Page 15 of Bound by Stars

Weslie

Thirty days to Mars

Racing down the hall, I swing around the doorway into the classroom as Calypso calls for silence.

I slide onto the open stool next to Asha before everyone’s settled.

My stomach growls loudly enough that she looks concerned.

ILSA kept warning me I needed to get out of bed, that I was going to be late, that I would miss breakfast, but I was wide awake long after I was escorted back to my room last night.

A couple of tables away, Jupiter looks up from his sketchbook, grinning like he’s happy to see me. Like we’re friends now.

Calm down. We managed one civil conversation.

His right eye squints a little more than the left when he smiles, making his face less symmetrical, but somehow more perfect.

I shake off the thought.

“Let’s begin with updates on Earther Experience reports,” Calypso says.

I lay my head on the table and close my eyes. Those dripping red letters from the elevator flash across my memory again. Hands off our planet. By the porter’s expression, I’d thought it was blood, but the sharp odor of paint filled my nostrils before Jupiter and I were whisked away.

It’s the smaller letters underneath the message that I can’t stop thinking about, though. A dash and initials: E.F.E. I’ve seen them before. A long time ago. The memory tickles my brain but won’t fully take shape.

Maybe they’re only letters, probably painted by an Elysian who will pin it on an Earther just to stir up trouble. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Hale. I wouldn’t be surprised if he blamed it on me. And I wouldn’t be surprised if they believed him.

Even more reason to take Reve’s advice. Blend in. Play their game.

Calypso pats the table next to my head as they wander past, and I sit upright.

They add to someone’s statement. “…leading to a lot of resentment from Earth toward people on Mars and the Interplanetary Alliance.”

Oh, good. They’ve moved on to reviewing a very edited, Elysian-friendly version of Earth’s history. This should be fun.

One of Hale’s friends, a guy with messy hair and a crooked nose who laughed while Hale tried to drown me, smirks like he’s already won a debate. “But the companies on Mars provide jobs and services for Earthers.”

At a cost. Keep your mouth shut, Wes. You are alone here.

“Yeah! Historically, they fully rely on us,” someone near Jupiter in the middle of the classroom adds.

Wrong. I remember my dad’s rants at the dinner table.

I know what it’s like on my own planet. Historically, corporations built Mars into their own little upper-class safe haven before things on Earth went bad.

They claimed and privatized all the resources they could, turned their company campuses into cities built around factories to make shit to export to Mars, and left Earthers with two options: work or die.

I fold my hands in my lap and hold my lips between my teeth.

“Without Elysian companies, no one would have survived on Earth,” another voice adds.

“Hold up!” The words burst through my restraint. “The world was in meltdown and the only survival option given to them was to become low-paid laborers in dangerous factories producing shit for Mars…and you think they did Earthers a favor ?” As soon as I shut my mouth, I notice all the blank stares.

Jupiter and Calypso are the only people smiling. So much for blending in.

“Even dus…Earthers can prosper with hard work. You’re here, aren’t you?” Meridian glares at me from across the room with raised eyebrows and pinched lips, like I’m required to agree.

I hold eye contact and speak slowly. “And with enough nepotism, Elysians can prosper, too. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Meridian stands, slapping her hands on the table like she’s ready to fight me.

Bring it.

“Okay, okay. We’re getting off track.” Calypso steps between us, arms waving, and looks over their class.

“The purpose of education is not only to prepare you for future employment, but to expand your perspectives, teach you to critically evaluate news and narratives, and form your own opinions on the world. I encourage each of you to take that to heart, even—no, especially—when you disagree with what you hear.” A pointed de-escalation that, I can only assume, went straight over Meridian’s head.

“She’s right, though.” Jupiter completely ignores Calypso’s attempt at civility, meeting Meridian’s gaze with an angelic smile, which she of course returns as she sinks back into her seat.

So much for not being as horrible as the rest of these entitled snobs. Traitor.

“Jupiter…” Calypso draws out his name like a warning.

“Hear me out! Elysium rewards every citizen and Earther who contributes to society. Take Weslie, for example. She won an interplanetary competition, beat out hundreds of other entries, and created groundbreaking tech. Impressive enough. And, for all her efforts, she was awarded one single ticket to Mars.” He turns back to Meridian, beaming at her again, even brighter.

“More than generous considering she didn’t have the good sense to be born in Elysium like you and me. ”

Meridian’s eyes narrow, her lips pressed into a hard line.

Not bad, Dalloway.

“All right!” Calypso interjects. “Everyone, pull up your trigonometry book app and find page eighty-seven.”

They turn back to the wall at the front of the class and bring up the page, circling an exercise with their finger as the overhead light dims. The area is clipped, enlarged, and pushed to the side of the wall, leaving room for them to demonstrate solving the equation step by step.

Meridian leans over to whisper to Hale. If my existence hadn’t pissed them off, that exchange certainly did. Her eyes stay glued to me until the bell sounds and lights flash, signaling the end of class.

Asha cuts off the view of my nemeses, checking over her shoulder more than once before we’re out of the room and she launches into all the details I didn’t ask for about Meridian.

As we pass the grand staircase, instead of the wonderful scent of food that usually wafts out of the dining room, my nose burns with the thick smell of varnish.

I remember the odor from a million years ago when Dad enlisted my help to fix our scratched-up, wobbly kitchen table for Mom.

I wonder if he would have bothered if he knew what it’d look like by now, buried under her work.

I gingerly touch my finger to the wall. The finish still a bit tacky. New. The paint-splattered elevator flashes across my mind again.

Asha pulls me into the busy dining room, and immediately, my nerve slips. The stares, real or imagined, brush against me like gusts of wind. I keep my eyes low, trying to appear unassuming and nonthreatening. How many of them know about the vandalism? How many think I did it?

“…and when Jupe broke up with her, she…did not take it well. She stole his sketchbook and burned it…on the ship to Earth. They almost evacuated before some of the crew found her and got it under control. It was chaos. She was definitely eyeing ILSA back there; I would keep an eye on her if I were you.”

By the time I’ve cleared one and a half plates and we’ve walked across half the width of the ship to the class lab, Asha is still going on about Meridian.

Ahead, a door bursts open and a dozen balls the size of dinner rolls tumble out, unfurl, and scurry around the hallway.

“Tarak!” Asha runs toward them, grabs one by its long ears, and scoops up two others.

Not balls, some kind of animals.

A boy with short black hair, a magnifying lens strapped over one eye, and Asha’s delicate face, minus today’s silver eyeliner, runs out the doorway collecting the little creature bots. I think I’ve seen him in class.

He points behind me. “That one’s a runner!”