Nah snorts. “Leave it to you to give me a history lesson after an overdose.”

“You can learn anywhere.”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice soft. “I guess you can.”

I search her eyes, that bit of Dad in her forever. “Are you mad, Nah?”

“At what?”

“That we saved you?”

“Do you want the honest answer?” she asks, her voice faint as her pulse had been a few hours before.

“Yes.”

Her eyes fill. “I don’t know.”

There are many stories from people who survived the wave, how they fought to hold on to the people they loved. Daughters and husbands and moms. They tried so hard not to let go. But it took them anyway. They didn’t stand a chance against all that force and acceleration. Against nature. But Dad said the long shot is the best shot. So.

I wrap my whole self around my sister as she falls asleep. Hold on tight.

36

Mae

ISS Location: Low-Earth Orbit

Earth Date: 6 December

Earth Time (EST): 00:48

Ben is waiting for me by the aquarium in the lobby.

For a second, I turn into Nah. Wish I could do a crazy thing: take his hand and run. Not look back, just grab his hand, outrun every wave that tries to follow.

He’s sitting at a small table, next to a huge wall of glass that cages bright pink coral, a little stone castle, and darting sunshine-yellow fish. When he sees me, he bolts to his feet.

“Hey.”

That smile. For a second, the clanging thoughts in me go silent. It is a Tibetan bell, ringing, deep and clear and ancient.

Good morning, Earth.

I try to smile. “Hi.”

“How is she?”

“Alive.”

He reaches out, wraps his arms around me. Coffee and wind.

“God, Mae, I seriously almost left with you. Just walked right out of Castaways.”

He’d had to stay, since he was the only person working.

“Nate was with me. And I had Drew on the phone. He was amazing. He knew right where she would be.”

My eyes fall on the aquarium. Will I ever see the bottom of the ocean and not think of Dad? I pull away from Ben, sit down at one of the tables.

My heart’s tired.

He stays standing for a moment, watching me. I notice the empty paper coffee cups stacked on the table. His backpack on the floor. He has three finals next Monday alone.

“Have you been here this whole time?”

Hours. It’s nearly one in the morning.

He nods. Slides into the seat opposite mine.

“I forgot to check my phone until just now,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

I can feel myself detaching from him. Like a space capsule from its rocket. Hold on and let go at the same time. Maybe this is a Zen koan—those riddles the masters like to come up with. If it’s not, it should be.