Page 14 of Bound by Stars
Jupiter
Thirty-one days to Mars
“You again,” Weslie huffs.
“You know, you can talk to me without running me over.” I sit up and draw my leg to my chest, rubbing my newly bruised shin.
She purses her lips, scanning the trees at the edges of the grassy patch. “It’s kind of our thing now. Why change what works?” Angling her body between the trees onto the main path, she turns back.
Behind her, ILSA bumps into the tree trunks. The opening is too slim for the bot. Her round “eyes” narrow into two slanted dashes as they move along the row, searching for a bigger gap.
“You don’t have to go.” Did that sound too eager?
Weslie glares at me through slits, then whips her head to the right at the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone running.
I drop my sketchbook onto the soft turf, hop up, and pull her back through the trees. We squat down out of sight as ILSA reverses toward the darker shadows.
Two more porters run past, too quick to notice us. Not Gianna.
By the time my dad was likely having post-dinner coffee with the stragglers in the dining room and my mom had long since gone to sleep, leaving Gianna to track me down, I wandered into the empty arboretum.
The gigantic room was quiet aside from the artificial breeze rustling the leaves—and full of hiding places.
I don’t realize I’m still holding onto her arm until Weslie pulls it away, hard enough that she falls on the turf.
She scoots back an extra foot and wraps her arms around her knees. Our eyes meet, but she looks away as fast as she can to find ILSA. “We’ll wait a few minutes to make sure they aren’t coming back this way.”
“Are they after you?” I ask.
“I don’t think so, but as you like to remind people, I’m an Earther. They’ll keep a closer watch on me than anyone else in first class.”
“I didn’t mean to announce it like that. I’m really sorry.”
Raising an eyebrow, she glares at me, but I don’t try to convince her. I would have a hard time trusting my apology, too, given the circumstances.
Something softens in her eyes, and she shakes her head. “They would have figured it out one way or another. It was only a matter of time before someone tried to drown me.”
“That was way out of line, even for Hale. Are you okay aft—”
“Speaking of assholes, aren’t you supposed to be at dinner with all the other fancy important people?” She averts her eyes, watching a holographic bluebird soundlessly dart over the treetops.
I get it. She doesn’t want to talk about what happened at the pool. Fair enough.
“I’m playing an extended game of hide-and-seek with my mom’s henchwoman. Also, this is the best place to pretend you’re on Earth.” Circulated air makes the trees sway, and their shadows shift over the path. If I ignore the faint plastic scent underneath, it almost feels like we’re back on Earth.
“I thought Earth was for dust mites.” Her jaw is tight as she watches a humming cleaning-bot pass in the full light of the pathway, sucking up a fallen leaf.
“That’s Hale’s opinion, not mine.” I try to make eye contact again, so she knows I’m serious.
She shifts away a fraction more, mouth tight like she still doesn’t believe me.
“I hate the formal meals on these ships. Why can’t dinner just be dinner? Like those old television shows, where people just ate. No order to it. No dressing up. No sitting with the right people.”
“We don’t even have a dinner table at my house anymore.” She picks at the turf. “I usually eat in bed.”
“Now, that’s the life.”
She laughs. “Until you consider I have to grow, pick, clean, and cook the food before I can eat anything.”
Nice move, Jupe. Privilege on full display. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
“My dad overplanted one spring and, for two months, we lived on beets. My teeth were purple for almost a year.” A hint of a smile shimmers in her eyes like it’s a sweet memory.
I have it so easy in comparison. Here I am sulking over my cushy, pre-planned life when it’s never even crossed my mind to worry whether my next meal would come.
She laughs. “Don’t break your brain trying to wrap your mind around it. That’s just Earth.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“I’ll take a pass on the sympathy, Big Six.
” She leans back, propping herself up with her palms in the grass.
She sucks on her teeth, scanning the swaying branches above, then clicks her tongue like she’s running out of patience.
Her eyes lock on the sketchbook between us. “What are you working on there anyway?”
I push it toward her, sitting up to watch her flip through it.
The first pages are drawings of Elysium.
Levels of housing, walkways lined with edible gardens, and the ridges of the Phlegra Montes range I can see from my bedroom window.
Then star maps. Galaxy maps. The route from Mars to Earth.
In the middle of the book is a portrait of Andi backed by a spiral galaxy.
Her eyes look like mine. Her short hair is made up of minimal linework to show its pale color.
At the bottom of the page in uppercase letters is written ANDROMEDA .
She runs her finger over the name. “Who’s this?”
“My sister. Andi.” I clear my throat, trying to cover the choked sound in my voice.
Weslie’s eyes meet mine full-on, and I could swear she’s peering directly into my mind, my memory.
Words gather in my chest, swirling and expanding like a building storm. Everything I miss about my sister, everything that happened that day, everything that’s changed since ready to burst out. I’m the one to look away, burying it all.
She lays the book down on the fake grass.
“Thank you, by the way. For helping me at the pool. I shouldn’t have…
I…” Swallowing hard, she lies back and stares into the branches overhead.
Through a sigh, almost too quiet to be meant for me to hear, she says, “I didn’t realize it was going to be this difficult. ”
“Thanking me? You didn’t have to.”
She laughs. “That, too. But I meant, this whole thing.” She waves her arms in the air. “I’ve always wanted to go to Mars, but I had no idea how hard it would be to get there.”
I’m not sure what to say. I always wanted to be on Earth.
She sits up, angling her body away from me like she realized she was giving away too much.
I glance up at the bot settled between the trees behind us. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“She’s in silent mode. Easier to sneak around a ship at night without a bot running her mouth the entire time.”
ILSA’s face screen blinks with a frowny face icon followed by an exclamation point.
I suck in a breath. “Speaking of ILSA…Calypso asked me how our partnership was going again. I lied. Told them everything’s great.”
“Perfect. I don’t need help. And you’d probably rather do…whatever it is that you do.”
“I don’t like lying.”
“And I don’t like babysitting.” She stands like time has run out on our conversation. “Time to go, ILSA.”
I rise to my feet next to her. Fine. I’m not above begging. “Please, Weslie. You’d be doing me a huge favor. And I’m not the worst company, right?”
“Debatable.” As she turns to follow ILSA out of the trees, she’s clearly fighting back a grin.
I follow, spotting my chance through the narrow crack in her resolve. “I’ll just watch. No getting in your way. Promise.”
She lets a leafy branch snap back in my direction.
I duck just in time. “You’ll hardly know I’m there unless you need someone to hand you a screwdriver or get you a snack.”
Near the arboretum’s back entrance, I almost run into her again when she spins around to face me. “No talking?”
I mark an X across my chest. “Cross my heart.”
Glancing sideways, she purses her lips and then lets out a huff of breath. “Class lab. Tomorrow at three.”
“I’ll be there.”
She walks faster, shaking her head like she’s already regretting the change of heart. “No need to mow me down in the hall beforehand. I’m 80 percent sure I’ll recognize you without a collision.”
As I head for the elevator six meters away, she turns toward the back staircase a kilometer down the hallway. That’s a lot of extra walking just to avoid spending a couple more minutes with me.
The sound of pounding feet makes me spin back, automatically putting my hands up. Ready to surrender to Gianna. But a porter rushes at Weslie, herding her and then us toward the elevator.
“This way, please. You’ll have to take the lift.” His hair comes loose from his ponytail as he whips his head back and forth toward either end of the hall and aggressively mashes the elevator button.
“What’s wrong with the stairs?” Weslie’s voice is strained.
“Maintenance.” The porter hits the call button rapidly, three more times, staring down the hall toward the stairs and indecipherable shouts.
“On stairs? Fine, I’ll use the main stairway across from the dining room.” Weslie starts to make her way back across the arboretum, but the porter grabs her by the wrist.
I peel his hand off of her. “No need for that. Just tell us what’s going on.”
A bead of sweat runs down the side of his face into his thick beard.
The elevator dings and the doors part. Inside, the mirrored walls are splattered red.