Silence hung heavy between us, and I thought back to what had happened on the field trip this afternoon. One more thing I’d screwed up. More than anything, I wanted to wake up and find that this day had never happened, that I could have a do-over.

“Look, Isaak,” Tamara said. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

I blinked. “Why are you sorry?”

“I was acting like a brat, not speaking to you after what happened with Mr. Johnson. I guess I really am a goody-two-shoes, like everyone says.”

“You’re not—” I started, but she held up a hand.

“No, seriously. It was lame of me. So can we just pretend it didn’t happen? And you tell me what’s wrong? Because, seriously, you’re not fooling anyone. I can tell you’re torqued. You’ve been acting weird all day, and I…” She trailed off and shrugged. “I want to help you.”

The breeze off the bay picked up, biting at my face and playing at the wisps of hair around Tamara’s face. A couple of meters away, the girls she’d been walking with—probably classmates from Herschel—were watching us pointedly. One of them tried to cover a giggle with her hand.

Awkwardly, I turned to face the water. The smaller of our two moons, Deimos, was setting in the west. It hovered over the bay like a bright star. The lights of the city glinted off the waves, vibrant dashes of white and gold.

“Okay,” I said. “But it can wait, honestly. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow before class or something.”

Tamara rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so. Where are you headed, the beach?” When I nodded, she said, “I’ll go with you.”

Chapter 4

Something about Escalante Bay had always been very calming to me. I loved the rhythmic motion of the rolling waves washing over the dull red sand on the beach. The wind was strong and fresh, its briny scent masking the memory of the acrid stench of factory smoke. Just being here by the bay made my problems seem to disappear.

Beside me, Tamara had yanked off her shoes and rolled her leggings halfway up her calves. She sat close enough to the shoreline that occasional waves lapped over the tips of her toes. Neither of us said a word, but Tamara hummed to herself, running her fingers across the sand beside her like she was playing a keyboard.

“Did I tell you that I got my first official gig?” she said suddenly.

“What? No! Where at?”

“Museum opening. That big building they’ve been building on Sparta Island, the one with all the columns in front. It’s an art museum, but I heard they’re opening with an archaeology exhibit—‘classical art of the ancient world’ or something.” She grinned at my dumbstruck expression. “Up your alley, huh?”