She watched as he crossed the clearing to enter the storage and supplies building. Crud. There went her plans to barricade the door from the inside. Was he going to the supply room, or was he going to wait for her in the archives? She slid onto a bench to watch through the wide window. She’d only go in if he came out.

“What are you looking at?” a blunt voice asked.

Romy jumped and glanced around at a girl who looked to be in her late teens. She had orange hair, freckles, and the most amazing violet eyes.

The hull didn’t have long tables and benches like the orbito. Instead, there were smaller circular tables, each of which held around ten of the Earth humans. There were eight others at this table . . .  who she’d somehow missed while focusing on the soldier.

“Uh. . . .” Romy stalled. Throwing caution to the stars, she decided to be honest. “I was wondering what that soldier’s name is.” She pointed out the window. The soldier was disappearing inside, but the girl who’d first spoken answered anyway.

Romy was relieved to see her face screw up. “That’s Lucas. Or, as we like to say, Mucus. Officer Cayne.”

A laugh burst from Romy’s lips. Mucus. She nodded. “Suits him.”

The girl eyed her intently. “You’re not half as snobby as you appear to be.”

Romy bit into her roll again, wondering how to take the backhanded remark. She wasn’t really surprised at the girl’s statement. She and her friends simply grabbed food and left, making no effort to fit in. At least the others worked alongside the people of the settlement. Romy didn’t. She stayed inside all day, dashing in and out of the Hull every second or third day to get food.

Romy shrugged, meeting the girl’s remark in kind. “You guys are pretty full-on with all the staring and questions.”

The orange-haired girl pursed her lips, observing the surrounding crowds. Most of the people gathered were grinning at Romy like she’d shared a secret with them.

“You could be right about that,” the girl decided. She jerked her head in the direction of a woman who was trying to catch Romy’s attention by bobbing her head from side to side. “I reckon that one would combust if you spoke a single word to her.”

The table erupted into hooting hilarity. Romy found herself giggling, too.

The girl pulled her arm across her mouth to dislodge a few crumbs. She wiped her hand on her faded trousers. “So, what’s your name?”

A boy to Romy’s left snorted. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I’m Romy,” she said, holding out a hand.

The girl, blushing faintly from the boy’s remark, shook Romy’s hand with three decisive pumps. “I’m Nancy. Don’t wear it out.”

The same boy groaned. “You’re so lame sometimes.”