the clipboard. “Yes, Ms. Watkins has declared that she simply cannot teach Eloise Fairfax.”

         “What? Eloise Fairfax again?” The principal turned around. “What is wrong with the child? She seems bright enough. But, so far, four of her nine teachers have rendered her incapable of instruction.”

         “She can talk rather a lot, sir.”

         “As do half the pupils in this institution! Oh, never mind. Ms. Watkins will have to figure it out. Maybe we can find Eloise a buddy or something. Who is she in class with?”

         Ms. Aires began to flip through pages on her clipboard. “Joel Adams, Adaiah Allan, Fredrick Allen, Nell Armstrong,-”

         The principal nodded. “How is Nell Armstrong?”

         “I’m not sure, sir.” Ms. Aires looked uncomfortable. She began shifting her eyes furtively about the room. Then she leaned in close and, removing her thick glasses, whispered, “I don’t believe that he’s figured it out yet, if that’s what you mean.”

         Principal Logwood smiled. “Oh, no. I’d be surprised if he did find out. The president couldn’t, why should some fifteen-year-old kid?”

         “Well, sir, he does have that letter.”

         “What letter? Oh! The one tucked into the book? I told you, Eva, he won’t find that. He’s probably always had the book, just been used to its presence. He’ll never think to look and even if he did, he’d have to find the letter.”

         Ms. Aires frowned. “If you don’t think he’ll find it, why are we still here? We were just supposed to make sure that he didn’t find out.”

         “Well, as it turns out, Eva, these decisions aren’t up to me. The FBI says watch the kid, I watch the kid.”

         A knock sounded at the door. Ms. Aires quickly slammed her glasses onto her face and answered it.

         “Hello, Ms. Aires.” The voice belonged to Eloise. “Ms. Watkins sent me to tell you that she needs me to stay here for the rest of the day, and possibly forever, because she is so distressed that she couldn’t even write a note to tell you all of this.”

         Principal Logwood groaned again. Ms. Aires ignored him. “Come in here, Eloise.” Eloise came.

         Principal Logwood looked at his watch. “I need to go. Eloise, just sit in here for a moment, and I’ll be right with you.”

         She nodded.

 The principal turned to Ms. Aires. “Coming, Eva?” They exited together.

         Eloise ran over to the coat closet. “Nell!” She whispered. “Are you in there? Did you find it? Did you do it?”

         Nell stumbled out of the closet, dazed. He felt as though someone had slapped him across the face with a wet noodle. “Listen, Ellie, I have to go home. Tell everyone that I was vomiting everywhere, okay? And walk Bobby home.”

         Eloise’s brow furrowed. “Are you alright, Nell?”

         “I’m fine,” he lied. “I need to go home, okay?”

***

         Back at home, Nell flopped onto his bed and began to think. How strange it had all been! His head buzzed with questions. Why were two FBI agents posing as a principal and his assistant? What were they trying to keep him from knowing? What was that business about the letter? And what did he, Nicholas Wilhelm Armstrong, have to do with it?

         The book. That was where he had to start. What book? Nell racked his brains. Of course, he thought, the space book. Neil Armstrong had autographed a space encyclopedia and given it to his son, who had given it to Nell’s father, who had given it to Nell. He ran over to his bookshelf and dusted off the book. He opened it and began thumbing through looking for a letter. Nothing. On the back cover, a short verse was written:

         Asteroids can fly,

         Mirrors cannot;

The opposite of cold,

         May not be hot.

         What on earth? Nell thought. Then it hit him. On earth! Asteroids weren’t on earth! They were in the sky. So, up. That was clue one. Alright, “Mirrors cannot”.

Mirror. A mirror could be a reflection. So, the front cover? Nell turned it over. Nothing except peeling paper. The next line, Nell thought. “The opposite of cold, may not be hot.” The opposite of cold is hot. So, things aren’t what they seem? This seemed a bit far-fetched to Nell, but, then again, his grandpa was an astronaut, not a poet.

         Nell looked at the front cover again, studying it hard. He noticed the tiniest bit of paper peeling at the corner. Could that be it? He took hold of it and began to pull. Patiently, he worked at it until it was released, revealing a long letter which read the following:

         Dear William,

                  I cannot begin to describe my gratitude at your cooperation. Had you not given me your assistance, all might have been lost. The Russians are closer to landing on the moon than we will ever be. Unknown to the people, President Nixon has placed a bet with the Russian government that would nearly triple our national debt and would throw America into a state of chaos and depression, from which we could never recover. The FBI plans to release the articles about the “Apollo 11 preparing for launch”. Then, I’ll lie low for a few months, reemerge with pictures of the moon landing from the source we discussed, and all will be well.

         William, it is essential that this information only be known to the two of us and the FBI agents participating in these actions. If the Russians were to find out even years after this time, they would wage nuclear war on America. But somehow, I can’t bear the idea of no one knowing. So, here’s what I intend to do. I’ll leave a copy of this letter hidden in a book. In order to find it, the person would have to be intelligent, patient, and fond of reading, and these types of people will surely have the sense not to tell the world.

         Perhaps my children won't find this letter. But maybe my grandchildren will. Or my great-grandchildren. Whoever they are, I hope that, one day, they will find this letter and be proud to bear the name of Armstrong.

                                                                  Yours sincerely,

                                                          Neil A. Armstrong

    Nell finished the letter and then stared at it for a full two minutes, silently letting it all sink in.

The moon landing was a fake. His grandfather had made it up to prevent the fall of America.

         Nell jumped up and began to cheer. He could tell the world! Now, no one would care that he was Neil Armstrong’s grandson! Oh, happy day!

         Nell looked back at the letter, smiling. But, as he reread his grandfather's words, the smile slowly slid off of his face. He looked over some of the lines.

“..even years after this time, they would wage nuclear war on America…”, “…surely have the sense not to tell the world…”, “…they will be proud to bear the name of Armstrong…”.

         Nell sighed. He looked at the letter for a long time. Some things are just meant to be a secret, I guess.

         The front door opened. Nell quickly shoved the letter back into the book and placed the book onto the shelf.

         “Nell, it’s Ellie. Are you doing okay?”

         Nell breathed deeply. “Come in, Ellie.” He paused a minute. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m wonderful, actually.”

         Eloise frowned. “You won’t be for long. Principal Logwood confiscated my slugs.”

         Nell laughed. “Well, Ellie. Some things just are the way they are, you know?”

         Eloise sighed. “Yeah, I guess so, Nell.”

         They laughed together.