Starglass

welcome in the end of the week.” I glanced over at Rachel’s father, who hovered over the kitchen counter, smiling. Rachel’s brother watched us too. Everyone was waiting for me.

“Sure,” I said, the heat spreading over my cheeks. I watched as her mother flicked the switch on the bottom of the lights.

“Blessed is the universe,” her mother said, veiling her face with her hands. Rachel did the same, lifting her long fingers to her face. So I did too, even though I had no idea why. “And the commandment to kindle the light in the darkness.”

We dropped our fingers, watching the bulbs flicker. Their yellow light danced across the dinner table.

“Well, now that that’s done with,” her father said, smacking his hands together. “Let’s eat.”

* * *

But by the end of dinner, Mar Jacobi’s words were weighing heavy on me again. Alyana said we need to protect our liberties. I gnawed at the dried fruit that was our dessert, thinking about his words. I hadn’t realized how quiet I’d become, until Rachel slipped her hand in mine under the table, squeezing my pinkie finger tight.

“I don’t think we’ll be having any tea, Mother,” she said, standing and pulling me along. “We have a lot to talk about.”

She gave me a wink as she dragged me up the stairwell. But when she shut her door behind her, she turned on me.

“What’s with you?” she demanded. And then, before I could answer, she broke into a grin. “Is this about a boy? Do you like someone?”

“What? A boy? No.” I fell against her bed. The sheets were pulled taut, tucked neatly under the mattress. Rachel made her bed every morning. I never did. “It’s about the librarian.”

“The librarian?” In the dim circle of light cast by her bedside lamp, Rachel wrinkled her nose. “You . . . you like Mar Jacobi?”

“No! He stopped me in the lift after the vocation ceremony. He said he has books for me.”

“That’s so weird. You know, he always kind of creeped me out. Every time I go in there, he’s all, ‘What books would it please you to read today, Ms. Federman?’ Like he thinks we’re chums.”

“Lies,” I teased. “You don’t read, Rachel.”

She threw one of her pillows at me. I caught it easily. Then I froze, looking down at the tiny floral print sewn into the pillowcase.

“He said he knew Momma.”

“So? Who doesn’t know everyone else on this ship?”

“I don’t know. It just seemed . . .” I trailed off. A frown was playing on Rachel’s features, just below the surface of her smiling eyes. “It just seemed strange,” I said at last.

“I think that’s just how he is,” she said. “You’re being paranoid.”

“Really?” I finally passed the pillow to her. She took it, tucking it behind her head.

“Really,” she said, in a tone that told me there would be no more talking about it. Then she sat up straight. “Besides, we have more important things to talk about.”

“Such as?”

“Our new jobs, silly. Botanist! That was a surprise.”

I groaned, hiding my face in the crook of my arm. But Rachel didn’t want to hear it.

“It’s not so bad! A specialist position. Your dad will be happy.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, thinking about it. “Maybe. You should have seen him after Ronen got his assignment. It was bad enough that Momma had a service job. I think he’d just about die if both of his kids did.”

Something hardened inside Rachel. I realized too late how I’d misspoken. A merchant was ranked lower than a service worker. “He must have known it was a possibility. It’s not like everyone can be a specialist.”

“Of course! And it’s not like everyone should,” I assured her. But my words didn’t help. It was like a door had closed inside her and I was standing on the other side. “You know it’s my dad’s issue, not mine.”

“Oh, I know that!” She forced a high, weird laugh. “I guess I just hoped we’d get a chance to work together. Despite what your father thought.”

“I always hoped—” And then I stopped, pressing my mouth shut. I’d never told Rachel about my plans to become an artist. After the way it had gone with the counselors, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“Hoped what?”

“I thought maybe I could be an artisan. A portrait artist,” I finally concluded. Rachel’s eyebrows lifted.

“A portrait artist? Since when did you care about art?”

“I care!”

But Rachel just gave a sort of vague shake of her head. “Terra, I’ve never known you to care about anything.”

Her words sank into me like a stone. I guess I shouldn’t have been mad. It was true, wasn’t it? I spent most of my time rolling my eyes at other people’s passions, not talking about my own. But still, a small spark of defensiveness lit up inside me. I found myself rising to my feet. My hands bumbled blindly through my bag, shoving aside the torn papers and notebooks until I found my sketchbook, the old familiar pages rough and curled. I thrust it at her. My heart sounded in my ears. But as she thumbed through it, something changed. Rachel’s mouth fell gently open.

“Oh, Terra!” she breathed. “These are . . . well, they’re not perfect. But they’re good.”

I felt the heat rise to my face. “Um,” was all I managed to say.

But Rachel hardly noticed my stammered answer. Instead the corner of her mouth edged up, revealing a dimple. “But you know, Terra, if you didn’t want to be a botanist, maybe you should have drawn something besides trees.”

Rachel’s dark eyes seemed to dance as she watched me.

“I couldn’t draw anything else,” I protested. “Abba hated how I wasted all my time drawing. I had to go outside where he wouldn’t catch me. . . .”

“And draw flowers and plants and vines,” she said. I sighed, clutching the book to my chest.

“I guess it’s my fault, then.” I tried to sound lighthearted about the whole thing, but I’m not sure Rachel bought it. She knew me too well for that. “I showed the counselors my sketchbook. They must have thought I was saying I wanted to work with plants.”

“There are worse things that could happen.”

“Like what?” I demanded. “I don’t know the first thing about botany.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They could have made you work in a shop.”

The heat returned, this time spreading over my neck and ears. “I’m—I’m sorry, Rachel,” I stammered.

But Rachel only let out a laugh. “I was only kidding!” she said. I studied her face. From the crinkles around her eyes, I could tell that the laughter was genuine. So I laughed too.

“I’ll miss you, you know,” she said to me.

“What do you mean? I’ll be around.”

But Rachel looked at me meaningfully, and I knew it was the truth. Our lives were about to change. I wouldn’t sit with her in school every day, whispering, sharing laughter.

I reached out my hand, offering it to her. She took my pinkie in hers. That was our secret signal, the one we had always made to each other when we’d sat side by side in school. When something funny happened, or strange, or sad, we always reached down and linked pinkies. It was our way of saying, I’m here and I see it too. It was something we’d done since we were small, and though perhaps we should have long since outgrown it, we hadn’t, not yet. I savored the warm, familiar pressure of her hand.

“I’ll miss you too,” I said at last, and meant it.