Page 5 of Bound by Stars

Jupiter

Thirty-five days to Mars

Next to one of the large round windows in the empty classroom, I take a seat.

No points for being early, but the room is nearly silent aside from the constant, gentle hum of the ship.

I sip the coffee I snuck out of the busy dining room alongside my cinnamon bun.

Opening my sketchbook from a random point in the middle, I flip past the portrait staring back at me as fast as I can and find a blank page.

I tear a bite out of my pastry and etch short, flowing lines on the paper until they begin to resemble wild hair around hooded, hazel eyes.

No. Nope. Not that. I can’t start sketching the Earther girl.

I won’t get it right the first time, which will lead to lots of staring and wasted pages and probably her pummeling me on purpose next time.

I imagine her tackling me, that fire still burning behind her soft eyes like she could explode at any second. That wouldn’t be so bad…

No. Stop.

That cannot happen for so many reasons. For starters, she doesn’t seem to like me at all. And even if she did—I’m an heir now. I no longer have the luxury of making choices like that for myself.

I flip to another page and stare out the nearest oval window, Earth visible along the bottom edge, and sketch swirls of clouds and curves where land meets water.

A slurping sound breaks my concentration.

Curran pauses right inside the classroom door, focused on the tablet cradled in his palm. His short, dark curls are matted from sleep, but his brown eyes are puffy like he didn’t sleep at all. Steam rises out of the mug at his lips.

“Still working on that family history project?”

He lowers the cup. “Still avoiding your mom?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Always.”

An heir to the oldest family company on Mars, he was practically born ready for the responsibility. Unlike me.

You learn early when you’re a second-born that your job is to listen, observe, be invisible. You’re backup, a spare, expected to aid the family heir who managed to be born before you. That was my purpose when my sister was alive, and I was perfectly happy to do it.

Curran doesn’t understand my aversion to being my mother’s heir. But we’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember, so he’s spent enough time around her to understand the scope of my mom’s unrelenting intensity.

He slides into the seat on the opposite side of the table.

Up close, the faint shadows under his eyes stand out against his pasty skin.

Paler than I would be if my parents hadn’t been dictating my every move on Earth, but I didn’t befriend him for his sense of adventure.

He snags my cinnamon bun, ripping off a bite without asking.

The silver medallion that always hangs from a chain around his neck clinks against the table.

He grips it like he’s trying to imprint his family crest into his thumb.

“Heard there’s a new girl in first class. Met her yet?”

We didn’t exactly exchange names. “Not really.”

“Good morning, dedicated pupils.” Calypso, our instructor, sweeps through the room, tossing their bag on the desk. They get to work, throwing documents from their tablet that shrink and line up in a row of icons across the long wall screen.

Curran reaches across the table and tears off another bit of my pastry.

Without turning, Calypso says, “I will ignore the food in my classroom as long as it’s gone by the time we get started.”

For all the hours I’ve spent talking with them about Earth outside of class, I’m not exempt from the three rules they’ve programmed to run across the top of the wall: Be on time. Always have an opinion. And: No food in my classroom.

My mom’s voice echoes in my head. I will be sure Calypso knows to release you as soon as it’s finished. I slip off my stool and cross the room, approaching Calypso as they continue setting up. “Uh…hey.”

“What’s up, Jupiter?”

“I need a favor.” I explain my situation.

That my mom, who kept me from most of the experiences on Earth, will keep me locked away from my friends for this entire trip to have me focus on training I could do on Mars.

I might make it all sound more dramatic than it is, but I desperately need a break after the month of isolation in that damn penthouse.

They offer a warm smile as the rest of the students file in, taking seats on stools around rows of tall tables. “We’ll figure something out.”

I thank them and return to my seat.

“Throughout our journey, you’ll all be participating in discussions about what you observed during your mission.

” Calypso slides their finger up a panel on the wall, starting class like they’re in the middle of a lesson.

The overhead lights brighten, reflecting off their dark brown head and silver hoop earrings.

“Your final Earth Experience reports are due at the end of the month.” At the head of the room, they draw the due date crudely with one finger before it transforms into uniform text.

They sweep their hand over it, sending it across the wall-size screen to light up in a digital calendar in the upper right corner next to their name and pronouns, as if they haven’t been our teacher all year. “Any questions?”

I crane my neck to peer out the bubbled windows on the far wall, past the other students perched on stools around high tables, and discreetly open my sketchbook. Dark open space dotted with faraway stars and planets. I turn the pencil and scratch the side lightly over the white paper.

“Weslie, you’ll be exempt from the assignment. We’ll find an alternative project for you to focus on.”

All the heads turn to follow Calypso’s gaze to the back table, to the Earther girl. Weslie. She nods once with a pinched smile.

“As we’re fortunate enough to travel back to Mars on this brand-new vessel, I think it’s a good opportunity to learn about interplanetary expeditions.

I’ve set up tours and demonstrations to get firsthand knowledge of the inner workings of a passenger ship.

” They scan the room like they expect applause or gasps of excitement.

“We all learned about the operation of passenger ships in fourth year,” a high-pitched, exasperated voice calls from behind me.

Calypso raises their finger like they were prepared to defend this point.

“Ah, yes. You wrote reports, but experience is a deeper level of education. We’re going to get a behind-the-scenes look.

And once we’re well into our voyage, the captain has even invited us to the main bridge.

” Their expression falls as they survey blank faces.

I open my mouth to say something encouraging.

Skye beats me to it. “Sounds cool.”

We both saw the bridge yesterday on a private tour with our families.

I suspect my mother arranged it mostly to try to keep me from sneaking away on our first night on the ship, but also to force Skye and me to spend time together.

As if hanging out with our parents is somehow going to shove our relationship past friendship.

Calypso grins. “Cool indeed. But today…” They turn back to the wall and tap a small icon in a row on the edge. The light overhead dims and four words pop up on the screen: Boundless Safety Protocol Manual .

Groans erupt throughout the class.

“Do we really have to?” someone calls from the opposite end of the room.

Next to me, Curran runs his medallion back and forth against the chain around his neck. “Isn’t this supposed to be the safest passenger ship ever built?” There’s genuine concern in my best friend’s quiet voice.

“Indestructible!” another student says.

“Yes, the ship was built with every safety feature possible, but nothing is indestructible. As my mother always says, ‘Plan for the worst. Hope for the best.’” Calypso taps another icon and the phrase flashes over the manual before disappearing again.

“So regardless of the improbability of an emergency, you’ll be tested on all safety protocols at the end of the week. ”

More groans.

“Okay. Okay. Turn your attention to your tablets and…” They search for someone to call on. “Asha, please read the first item.”

Asha sits straighter. Even in the dim light, her pink hair is so brilliant it’s practically glowing.

Next to her, Weslie folds over the table, unruly curls hiding her face.

By item twenty-three, half the class is napping, and my eyelids are heavy.

“Hale, will you read the next item, please?”

“Item twenty-four. Airlock safety— Do we really need to go over this again?”

“Some might need the review or may not be familiar with the protocol.” Calypso’s eyes flick to Weslie and away just as fast. They don’t want to single anyone out, but this does feel like a waste of time. On Mars, airlock safety is practically a nursery rhyme.

“Nitro-purge, gear check, lock, decompression, tether. Got it, newbie?” Hale stares at Weslie, who looks like she’s about to crawl under the table.

I can feel the tension between my cousin and this new girl like heat from the sun. She tries to hide it under her hard expression, but she’s out of place and alone, adrift in unfamiliar territory.

“They basically guide you through it. Follow the buttons that light up and you’re golden,” I add, throwing her a lifeline.

“And if the automated system goes down, do you die waiting for the pretty lights, or did you learn how to manually initiate a nitrogen purge or override decompression along with your cute little checklist?” She glares back at me.

I lift my eyebrows and lean back, crossing my arms and fighting the grin tugging at the edge of my lips. I was wrong. This girl doesn’t need my help.

“You never introduced the new girl, Calypso,” Hale says louder, eyeing Weslie, but not addressing her directly.

“Not everyone enjoys being the center of attention, Mr. Dalloway. I’m sure you can introduce yourself during your free time.”

The screen wall behind Calypso goes blank before the whole room flashes twice with blue light accompanied by two high-pitched hums. Everyone stands, the new girl following suit and hurrying toward the door.

“No assigned activity this afternoon, but please read the rest of the safety manual on your own,” Calypso shouts as we all file out of the room.

Hale bumps into my side in the hall, nodding toward Weslie. “Know anything about her?”

“No.” Colliding with someone doesn’t give you as much insight as verbal sparring. “Only what you just heard. She’s smarter than all of us.”

A gentle, dark brown hand drapes over my forearm. Skye sighs, and I know what she’s going to say before the first word. “It’s officially happening. Overheard your mom talking to my parents last night. They’re announcing it before we arrive on Mars.”

My heart drops into my stomach.

She squeezes my bicep before releasing me, my own dread reflected in her black eyes.

We’ve had an unspoken rule about avoiding the topic, but this betrothal has been looming over us since I became my family’s heir.

We’ve been friends our whole lives. I love hanging out with her.

But I don’t want to marry her any more than she wants to marry me.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say through a breath.

No matter how hard I’ve tried to picture it, I can’t see her as my future wife.

No doubt she’s gorgeous. She always wears a relaxed smile that makes you feel a little better about life.

Her coiled black hair is cut short, usually gelled in waves to her head, to show off her long neck.

I’ve elbowed Hale more than once for his comments about her curves. I’ve noticed. I’m not dead inside.

I shouldn’t even have to think about marriage.

I’m only seventeen. It feels like I should have a lifetime before I’m bound to anyone.

But when you’re a Big Six heir, life happens to you.

The family-headed corporations control everything in two worlds.

Legacy is inescapable. Relationships are business agreements. Love is incidental.

The hall feels too small. I push through the students swarmed around the new girl, hurling questions at her too fast for her to answer.

“How long were you on Earth?”

Someone from the back of the crowd calls, “Are you from one of the other Mars habitats?”

“Which one?” asks another untethered voice.

As I pass, a girl from the Paradis habitat with a shaved head and a French accent croons, “So mysterious.”

Weslie is trapped in the center, struggling for answers. Her eyes flick toward the ceiling like she’s sifting through choices. When no one expects a thing from you, you’re free to be anything.

Bitter words slip past my lips before I can stop them. “She’s not a mystery. She’s an Earther.”