I eat what she tells me to. I sleep when she tells me to. We leave the only home I’ve ever known for her job. Sorry her career. I’m not some kind of slave. I put on my headphones so as not to have to talk. She says I have an attitude. What about her attitude? Oh no we can’t talk about her problems. That’s disrespectful. I can’t be me, like what I like. No I have to be a mister goody two shoes, nose in a book, walking to school uphill both ways, never cause any problems. Nobody reads books anymore.

Is it my fault the teachers hate me? I know I’m smart and I don’t need to prove it. Is it my fault that the other kids hate me? I hate them too. I hate everything. Those idiots can’t make me cry. I refuse to smile. I’m glad we’re leaving that red dust crap hole behind. My stomach is gurgling. I told her I wasn’t hungry when she headed to the ship’s dining room. I told her I got up early and ate some chips for breakfast and now my tummy is making a liar of me. I’ll pretend to sleep.

I wanted the window seat. I really wanted the window seat. Mom offered me the window seat twice today. I wanted to see my home grow smaller. I wanted to float in the stars. But like an idiot I told her only babies and tourists look out of windows. Mom is reading a a book, a thick book, not watching a magazine like a normal person. She is doing that research thing she does when she’s nervous, trying to beat the world by learning every little thing. I looked out the ship window. I melt out the ship window. I wade into the dark and swim with the starry current. My arms are heavy. Suddenly I’m so small like a little kid. The black river is a warm blanket. My dad carries me back to my bed. I pull by blanket of stars with me.

I jerk awake. How long was I out? My face is buried against my mom’s side. She’s beautiful. I mean she’s annoying and bossy. But she’s so beautiful and tough and she doesn’t take crap from people in a really polite no nonsense way.

I haven’t really talked to her for most of this trip. I watch my comics, listen to my music, play alone always alone in the VR arcade. We have been be in our cabin for nearly a week and I ready to open an escape hatch. I’d rather be sucked into the cold dead claw of deep space than put together one more puzzle or play one more board game. I don’t want to hear her be fake cheerful. I want to talk to her about Dad. I just don’t want to see that look on her face. Dad emails me and stuff but it just makes the hurt hurt more. I don’t answer him half the time. She never makes me anyway. She’s always asking me how I am doing. I say fine. She says she’s fine. I’m not fine, I’m angry. I’m mad he left, I’m mad he didn’t come back. I’m mad he wants to see me, I’m mad that he’s not around, but mostly I’m mad at mom for …

I see a bright star, not star. Granddad taught me how to read the night sky. I can see just below Saturn a glowing spot with its own ghost of a ring tied around it. I wished I had listened to Mom about this moon, our new home. Something, something about an ice ocean with earthquakes. I knew this moon had more Androids than humans. I overheard on board that there were no anti-robotics laws or stupid ass bounty hunters on Saturn or her moons. I wonder if Dad could visit us here? I heard there were lots of gardens here or something. We could visit some kind of garden. My stomach rumbled. I smell chocolate.

There is a bottle of milk, a wrapped sandwich, and a couple of DarBars on the pull out table in our cabin. My favorites, Mom must have smuggled the candy on board since the space liner doesn’t allow outside food and these aren’t sold on board. I smile. I studied the side of my mom’s face against the black window.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, slipping off my headphones. I watch the sky, the bright moon hugging itself, and the side of her face.

Mom turned and rubbed my head. I let her for a minute. Then I reached for my chocolate bar.