Micah comes up behind my sister and wraps his arms around her waist. He doesn’t say anything, just buries his nose in her neck. That anger in her dissolves, like he’s a chemical solution pouring into her. It’s always been this way. Hannah’s got that Karalis fire and Micah’s all water.

She reaches back with her hand and rests it on his tanned neck. “My Temperance card,” she murmurs.

“Which one is that again?” I ask.

She smiles just a little. “Balance of energies.” Fire and water.

When we told Micah they were dead, he tried so hard not to cry, not to turn into water. Because they were his parents, too. His family.

We sit. The slideshow starts playing, with “Starman” in the background. A picture of Dad and me comes up, early on. I love this one. We’re at the Kennedy Space Center and I’m sitting on his shoulders, looking up at the Atlantis shuttle. I’m pointing my little finger at it, my mouth in this huge O. Nate squeezes my knee, and I give him a wobbly smile.

Hannah bolts up and leaves about halfway through the slideshow, when it shows our favorite picture of Mom: Nah had caught her dancing in a rare thunderstorm, her mouth eating the sky. I think maybe I should follow my sister, but then Micah gets up, so I stay.

I want a Micah. Someone who will come find me when I run away. I might have had that once with Riley, but he’s on the other side of the world. Literally. His family moved to China. It’s hard to have a boyfriend or girlfriend who lives in a different day than you.

Maybe I’ll be like Dr. Stone in Gravity when she says that she has no one to pray for her and that she can’t even pray for herself because no one taught her to pray and now I’m realizing that no one has taught me to pray except Gram that one time but I wasn’t paying attention and so what if I’m in space in a Soyuz with no thrust and I can’t get back to Earth?

They will ask me about this, about the wave, at my astronaut interview. At the psych eval. They’ll be worried I’ll be like Dr. Stone and have to reconcile with the death of a loved one while in imminent danger in space. And then they’ll reject me. And I will never see the Ganges from four hundred kilometers above Earth.

I want to cry so bad, but tears won’t come. I am wrong—there’s something wrong with me. Who doesn’t cry at their parents’ funeral? This might be something that comes up in the psych eval, too.