Page 75 of Carousel

I inhale a restrained breath.

“Thank you,” I eventually say. “I appreciate that.”

Because I do.

It’s strange. My body feels tight. There’s a wedge in my throat.

Like I’m longing to say more to him, but I just don’t know what, yet.

I try to pretend he isn’t there at all – and pray to the sisters to please let me get some sleep.

Cosmer and I are one of the first in the queue this morning. Making the bed doesn’t take nearly as long now I’ve got the hang of it, and I only need to redo one corner.

Breakfast is just ground biscuits with water. It looks like pulps of wet paper. I’m also not particularly hungry after the meal last night, the most generous I’ve had in a long time.

So, as we sit down, I pass my bowl to him with a look of apology. I probably have been harsh on him. But today is a new day, and I want to put things right between us. Especially as he tried to do that last night, in his own way.

He squints at me. “This is literally the best breakfast they serve here. Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“Positive.”

He dips his spoon into it. “You’re missing out.”

“Why?” I ask, playfully. “Does the water help enhance the flavour of the baked flour?”

“Absolutely. You haven’t lived if you haven’t tried wet baked flour.”

That makes me smile. It feels like the sort of inane conversation we would have back at home in passing, or at the beach, which is where we spent most afternoons just swimming, joking around and talking – often with Eric, too.

Through a mouthful, he asks, “Did Riss show you a copy of The Accords?”

“Yes,” I groan. “And it’s enormous. I don’t know how I’m going to remember everything. And there are a million acronyms.”

“We do love an acronym up here,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t worry, everyone starts getting it. We can practice them now, if you want? Until Drake and Riss get here.”

“Okay.”

“Let me think.” He sucks in his cheek. “All right. Would taking a weapon out for shooting practice be Approved Use?”

I know this one. “It would depend on who issued the order to the armoury.”

“Correct. Unranked soldiers and pilots – not fine. An officer – fine, and they can issue them for the pilots and soldiers under their authority. And first officers can do whatever the fuck they want, because they’re first officers.”

“What if an officer started shooting everyone?” I ask, sounding like my brother. But it’s the kind of anxious thought that invades my head sometimes, too.

“Obviously, that would be Unapproved Use. But officers are chosen carefully. So, we assume they aren’t going to do that.” His swallows a mouthful. “Okay. What would a crew member get if their uniform was deemed incorrect by an officer?”

I know this one too. “UI. Uniform Infraction.”

“And what would that get you as a punishment?”

“One strike.”

“What if I already had one strike that week?”

“The brig?”

“That was probably too easy,” he admits. “The Accords are obsessed with the brig. Let me think of some harder ones.”