“I don’t know how you drink those things,” I said.
He shrugged, downed the rest of the shake in one gulp, and tossed the can into a trash basket already overflowing with soda bottles and fast-food wrappers. “I know you didn’t come down here to talk about myTality.”
“Of course not.” I’d never venture into his lair without very good reason. “I want to discuss aliens.”
After a slight hesitation, Ishmael said, “I guess you’re still pretty mad?”
“Mad doesn’t quite cover the complex range of emotions I’ve experienced the past few days.”
“Don’t you think it’s kind of cool, though? People think aliens were here!”
“Ishmael,” I said calmly. “No one thinks aliens were here.”
“Sure they do.”
“Even assuming that extraterrestrial life exists, there’s absolutely no evidence aliens have visited Earth, and considering the Fermi Paradox—”
“But see,” he interrupted. “No one knows that astrology stuff except you.” (Astrology: a pseudoscience claiming that the orientation of the cosmos controls a person’s personality and life path. Not to be confused with astronomy, an actual science studying celestial objects.)
I rubbed my eyes and tried to remain composed.
“Gideon?” Ishmael said after a moment.
“Yes?”
He licked his lips and shifted his weight. “I had this idea. I know you want to let the alien fuss die down…but what if we don’t?”
I stared at my brother. “Well yes, Ishmael, that’s technically an idea.”
“It’s just, have you imagined what it would be like if aliens really came to Lansburg?”
“But they didn’t.”
“Yeah, but we could make it happen.”
“Ishmael, we can’t make nonexistent aliens…” I stopped. “Wait. You’re talking about a practical joke, aren’t you?”
“Let’s call it a hoax.”
I gazed at my brother, dumbfounded. “Why would I ever agree to that?”
“Just hear me out,” he pleaded.
If I didn’t, he’d harass me until I caved. So I said, “Fine. But make it fast. The international space station is passing overhead tonight and I want to get my telescope set up.”
Ishmael grinned and got to his feet, eager to give his pitch. He’d probably gotten sales tips from Mother. “Okay, well, I didn’t exactly plan for any of this. But you have to admit, it’s kind of amazing. Aliens in Lansburg! All because of one small explosion.”
“Not that small.”
He ignored me. “I’ve been spending all this time trying to think up a senior prank, and I have nothing. Like, I’ve done so many pranks at school that people are desensitized to them. So my senior prank has to be super epic, something the school—no, the town—will remember forever. Then this fell into my lap.”
“How convenient.”
“An alien hoax! Yeah, it’s been done before, but not by us. You’re smart and know about science. And I know how to pull off a prank. Is there anyone in the world who could do this better?” Ishmael plowed ahead before I could respond. “And I know you’re thinking this is all about me and wondering what’s in it for you. But doesn’t part of you want to know if you can outsmart everyone?”
I opened my mouth to tell Ishmael an alien hoax was the worst idea I’d ever heard. But the words didn’t come.
It was a terrible idea. We’d definitely get caught.
(Would we, though? Wasn’t I clever enough to prevent that?)
And Ishmael was too unpredictable. There’d be no way to control him.
(Except when it came to pranks, he was surprisingly focused.)
And besides, what was the point of the hoax?
(To see if I could.)
(To prove myself.)
(For the glory.)
Something bubbled inside me, something that should have concerned me: excitement. It was the feeling I got before an experiment, when ideas began rushing at me.
Aliens, I thought. UFOs. Lights in the sky. Abductions. My brain began making checklists, compiling data. My thoughts sped up faster and faster until I had no control over them.
Could I pull it off?
Could I convince our town aliens were real?
Did I have the right knowledge and skill set to create a hoax unlike anything the world had seen before?
I took a deep breath and tried to reel myself in.
“You’re forgetting something very important,” I said. “No one who knows you will take this seriously.”
Immediately, Ishmael began shaking his head. “But dude, that’s where you come in. Who would believe you’d get involved in a prank?”
He had a point. I was known to be the voice of logic and reason. If I said Ishmael’s claims were legitimate, certainly people would take notice.
This might really be possible. If I were to—
But no.
What was I thinking?
Why was I even entertaining the possibility of an alien hoax?
“It would be completely reckless,” I told Ishmael. “Not to mention, a colossal waste of my time.”
“Dude, it totally wouldn’t be a waste. This could be like…like one of your science projects.”
“This is nothing like a science experiment.”
“Sure it is,” Ishmael said enthusiastically. “It’s just instead of chemicals or whatever, the experiment is about people.”
I looked at my brother for a moment. While I had thus far spent my life focusing on the natural sciences (E.g., physics, chemistry, biology, and, of course, astronomy.), social science wasn’t without merit.
“A psychological experiment,” I pondered.
“Right! A psychology experiment involving the whole town!”
I looked up. “No. Not psychology. Sociology.” (Sociology: the science and study of society.)
I could take notes. Collect data. Record conversations and gather relevant materials. It would be a legitimate research project. If I compiled information and documented results, sociologists might study my findings long into the future.
Suddenly, I had a realization that shot an electric jolt through my body. I’d read that to gain acceptance into MIT, one needed to be more than an exceptional student. The school favored applicants who demonstrated creativity and ingenuity. A sociological paper detailing the reactions of a town to an alien invasion might be the exact sort of innovation the admissions board was looking for.