Page 105 of The Last Hope

You know you’re more than survival.

Or maybe I’m just wishing I were.

Of what I’ve studied about our sister planets, their way of life is largely similar to people from Saltare-3. Down to the stereotypes of Influentials and Fast-Trackers. The former is elite class, often overdressed and proper, while the latter is hedonistic, pierced, and tattooed.

“Tomorrow, we all plan to look the part of a common Fast-Tracker.” I remind Franny of this.

“You didn’t have to bring me these three piercings,” Franny says in a scorching whisper, like she’s trying to set fire to the bleakness in my mind. “But you did.”

I did…

I nod several times. Not arguing.

I did.

The girls return to talking about cars, hair dye colors, and trash bins. Laughing again, even though I’m with them, and Kinden struts over with a glass of pear juice.

“Soarcastles, Franny,” he greets. “Little brother.” He sits on my right. “You’re all smiling now, but tomorrow, we’ll be flying to a trash moon, and I’ll laugh when one of you trips in someone’s soiled underpants.”

“You’re a juvenile,” Gem rebuts.

“You’re a juvenile,” he mimics, his impression of Gem’s high-pitched voice nearly spot-on at this point.

Gem huffs.

Padgett motions her spoon at Kinden. “You just proved Gem’s point.”

“I prove many points right, Padgett.” He unbuttons his champagne-colored blazer. “It’s a gift.”

“And a flaw,” she says easily and takes a casual bite of grub, but she’s pursing her lips to restrain a smile.

I sense him.

Trudging into the dining hall, Mykal scratches the back of his head. Wheat-blond hair threading his coarse fingers. Sweat pricks his bare chest, no cold slap of the wind or wet snow against his ankles. Discomfort grips his body like a belt five notches too tight.

He’s ready to be out of a starcraft and on land.

I want that for him.

Instead of just sensing, I look over at the buffet. Watching Mykal take a bowl and pick out the bonnaberries with his fingers. He tosses them back into the steaming vat of grub and grumbles under his breath.

Suddenly, he goes still, and then his head whips over his broad shoulder. He locates me, fixating on my mouth.

I realize only now… I’m smiling.

He felt my smile.

His lungs expand. Chest elevating. Just as the corner of his lip lifts, realities bear on me and him, and at the same time, our mouths form lines.

We need to be uncoupled so no one thinks we’re lifebloods. On the starcraftandon Saltare-1.

Mykal grunts out a gruff breath. Raking his hand harsher through his hair, and my jaw muscle tics. He jerks his head toward the door. Telling me he’s about to leave.

He’s been eating breakfast in the library. Not always alone. Franny spends every other day with him and me.

“Mykal,” Kinden calls, raising his voice to be heard. “Eat with us.” He digs into his blazer pocket and holds out a packageof cigarettes for him. His peace offerings this past month have come in the form of wood, tobacco, thread, and fabrics.

He’s understood quickly what Mykal likes.