Page 12 of Until the Stars Fall

Elevator chimes sounded from two directions. Zola and Summer entered from the stern elevator, their laughter echoing up the high windows, and Beck headed in from the main elevator. The three of them met in the middle and went straight toward the table, bypassing me altogether. I put my head down and concentrated on giving the cat scratchies on his fluffy scruff, eliciting a purr that could wake the dead. My stomach knotted up again. I was good with groups of three, but anything above that tended to shut me down.

The others gathered around the table, their conversations and merriment ebbing and flowing like a family preparing for a holiday meal. I ran my finger along the fuzz of the cat’s nose, painfully aware of my interloper status in the tight-knit group.

Hannah and Summer stood with their heads close, talking softly together. Summer’s eyes focused on my sister as she spoke, and she reached out and tucked a lock of Hannah’s hair behind her ear so gently. A soft jealousy twinged in my empty chest. I’d been too lonely for too long.

I glanced at the others. What was the protocol here? I was hungry, but if I went over for something to eat, I’d have to make small talk. I hated small talk. Stay here being awkward was clearly my only option.

Social situations with new people were the worst. I felt farther away from home than ever, and except for my siblings, who were both happily paired, and apparently this cat, who was now making a tentative approach to my lap, I was alone in the universe. The sprinkling of stars wheeled outside the bank of windows, and it made me long for home. Real home with my family, years ago when my parents were still alive.

“Hey Gemma! I didn’t see you come in!” Summer sat on the rug beside me with a lunch box, and my furry friend scampered away at the movement. Hannah sat on her other side.

“Oby,” Hannah called to the cat, “you don’t have to run away! He’s so scaredy,” she said, shaking her head.

At the smell of food, my stomach growled so loud I think everyone must’ve heard it. I pressed my hand to my belly and tightened my muscles to shut it up.

“We didn’t get to talk much before launch,” Summer said. “How was your trip in?”

“Oh, it was fine.” I shrugged. “It was the Tube.”

She laughed and nodded. The Tube was good for only one thing: getting somewhere in a hurry. Otherwise it was an uncomfortable, no-frills, miserable little train with bad food and too few windows.

“How’ve you been?” I asked, remembering my manners.

“I’m great,” Summer said. “Excited to be off and running finally!” She lowered her voice and leaned toward me, eyebrows drawn together. “Are you okay? Hannah told me about your job. I’m so sorry.” She squeezed my arm, then unpacked her lunchbox.

“Sorry about what?” Beck sat beside me on the rug—at least at a respectable distance—and held two worn metal lunch boxes out toward me. “Would you like Star Wars or The Incredible Dragon?”

All I saw when I looked at him now was my engine room mistake and my secret uncovered. I frowned at him and grabbed one of the boxes with both hands. “Star Wars, thank you, because that’s what we’re going to have if you don’t mind your own business.”

Beck only nodded and handed me the requested lunchbox. Wise choice.

Summer sighed. “I swear he’s got preternatural hearing, but he means well.” She reached across to gently backhand him on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” he said, opening his lunchbox and unwrapping a sandwich. “I just thought I ought to get to know my chore-mate.”

“Chore-mate?” I glared at Hannah.

“I decided to station you both in the engine room for the whole trip,” Hannah said.

I glared at my sister, the maker of schedules and misery, but she was picking a subpar piece of bread off her sandwich, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

No one said anything, and it was awkward, especially the tension between me and Beck. “Thank you for the table,” I blurted. “Hannah said you made it?”

His head turned to me. “Yeah. You’re welcome. I made it for you last summer.”

“Last summer?” I decided to come on this ship only two months ago.

He peered down into his soda can as if trying to gauge how much he had left. Or how much he should say. But I felt exposed, like I’d stepped out of the house in my underwear, and he was politely averting his eyes.

He shrugged. “I dabble in divination.”

With nothing to say to that, I turned my attention to my lunch box. Tucked inside was a ham-and-cheese sandwich on homemade bread wrapped up in beeswax fabric, and my stomach urgently reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since that morning.

“This looks so good,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a real sandwich.” I balanced the box on my lap and took a small bite, careful not to drop crumbs.

Beck frowned. “What have you been eating out in San Francisco?”

“Fresh food was getting pretty scarce. Let’s just say I’ve eaten more than my fair share of FFPs in the last few months.”

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