Project Snap Decision

Chapter Two

INTERNAL OFFICE MEMO:

Finance to Marketing: Funds are stage three. CEO and CFO have advised a marketing "hail mary" to re-engage lost audience. Taxpayers will not encourage Congress to allot more of the budget if there is not a tangible interest for them to hold on to. Finance is awaiting the social media engagement project to reacquaint NASA with the general public. Please advise.

"Camden, you're being a fucking bitch."

"Thanks for your undying support, Stevie." I sigh. My best friend Stevie, who works in the marketing building at NASA can be illustratively blunt. And she's not entirely pleased by my self-loathing.

"Look, I get that you might be a little peeved if I left NA—"

"A little, Cam? I could fucking kill you! How could you just drop your dream like that? Becoming an astronaut is not as far-fetched as you're making it seem." Stevie narrows her eyes. "Are you okay? This feels like a much bigger issue."

I roll my eyes. I know she has my best interests at heart, but my mind is practically made up. I'm not going to survive this place if I don't get out now. But if I continue to talk to her about it, she'll exhaust herself trying to help, which, while a credit to her character, is deeply unhelpful for my current state of moping.

"Anyway, what's going on with you? I heard finance was reaching out to try and problem solve the whole 'going under' situation?" I quipped.

Stevie gave me a piercing look before seemingly acquiescing to my subject change. She sighed.

"Yeah, we're supposed to come up with some big program to enrapture all of social media and rake in all the needed funds. And do it within months. Completely reasonable." She deadpans.

"Well, why don't we peruse the latest social media craze to give you some inspiration?" I offer. Stevie chuckles, takes out her phone, and pulls up TikTok. Immediately, we're assaulted with not one, not two, but three Joe Burreaux fan edits in a row.

"Stevie what the fuck?" I laugh. "What have you done to your For You Page to bring up so many Joe edits?"

Stevie laughs before saying she has no idea.

"When is the last time anyone was talking about him anyway?" I ask. "Didn't he tear his Achilles heel last year at the Super Bowl and then slide off the face of the Earth?"

"I think it was actually a catastrophic tear to his ACL, Cam. And yeah, I haven't heard anything about him since—beyond the fact that he recovered, but his career was over."

I watched as the edit of Joe in an interview from just a year or so earlier replayed over and over on Stevie's phone. He glances toward the camera a few times, a dazzling light in his eyes while he licks his lips before answering the next question. A thought pops into my head, unsolicited.

"Stevie..." I begin.

"Ugh, what? I don't like that tone. That tone means you have something insane to say." Stevie groans.

"Whatever happened to that reality TV project you were kicking around? What if you had a celebrity training to go to space? Do you know how many thirteen-year-old girls would be kicking their heels around and giggling watching Joe Burreaux try to fit into his astronaut suit and subsequently lose their shit when he went zero-g and his abs floated off the screen?"

"That may be simultaneously the most stupid and brilliant idea I've had relayed to me in one go, Cam." Stevie suddenly gets a wild look in her eyes. "That reminds me of another story board I was working on for the CEO and CFO." She jumps to her feet. Stevie always has a crazed demeanor when she's working up a new idea. I'm not entirely sure I trust it.

"I need to go." And without another word, Stevie bolts from the room like a twelve-year-old who got into their cousin's crack.