Page 80 of Bound By Stars

Jupiter pulls out a chair next to Mr. Earnshaw and nods for me to sit. My name is projected onto white porcelain flanked by more utensils than any human should ever need to feed themselves.

“I don’t believe we have been introduced, young lady,” Mr. Earnshaw says a little too loudly. He offers his huge hand, as puffy and pink as his face.

Jupiter discreetly whispers, “Okay, you can have my entire dessert.”

I shake the man’s hand, leaning away, and let go as soon as possible. Does he seriously not remember me?

“I’m Calvin Earnshaw, and this is my wife, Philomena.”

I nod to the woman, but my smile widens when I see who’s seated beside her. Skye. Thank the universe.

The people next to her must be her parents. He has Skye’s usual patient expression, and she looks like an older copy of her daughter with long hair, in contrast to Skye’s short waves, loc’d and piled high upon her head.

There’s a shift in the room, and everyone takes their seat. Porters move around the tables, balancing trays. Smaller plates are placed on the platters in front of each of us. Faintly sweet steam wafts past my face. A fleshy white lump of glistening meat sits over a smear of green sauce, topped with a sprig of grass. The other diners pick up forks without hesitation. I guess they all recognize this as food.

Mr. Earnshaw swallows the last of the meat from his plate, chasing it with champagne and waving over a porter to refill his glass. “So, young lady, what do you plan to do after basic levels? Lots of exciting opportunities for bright young people in Elysium these days.”

This guy can’t be for real. I fight to keep my voice even, and it comes out flat. “I plan to work in robotics.”

“Is that a common path for kids nowadays? In my time, that was grunt work.”

My face goes hot. Pompous asshole. You were literally part of the panel that chose my bot as the winning entry, and you can’t bother to remember me?

“Weslie is from Earth, Calvin. She is a guest,” Jupiter’s mother is quick to inform him.

“Oh, very interesting. What are living conditions like on Earth these days? I hear the dry season has been decreasing. I was only there for a brief time.”

“Long enough to judge the contest I won,” I mutter under my breath and clear my throat. “We did have more rain than usual this year.”

The plates are removed from our table. I spear the little medallion of white meat with one of my forks and devour it whole, right before a hand reaches between me and Mr. Earnshaw. With a full mouth, I thank the silent porter who keeps his eyes down and expression neutral.

Ms. Earnshaw leans forward, so her heavy breasts almost rest on her plate. The bottom half of the letters of her name are projected across her cleavage. “What do your parents do, dear?” Her voice is nasal and high-pitched.

I take a deep breath. I’ve avoided this awkward fact until now, but no use lying. “My mother works in the Dalloway Tech factory.”

Jupiter whips his face toward me, squinting like he’s surprised I never mentioned it. Shouldn’t he have assumed, though? Almost everyone in my town works there. His family’s factory accounts for at least 80 percent of the jobs. If I go back to Earth, chances are I’ll end up working there, too.

“Factory workers are so essential.” Mr. Earnshaw downs the rest of his glass again and taps a fist to his chest, his cheeks expanding with a burp.

“It must be a treat to have the first-class experience after a life like that.” Ms. Earnshaw’s shrill voice makes the cloaked insult more enraging.

Our plates are replaced. The main course is a small, round stack of paper-thin vegetables and pastry sitting in broth, surrounded by a leafy sprig. Everyone picks up their second fork of the meal and the knife on the other side of the plate, though I’m positive I could cut through this thing with a spoon.

“Don’t you feel awfully out of place here?” Without pausing for an answer, Jupiter’s mom cuts a small portion of food and glowers across the table with a pinched smile. “I imagine you’d be tempted to join your people in second class.”

I narrow my eyes and bite my tongue.

Jupiter shakes his head. “Mom…”

I grab his hand under the table and squeeze. I would love to give her a piece of my mind, but not here. Not now.

Conversation is minimal as we finish the second course. Skye’s parents draw attention to the opposite side of the table, asking the Earnshaws about their new housing in the Elysian habitat.

When porters come around passing out desserts, Jupiter’s father reaches for one, but his mom waves off the tray.

She really is evil.

A different porter reaches between me and Jupiter, sliding plates in front of us. I don’t know what it is, but it’s fluffy and dripping with chocolate. I snatch up my spoon and dig in.

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