2. WISHING

I
have my first day of space school today. Hopefully, there are good teachers on offer for this. There are about five hundred people on this ship that are under the age of eighteen. It will be quite a small school, then as in my old school there were two thousand pupils altogether. There is a further three hundred people that should be studying university.
I wonder how they are going to provide writing equipment for us. They surely do not have ten years’ worth of pens, pencils and other stationery.
I have had breakfast and I am back in my room, with fifteen minutes to spare until this ‘school’ starts. If I was still on Earth I would be studying my GCSE subjects, but obviously, the resources are not available. Everyone is to learn the same subjects, which includes Maths, Science, English, Technology, a foreign language, History and Geography.
I hate Geography with a passion, even though I am not bad at it. I remember starting to miss all the subjects I had dropped when I began my GCSE years. I like knowing things and learning new things, and I suppose Geography was a good place to be learning many small facts all the time. So I even missed Geography! I dreadfully missed French, as well, though. Although French was a language I found difficult, I did well in it and loved having conversations with my friends in French, as a joke. So I think I am glad we will have the chance to learn French again.
I remember packing my make up for this trip. I do not usually wear make-up, but maybe I will, today, just to help me feel a bit more confident. If I have make-up on, it does not make me feel as self-conscious. This goes against my entire personality, but thanks to the great parents I have, I am not as self-confident as most seem to see me as. I decide with the lightest appliance of make-up possible.
Captain Tim sounds through the loudspeaker again. “Hi guys, it is Captain Tim again! Just a reminder for all kids and university students; class starts in a few minutes, so if you could make your way to floor seventy-eight, the education area. Children under the age of ten should be accompanied by an adult, and there is also a nursery for mothers and children under the age of four. Another note to make is that you must all complete your chores, unless you have a valid reason that has been reported to staff, otherwise. Have a good day everyone!”
I stick a pen and pencil in my pocket and head out of the apartment. I have not seen my parents much at all, this weekend. It has been almost like living on my own, these past few days. I do no mind very much, as I quite like to be alone.
When I enter the lift, there are already some kids and mothers in there. A mother looks surprised that I am going to class on my own. I ignore her and everyone else as we wait for the lift to reach its destination. The lift runs directly through the middle of the entire ship.
We arrive to see a queue of children and parents that snakes around a small room with chairs and tables in the middle. There is a small group of adults registering us into our classes. The people I just travelled in the lift walk to the back of the queue. I follow them, slightly uncertain.
As I wait in the queue, I scan the types of children and teenagers around the room. The adults that are signing them in point to doors around the room that presumably lead to classrooms. I know that the university students do not start their classes this morning until ten o’clock.
I hear a commotion behind me. I turn to see a teenage girl pushing through the queue, ignoring the angry parents and irritated children. She reaches me, and tries to step around the side of me. I step to the side with her. “What are you doing?!” She asks me, glaring. She has blonde ringlets, but wears an unpleasant scowl. Her voice is not high and girly, but she has an American drawl, which is quite unlike her appearance.
“I’m not sure you should be pushing through the queue, some people are slightly irritated,” I state. It really annoys me when someone pushes into a queue in front of me. She tries to step around the other side of me, and I step with her, matching her actions when she tries to skip around me again.
“I don’t care what I should and shouldn’t do, and what people think. Get out the way, freak.” She tries pushing me.
One of the men, who are registering everyone in, looks up and notices us. “What’s going on over there?” By now, everyone is turning to look at us.
“Oh, nothing. She’s just trying to push in,” I answer coolly. The man looks annoyed now.
“Go to the back of the queue. What’s the rush in going to school?” He makes a neat reply, receiving a scowl and smirks from around the room. She strops to the back of the queue, face on fire and giving me a look that reminds me of the saying, “If looks could kill”. Oh dear. We have not even started class yet and I have already made an enemy. I never intend to make enemies.
Maybe she will not be in my class. Then again, she most likely will as she looks about my age. After a few minutes, the queue shortens and it is my turn to sign in. The tables are labelled. One says “Nursery”, the next one said “Four to seven years old”, the third one said “8-11 years old” and the last one said “Twelve or more years”. I go to the one that says, “Twelve or more years”, of course. A woman that looks about thirty years old lifts her head up slightly to acknowledge me. “Name?”
“Josephine Walker,” I reply promptly. She finds my name on a list of people and puts a red tick next to it.
“You’re fourteen years old, so you’ll go in Miss Haynes’s class. That’s through this door,” she gestured toward a door behind me. “And the classroom on the right.”
“Okay, thank you,” I reply, turning and heading towards that door, following her instructions. Miss Haynes, a young red haired woman sees me before I enter the room. She must have pictures of us, because she recognises me as soon as she sees me. “Hello, Josephine. Do come in!” I enter a room packed full of teenagers. There must be at least forty pupils here. A lot of them try to look bored and look like they do not want to be here, but I can tell that they are slightly nervous. Some of boys straighten up slightly in an attempt to impress when Miss Haynes says my name, a female name. Then they relax again when they see that I am quite plain. “Just sit wherever you want, Josephine, for now,” Miss Haynes says.
“I prefer Jo, Miss,” I correct.
“Okay then Jo, choose a seat,” she smiles.
There is an empty space at the back of the classroom, in the corner, so I take my place there, trying not to struggle too much between the gaps of the desks, which are placed quite close to each other. And then she enters. The one that I had an argument with in the queue a few minutes ago. Maybe this ship will blow us before she has a chance to strangle me.
She has not noticed me yet, but all the boys sit up very straight when they see her. I have to admit, she is quite pretty. She has blonde ringlets and blue eyes, yet she does not look childish. It is her expression, her confident smile and a hand on her hip.
“Hello, Natasha. Please take a seat wherever you would like,” Miss Haynes tells her. I notice some boys shifting a little, hoping that she sits next to them. There is a tiny flick of annoyance inside me. Why am I annoyed with the fact that she is pretty? It is not as if I want a boyfriend. I have always found the human race quite stupid, remember?
Natasha scans the room, and glares at me when she sees me. Some boys look me when they try to find whom Natasha is glaring at, and seem to decide that they do not like me. Wow, it is amazing what effect this girl has on them. She chooses a seat next to a girl deciding to let the boys come to her instead of vice versa. The girl she sits next to is a brunette who looks slightly like the type that is stereotyped as ‘nerds’. Natasha is the type of person I try to ignore or avoid, although I always end up arguing with them. To be honest, I argue with quite a lot of people.
“Everyone is here now. Hello! First task of today is for each of you to introduce yourselves to the class for the next few years. You need to write a few notes about yourself before presenting yourself at the front. Your speech must be a maximum of two minutes long, and I shall give you five minutes now to prepare.” Miss Haynes acts quite pleased with herself that she thought up of this idea. I find it stupid. This is the sort of thing first year pupils in primary school do at the start of the year! Or the sort of thing you see in American films, where everyone has to write about their summer break or what their favourite food is.
Natasha puts her hand up. “We don’t have anything to write with,” she states. Mrs Haynes suddenly looks rather flustered and slightly embarrassed.
“Oh yes! How forgetful of me. Now, you are all fourteen or fifteen years old, so I expect that you are rather responsible by now. I am going to give you pencils that should last a whole two years. We do not have sufficient resources to be giving you a new pencil whenever you need one, so you need to use this pencil very, very carefully. You are only allowed to use this pencil while you are at school, unless you have homework. You will not be allowed another pencil if you lose or break this one. Sorry it’s like this, guys, but we don’t get unlimited resources, especially here.” Everyone deflates. Of course, there are limits on resources. I did not really think that they were this extreme.
I notice that the pencils already have labels on them, as the teacher hands them out, with the pupil’s first initial and second name. When I receive mine, I briefly examine it. It is one of the latest, unreleased designs of pencil. This reminds me of when I was taught about pencils from a millennium ago. Pencils used to be made of graphite, shattered easily when dropped, and needed to be sharpened constantly, using an extra tool called a sharpener. I like knowing little facts like these. But it was pretty strange. I am not sure what these pencils are made out of, but they come out on paper looking like black ink, but rub off easily when rubbed against metal, of which there is a part under the pencil used for this. There is a little button at the side, near the bottom, that sharpens the pencil when you need it. The pencil is so efficient that it only needs to be sharpened once a week. I am not sure why I am describing such a normal thing, in my head. It is not like there are people from the past reading my mind.
I begin writing notes about myself on the piece of paper in front of me. I want to do something original with my speech, but I cannot think of anything. Well, I do not need to impress anyone here. No one will be able to impress more than Natasha will, obviously.
The teacher calls the time up after ten minutes, and she picks students in any random order to present themselves at the front of the classroom. It takes a long time to go through all forty students, so there is a ten minute break in between.
For break, everyone, apart from the university students who have not arrived yet, hangs out in the corridor and around the lift in the registration room. Many boys hang out around Natasha, who has already made friends with other pretty girls. I stand on my own at break, trying to avoid Natasha. I am not that scared of her, I just want to get on quietly with my life.
I remember that I was always like this back on Earth, before I made some friends and learnt to stick up for myself. I was constantly on my own, quite isolated and unsociable. One of my friends, with whom I was not very good friends with, introduced me to a few people she had met, and at once we all became great friends.
I wish I could be allowed to listen to music through tiny headphones; I would not look so weak and alone in front of a huge crowd of teenagers. I find another girl, possible a year or two younger than me, and she is standing on her own. I walk over to her.
“Hi, I’m Jo. What’s your name?” I ask her. She looks startled that someone would talk to her, and I see how vulnerable she looks with her big, brown eyes. “Erm…I’m Eleanor.” Eleanor looks quite wary now, in case I have come to bully her. I remember how I used to feel like that. I am just about to open my mouth to reply when I hear someone call my name.
I turn around and see that Natasha is walking over to me, with her male worshippers following behind her. I responded, hoping to get this conversation over and done with. “That’s my name.” She ignores me.
“So, it must be a hard life, eh?” She smirks. I do not understand what she is talking about, but I try to respond as casually as possible. I prepare to remember all the tactics I have learnt in verbally defending myself. “Yeah, but life isn’t fair, is it?” She laughs, knowing that I do not understand what she means. “True, true. But especially for you, I mean. You must get a hard time.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “My life is no harder than anyone else’s.” I state. She pretends to look surprised, both of her eyebrows shooting up. “Really? I thought that, with all that ginger hair and that skin, people would try to avoid you or something.” My insides clench in anger. I try not to show it. I do not have ginger hair. My hair is red, and I have pale skin. The boys laugh as if it is a hilarious joke. I can see that Eleanor beside me is confused.
“Jo doesn’t have ginger hair,” she says, trying to defend me. Why is she defending me? I do not need to be defended. “Even if I do, no one has noticed it until now,” I say. Natasha smirks again.
“No, that is where you are wrong. No one has been brave enough to say it to your face until now.” Her friends roar with laughter. “But I suppose it is good you have a toddler to stand up for you.” Eleanor’s face burns in embarrassment. I try not to blush to show my anger.
“To be honest, I’m not sure why you’re picking on her for. It was me that got you sent to the back of the queue this morning.” I can see that she is annoyed that I have brought up our first encounter.
Miss Haynes enters the room behind Natasha and her crowd and sees that something is not right, looking at my annoyed face. “Is there anything wrong?” Natasha is surprised, but she quickly hides that, suddenly looking innocent and upset, pretending to cry. No! She is trying to gain another victory against me, and I do not mind too much, as long as it is anything but this!
She slowly turns around for the teacher to see her face. All her new friends see how upset she is and immediately and loudly express sympathy for her and try to provide comfort for her. Miss Haynes looks shocked as how upset Natasha looks. “What’s wrong Natasha?” She places an arm around Natasha’s shoulders. I slump and shrink, wanting to disappear. Why do girls do this on purpose? Natasha looks at the brunette beside her (the girl she first decided to sit next to in class) for advice, pretending to be too upset to talk. Is this girl really willing to lie for someone she has only known for an hour?
“This Josephine girl has been picking on Natasha, Miss Haynes.” The answer is yes. Miss Haynes looks over at me furiously. “You have been in this class for one hour and you have already started bullying someone?!” Why is Miss Haynes implying that I normally bully others? But of course, she cannot believe that such a pretty, delicate looking girl like Natasha, with perfect blonde ringlets and huge baby blue eyes, could ever do anything to harm anyone else.
Another point goes to her. I stand, staring blankly at the wall behind Miss Haynes as she tells me off and sends everyone back to class. I see Eleanor looking sympathetically at me from the corner of my eyes. I know there is no point in trying to tell Miss Haynes the truth; I have done that before, and I came out of that situation worse than the other did.
In the end, I get sent back to class, with promise of severe punishment if it happens again. At lunch I hide in the toilets in case Natasha decides to pull another trick on me. I know it is cowardly, but now I have no friends that will defend me against her or give me the confidence to stand up for myself. I can see that the next ten years will be fun. I think I am looking forward to the ship blowing up. It is a terrible day, trying to ignore everyone all day.
I have washing up in the kitchen to look forward to later, too. This life is going to be completely vile.
After ‘school’, I go straight back to my room, and flop down on the bed, exasperated, upset and tired. My stomach growls, hoping to be satisfied with a delicious meal. Too bad. We are stuck with space food. This is hell. I cannot survive this. I may even consider suicide. How cowardly of me! First day, and I have already given up?
I hear the door of this apartment slide open and closed. Someone has entered. Probably my mother. I get up from my bed and go to greet her. “How was your first day of school, then?” She asks. “Okay,” I mumble. It is not as if she can do anything about school not being okay. We look awkward, standing there doing nothing. “Erm…you have to wash up in the kitchen tonight.” I roll my eyes inwardly. “Yes, I know.” She tries for a smile, trying to think up of another conversation to start. I am not interested. She sees my stony face and her attempt in creating a conversation fails before she has even opened her mouth. I wonder why she puts up with me. If she does not like me, why does she not just say so or something? “Well, I haven’t finished unpacking yet. I’d better go do that.” She walks into her and father’s room. She does not expect me to follow her or ask her if she wants help. She is used to my behaviour by now.
I do not eat much, later that night. As soon as I finish eating, I stand outside the door to the kitchen as I have seen others do in the past week, going to wash up in the kitchen. As I scrub plates, I block out everyone else and I try not to think. Maybe I can survive here if I just turn into a robot. Lifeless, but living.
That night I look at my photos and cry myself to sleep. This is not a new life. This is a prison.

The next day, I ignore everyone, again. I smile at Eleanor if I see her, but I see that she has already gained some friends. I do not care what people think now; at break and lunch I sit in the classroom, eating and reading. It is exactly seven days since I boarded the ship. I feel so far away from home, yet so close to it. We are probably a few billion miles away from Earth, but it is such a long distance for such a short amount of time.
In the afternoon, I decide not to waste my time and I skip dinner, to go swimming. This floor, the entertainment floor, is one that I have not been to yet. There are not many people about; everyone is busy eating dinner. I am not really in the mood to eat. I know I shall be hungry, after swimming, but I want some time to myself.
The changing rooms are very small, with only fifteen cubicles. I quickly change into my swimming costume. I am glad to see that the swimming pool is empty. There is no one there apart from a female lifeguard sitting in an office eating dinner, and watching the pool from a big window in the wall.
I ignore her and slide into the water. I swim for a few laps to warm up, and then I grab some bricks from the shelf on the side of the pool and throw them into the pool, in the deep end. This is what I love about swimming; the diving. I slide back into the water and kick my way underwater to pick the bricks up again.
I do not have to think here because all I have to do is dive and feel the water pushing against my face. This is the happiest I have been since coming onto this ship. It is peaceful, silent and empty. I see legs appearing at the other side of the swimming pool. I am not alone anymore. My fun is at an end. I grab all the bricks for a last time and leave the water.
There is a teenager who has just slid into the water and is starting a lap. He looks about nineteen or twenty. I have not seen him before, but I have been avoiding everyone, so I am not very likely to have seen him around anyway. He has black hair and tanned skin. When he lifts up his face from the water, for air, he looks at me. His eyes are dark and I cannot tell what he might be thinking. I shower and dry myself, changing into normal clothes.
It is eight thirty now, so I was swimming for quite a while. Back in the apartment, I almost wish that I had homework to do. Otherwise, there is nothing much to do in my room, apart from to read and to sleep. I sourly miss the internet. Also, I am only allowed to save my stationery for school; I cannot write a diary entry or draw.
I decide to keep track of my height. I draw a faint line on the wall, where my head reaches. I know that height changes throughout the day, so it will be interesting to see what exactly the difference is. I had always wanted to do this, but I never had enough time. Now I have nothing but time.
For the rest of the evening, I read. I have quite a few of books so hopefully I shall not get sick of them. Also, maybe there will be books available to buy in a few years.
I have never hated school much, as it was an excuse to be out of my home, but I hate it now. Nobody likes me, at all. Natasha has turned each person against me, and Eleanor does not need to even smile at me anymore; she has her own friends. Never have I felt more alone.
Today, Wednesday, is the third of a long, hard, school day. The schoolwork is easy-too easy. And I have an argumentative nature, which I have been trying to control for the last few days. I have an argument with Miss Haynes, and she also hates me, now. She refuses to believe that Natasha could ever possibly be an unkind person. And Natasha has the rest of the class supporting her. I want to shrivel even more. I think I shall not go to school tomorrow.
Other than that, a scientist came in, in the afternoon, to teach us physics. That was quite interesting, actually. Physics is not my strong point but I find it very interesting.
I also have cleaning duties on the entertainment floor, that evening. Again, I see this man walking into the swimming pool, the black-haired teenager that I saw yesterday. He has a strong figure and any might worry about what his personality may be like, if judging his appearance, but his eyes seem to have some sort of vulnerability to them. I do not know why I am thinking so much about this stupid stranger. First of all, he is a lot older than I am. Second of all, I do not even know this person. Thirdly, last year, I decided that I should forever avoid the male species. I brush him out of my head.
I do a lot of sleeping on Thursday. My father comes home at lunchtime, unfortunately, and is surprised to see me there. “Why on earth aren’t you at school?!” Why should he care? Why can he not just either be a father, or leave me completely alone? “I felt sick,” I respond, not looking at him, but staring at his flopping brown hair. I am sick. I am sick of having to put up with certain people at school, and at ‘home’.
“Could you please tell me the truth?” He glares at me. Why should I tell the truth when he lies, pretending that he is an appropriate father to me? “It’s not as if you’d care.” I turn around and walk into my room, locking the door. He seems to get rather angry.
He starts to half-shout, knowing that there are probably others in their apartments that are able to hear us. “Go to school!” I do not respond. “If you do not get out of that room this minute, that door is coming down and you shall be banned from every place on the ship apart from school and the dining area and you know I can see to that.” I get slightly annoyed.
“I don’t want to go to school! You don’t understand why, of course. You would never understand. You’re too busy with your ‘friends’, or being side by side with the captain in this case, going around telling everyone what a freak child you have. I’ll start respecting you and your instructions as soon as you accept me as I am and treating me like a normal father would treat his daughter!” I am glad there is a door between us, as tears squeeze onto my cheeks.
He does not reply, and there is silence for a long time, until I hear the apartment door slide open and shut, again. I sleep for the rest of the day, glad to be unconscious.
I decide to go swimming again this evening, skipping dinner again and disappearing before either of my parents arrives.
This time I change into my swimming costume in my room and put my normal clothes over the top, so I decrease the risk of accidently losing my swimming costume somewhere, as has happened a few times.
I am glad to see that the swimming pool is again, empty. I warm up a bit and throw the bricks and rings again, never tiring of this game. My aim is to stay underwater longer with every breath I take.
My problem with my nose is quite annoying, though. My nose is slightly wider than others’ are, so it is not so good when water and chlorine rushes up my nose every time I dive underwater. I did have a nose clip, but they are so easily lost and make me look rather stupid.
After quite a while of scattering bricks and rings around the pool, diving for them and then pushing myself above water again, I realise something. Someone is watching me. I burst out of the water for the last time, with the last of the rings and bricks. It is him. It is that mysterious, dark-haired young man. He has come to swim again. I sigh inwardly and climb out of the pool in one, swift, motion.
I sit on the ledge, catching my breath and counting the bricks and rings to make sure that I have them all, when I feel something behind me.
I turn my head and see a man. I jump. He sits down next to me. I realise it is just that young man again. Why is he here? He should be swimming.
“Sorry about scaring you. My name’s Tom. What’s your name?” He does not talk to me like I am a child. “Erm, I’m Jo,” I reply cautiously. He looks apologetic at my expression, but does not explain is motives very effectively.
“I was watching you dive. You’re really good. But I can tell you like to be on your own. When I arrive, you get out of the pool sharpish. It isn’t just me, is it?” Now it is my turn to look apologetic. “No, of course not. I suppose I just like to be in my own world.” I watch our feet, which are in the water; his tanned legs and my pale ones.
“Cool. So did you swim or dive a lot, before? Back on Earth, I mean?” He honestly looks interested in what I have to say, which is rather strange. “Not really. I love swimming, particularly diving, but I never had the time. What about you?” That is a normal answer, I think.
“Wow, you must be a natural or something then. With a bit of practice, that could be Olympic standard. Not that there’s any such thing as the Olympics anymore. Yeah, I do a bit of swimming. I don’t do it professionally or anything though; I want to be a writer of some sort after I graduate university.” I blush at his compliments. I need to think of another normal response.
“Thanks. A writer?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m doing a creative writing degree. I thought that moving to another planet would be a heaven for my writing. It was a hard decision, though. So, why did you decide to move, then?” I know I might as well tell the truth if we become friends of some sort, or swimming buddies at the least. “It’s a bit of a different excuse to yours…” I start. He looks at me encouragingly. “My father wanted a new start and I sort of got dragged along against my will, I guess. In fact, at the start I was sure that the ship would never reach its destination.” He still does not seem to be slightly put off at my words. “Go on,” he enquires. How strange.
“Well, first the ship might run out of food, or be at risk of blowing up or being incinerated. Secondly, what would happen if stowaways were found which would shorten food supplies? What would be done with dead bodies? And most importantly, what if this planet of Hestia does not exist anymore, if we survive the journey? It looks like no one has thought of these factors. They seem to have daydreamt their way through the whole thing, not caring that they could cause the murder of two thousand people!” Tom is still looking at me seriously. Is this some huge joke or something?
“Yup, I agree. It would be a waste of my life, climbing aboard a ship bound for ten light years away, hoping for something never hoped for before, then dying. I have not even done anything yet! But then I decided that we would probably venture further than the human race has ever before, so why not be one of the two thousand that can be honoured for making this decision?” Wow, he really is listening to me. He is the first person that has listened to me, in the six months since my father made that stupid decision.
“Yes, but I’m only fourteen. I have barely experienced Earth before I move on to another planet.” His eyes shoot up in surprise. “You’re only fourteen? You act so much more mature than that!” I blush slightly again at this. “I’m nearly fifteen. How old are you?” I ask.
“I’m eighteen.” It is my turn to be slightly surprised.
“Cool. I know a few eighteen year olds that act like they are thirteen years old. You’re also pretty mature, although I probably can’t say anything, being my age.” He smiles at me reassuringly. “It’s okay. You know, I thought for a second that you might be a university student.”
I smile, unsure of what to think. It seems that this conversation has drawn to a close. “Well, I guess I’d better let you get on with your swimming, then.” He seems to remember his purpose of coming to the swimming pool in the first place, sudden realisation appearing on his face. “Oh, yes, that’s right. See you, then.”
“Yeah, later.” I smile at him once more and slowly lift my feet out of the water. I stand up and return the equipment onto the shelves. My upper body has almost dried by now.
As I walk the length of the swimming pool to reach the changing rooms, I watch him enter the water and swim. He looks like a very good swimmer; fast and strong.
“Jo?” That voice makes me jump inside, as I place my hand on the handle of the door to the changing rooms. I turn my head to look at Tom, who has already finished one lap. “When’s your birthday again?” This question takes me by surprise, and strangely, I take a while to remember my birthday. “….Two weeks today, I think. Why?” He shrugs, which is hard to see as he is in the water. “Just wondering.”
My eyebrows rise in confusion as I acknowledge his response and walk into the changing rooms. Why am I so affected by the first male person to take a friendly interest in me, on this ship? There must be something wrong with me. Where has the criticising, rational side of me gone?
For the rest of the evening, I block all these thoughts, horrified at myself. When I return to the apartment, father is already there. Many think I am quite posh or something, saying ‘father’ instead of ‘dad’, but to be honest, ‘dad’ sounds too personal.
“Where’ve you been?” He asks. He does not sound angry or annoyed, just genuinely interested. That is slightly odd.
“I…went swimming,” I slowly and unsurely reply. He smiles.
“Cool, maybe I should go swimming with you sometime. We haven’t been swimming together for ages.” Is he trying to torture me? There is a reason I go swimming, alone. I want to be alone! Or maybe he wants something, and is trying to get it by being nice and so he can use me? “What do you want from me?” I ask suspiciously. He looks slightly stung by my words.
“Nothing! I was just thinking, because we haven’t really done anything together for a while, have we?” He must be ill.
“Well, I moved here with you, right?” His eyes look frustrated and conflicted. Why? That was a normal teenage response. I read a book of a girl who spoke like this often. She was pretty odd, too, though. “Okay. Well, I was thinking…” so he does want something. “If you would like to meet the captain with me?” That was unexpected.
“But you’ve already met him?” I ask. My father sighs very, very faintly.
“Yes, but I would like to accompany you while you meet the captain.” Was there any way out of this one? “When?” He answers promptly; glad that I seem to be asking the questions he wants me to ask.
“Tomorrow evening. We would have dinner with him. Your mother included.” And so it sounds as if I shall not be able to avoid this. Well, maybe for once I should make an effort to get along with my parents. I am still legally under their care for another four years, anyway.
“Right. Okay. I suppose I’ll go then.” My father grins very happily at this, and something tugs at my heart. It is a feeling that I used to associate with guilt. But why would I be feeling guilty now? I have not done anything that would make me feel guilty. I brush it away. I have a tendency to think too much.
I go to bed that night, filled with strange thoughts. The day I take off school, is the best day of the week so far. I have made a friend, I think, one that is nineteen years old, and I have also accomplished a civilised conversation with my father. I am quite pleased with myself. And I have managed not to be too pessimistic today. If this is what it is like when I skip school, I feel tempted to miss school tomorrow.
Tomorrow will not be very good, anyway, though. I do not really want to meet Captain Tim. Or maybe I do. Maybe I want to tell him just exactly what I think of this whole thing.
Friday. If I can survive this day, I shall be able to go two days without school. Unless the ship blows up or gets incinerated, beforehand. It is unusual how much I hate school. I respect the fact that I should learn, it is just the feeling of isolation and alienation that puts me off going to school.
I must stop being cowardly and just go to school. Natasha has not even done anything bad yet. I am only scared of what she may do next. Yes, she has turned many people against me, but that is all she has done so far. I have had worse, so why am I being so pathetic now?
I cannot give up.
“Hello, Jo. Nice to see you back and well again,” Miss Haynes says. She does not seem to mean those words, but she does not seem to be acting particularly hostile towards me. That is a good sign. What does she mean by ‘well’? “Thanks. I was feeling a bit ill.”
“Yes, I know, your dad told me. It was a nice thing of him to do, taking the time to pop in and tell me, even though he must be a busy man.” My father?! Why would he, of all people, make an excuse for me? He was also the person who realised I was truanting school. Maybe he wants something else?
I walk to my seat, head held high, but not too high. I pretend not to see the look I receive from Natasha. I am not sure why she has so much of a problem with me. I embarrassed her in front of a few people, but it seems that she did not take it lightly.
At break, I know I should not hide. Instead, I stand on my own, searching for anyone that would not mind me talking to them. Most seem to have already made friends. I can sense someone behind me. I spin around to see a boy with dark chocolate hair, looking at me nervously. It is Philip, a quiet boy in my class. “What?” I ask, possibly with more hostility than appropriate. He looks slightly scared. “I wanted to say, I’m sorry about how everyone’s being sort of horrible to you.”
I smile at him. “I don’t really care…and no offence, but sorry isn’t going to change anything. Thanks, though.” What does this boy want?
“You were off yesterday, because of that, weren’t you?” He asked. Of course I will not admit that. Maybe he is acting as some sort of an ‘infiltrator’ for Natasha.
“No. I was ill, like I said.” He does not seem to believe me at first, but with a glance at my face, he looks slightly afraid to be alone and on my bad side. “So, did Natasha sweet talk you into being friends with me, or something?” I ask him directly. He looks absolutely shocked. Did I guess his plan?
“Of course not! I just thought you looked a bit lonely…”
“Well, I’m not. I don’t mind being alone.” He seems unsure of whether to walk away now or to stay. What the hell is happening? However, I suppose that if I am to have a friend, I might as well accept this offer of friendship. I wonder why he left Natasha’s group in order to talk to me, though. If he is ‘spying’ for her, I shall just be careful of anything I share with him.
“So, erm, where did you live before you decided to move to a new planet?” I ask. It is not a good question, but it kicks off the start off a lasting friendship.
At least I have made a friend of some sort. At lunch, again, he hangs out with me. He is starting to receive scornful looks from the other boys.
What a strange day this is.
When I return to the apartment at four o’clock, my father is already there. He tells me to prepare to go to dinner with the captain. I follow his instructions and with my leftover time, I have a look through my old schoolbooks. This is pretty sad, but I miss it all with a passion. Just two weeks ago, I was at school with my friends. I really should stop mourning, and get over it.
I push all thoughts out of my head and lie on my bed, daydreaming. Boredom is becoming a very common experience on this ship. Hopefully the ship will blow up before I die of boredom. I have an idea. My wall looks quite blank. Maybe I should fill it in with some drawings.
I may as well personalise my room if it is to be mine for the next ten years. I only use pencil; I am not brave enough to risk danger of death if there is any degree of permanence to it. I design my name using a graffiti style, on the wall the furthest away from my bedroom door. It looks boring without colour when I stand back, but that is just the way it has to be.
“Hi, Penelope.” I hear my father greet my mother who has just entered the apartment. I glance at my watch and see that it is nearly six o’clock. I will not be able to finish this graffiti design right now. My parents call my name.
This is the first time this week that we have done anything together, as I like to sit on my own during meals. I can tell that all three of us are thinking the same thing as it is very quiet as we travel through the ship to the top floor.
And so I finally personally meet this ‘Captain Tim’. He is a short, stubby man with dirty blond hair. He shakes my father’s hand, and then my mother’s, and then mine.
“Evening, Richard and Penelope. I take it that this is the daughter that you have been talking about?” He gestures at me, smiling. I do not like him. My father returns his smile. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Jo.” I struggle a mumble through my lips.
“How are you, Tim?” My father asks, as we all walk towards a room next to what looks like, the main control room. The two men discuss random things as we sit down and wait to be served dinner. I only speak when spoken to, trying to avoid a conversation. I know I should not be so antisocial, but I cannot really help it when I am having quite a bad week.
Tim is an interesting character. I can see that he is very polite and acts very gentlemanly, but that seems to just be an act-I think that it is just an act, at least. When he thinks no one is looking, he takes off his mask into one of boredom. I would not be so annoyed by it if he did not make such a huge difference between his true feelings and his masquerade. It is not just that that is bothering me. I cannot quite place my mind on what else about him is developing my intense dislike for him. He seems very familiar, though. I do not understand.
It is a nice dinner, and I see that this food seems to be slightly better quality than the food in the public dining area. I can see signs of communism in this. My mother seems to also notice this. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise when the food is placed on the table. Maybe it is just the fact that tonight is quite a formal meal, which makes the food seemingly better than normal.
Afterwards, the captain discusses a few matters with my mother and father, while an assistant gives me a tour of the control room, letting me learn how the ship is controlled. This woman has ginger hair that lies casually on her shoulders, and glasses. She is called Mae. “This route had to be planned for years beforehand. And they had to hire more scientists, and other important people, who were willing to spend five years preparing for this journey, and then travel for ten years before anything exciting happened.” She answers my questions slowly but honestly. “Hmm, I’m not completely sure, even now, if I made the right decision. This sort of job is my dream job I suppose, and I love to travel to new places, so I thought, why not? It’s good, so far, though. At the moment, we’re planning a scheme where everyone has to exercise at least twice a week.”
So, it turned out that I did not spend the entire evening with my parents, after all. Maybe since yesterday, my luck is turning. Not that I believe in luck. Luck does not exist. I have been a lot happier this week…since I met Tom. Is that appropriate of me to think this? In the midst of my thoughts, sleep drags me away.
I am in a room. I am in an oval shaped white room. I am completely alone, and completely drenched. I am scared. Why am I scared? I cannot see any water, so why do my clothes cling to my skin uncomfortably, drenched in water? I glance around this bare, white room. There is no door. No way to escape. Where am I? I spin around, hoping to find any sort of exit. There is none. This is a sealed room. How did I enter here, then? I hear a chuckle. I jump and turn on my heel, hoping that it is someone else. It is not. It is in fact, a projection on a bare wall. I try to find the projector, but there is none. The image projected on the wall is of a short man with dirty blond hair.
He is very familiar. Tim. What is he doing here? I thought he was the captain of a ship…except I cannot bring to mind what sort of ship he is a captain of; although something tells me, it is not a ship for travelling on water. He is standing with a fifteen year old boy. My heart thuds. It is him. What are they doing together? The way Tim looks at him in a stern way makes me realise something. Tim is his father. I can hear them speaking.
“You must make sure, that that silly child falls into the river. Be careful of your timing, though, and make sure no one is watching.” I gasp. I remember this, the day my sister died. The two suddenly look up as if they have just heard me. My body goes rigid and stiff and my heart stops. But they do not see me. I exhale.
“You must make sure that that pathetic girlfriend of yours does not have a single clue.” The image changes. There is a river, and Tim is not there anymore. Instead, it is me, my sister and him. I know I do not want to see this. I do not know why, but I know it will be dreadful.
The three of us are laughing and walking along a path next to the river. It is very busy, with whole crowds of people walking. I walk towards an ice cream stall, making them promise to stay by the bench. While I pay for the ice cream, I try to find them through the dense crowd. I cannot see them. I walk back towards where the two boys should be, and I hear a scream of a child. It is very, very familiar and sharply pierces my heart. It is not a light scream, the scream of a child when she is being tickled, but it is one of complete fear.
On the still projecting image, I watch myself leave the ice cream on a bench next to me and squeeze through the public, trying to reach my sister. Tourists do not understand my horrified face and grumble when I push past them. “Jo!” Emma screams. Tears are squeezing out of my eyes now. I finally reach where I left him. She is not there. I hear something again, and I look up to see her in the water. In the river. No! She cannot swim! I can hear other people around me stopping to watch this scene. I cannot pause. I hear a scream. My scream. I want to look away from this and close my eyes. I am remembering this all too clearly. What did I do to deserve this, having to watch this all over again? All I can do is watch and sob.
My eyes are transfixed to the screen, where I can see him again. “Jo, calm down, I’ll go in after her.” I turn to him with tortured eyes. He also looks scared. I do not care. I cannot watch my brother drown. I jump in before he does, in the general direction of my sister. In this memory flash black, I do not notice the scratches on his arm. Watching again, from the empty, oval shaped room, I cannot believe why I did not notice it at the time. I watch the water hit me. I remember the painful splash of the ice cold water. I remember how it freezes me to the bone. But I know that I would never have stopped, in fear of hypothermia. As soon as I enter, I kick my legs in order to stay above water and not drown myself. I struggle to find Emma. I, the older Jo watching this, find her first. It takes a few seconds before the virtual image of me on the screen notices.
The small head bobs up and down about ten metres away. She is losing her strength. I can see that my clothes are weighing me down and I find it so hard to swim. I am reliving it, unable to escape.
It does not matter. I need to reach her. I watch myself drag my body through the water, kicking and swimming as hard as possible. It is starting to sap at my energy. A splash sounds behind this virtual image of me.
At the time, I did not turn to see who it was. However, watching, I see that it is him. Why is he trying to help? Why would he care?
I watch my sister on the screen, her eyes hopeless. Emma’s eyelids start to droop. Again, I feel the strong denial in my head, just like the red haired girl on the screen is doing.
From here, I cannot see, but I know that this is the moment when I reach my sister and touch her fingers. Two of me, from different points in time, watch our sister’s eyes fill with hope again.
My eyes finally close. I cannot watch the next part.

My eyelids shoot wide open and my heart is thudding. I feel terrible. I am not sure why. I rub my eyes, and realise that I am crying. Why am I crying? I wipe my eyes dry. Have I been having a nightmare? If so, why can I not remember it?
My head really hurts and I seem to have a temperature. When my mother enters two hours later, she realises that I am ill. I spend the rest of the weekend recovering, and slipping in and out of consciousness.
The next week is not very interesting. It is not too bad, even though Natasha still hates me, but at least I have become good friends with Philip. It turns out that he is not quite so odd, after getting through the awkward introduction. He is rather funny and sweet.
I go swimming a few times that week, meeting Tom a few times. We have become better friend by now.
However, I keep feeling depressed. My dislike for Captain Tim has grown into hatred now, every time I hear him over the loudspeaker. I am very confused. I do not understand. It is as if there is something going on that I cannot remember.
“How are you today, Jo?” Tom asks on Friday. We are going for our chat by the pool, sitting side by side.
“I’m okay, although I’ve been feeling odd recently. I’m not sure why, though. What about you?”
“I hope you feel better soon, then. I’m fine. How’s school?” We usually begin with formalities before moving onto other subjects. “It’s better. I have a friend, now.” He looks surprised. I realise that I never really talked about school to him. Woops. “What do you mean?” I explain the conflict between me and Natasha.
“It’s nothing, really. Just a part of life, I suppose.” He laughs. I am unsure of what to make of his laughter. He quickly stops laughing when he sees my face.
“Sorry, Jo. I just can’t believe that everyone would be so horrible to such a pretty and clever girl.” I feel my cheeks heat up. Why do my cheeks always betray me? “Sorry, though. I didn’t mean to laugh.” I smile at him, despite myself. “So, who’s this friend you’ve made?” He asks.
“Oh, Philip. I’m not sure why exactly he decided to abandon the safe harbour of Natasha,” Tom laughs again at this. “But he’s okay. After we got past a really awkward start, of me being rather rude to him, he turned out to be quite nice.” I look at Tom and see him with his eyebrows raised. I look at him questioningly.
“I think I know why exactly he decided to hang out with. And plus, you’re a cool person.” It is my turn to laugh now, and I decide not to question his weird reply.
“Thanks. You are, too. Did you know you’re the first friend I made on this ship? Sad, right?”
“Well, if you hadn’t made such a big deal at school in the first place…” he teases. I roll my eyes.
“Anyway, I think we should get swimming, now,” I say. I always seem to be the one reminding him why he came to the swimming pool in the first place.
And so he swims his lengths, and I skim the pool floor. After a few minutes, I have an idea.
When he swims across the water, in the deep end, I swim under him and pretend to grab his ankle while I am there. I attempt to get away from him as fast as I can before my head breaks the surface of the water. He has stopped at the end of the pool, and looks at me very sternly. “I’m not in the mood for childish games, Josephine Walker.” I do not reply; I am unsure as to whether he is joking or not. After all, he is over three years older than me.
Then his face breaks into a grin. “Gotcha!” He suddenly shoots towards me through the water. I struggle to get deeply under water as quickly as possible, where he can hopefully not reach me. I am too slow. He grabs my kicking leg firmly, holding on for a second while I struggle. Then he lets go, and once again, I rise to the surface of the water and splash water at him.
We both have fun for a while, until it is time for him to go. Just before he leaves, he turns towards me. “Jo?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s your birthday the following Tuesday, right?” Why does he have this strange obsession with my birthday? I had almost forgotten it was my birthday next Tuesday. “Yes, it is, actually. I’d almost forgotten.”
“Are you going to be doing anything for it?” Wow…is this I am thinking it is? Of course not, why would he?
“As far as I know, no…I never really planned to celebrate it.” He is looking at me in a peculiar way. Did I say something strange?
“Well…I was thinking…might you want to watch a film with me that day? It’s all on me. Maybe something about the apocalypse,” he smiles, adding a light note to it. Is he joking, or something? No, of course he is not. He just wants to go with me as a friend. Why did I ever think differently? I hesitate. My past experience of these kinds of things did not go well. At all. But this time it will just be me. No one I care about will be hurt. It will not be like last time, I reassure myself. Tom looks hurt at my hesitation, and I hastily reply, feeling guilty.
“Sure, I think I can make it. Would eight o’clock be okay with you?” He nods, happy.
“Your parents okay with that? It’s not often a father doesn’t worry when his daughter’s going somewhere with someone a bit older than her…” I smile wryly.
“My parents don’t really care.” He raises an eyebrow and does not reply. He gives me a last smile and leaves.
After he leaves, my mind is not peaceful as I dive. It is full of thoughts, full of confusion. Pathetically, I spend the weekend looking forward to this meeting. It is true that for the first time, I will not have my silly swimming costume on when I meet him, though.
“Hi Jo!” Philip says, on Monday. He is sometimes too enthusiastic.
“Hi Philip. How’re you?”
“I’m cool. Listen, are you doing anything tomorrow afterschool? You know that stuff we’re doing in biology? I’m sort of stuck on it, and I was wondering if you could help me with it.” It is hard to say no to his cute, eager face. Two places in a day, doing something I promised not to do, twice? Well, if I am to die, I may as well make the most of it.
“Sure thing, Phil. Do you want me to come to your apartment, or vice versa?”
“Is it okay if you could come to my apartment afterschool? It’s the nineteenth floor, room A.”
“Okay, so nineteen A. Got that.” He beams happily at me. “Don’t look too happy Phil…I’ll probably end up telling you something that is scientifically wrong.” He rolls his eyes.
“You can’t talk; you’re the best at biology in the class.” It is my turn to roll my eyes. I am only good at biology because it is easy compared to the work I had to do on Earth. However, I seem to be fitting in better now. The class does not gang up on me as much anymore, getting slightly tired of this game between me and Natasha. I have two friends now, and both I am meeting tomorrow, outside of school hours.
We are starting to receive homework now, of which I am almost glad of; I almost died of boredom, before.
Too quickly, I finish my homework that evening. To kill time, I draw again, on my wall. I finish my name and then I consider moving to drawing myself, which is quite hard to do. I am afraid of drawing myself badly, or making it look too pretty, a word that is something I am certainly not. I decide to draw something else, something that is ever so special, to me.
My mother knocks on the door, making me jump. I quickly put my pencil down and rush to the door, hoping to block her view of my wall. I should have drawn everything on the wall next to the door. I open the door and greet my mother. Thankfully, I am taller than her. “Hi Jo, what are you doing?”
“Nothing…well, I was just doing my homework.”
“But you told me that you had finished your homework?” She looks at me suspiciously.
“Yeah…but I realised that there was some more that I hadn’t done. Actually, it isn’t really homework I’m doing now; I am just doing it of my own accord.” At this second, I realise how posh I must sound. What kind of teenagers uses the word ‘accord’ in a casual conversation with their parent? My mother seems to believe me.
“That’s good. Can I have a look at some of it?” Why can she not just leave herself out of it?
“Could you not look at it after I’ve done my homework?” She is definitely suspicious now.
“What are you hiding, Josephine?” She pushes past me and into my room, to see the drawing of a person on the wall.
“You weren’t doing extra homework, were you?” She says, sternly. I sigh, giving up.
“Nope. Tell me off now, please. I’ll apologise first: I would like to formally apologise for the disappointment I have brought up-” She interrupts me.
“Shut up.” My mother sighs at the drawing. “You still remember, then?” It stabs my heart to hear that she thinks that I have forgotten.
“I’m not as stupid as you think, mother.”
She looks at me, with an unreadable expression. “Okay, I’ll leave you, now.” I stand still, watching her until she leaves. I refuse to let tears bounce into my eyes.
For dinner, I am forced to sit with my mother and father for the first time, in the dining area. I suppose that is fair, even if I do not want to.
I do not say a word, staying silent for the entire evening, until I go back to the apartment, where I try to concentrate on the ‘celebrations’ that have been planned tomorrow, for my birthday. This reminds me that I should probably ask permission of my parents.
“Please can I go to the cinema at eight o’clock tomorrow evening?” I ask my mother. She looks up in surprise. “Are you going alone?” She asks.
“No, I’m going with a friend. We’re sort of doing it for my birthday.” She is even more surprised. Usually I would rather not celebrate my birthday. She agrees, not even ask me who this ‘friend’ was.
I am starting to look forward to it, tomorrow. I fall asleep, feeling content.
The next morning, I do not realise that it is my birthday, until break, when I realise that I have been given an extra chocolate bar for lunch. This is something teachers would only do for primary school children, of course, but it has been a while since I ate chocolate. I am guessing that I probably completely forgot about the luxuries found in food when I boarded this ship.
“Happy birthday Jo! You never told me that it was your birthday today!” Philip exclaimed.
“I guess I don’t really like my birthday that much,” I shrug. He looks at me strangely.
“Why wouldn’t you like your birthday? Why wouldn’t you like the presents?” This question, I will not answer.
“Not sure,” I casually lie. He laughs at me, in a friendly way.
“You’re slightly weird, aren’t you?” He teases. I shrug and aim a soft punch at him.
“By the way, I’m going to bring some of my science books that I used back on Earth, in case those would help.”
“Wow, you’re weird and nerdy. An interesting combination.” When I give him a glare, he quickly regrets what he has just said. “I’m just joking! But yeah, thanks.” I smile. It is hard to stay too serious with Philip, for long.
After school, I head back to my room to collect the science books, and then I walk straight out again, heading toward room nineteen A. I am greeted by a lovely, kind woman who I assume is Philip’s mother. She has hair the same colour as her son’s-dark chocolate, but waist length. Her faint blue eyes look soft and friendly. Her smile reaches to her eyes, and I shyly smile back.
“Hello, Jo. Come to help Philip with biology, right? Come on right in. I’ll take you to his room and you can grab a few biscuits from this tin.” She shows me a metal box full of biscuits. I randomly take two from the top and then I thank her. “My name is Heather, by the way. I’m Philip’s mother, as you may have guessed. Sorry, I should have said all that as soon the door opened.” I smile and reassure her that it is okay.
The layout of this apartment is different to mine; it is bigger, but more importantly, the cushions and messy style of the place looks more homely. Heather leads me to a room the furthest away from the apartment door. The door has already been slightly personalised, with labelled, framed picture of Philip, when he was younger. It looks quite adorable.
I knock on the door of Philip’s room, and Heather turns away, to leave us alone. Philip looks happy that I have arrived just as he asked.
“So, you know that stuff we were doing on animals? Something to do with biomass?” And I get teaching. We do not finish until five o’clock. I am just about to leave. “Erm, Jo?” He sounds nervous. “Yes?” I pause in my movement to listen to him.
“It’s you birthday today, right? I made you a card just afterschool. It’s not much, but I hope you like it.” He gives me a card that was evidently handmade. It has a beautiful design.
“Oh, thanks so much Philip! This is beautiful! I’m surprised you managed to do all that within thirty minutes!” He looks down, flushing.
“Glad you like it. So, are you doing anything tonight?” He asks, trying to change the topic.
“Yes, actually, I’m going to see a film with my friend, someone I met at swimming.” He nods in interest. Sooner or later, I leave. As I travel back to my apartment, I study the front of the card. It has been made with card, and my name has been designed on it, as well as the words ‘Happy Birthday’. It is now I realise that I am fifteen years old. To be most honest, I slightly regret being a year older, each year. I miss the ignorance and fun of childhood.
Inside the card, it says “Dear Jo, try to celebrate anything and everything, so Happy Birthday! Your friend, Phil.” I smile at the meaningful words. In the apartment, I slowly prepare to go to the cinema with Tom, after going through some photos.
After my birthday last year, I promised I would never celebrate my birthday ever again. It held too many scars that were too heavy. But now I realise that it may be possible that although my birthday is one that holds a few disturbing memories, it should be the day I try to remember. I refuse to think about him, and flick through the photos of my friends and others that were special to me. It is my birthday, after all. When I have spent enough time trying not to cry as I pore over the pictures, I decide that I really should start to get ready.
I wash myself in the shower, first. Afterwards, I quickly eat dinner, returning to the apartment as quickly as possible. I often seem to leave tasks until the last minute, which is not a very good habit of mine. I sit in my room, unsure of what to wear. But I am glad that it takes me a while to decide what to wear; if I had quickly gotten changed, I would be sitting for the next hour fidgeting with boredom. I am slightly hurt that my parents have not even wished me a happy birthday. I know it is not something I should expect, but my parents could have at least remembered. I reminded my mother it was my birthday, yesterday.
Half an hour before I am due to meet Tom, my father calls me. “Where are you going?” He asks, suspiciously glancing at my properly done hair and clothes. “I’m going to the cinema with my friend. I asked my mother yesterday and she said I could.” He seems to believe me, but he is not finished.
“Who is this ‘friend’ of yours, Jo?”
“Someone I met when I was swimming. We became good friends.” In my head, I silently add he is a better friend to me than you ever have or will be.
“And, are they male of female?”
“He’s a boy. You do know that is possible to have a male friend. And, he’s the first friendly person I met in this hellhole, so I think he deserves some respect.” Why is he trying to control me? My good grade and achievements do not matter to him. He only cares that I cannot be happy.
“And how old is he?” This question I can obviously, not answer. My father would never understand that Tom is different to most males his age. “Look, please can I just meet him? I want to have proper fun, with a friend. He’s just a friend, believe me.” Eventually, my father accepts that and I am able to leave.
My stomach nervously tingles as I stand in the lift. Why am I so excited for such a simple meeting? However, what might happen if he does not turn up? I push all these thoughts out of my head. This is a friendly outing, not a date. Friends never stand each other up. When I arrive, Tom is already there, to my relief. He simply wears a thin red jumper, with black trousers and a black jacket over it.
“Hi Jo! Happy Birthday!” I thank him and return the greeting.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a present or a card, I’ve been really busy. These tickets are all on me. Including the popcorn. I’m ever so sorry, though.”
I wave off his apologies. We choose a film together, both deciding the comedic film. Tom buys the tickets and popcorn, and we take our seats in the dark room. There are, of course, quite a few others around. Tome flicks my hair.
“I really like your hair. It’s so red, and it’s really pretty.” I blush and look down.
“Thanks.” This serious note fades away as the film starts. The film is much funnier than I expect, and I and Tom sit through the whole film laughing our heads off.
We are in a happy, good mood after we come out of the dark room.
“That was amazing!” He grins.
“Yep, I was crying with laughter,” I smile.
“So, was that worth my money?” He asks playfully, although there is a slightly serious tone underneath it, which is rather strange. “Yes, of course it was. Funniest time I’ve had on this ship.” He looks slightly relieved, now. How strange.
“C’mon, then, let’s get you home.” I pout.
“I don’t need anyone to take me home! I’m that much of a child…”
“Only because you’re not on Earth, it doesn’t mean all the bad things are gone. Remember, this is a ship full of humans.”
“True,” I agree. We silently walk to the lift. As we wait for floor twenty one, Tom starts to speak, slowly and hesitantly.
“Jo, I quite like you.” I am unsure of what he is talking about.
“I like you too,” I smile.
He sighs, slightly frustrated. I obviously do not understand what he has just said. “I know I’m about three and half years older than you, but I really like you, Jo. I shouldn’t, but I do.” This strikes me silent for a while. What if he is just lying, to trick me? His sincere eyes tell me otherwise. However, why on Earth would he like me in that way? I am pessimistic and different from everyone else. As far as I know, different is not good.
“But…why?” I ask. Tom suddenly looks hurt. “Sorry Tom, I didn’t mean it like that. To be honest, I think I like you too. I told myself that I shouldn’t like anyone, but I don’t listen to what anyone says…including myself.” Tom looks surprised, and delighted.
“Really?” The lift reaches its destination. Together, we step out. I nod in reply. But everything I have done…I cannot make this mistake again. Something will happen and I shall get hurt. More importantly, someone I love will be hurt.
“Jo…I know this is probably completely wrong and inappropriate, but it would make me really glad if you could be my girlfriend. Of some sort. Somehow.” Wow. That is quick. My face must betray my thoughts as I see Tom regret what he has just said. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone if you want. I am crazy.” Tom starts to turn back towards the lift.
“No, Tom! I want to, I really do. But…I can’t do it. You don’t understand. No one would.” I struggle not to let tears squeeze out of my eyes.
“So I guess my money was wasted, then,” he says quietly. I gasp. Why does he say that? Before anything else can happen, he leaves. If only you knew, I think.
I hide my face with my hair as I walk past my parents, straight into my room. This sounds like a cliché sob story of a ruined date between a girl and a boy she likes. That is sort of true, I guess, but the thing that is upsetting me rips a hole through my heart, and then moves to rip apart my insides, slowly. Why did I decide to celebrate my birthday? Could I have not have even missed out just one birthday before getting over it?
And it is in my room that I cry myself to sleep, silently, letting the ripping take over me.

“Hey Jo. Did you have a good birthday?” Philips asks the next day. I smile wryly at him.
“To be honest, there is a reason why I don’t celebrate my birthday. It’s nothing to do with you, of course. I’ve put your card on my bedside table.” Philip decides rightfully not to attempt to decipher my first few words, but blushed in embarrassment, glad that his birthday card has been appreciated.
I try to make my way through the rest of the week, not looking forward to this Sunday. I do not go swimming at all, for obvious reasons. It is in a way, like sleeping. I am almost droning my way through the week. I eat as quickly as possible and stay in my room as long as possible.
And then comes the third week in space.
“This morning a university student will be coming into this class to teach you the subject they study, and to answer any questions you have about university life.” Miss Haynes glances out of the door and sees something. “Oh, he’s arrived! Do come in and introduce yourself.”
And then a dark haired teenager walks in. Tom.
Our eyes meet. He looks very surprised, and then he slides a cold mask on and looks away. “Hi, I’m Tom. And I am studying a degree in creative writing.” He looks uncomfortable, standing too stiffly. He is avoiding my eyes.
“Please make Tom feel as comfortable as possible today,” Miss Haynes says. I am not really listening to her. “He has come here to teach you all a bit about creative writing. Remember to ask him any questions you have about university life.” I see Natasha flicking her hair, more times than necessary. She looks at him with her eyes wide, but with her confident look that made her look older. Something burns inside me. I feel the urge to slap her.
I should not, though. Tom does not like me, and probably has no intention to.
He teaches a few creative writing tools and tips, and the entire day drags. An hour before lunch, he tells us to write a short story in first person, about three hundred words long. Many people groan at this. Three hundred words may seem a lot at first, but suddenly I have an idea. I do not want to lose my first friend in this hellhole.
I have broken all the rules now, so I may as well just break this last one. It is pathetic of me, not being able to keep my own promises for more than a year.
At the end of the lesson, I slowly wait until everyone has left. I gesture to Philip using my eyes, telling him that I will come for lunch later.
Tom can sense that I am still behind, and he attempts to ignore me.
“…Sir.” I must start with formalities, of course. He looks up quickly, and then regrets it. “Could you look at what I wrote, please? It will not take long to read. Sorry to be interrupting your lunch.” He sighs and then nods.
I grab my piece of paper and hand it to him. There is an awkward silence as he reads it.
I remember. I remember when I fell in love for the first time. And the last time. Or so I thought. There was a boy who had just joined our school, and of course, all the girls tried to go for him. I liked him too, but it was just because of his charm. I was far too cowardly to do anything about it, obviously. I had no chance. But to my intense surprise, he took an interest in me. I was so happy; I had never thought that someone would like me. How easily fooled I was.
I never realised that he only wanted for my sister to die. My sister had found a terrible secret about him, and in order to erase the secret from being told, all he had to do was to get rid of her.
He took time doing so; he had to wait for a busy day, where nothing could be seen. Where it would be impossible to notice a hand pushing a young girl into a river. He waited until a carnival, where crowds of people walked we were out together, celebrating my birthday. He let me walk away to buy ice cream, he let me trust him to look after my sister.
He chose the perfect moment. I did not realise it was him at the time, and I was too late. He pretended to comfort me as I sobbed, knowing something I did not know.
A week later, I almost got ran over by a car, and I temporarily lost my memory. I am thankful of this accident. Because of this accident, I realised something I had been too blind to see before. It was him.
None believed me when I told them what he had done, but I vowed to never let anyone do this to me, ever again.
Finally he looks up from the sheet of paper. He looks slightly surprised. And then he slides his cold mask back on again. I miss his black eyes that have the ability to look so soft. At least he breaks the silence. “This is an interesting story. You shall get good marks, but seeing me after class, attempting to suck up to the teacher, does not gain you more or less marks.” I let the words sink through me. I cannot show how each word stabs at me.
I correct him. “It is not a story.” He cocks an eyebrow. “It is pure fact. Pure fact about me.” His eyes widen in shock. He is unsure of what to make of it. “Do you understand why I said no?” He does not reply, for a while. And then his face becomes emotionless. I turn around to see if there is anyone that has appeared in the classroom. My heart sinks.
“I do not need to repeat myself; this is an interesting piece of work that you have written. You could have just asked me to read it for you, during the lesson. True, or not, it has nothing to do with me. I’d like to be having my lunch now, so if you please…” I struggle against tears. I cannot cry. Especially in front of him. I nod stiffly at him.
I put my ‘essay’ away and take my lunch. When I walk out of the classroom, I give him a casual look of pure hatred. He does not care. He never did. Just like him. I shared this dark secret of mine and did not even receive gestures of sympathy. I do not want sympathy, though. I want for him to understand.
Philip looks at me worriedly when he meets me. “Are you okay, Jo?” I slide my feelings to the side. I should not be crying. “Yes, I’m fine, sorry; I was just showing the guy my story.” Philip does not believe that I am fine, but he decides to leave the topic alone. He raises his eyebrows. “Really? I found that task pretty hard. Did you manage to get to the three hundred words?” I nodded at him. “Wow. Mine was like seventy five words of complete and utter nonsense.” I laugh, trying to drive any wobbly sign from my voice.
I spend the weekend trying to make time drag, unsuccessfully. I have gotten more homework this week, so I try to throw myself into it. I stay up late tonight, on Saturday night, until midnight.
“Happy birthday, Emma,” I whisper when the second hand on my watch hit’s the number twelve. It has been an entire year. Tonight, I sob into my pillow until sleep pulls me from reality.
I am in the river again, cold, soaking and shivering. But I have touched Emma’s fingers. However, that only lasts for a second and we are separated again. This time I am not watching it from a screen. I am completely reliving it.
Emma tries to fight the water when she slowly starts to gain hope again, but her strength has already been completely sapped. I fix her eyes with mine, determined not to let her giver up. “Emma,” I whisper hoarsely. She looks at me, rather blankly, trying to keep her nose above water. “Hold on, I almost have you…” Her eyes seem to show denial.
“Jo! Watch out!” I hear him yell. Emma’s eyes widen as she sees something behind me. She pushes her mouth out of the water a last time. “Best…sister…” Something slams into both of us. Somehow, we get slammed against the wall, and I am thrown against Emma. The breath is knocked out of me, and the log that apparently slammed against us, seems to bounce off us and carry on being carried by the flow. There is a rung of a ladder, and despite my flaming icy back, I manage to grab it. This is a miracle. Emma will survive. I might survive. Although my survival is not important.
Emma’s eyes have closed. No. This cannot be. I drag her and push her up the ladder with all my strength, dipping my face underwater in the process. Somehow, I manage to push her to the top of the short ladder.
I cannot feel my legs. My eyes start to drift. At least Emma has been saved. My task is done. Maybe this is how it should be; I dying in the satisfaction that my sister is still alive. I start to feel sleepy, and the river does not feel as cold anymore. I shut my eyes.
Something grabs me by the shoulder and yells at me. “Don’t give up, Jo; you need to help your sister!” Someone yells.
I am confused. This person is disturbing my peace. I have already helped my sister, have I not? What utter nonsense this person speaks. If he could just leave me in peace…
I am lifted out of the warm water, somehow, into the unwelcoming cold air. Why? I want to stay in the water. I seem to be roughly thrown somewhere and something hard meets my face, and my body.
I try to open my eyes, one last time. There is a girl-a young girl, with soft but wet blond hair. Her eyes are closed. Why? Reality takes a hold of me once more.
“Emma!” I screech. She looks too pale and her smile is not there.
Someone puts their hand on my shoulder. It is him. “I’m sorry Jo. It’s too late.” No! It cannot be! “Of course not! Have you tried resuscitation?” I half shriek. He shakes his head sadly. Tears are coming out of his eyes, too. If only I knew that, these were false tears. “I can’t. She’s stopped breathing for a while, and even if we did successfully resuscitate her, she could have severe brain damage. I’m so sorry, Jo.” I lean into his arms and sob. We have gathered a large crowd and there are sirens wailing.
I glance at each worried face of the crowd. “You could have tried to help,” I tell them. Many of the audience start to look ashamed of themselves. ”It wasn’t their fault, Jo.” He says. I turn to look at Emma. I am not crying anymore.
I reach for her and hold her, trying to forever hold her in my arms.
I wake up crying. Again. Why do I cry? Did I have a bad dream? Something feels so empty inside me. And then I realise. It is her birthday. If it had not been for him, she would be seven now.
It is my fault, though. I should never have trusted him in the first place.
“Morning, Jo”, my mother greets me when I walk with her and my father to breakfast. “How are you?” I look at her blackly. I do not mean to look so rude, but I simply cannot have much patience today.
“How do you think?” My mother looks down at the ground at this reply, and my father suddenly pretends to be occupied with the ceiling of the lift.
My father finally talks when we have sat down to eat our breakfast. “I didn’t know you remembered it all so clearly, Josephine.” I snort.
“Yes, I knocked my head the week after, but do you think I could have completely forgotten all of that?”
“You didn’t exactly mention it, did you?” Wow, my father is attempting to maintain a conversation with me. “Did you not get the hint when I told you that I did not want to celebrate my birthday, even if that failed?”
“Of course we didn’t think that you had forgotten her, Josephine,” my mother reassures unsuccessfully.
“’Her’ has a name. It is Emma.” Both of my parents look shocked and hurt. I should not be so harsh on them, perhaps. They loved her, too.
It is just me that they do not love, I think. I mumble an apology. “Sorry.” They seem to accept my apology, and I prepare to play twenty questions, looking at my father’s expression. “So tell me what you remember of that week?” He asks. What a silly question. I do not want to recap everything. It hurts too much. Moping does not make anyone feel sorry for you, though. I raise an eyebrow at my father. He gets the hint, and moves on to the next question. “Do you remember things that happened in the week following?” It seems that still, none believe that he could have done anything.
“Of course. No one believed me when I told them that it wasn’t an accident, and the following Saturday I attempted suicide and lost my memory,” I list off my fingers casually. Again, my parents look thoroughly shocked.
“You do realise, though, that it was not your fault?” My mother gently asks.
“Of course it was my fault. If I had never trusted him in the first place, if I had kept Emma in my sight at all times like a good sister should, it would not have happened.” I try to casually say this as well, but no one has any idea how true, exactly, these words are. Both of my parents sigh, disappointed.
I stuff the rest of the food in my mouth, quite in an unladylike way, and then leave the table as quickly as possible. I cannot listen to my parents saying the exact same thing, all over again, a year later.
I cannot stand this anymore. Emma is gone, and it is my entire fault. Why did I leave her in the first place? Ice cream. I shall never eat ice cream ever again. I shall never be able to. It has been exactly a week, and I still do not feel any different.
Every night, the whole thing replays in my head. I cannot close my eyes without seeing the images. The smile would never appear on my sister’s now pale, lifeless face. Why did I not try harder? If I had, she would not be dead.
Dead. I cannot imagine it. Maybe she is at a residential holiday camp. She cannot be gone. I know she is gone, but yet somehow, I cannot accept it.
Her bedroom still smells of her; clean and sweet. I can see her everywhere. She haunts me, shadowing my every step. She cannot be gone.
But she is. Because of me. If I had swam better, if I had not wasted time, she would still be alive. One mistake. One life.
I have wondered before how it would feel being responsible for the death of someone. I would feel very upset and wrecked. However, I never thought it would be my sister that was the one dying because of me.
I cannot stand it. I have to go. I must keep on looking after Emma. I do not know for definite if I can look after her if I do this, but I know for sure that here, on Earth, in this wretched place, I can never look after Emma again. I must look after her.
For the first time in a few days, I leave the house. My parents are stunned when they hear me slam the door behind me. They will not care. They are too busy mourning for their favourite child. Not that I mind, of course. Emma is-was, a better daughter than I could ever be. Pretty, too. Her blonde hair and bright blue eyes were irresistible.
I run onto the road, trying to invite something, anything, to hit me. There are no cars here. Angrily, I start running along the road. I sprint to the town centre, refusing to stop when my body begs me to. I punish my body for its weakness, and I try to punish myself. I ignore the chilly wind blowing right through my thin clothes, into my skin. I welcome it, hoping it hurts. It takes so long to get there, it seems, and my body seems to rip apart, but it is what I deserve.
Why are there no cars yet? And then, in a road on the left, I see that it is busier. The cars travel fast, of course, at this time of the night. I am grateful. I slow to a walk, breathing heavily, with my limbs hurting more. They seem to be on fire now. I do not care. I walk on the middle of the lane, facing the cars coming towards me.
It does not see me until it is too late, and I stand still, closing my eyes.
I hear the highest screech that makes me cringe, but then I get what I want-the huge, painful collision. I stop thinking.
~~~~~~~~~
There is an awful pain in my head. I need to open my eyes to see what this is. Something is keeping my attached to an uncomfortable bed underneath me. What on earth is happening? I cannot think properly. There is a strange smell. It is clean but unwelcoming.
I can hear voices around me. That is all I can manage to summon up into my head.
I struggle to open my eyes. I do not particularly want to leave the darkness, but the pain in my head is beginning to really hurt me.
White light, too bright, stream through my eyelids that have opened through a tiny gap. I hear voices suddenly become louder in volume and higher in pitch. I cringe away from the unwelcome noise, and shut my eyes again. The voices become even higher pitched.
“Josephine. Can you hear me?” I manage to muster these words out. Why am I being asked of my hearing skills? They probably know I am awake, why must they treat me as if I am recovering from a coma?
I force my eyes open, preparing to snap at those interrupting my piece. The light hurts, so I squint. I see a blank, white ceiling with a naked bulb hanging from it. I try to look downwards, to find something more interesting.
There are figures around me, differing in height. Some seem to be wearing white. Am I in heaven? No, I cannot be if my head is on fire. However, the voices continue to increase in pitch and volume. The voices seem to come from the figures. Can they not stop? I want to speak too, but I cannot.
There is a figure leaning in towards me. Is this appropriate? As my eyes adjust, I see that it is a man with brown hair, glasses and something in his arms…a clipboard. How could I forget that word? He is going to attack me. His eyes look deeply into mine, and suddenly I feel scared.
“Will you stop that?” I force out, finally. My own voice seems to be hoarse and weak but it seems to scare this man enough. He suddenly jumps back, apologising.
There is a group of women behind him, wearing white aprons. I suddenly understand. These are nurses. If they are nurses, then this man must be a…doctor. Why on earth are they anywhere near me? Am I ill?
It dawns on me. I am in a hospital.
“Josephine, can you hear me clearly?” The doctor asks. I twitch my head, aiming for a nod. I regret it though, as sharp pain suddenly blasts through my head, again. I wince. The doctor notices, of course. “Josephine, what is wrong?” He asks. Why does he keep saying my name? Does he think I have forgotten my own name?
I force out another few words. “My head.”
“Yes, you injured that quite badly. Josephine, do you remember what happened?” Why is he asking me this, saying my name again? He makes no move to see to my head. “No. My head hurts.” I wonder what did happen, though. Something must have happened if I am now in a hospital. The doctor murmurs something to the nurse and she goes away, to get something. “We’ll fix your head. But we would have to put you to sleep again. First, would it be possible if you could tell me why you think you have been injured enough to go to hospital?”
I have not been in a hospital for a long time…since…last week? Suddenly I feel hollow inside. Something hurts.
I remember.
A girl. A small, pretty, blonde girl with wide blue eyes, but a shade of blue, the colour of sapphire. She is my sister.
She is Emma.
She died when I went to buy ice cream. Someone else was there. My head throbs. Him. I trusted my sister with him as I went to buy ice cream. She would never have fallen into water on her own. It was him.
I know now. I did not know before, but now I know. She drowned, because he pushed her into the river. The burning inside me does not match the physical pain inside my head.
“My sister was killed”, I burst out. The doctor looks surprised.
“I’m sorry Josephine. Your sister died from hypothermia.” I try to sit up, shaking my head. I ignore the pain in my head. Other parts of my body are also starting to throb. The doctor tries to keep me down, but I do not let him.
“You don’t understand. I went to buy ice cream. I left her with my-my” I realise something terrible. “My boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend. H-he pushed her in.” The doctor sighs.
“You’re late, Josephine. This has already been investigated, and this ex-boyfriend of yours was talking to some friends, the entire time before you jumped into the river after your sister. I’m truly sorry, and I know it must be h-“
“He would have done, somehow. He’s clever, you have no idea. He could have pressed a button or got someone else to do it.” The nurse that the doctor sent away has now returned, with a small tube and a thin, metal wire running out of it-I am going to be injected. The doctor gestures at her to wait.
“Josephine, he had no reason to do so and he never showed a sign of dislike or even frustration towards her.” And that is where the doctor is very, very wrong. He nods at the nurse, who starts to lean towards me. I protest but I am forced back into the bed by firm hands.
My eyes shut and now, I feel the tears trickling down my face.
I hear the needle being inserted into my arm, and feel the painful pressure of the fluids entering my body. My head spins.
“You…do…not…under…stand…” I whisper, as sleep takes me away.
I jump, out of bed, sweating and horrified.
Tears are streaming down my face. At least, this time, I remember my dream. It hurts. I hurt so much, and I cannot take it.
Whatever anyone else says, Emma’s death has always been my fault, is my fault, and will always be my fault.
It is well past lunchtime by now. I do not feel like eating at all, today. I get changed and shower myself. I try to let the hot water soothe me, but hot water does not neutralise the fire inside me.
Afterwards, I have nothing to do. I have no homework, and I do not want to read. I pace through my bedroom, which is hard to do; it is so small. I am impatient. I cannot let the hole inside me, swallow me up just yet.
I need to do something. I need to do something that will help me. I need to go swimming. Something in the back of my head reminds me that there is a reason why I should not go swimming right this minute, but I do not care.
I quickly get changed and sooner or later, I have arrived at the swimming pool, ready to swim. I do not collect bricks or rings for diving; I throw myself into the pool. The cold water at first, freezes me, but as I force myself to stay in the water and vigorously push myself forward, the water starts to warm slightly.
I strain my body; just like the night I tried to commit suicide. But it seems that my will is not as strong as before. After a few vigorous laps, I finally stop, panting. My mind is starting to still again, but not fast enough.
I climb out of the pool and grab the bricks and rings, like my usual routine. Once I start diving again, my mind is slightly more restful. It tries to soften the edges of the wide hole inside me, but it still hurts, though.
I cannot mope anymore, though. Others understand if I mourn for two weeks, perhaps a month, but after a while, they would just think I am attention seeking, moping. Therefore, I have to keep it hidden, keep it inside me.
The peace of the water tempts me. I swivel my body in order to look at the surface of the water, from underneath. It looks gentle and soft, rippling calmly. It would be nice if I could have a life like that. My lungs start to strain. I ignore them; it is normal of them to feel like that after forty or fifty seconds.
I try to fight the water that lifts me up to the surface. I kick my way deeper into the pool. The floor of the pool calls out to me, daring me to stay on it as long as possible. My chest starts to hurt. Nevertheless, I accept the invitation and skim along the floor of the pool.
My head starts to hurt and my lungs are starting to set on fire now. I feel dizzy. But I do not want to leave the safety of the water. I want to stay here and feel protected yet alone. The fire in my lungs overpowers the empty hole in my body, and I am glad.
My eyes drift. Maybe this is how it should be. Maybe I am joining my sister the way she did, in a way. I smile at this thought and I can almost hear her voice, smiling at me.
They are interrupting me. I want to continue hearing Emma’s voice as she giggles, the giggles that increase in volume as I come closer to her.