As the ASCANs stood in front of the jets, Joan began to understand just how large the disparity was between the military astronauts and the mission specialists. She had not noticed the difference in the classroom, where it favored her. But here, in a flight suit on the airfield, with the wind drying out her eyes, the gap between them felt vast, its edges sharp.

“As you know, if you are not a military pilot,” the instructor said, “you will be a backseater for the entire time you fly here at NASA.”

Joan had already known she’d be relegated to the backseat and was grateful for it. But when she looked over at the rest of her colleagues, she could see that Vanessa’s jaw was clenched.

Soon the group was divided, and the military guys made their way to the other side of the tarmac.

Joan could not think of a single pilot she had gotten to know. Some of them, like Hank, seemed nice enough. But a lot of them kept making the kinds of cracks that irritated her.

At first it was things like “I’ve never been so up close and personal with so many women,” at the gym on campus. And then it was a comment one of them made about the women’s “sturdiness” during one of the facility tours. There were innuendos about skirts, cracks about penis envy.

Just yesterday, Lydia had been bemoaning the fact that they’d have to meet on the tarmac so early in the day, instead of easing in with classroom instruction first. Joan had disagreed and said that she was “glad to get the hard part done first.”

At which point, one of the pilots, Jimmy Hayman, said, “I’ve got a hard part you can do first.”

Joan stared right at him, unsure how to respond. But then Lydia laughed. And in the moment, Joan wanted to slap her.

Didn’t Lydia understand that if one of them made it seem like it was okay, the rest of them would be sidelined as humorless? Didn’t Lydia get that this was how the men kept them separate and underestimated? With these small jokes that made them look petty if they got upset? Couldn’t Lydia see how it worked?

“Hayman,” Griff had said as he walked into the room, “cut that out.”

Jimmy shut up then. Joan knew she was supposed to be grateful, though she resented the need for it at all.

“Thank you,” she whispered to Griff when she sat down.

He shook his head. “Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum,” he said. “It does a disservice to us both.”

Obviously, the mission specialists weren’t immune to bad taste, but they weren’t as overt about it. And so Joan preferred it when she was grouped with Vanessa, Donna, and Griff. Even Lydia, Harrison, and the others were all right.

The instructor refocused on them as the pilots left.