Page 26 of Bound by Stars

Jupiter

Eighteen days to Mars

I’m the only one in the library aside from the librarian, who has finally stopped giving me the side-eye.

My sketchbook lies open in front of me. I add a loose tendril of curly dark hair that never seems to stay behind Wes’s ear, imagining the way that porter—Reve, she called him—looked at her in that unfiltered way, like he wants her and he doesn’t care who sees it.

I slam the book closed.

They have more in common. They know each other. Hell, they live on the same planet.

I check my comm again. Ten ’til three. I tap the screen and whisper the message, “Message to Weslie. Don’t forget your presentation.”

Who am I, her mother?

“Delete message.”

Stacking my tablet and sketchbook, I tuck them under my arm and walk out of the library, heading toward the lab.

“Message to Weslie: want me there for your presentation?”

Now I just sound desperate.

“Delete message.”

I loop in a half circle until I’m headed in the opposite direction. If she wanted me there, she would have asked. “Message to Weslie: you’re going to do great. Send.”

My comm buzzes. I pull back my sleeve and tap it to view the message.

Weslie: Thanks. You coming?

When the lab door slides open, I expect Wes to be set up inside.

Tar and Asha are the only humans in the room. Perched on opposite sides of a table, Asha pulls a needle through the fabric in her hand and Tar scans his laptop with ILSA stationary beside him.

Two white dot eyes on her face screen shift to me. “Hello, Jupiter.”

Asha’s greeting is muffled by the pin she’s holding between her teeth.

Tar waves without lifting his gaze or speaking. He must be onto something.

Wes rushes in behind me.

“Cutting it a little close.” I eye the clock on the wall, failing to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

She frowns at me. “Six minutes. Plenty of time.”

“Want to try a run-through?” Setting my things down on the nearest table, I clear my throat too loudly, put my hands on my hips, and then shove them into my pockets, which feels equally wrong. I start to sit, decide against it, then slide onto the stool and fold my hands on the table.

Stop being so weird! She’s the same girl you’ve been working with for the last eleven days. And it’s not like she isn’t allowed to hang out with other guys. You aren’t dating. Hell, she doesn’t even like you!

I press my eyes shut and resist banging my forehead against the tabletop.

“Nah, it’ll make me more nervous.” She crosses the room, breezing past me, and glances at Tar’s laptop over his shoulder. “Are you reading ILSA’s code?”

Tar’s mouth opens and closes like he only just realized he might be overstepping. “I-I’m sorry. I should have asked. She’s incredible.”

Weslie smirks. “Except she’s kind of an asshole and can’t perform the simple functions of a comm device.”

ILSA pivots toward her. “You are the one who programmed me, Weslie.”

Wes glances back over her shoulder. “And?”

“It is a relevant fact.” ILSA’s face screen goes blank.

Tar furrows his brow and shakes his head. “Her messaging system looks fine to me.”

“I know. I’ve been over everything.” Weslie checks the time again and crosses the room.

She opens her laptop and picks up the tablet, moving to the wall screen and throwing ILSA’s plans up as she explains.

“There’s a glitch I can’t figure out. Every time she tries to deliver a message, it becomes gibberish. ”

Tar frowns. “She delivered Jupiter’s message clearly.”

Weslie and I exchange confused expressions. We’ve both heard ILSA’s message delivery. No one would describe it as clear. Half the time it barely sounds like words.

Tar checks over his computer screen again. “The programming and mechanics are perfect. Although her sarcasm and humor seem higher than what you initially coded.”

Makes sense. Wes was the one who programmed her, her most consistent human interaction, and…ILSA learns from her surroundings. I face the bot. “ILSA?”

“Yes, Jupiter?”

“Have you been distorting Weslie’s messages on purpose?”

“That is probable.”

“What?” Weslie tosses the tablet on the nearest table, marching across the room. “You’re telling me I have been agonizing over a fake problem for WEEKS?” She gets louder with every word, her face turning pink.

ILSA rotates her head toward Weslie. “You could have asked me, but your manners seem to be defective.”

I dissolve, holding myself up against the edge of the table.

Asha holds a fist to her mouth, and Tar grins.

“This is not funny!” Weslie grips fistfuls of her own hair, marching back and forth in front of ILSA. “I’ve been breaking my brain because you purposely distorted my messages. I wasted all that time!”

“All transmissions I’ve received from Earth since we’ve been on board have been damaged. Potentially interrupted by—”

“But you have them? They weren’t actually deleted?”

“Correct,” ILSA confirms.

“You lied to me?” Weslie looks murderous, which only makes me laugh harder. “I built you to organically expand your dataset so you could develop your environmental and social awareness, not so you could manipulate me! Why the hell would you do this?!”

“I am not culpable for your underdeveloped communication skills.” Two dots appear on ILSA’s blank face screen and shift toward Weslie. “Humans often learn by experience. Next time, you will consult with me when there is a malfunction in my operating system instead of resorting to insults.”

My cheeks ache and tears fill my eyes. “Come on, Wes. That’s funny. You gave her so much of your personality that you”—I can barely get the last words out—“made her as difficult as you are.”

She stops pacing. Her chest heaves and she shoves a finger in ILSA’s face. “If I weren’t depending on you to get me an internship on Mars, I would dismantle you right now.”

ILSA shifts her dotted eyes toward me. “I am not difficult. I am just smarter than everyone in the room.”

Weslie throws her hands in the air and falls onto a stool. Arms folded and lips pinched, she slowly shakes her head at ILSA.

I can’t take it. My side aches. I’m laughing so hard I can barely open my eyes. “Oh, wow, that might be an actual quote!” The rest of my words come out strangled and high-pitched. “She is you, Weslie.”

Wes’s face crumples, eyes pinched together as her head drops, shoulders shaking. I worry she’s crying until she takes a sharp breath and her laughter becomes audible.

I wipe the tears from my eyes, barely able to breathe.

“You know what this means, though?” I stare at Weslie as we both recover. “ILSA’s ready.”

I stand at the back of the room with Tar and Asha behind Calypso, who insisted on more of an audience. The beginning of the presentation is rough. I try not to wince when Weslie inserts two “ums” in the first sentence.

She takes a beat to roll her shoulders back and reset.

One deep breath, then another. Just like I taught her.

When she continues, she doesn’t have to check her notes once.

She delivers the speech like a pro, never glancing at the floor, staying present.

When she moves on, asking ILSA to begin demo mode and bringing our animated plans up on the wall, she meets my eye, grinning.

At the end of the demonstration, ILSA opens, releasing Weslie and retracting the oxygen helmet. Weslie steps onto the floor as ILSA breaks down and retracts her stretcher, folding it back into her chest compartment.

Wes is clearly fighting to breathe evenly, but anyone who didn’t know her might read it as excitement. She manages to catch her breath before ending the presentation with a smile, her eyes shifting between the imaginary board members around Calypso.

They clap, rising from their seat. “Well done, Weslie!”

The rest of us join the applause.

“Keep up the practice and I have complete faith that you’ll blow the board away.” Calypso picks up their bag and pulls the strap over their shoulder. They head for the door, pausing part of the way to meet my eyes. “And you have a real knack for illustration, Jupe.”

When the door closes behind them, Wes and I lock eyes, and she runs across the room.

Both of us cry out in celebration.

“I did it!” She crashes into me, locking her arms around my neck.

I catch her around the waist, the momentum almost knocking me off my feet, and let her slide to the floor, so we’re face to face. My voice softens. “You did it.”

“Where is my hug? I did spectacularly,” ILSA says from behind us.

Weslie steps away. “Yes. You did. And when I fix your personality algorithm, I won’t have to worry about you playing pranks on me during the real presentation.”

Asha puts an arm around ILSA. “You can’t change her now. ILSA’s perfect exactly the way she is.”

“Listen to the pink-haired one. She is nearly as brilliant as I am,” ILSA states.

“Agreed,” Tar adds.

My comm alerts me that I’m due for tutoring, and if I want a prayer of not spending all night chained to my mother’s side, I’d better not be late. “I have to go.”

It suddenly feels like this is the end. Every muscle in my body resists walking out the lab door. With the presentation and plans done, nothing is forcing us together.

Asha grabs Weslie’s arm. “So do we. We only have four hours to get ready for the Gala.”

“I’ll celebrate the halfway point by changing into sweats and having ILSA project old movies on my bedroom wall.”

“Oh, please come, Weslie. Pleeeeeease,” Asha begs.

“There’s going to be great food, and you love food.

And we get to dress up, really dress up, like full makeup, full gowns, full glam.

And before you tell me you don’t have anything to wear—I have been through your closet, and you absolutely do.

” She says each word faster than the last like she’s trying to squash every argument before Wes can make it.

“Just this one night, can you please drop the ‘I’m too cool to participate’ attitude? ”

Weslie turns to me with wide eyes, pressing her lips together, suppressing a laugh.

I glance down at my feet. “You should come.”

“Fine,” she groans.

“Yes!” Asha grabs her arm and yanks her to the door. “I think I’ve settled on black for you. Definitely some glitter. I’ve been waiting weeks to get you into something that sparkles!”

In the doorway, Weslie turns back and silently mouths, Help!