Kate Day - In the Quick

The person stood up and held on to the back of a seat, and I was relieved to see it was my uncle’s student Simon. I hadn’t seen him in at least a year but he looked the same, tall and thin, with soft wavy hair and a book under his arm. On his sleeve was the insignia of the NSP Explorer program. June, he said. I’m glad to see you.

I’d always liked how he spoke to me, not like he was talking to a kid at all.

Are you going to campus? he asked.

I’m starting school, I said.

He sat down next to me. I didn’t mind him being close—he smelled like shampoo and snow—but I wished he wasn’t looking at me so intently. My stomach was bad. The smell of the exhaust and the rumbling under my seat made it churn.

Are you all right? he asked.

I nodded.

You’re young to be going to Peter Reed.

I know.

We were on the highway now and the road was smoother. My stomach calmed a little.

Feel better?

Yes. Thank you.

We were quiet for a minute.

You’ll have Theresa in class, he said. She teaches math—

I think he said this to make me feel better, but I’d always been a little afraid of Theresa so it didn’t help.

—and I have shifts at the dive pool. So I’ll see you too.

Really?

I’ll look at my hours and make sure. Okay?

The heat finally switched on below our feet and blasted our boots. I let my body soften a little in my seat. He opened his book, Space Materials Science. The pages were dense with small text, and bookmarked with a photograph of a woman with cropped dark hair.

Anu, I said. Inquiry ’s commander.

Yes.

She’ll figure it out, I said quickly. What’s wrong with Inquiry. Right?

Yes. His voice was soft but certain. I think she will.

The bus exited the highway and slowed. I looked out the window at the frosty trees and thought about my uncle’s fuel cell schematics. Early that morning I’d searched the house and found them in my aunt’s desk drawer. Now they were in the duffel bag at my feet. I could get them out and ask Simon about the cell—

But we were already approaching a large compound and I recognized the familiar outline of the NSP campus. We stopped at a red gate that blocked the road, and the driver waved at a man in a small shed. We traveled down a curved street past sleek modern buildings and bright white hangars, and after an expanse of field dusted with snow we approached three gray buildings, blockish, octagonal.

As we slowed my eye was drawn to the path that ran beside the road. It was etched with something—names. Four or five of them per square of pavement. I tried to read them. Marcus Slinger. Jill Morales. Chris Chambers. Alexi Petrova—

Simon put his book away and stood up. He said, We’re nearly there. He walked toward the front of the bus, holding on to the backs of seats as he went. We stopped in front of one of the squat buildings, and I rose and dragged my bag down the aisle and steps and over the names engraved in the pavement below my feet. Henry Feinstein, Lisa Church—

Who are these people? I asked Simon. I pointed a toe at a name, Susanne Waters. Famous astronauts?

No. Just ones that died.

The air was icy against my hands and face.

Simon turned to go but then he stopped and rummaged in his backpack. The food’s terrible, he said. He threw a granola bar into the air and I caught it. In case you get hungry.

I pulled my bag to the metal-and-glass door, and when I looked back he was walking away over the frosty, name-covered path.

The girls’ dormitory at Peter Reed wasn’t a real dormitory but an old gymnasium; it smelled of damp concrete and dirty socks. There were rows of beds at one end, and the rest of the cold, echoing room was empty, except for the large photographs of planets and moons that lined the walls.

That first night I laid my suitcase on my bed and found my pajamas—their blue plaid was vivid against the worn gray blanket—and undressed as quickly as I could, shivering. I kept my eyes on the floor as girls changed around me. Their long legs and sock-covered feet shuffled; some hopped up and down. I raised my eyes only once, when I pulled my pajama top over my head. Everyone was older than me—I was twelve and the rest of the girls were at least fourteen. Some of them had breasts like my aunt. Some of them had hair under their arms. A girl nearby frowned at me and I looked away. I got under the thin covers. The lights above were bright and I turned onto my side.

On the wall opposite my bed was the same drawing of the Pink Planet that hung in my uncle’s office. It was strange to see it in this unfamiliar place, the circle of rose-colored light that glowed in the midst of darkness. It had always made me feel better, looking at it. But this time it didn’t. This time the inky black seemed more like the ocean than the sky, and the Pink Planet itself—June’s moon—like a ship lost at sea.

A few girls pulled out books and started to read, and others sat together and played games. There was the snap of cards, whispering, laughter, someone blowing her nose. And then the repetition of these sounds, down and down and down the long room.

Someone called, Ten o’clock! And the lights went out at the end of the room. The girls around me quieted. There were still whispers, but the laughter and card sounds went away. Then the lights above my head went out.

At home my aunt and John would be in bed, the dogs curled up with them. The clock in the hallway would be making its gentle tac tac tac. I couldn’t make out the drawing of the Pink Planet anymore. The room seemed to grow colder and my teeth chattered. I didn’t mean to whimper.

A whisper from nearby: Hey you.

The beds were only a few inches from one another, but I had forgotten this as soon as the lights went out. It seemed I was in the middle of outer space, free floating in the deepest black.

Another whisper: I’ll never be able to sleep with you going on like that. Come over here. It’s warmer.

Okay.

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I could make out one of the lights, a gray cage high above, and the girl who whispered. She had a long face and loose silvery hair.

Come on. I’m Carla. She reached out between our two beds and I did too, and she squeezed my hand, her fingers smooth and warm.

I let one foot touch the icy ground and got into her bed. She had more blankets than I did. Her sheets were rough against my skin but warm; they smelled faintly of flowers. I lay perfectly straight and tried to quiet my trembling body, my tapping teeth. She turned her back to mine.

I’m June, I said.

Put your feet against mine, June.

I did and my shivers eased. I felt the rise and fall of Carla’s breathing. Soon it slowed and became shallow. Minutes passed. But for me sleep didn’t come. Now I heard the sounds of all the other girls around me. Snores, sniffles, coughs. The creak of someone rolling over. Sighs. I tried to differentiate each sound, to figure out what it was. Who had made it. How far away that girl was. What she looked like, how tall, how heavy. Was her hair tied up or loose? Did she have extra blankets or not?

Carla was very still; I tried not to move because I didn’t want to wake her. I became conscious of the sounds my own body was making. The slight whistle of air from my nose, a rumble from my stomach. I’d never thought about the noises my body made. I’d never listened to them.

I wished I didn’t have a body. That I was made of air or dust or light. Of nothing at all. To my left my bed was a rumple of gray and white. I wanted to stay with Carla but I’d never slept next to another person and I didn’t seem to be able to do it. I crawled back to my bed, my covers freezing to the touch.