Mia lay restless on her space cot, staring out a portal 18 inches above her crossed feet. The portal was small, everything was small and cramped, and sterile. If she'd known what the trip to Mars would be like, she never would have come. The feeling of being trapped in a metal prison had long since passed, replaced by the monotony of knowing what to expect. In five short days, that calm would evaporate. They'd land on Mars and abandon what she'd learned to call home these last six months and some odd days.

  Early on, day and night were indistinguishable, and she'd rested when her body felt tired. Now, a clock determined if she should feel hungry or sleepy, and she rarely felt either. She lifted one leg and held it aloft, watching for signs of muscle weakness. Circling an ankle proved things were still working. What a freak show, she thought, dropping her leg into the crumple of her comforter. The clock read 4:47 p.m., meaning she needed to be in the galley for dinner in less than 15 minutes. Ms. Lawrence got pissed when they were late to dinner.

  Mia slid on her Red Rock-issued gravity boots and looked down a metal ladder connecting her room with a common corridor. The rungs were scuffed from her daily trek, up and down, although it felt like she never went anywhere. A head of dark roots bleeding into pink stared up at her.

  "Bon appétit," Sloan said emotionlessly, looking up at Mia and then down the corridor that led to the galley.

  "Are you psychic?" Mia asked, considering how Sloan knew she was perched silently above her, debating skipping dinner or ever coming out of her room again.

  Sloan looked up and smirked. Her eyes were tired and empty. Living like mice in a cage was exhausting, and even witty banter felt like a waste of energy most days. Waiting to land, waiting to die, waiting to learn how to live in another world depleted you. Mia longed for the days of waiting for her favorite Netflix show to drop its next season. Nothing about this was fun or exciting. All of it felt like a massive mistake.

  Mia climbed down and stood eye-to-eye with Sloan. If they could walk to dinner and chat about how dumb it was to have to learn math on their way to live on a new planet, things would be fine. If everything could go back to how it was before they left Earth, Mia might sleep better. But Sloan's proximity overwhelmed Mia, and a wall broke as their foreheads touched and then their lips. The warmth of Sloan's kiss pulsed down Mia's spine and further, but, as always, she stepped back and gently pulled away.

  "It's fine," Sloan whispered, "I know you're with Trevor."

  But was she with Trevor? Their first few months "together" had been great. As great as it could be, living in a hollow tube hurtling through space. But something had changed Trevor. His beautiful smile, lost as he braced for the unknowns. Her hands found Sloans, and she squeezed them. Of all the things she knew right now, she knew she couldn't lose Sloan. She'd literally die without her. Sloan wanting a romantic relationship wasn't the worst thing that could happen. They'd work through this. Whatever this was.

  "Let's get it over. It smells delicious -like gas and hydraulic fluid," Sloan said.

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  The others were already seated in a large, white, boxy room they called the galley, with identical trays of food positioned in front of them. Ms. Lawrence was eating with General Stone.

  "Jesus, hot for teacher?" Mia whispered in Sloan's ear. "She has a boyfriend back home. I've met him."

  "Sometimes we're with the wrong people," Sloan said.

  Mia felt a flush on her skin, but didn't respond. She knew what it felt like to be with the wrong person. Right now, she had no idea what she felt.

  "He's literally old enough to be her dad," Sloan continued. "Age gap relationships are a thing, but he's way too hot for Peyton Lawrence."

  Mia loved it when Sloan used Ms. Lawrence's first name. Mia would never call Ms. Lawrence- Peyton, but that was Sloan. She was almost intoxicating. Rules didn't apply to her. The other students ignored Ms. Lawrence and General Stone, too absorbed in their own conversation about tater tots.

  "They're the perfect food," Presley stated. "You won't find anything as yummy, easy to store, easy to cook, or eat. Everyone loves a tater tot."

  "Pop-Tarts," Alex said. "Pop-Tarts are superior to tater tots. You don't even have to cook them."

  "No way," came a round of opposition from the far end of the table. Mary Jane giggled as Presley and Edward threw up their hands.

  "You're all hopelessly basic," Lilly snarked, pouring what was left of her space milk out onto her tray.

  "Countless unfortunate Martians would've loved an opportunity to drink that. You're such a brat," Sloan fired off.

  Lilly smiled, running her middle finger down her nose, flipping Sloan off as she chucked her tray in the trash and exited the galley.

  "Lovely," Sloan said, popping open her space milk. She leaned forward, addressing the three musketeers, as she called them. "I guess we need to hear from the peanut gallery. Tater tots or pop-tarts?"

  Max, Kai, and Trevor huddled up for what looked like a top-secret pow-wow. Because Kai kept laughing, the debate dragged on forever.

  "We've decided pickles are the perfect food," Max finally announced.

  "No cooking, heating, or storage issues. They sustain you nutritionally, provide electrolytes, and hypothetically power up a battery. They won't get crumbly or break like Pop-Tarts or stale like tater tots."

  Trevor stood and took a bow before initiating a round of high fives among the silly triad of boys. Camden rushed in to join them like he'd been sitting there all along. Who was this cheerful Trevor, Mia thought. He was never this playful and relaxed when it was just the two of them. Was it her? Had he figured out how much work she was and was trying to get her to break it off first? The only time they seemed to connect was during sex. And that was good. So good! But why the Jekyll and Hyde bit? Was he really so much happier spending time with his friends?

  "I fucking hate pickles," Sloan said to Mia, pointedly. "Just because you've got a pickle in your pants doesn't mean anyone wants it."

  Mia's face turned pink, and she looked away from Trevor and the other boys, hoping Trevor wouldn't be able to tell she'd kissed someone else and Ms. Lawrence hadn't heard Sloan use "that word".

  But Peyton wasn't paying attention to them; deep lines of worry etched between her brows. She hadn't been sleeping well at all.

  "You haven't touched your dinner," General Stone said. "What's going on in that head of yours, Peyton?"

  Peyton picked up her fork as if she were planning to do so without being prompted.

  "Pre-Landing stress is a thing, Ms. Lawrence. I'm stressed, and this isn't my first rodeo. Talk to me."

  "I don't know what's going on with these kids," Peyton confided to General Stone. "One minute, they won't say a word to me or each other, and the next, they're behaving like frat brothers."

  "We land in less than five days, Ms. Lawrence. That's what people do when they're scared shitless. They oscillate."