Chapter 1

The bright moon is merely a sliver, a thin, shining fingernail appearing low in the sky. In a few minutes, it will drop below the horizon, hiding itself from my gaze. With my eye pressed against the lens of my telescope, I slowly turn the knob, bringing the celestial object into focus. Its craters and seas begin to appear sharp and distinct. I can make out shadows and mountains. Even though the waxing crescent isn’t revealing much of its body to me, I know the moon is growing. Soon it will be a half-moon, then full, then a waning crescent, and finally a new moon, completely hidden. The never-ending cycle. A crescent moon symbolizes new beginnings and positive change, according to one of my astronomy books. That may just be based on myths, but it’s something I can get into. I myself am hoping for changes.

I move the telescope up just a bit, and — ah! there it is.

“Hello, King Jupiter,” I say. “You’re looking especially jovial tonight.”

I chuckle at my little joke.

The moon and Jupiter are in conjunction, just 3 degrees separate them. I adjust my focus knob, and now I can clearly see the planet’s cloudy bands. I can also see the Great Red Spot, that swirling freckle on the giant’s face. I twist the knob a bit more, and there are the moons — Io, Callisto, Ganymede, and Europa — discovered by Galileo 370 years ago.

“Wow,” I say. “Oh, wow!”

I’m finally witnessing for myself what the Voyager 1 spacecraft observed a couple of months ago. The May 1979 issue of Astronomy magazine features excellent articles and photos of the planetary system of this gas giant. I spent about two hours in the library the other day, flipping through it. I read every article and examined every photo captured by the probe during its flyby of the planet.

“To boldly go where no man has gone before,” I say in the tone of Captain Kirk.

Yeah, I’m a nerd. The guys at school call me that, and they don’t mean it as a compliment. I don’t care; I like what I like. Get over it. I’m not a jock, so I’m not on any team. I don’t sneak off to smoke, so I don’t fit in with that crowd. I’m not part of the “popular” crowd, and I’m not a country kid. I don’t belong to either of those cliques. I know where I fit in: I am a nerd. So be it. Science nerd, word nerd, band nerd, theater nerd — that’s me all tied up in a bow.

Unfortunately, because of that, I am bullied. I’m short — only 5 feet tall- and every one of my classmates is taller than me, even the girls. It bothers me a bit, but I’ve learned that I can’t change it. My grandpa taught me about body positivity, so I accept my size. Others, however, view me as easy pickings. Bullies, cowards that they are, love to pick on the “little guy.” I hope that changes soon because it’s getting tiresome.

“Riley, time to come in,” I hear my mother calling.

“Aww,” I whine. “A few more minutes, okay? I want to see if I can see Andromeda.”

“Andromeda will still be in the sky another night,” she says. “And put some clothes on!”

Oh yeah, I’m also a nudist. My grandpa — my Papa — introduced me to naturism when I was 5 years old. When we went camping, we slept in the nude. I thought dropping my drawers, as he put it, and running around naked was far out! He told me that clothes create divisions between us. They are like masks for the body, making everyone look basically the same. Shirts, shorts, dresses, pants — clothes conceal the “real you.” Everyone’s body is different — longer, taller, shorter, fatter, or whatever. When you are naked together, you see the real person. You get to know them better without the artificial coverings. He also instilled in me an appreciation for being natural in nature.

“The human body is amazing, Riley,” he said to me as we sat cross-legged on a blanket, soaking up the sun. “Close your eyes. Feel the wind blowing across every inch of your body. Feel the sun shining on your skin. Sense your body absorbing the energy it needs. Imagine your pores opening to release all the toxins from your body. Allow the negativity to leave your body and your soul.”

Papa told me about Benjamin Franklin’s practice of taking air baths.

“He would fling open his windows and let the sunlight fill his sitting room. He sat there in that warm glow without clothes. He believed it invigorated his body, soul, and mind – and I believe it does, too.”

He told me that President John Quincy Adams liked to swim nude in the Potomac River.

“Supposedly, a female reporter sat on his clothes and demanded an interview,” he said. “That’s a tall tale, but the truth is Adams enjoyed skinny-dipping, and he did it often. So, what was good enough for the Founding Fathers is good enough for us.”

Papa taught me about body positivity. “Love the skin you’re in,” he said, and I’m trying to do that. I’m learning to appreciate my body for what it can do, rather than how it looks. My body takes me hiking in the woods, and I enjoy going for miles. It also lets me run — fast. I am a budding cross-country runner and hope to make the team next year. I do wish I had more muscles, though. I hope that changes soon. All the books I’ve read say to expect startling changes in your body once you hit puberty. Some of those changes have already begun, thank the stars. And the moon.

“Get to bed, kiddo,” Mama says. “Last day of school tomorrow!”

“Farewell, Andromeda,” I say as I go inside.