The market was court was wedged in between squat office building across the street from low rise apartments, all meant to look like the old city, but failed miserably as the office buildings were two centuries old and the apartments while nice were too modern to look like they belonged to 19th century Mexico. It smelled like frying oil, citrus, and occasional wooshes of air from the half-hidden subway entrance. Late morning heat bounced off the concrete, caught in the canvas overhead, and turned everyone’s hair a little damp.
The eight of them had pushed two metal tables together. Trays were scattered with half-eaten tortas and little plastic cups of green salsa. A paper cone of churros sat in the exact center of the table because Chem had declared it neutral territory.
You could see money on three of them from half a block away.
MJ’s jeans were a dark, perfect fit, no fraying, no cheap stitching. The little logo stitched on the back pocket was subtle, but the tailoring was not. Her t-shirt was white with a sharp, minimalist print, the kind of graphic that only ever appeared in boutiques where you were offered water when you walked in. Her boots were clean, polished, and obviously not farm store.
Kevin’s shirt carried the same designer’s mark, a fitted dark blue that made him look more like a catalog cadet than the boy who had arrived in Missouri not knowing the difference between a goat and a GOAT. Even his belt betrayed a brand if you knew what you were looking at. Y’kem had leaned all the way in, wearing a short-collared black shirt with fine green piping that echoed V’ren patterns, the fabric catching light when he moved.
The others were still themselves, but none the less branded by contractual obligations with top Mexican brands. None of them needed the money or the clothes, but that was part of the PR package. Maja and D’stan had considered whether or not they should skate in skirts sure to show off their branded panties. Rita had been firmly against it and Chem the youngest and biggest troll of them all thought going without them at all had been a fine idea. The media handlers had much less of an effect on their decisions than Sael, who found herself the biggest fashionista of the day.
Sael stepped into the common room of their suite in a white eyelet skirt, midriff bearing brown top and a newly pierced belly button that made everyone know who had won the day. No one was going to care if panties were worn or even seen from that moment on. She looked out at the group over sunglasses that were most certainly not from a convenience store.
The local kids came in shy at first, a clump of four and then six and then more, hanging back just beyond the line where the tables cast shade. Phones were already out. A skinny girl with braces and a handmade press badge finally stepped forward.
“Hola,” she said in Spanish, then switched to careful English. “We are from a student blog. Can we ask some questions for our channel?”
MJ glanced at Maja. Maja gave the smallest of nods. The pair of them didn’t hesitate to keep the Spanish going.
“Sure,” MJ said. “But you have to eat one churro, minimum. House rule.”
Chem shoved the cone toward the girl until she laughed and took one.
A boy with a buzz cut and a UNAM hoodie angled his phone so the table was in frame.
“First question,” he said in Spanish. “For the pilots.”
Rita flicked her eyes toward Kevin and Y’kem both checked their translators.
“You three,” the boy said, pointing at MJ, Kevin, and Y’kem, “look like you walked out of a fashion stream, not a shuttle bay. How different is that from what you wear at home, really?”
“Depends on the day,” Kevin said thinking how to translate the Northeast’s Portuguese into Mexico’s Spanish, and then gave up and let the translator do the work. “Sorry in Boston Portuese is more common than Spanish. Dressing well for me is second nature when I can get out of my school uniform. I have seen MJ dolled up a few times, but that is most certainly not how we see her in barracks.”
“I resemble that remark,” MJ chuckled realizing she gave it in English, then switched back to Spanish. “These are nice and Línea Chapultepec did well by us, but for me at home it is jeans or shorts and solid running shoes most of the time. Maja despite her Marshall origins reps what you would see around the freehold most days. You wouldn’t look out of place either,” MJ said with a smile, that said stay with me tonight and you might see what they have seen in barracks. “We do dress up occasionally and while the brands are different the style is pretty common.”
“I am not used to someone coming in and telling here is what sent over for you please strip so we can check fit. I missed the entire Murder Bear incident because I was standing in my underwear while two women were arguing on how my hem should look on a pair of pants.”
The girl with braces leaned in on the opening, wondering what the tall green boy looked like in just his underwear, especially after hearing his abs were calendar worthy, too.
“Do you like it,” she asked, “or do you feel like a toy they are dressing up?”
Y’kem eased his chair closer to the table, catching the thread.
“Except when it interferes with me missing a moment I don’t mind. It is nice just being told here wear this sort of like a uniform when on duty. This is just a different kind of uniform. Someone in my position back on V’ren was expected to dress well, but given a choice if I could have dressed as comfortably as our skater girls here I would have died for the chance.”
That got a genuine laugh from the crowd. Someone behind them muttered that he looked like a music video extra. He smiled anyway.
Another teen, this one with green streaks in her hair, more curves than was fashionable, and a cheap ring light clipped to her phone, took the space that opened.
“Question for you,” she said to MJ. “People online say you are… a little bit of chaos.” She grinned so it was clear she meant it kindly. “How does it feel to sit here as a brand ambassador interviewed by people who aren’t going to be warmly greeted in those same boutiques.”
MJ rolled the question around for a second.
“Life lesson, we don’t have control over how others behave only how we respond,” she motioning the girl closer and then lifted her chin a little with a single finger bring her head all the way in to hear the whisper. “Never let anyone make you feel lesser. You are about to go viral,” she said and offered the lightest most demure public kiss a girl ever got in public and knew the internet was going to explode. She took took the girl’s phone snapped a selfie of them and sent to herself before handing it back with contact info.
The girl froze for half a heartbeat, then laughed into it, one hand flying up to cradle her ring light like it was suddenly fragile. Her friend off to the side let out a sound that was half squeak and half cheer. Someone in the back yelled, “Ya valió,” and you could feel a dozen group chats light up all at once.
Chem leaned toward Rita without looking away from the bloggers.
“Three minutes until that clip is cut and stolen by someone who did not clear usage rights,” she said in V’ren.
“Two,” Rita murmured back. “One if they are any good.”
The girl with braces took a breath, wiped a thumb under one eye like she might cry and refused to, then shoved the churro into her mouth in a single determined bite. MJ watched her chew, checked that she was actually breathing, then nudged the cone back to the center.
“Next question,” MJ said. “Before someone from security has a heart attack.”
MJ texted the girl quickly. ‘Stay close’.
Louisa texted back ‘my name is louisa. YT: Call me Lou’
MJ hit her back ‘I know I invited you’
The boy in the UNAM hoodie had recovered first. He lifted his phone a little higher and turned toward Maja.
“Vale, for the skater,” he said. “We saw clips of your half pipe in Missouri. This city is not built for boards, but if Mexico City gave you one legal night to skate anywhere, with spotters and paramedics and no cops, where are you going first.”
Maja swallowed the last of her bite of torta and wiped her fingers on a napkin.
“There is a church on Reforma,” she said in slow Spanish, careful with her verbs. “The one with the long steps and the big plaza. I am not saying I would skate it. I am saying I have seen the lines.”
A ripple of laughter went through the local kids, the kind that starts low and builds.
“Everyone would scream at you,” the green streak girl said.
“That isn’t why I wouldn’t. Skaters who invade other people’s spaces just because they see an opportunity are pendejos.”
“Question for the two smallest ones,” he said.
Chem bumped her shoulder against D’stan in a go ahead gesture.
“Do you mean us or them?” Chem asked, waving at Rita and Maja, neither of whom cleared a hundred-sixty-two centimeters, while the twelve year old V’ren girls both topped a hundred-seventy-two.
The boy laughed, adjusted his grip on the phone.
“You two,” he said, nodding at Chem and D’stan. “On the ships you worked, not just did chores. If every kid in my school had to do your job for one month, what would they learn that they cannot learn in class?”
Chem sat up a little straighter.
“I labeled things,” Chem said. “My father studies diseases. My mother keeps babies alive. If I mixed up the labels, someone could die six jumps away because they gave the wrong medicine. So if I could choose, I would make every kid here label samples for a week. They would learn details are not boring. Details are the part where people live or do not.”
D’stan nodded, then folded her hands on the table, fingers interlaced.
“I kept schedules for a few of the senior crew,” she said. “I told the good captain where he was supposed to be and who he was supposed to meet and how long he would have. If I did not write it down, sometimes it did not exist for him. Important people like to pretend time is flexible. It is not. So I think every kid should have to keep an adult’s calendar for one month.”
A couple of the local teens looked at each other like they were quietly picturing their fathers and teachers and liked the image.
Louisa feeling a lot more confident knowing who invited her shifted target, turning her phone toward Sael.
“You look like you belong in those boutiques,” she said, tipping her chin at the white skirt, the brown top, the flash of silver at Sael’s navel. “Not us. You wake up to watch sunrises, they told us. What made you pick that outfit for a food court in DF, and not something simpler.”
Sael adjusted her sunglasses, pushing them up so the girl could see her eyes, and let the question hang for a heartbeat.
“All of us signed brand ambassador deals and part of what we were doing in Colorado was sitting for sizing and fittings where no one got to see. I was given a total of fifteen outfits I could choose from while in Mexico including accessories all from Mexican brands or boutiques. After the heat of yesterday I decided I liked the way this from Mar y Magia because I liked the way it flows and hoping it keeps me cool.
The girl blinked, then smiled slow.
“And the belly piercing,” she asked. “Was that for the cameras too.”
“That was for me. I saw a few people in Missouri with them and liked the way they looked. I told the designers I would be getting one and to not give me anything that rubbed too much and Mar y Magia did well by my request I think,” Sael said. “The cameras are just a side effect.”
From the edge of the group, a lanky boy raised his hand.
“Question for the brand people,” he said, glancing between Y’kem, Sael, MJ, and Kevin. “You are wearing things most of us cannot afford. You are eating where we eat. When you leave, the brands stay on the adverts and we go back to thrift stores. Do you feel guilty about that, or do you not think about it at all.”
“We are eating here first because we were told the food is really good. I have not been disappointed yet. They started contacting local bloggers about an hour before we were set to arrive, so this place didn’t get overcrowded. I hope all of you get to be a little more famous asking the sorts of questions you want to know. I hope all of you go to bed tonight a little happier than you woke up. I want nothing but good things for all of you, but let me pose this question in return. Why should I feel guilty about a brand most people can’t afford paying me to wear their clothes. Do people get envious of other celebs for having brand deals?” Y’kem answered for them.
The boy in the UNAM hoodie turned his camera to Kevin.
“What did your friends back home say when you told them you were going to live in Missouri and fly with aliens instead of staying in Boston?”
“I think my friends would have been horrified how I spent my first few days. My dad was in meetings with Matt and the V’ren and my mom was going to be busy so she signed off on sending me and my sisters out to do some work. I am strong and not lazy so I said give me some farm work. No one can say I didn’t work hard, but farm work uses a lot of muscles in ways that I wasn’t used to. I could barely move after eight hours. I think someone told on me, because the next two days I got sent off to do kitchen duty. I wasn’t really at it, but I did met Mall there and it would have been a tragedy if I hadn’t no matter what my friends thought of it,” Kevin said, throwing the images to a publicly screen available screen. “It wasn’t until a few days later that I found out I would get the opportunity to fly.”
“Do your sisters watch your streams,” the girl with braces asked. “Or do they think you are annoying.”
“All siblings think you are annoying,” Kevin said. “That is universal law. I know my younger sister does watch them, she has become an apprentice to Mall.”
The questions loosened after that.
“What’s the best thing you have eaten so far this morning?”
“What ever it was she put on our plates,” Chem said as she D’stan and Rita all pointed to the same stand. “We just said we were hungry. I can speak that much Spanish, now.”
“Maja are you off to skate the city alone and terrorize the press?”
“I might do the latter if I have time. Me and my cousin Renaldo and his friends are going to teach them to work a pump track after lucha. I am really excited to see it in person. It isn’t something we get to see in Missouri despite having so many Mexicans.”
“The capital has the best lucha. I understand Marshall has sumo, are you a fan?”
“It is exciting, but I like the lucha storylines.”
“Sael, what are your plans after lucha?”
“Running back to the hotel to change before I got to a tasting event at Cartografía. One of the Miguel en Vivo producers knew someone with an extra ticket and thought I might enjoy it.”
“What are the rest of you doing?”
“We’re expected at the University Art Gala,” Kevin said for the three of them.
“We were offered passes—does anyone want mine? I’m not going,” MJ said. She held her phone out and let the first connection take it. Then she pocketed the phone like it was settled business.
MJ had already booked another room at the hotel across the street. She was spending the night with Louisa.
“Chem, on your ship, if a kid our age messed up one label, what happens for real, not the grown up version?”
“This is one of those things V’ren and human custom are fundamentally very different. I am not saying one is better than the other, but I have been apprenticed to an office manager for over a year, not just the last few months. It is expected that I will fail and then I will be expected to figure out how to fix it. My job is very real with very real consequences for me and for our patients. I have a lot to learn but not where it comes to labels.”
“Do people on the ship treat you different now because of the barn cat video, or do they pretend they never saw it?”
“I went famous the night I sat at Lord Marmaduke’s table. People know my name, but as far as other V’ren treating me differently? Not really, though I have come to meet others I might not have and that is a good thing. D’stan and I might not have ever become friends otherwise. That is not caste, just proximity. Though I don’t know Kevin well, yet, I do know Mall and both his sisters, which I find to be a good thing as well.” Chem explain.
“D’stan, when someone calls you ‘princess’ to your face, what do you actually think in your head in that moment?”
“That I might have to punch Kevin again since he is the one who got people started on it. I suppose I could blame Matt since he was the one that first leaned into my cousins being “Alien Princesses” I am just not sure punching him would do me any good.”
“D’stan, what is the most normal thing you have done today so far, like ‘this could just be any twelve year old girl’s day’ normal?”
“I checked in the mirror about ninety times before I left then several more times once here and at least once to see if this cute boy was checking me out and found myself disappointed when he was looking at Kevin.”
11 am June 7th 2440
The market court was wedged between squat office buildings across the street from low rise apartments, all meant to look like the old city, but it failed miserably. The office buildings were two centuries old and the apartments, while nice, were too modern to look like they belonged to nineteenth century Mexico. It smelled like frying oil, citrus, and the occasional woosh of air from the half hidden subway entrance. Late morning heat bounced off the concrete, caught in the canvas overhead, and turned everyone’s hair a little damp.
The eight of them had pushed two metal tables together. Trays were scattered with half eaten tortas and little plastic cups of green salsa. A paper cone of churros sat in the exact center of the table because Chem had declared it neutral territory.
You could see money on three of them from half a block away.
MJ’s jeans were a dark, perfect fit, no fraying, no cheap stitching. The little logo stitched on the back pocket was subtle, but the tailoring was not. Her t-shirt was white with a sharp, minimalist print, the kind of graphic that only ever appeared in boutiques where you were offered water when you walked in. Her boots were clean, polished, and obviously not from a farm store.
Kevin’s shirt carried the same designer’s mark, a fitted dark blue that made him look more like a catalog cadet than the boy who had arrived in Missouri not knowing the difference between a goat and a GOAT. Even his belt betrayed a brand if you knew what you were looking at. Y’kem had leaned all the way in, wearing a short collared black shirt with fine green piping that echoed V’ren patterns, the fabric catching light when he moved.
The others were still themselves, but nonetheless branded by contractual obligations with top Mexican brands. None of them needed the money or the clothes, but that was part of the PR package. Maja and D’stan had considered whether or not they should skate in skirts sure to show off their branded panties. Rita had been firmly against it, and Chem, the youngest and biggest troll of them all, thought going without them at all had been a fine idea. The media handlers had much less of an effect on their decisions than Sael, who found herself the biggest fashionista of the day.
Sael stepped into the common room of their suite in a white eyelet skirt, a brown top that bared her midriff, and a newly pierced belly button that made everyone know who had won the day. No one was going to care if panties were worn or even seen from that moment on. She looked out at the group over sunglasses that were most certainly not from a convenience store.
The local kids came in shy at first, a clump of four and then six and then more, hanging back just beyond the line where the tables cast shade. Phones were already out. A skinny girl with braces and a handmade press badge finally stepped forward.
“Hola,” she said in Spanish, then switched to careful English. “We are from a student blog. Can we ask some questions for our channel?”
MJ glanced at Maja. Maja gave the smallest of nods. The pair of them didn’t hesitate to keep the Spanish going.
“Sure,” MJ said. “But you have to eat one churro, minimum. House rule.”
Chem shoved the cone toward the girl until she laughed and took one.
A boy with a buzz cut and a UNAM hoodie angled his phone so the table was in frame.
“First question,” he said in Spanish. “For the pilots.”
Rita flicked her eyes toward Kevin, and Y’kem checked his translator.
“You three,” the boy said, pointing at MJ, Kevin, and Y’kem, “look like you walked out of a fashion stream, not a shuttle bay. How different is that from what you wear at home, really?”
“Depends on the day,” Kevin said, thinking how to translate the Northeast’s Portuguese into Mexico’s Spanish, and then gave up and let the translator do the work. “Sorry, in Boston Portuguese is more common than Spanish. Dressing well for me is second nature when I can get out of my school uniform. I have seen MJ dolled up a few times, but that is most certainly not how we see her in barracks.”
“I resemble that remark,” MJ chuckled, realizing she’d said it in English, then switched back to Spanish. “These are nice and Línea Chapultepec did well by us, but for me at home it is jeans or shorts and solid running shoes most of the time. Maja, despite her Marshall origins, reps what you would see around the Freehold most days. You wouldn’t look out of place either,” MJ said with a smile that said stay with me tonight and you might see what they have seen in barracks. “We do dress up occasionally, and while the brands are different the style is pretty common.”
“I am not used to someone coming in and telling, here is what we sent over for you, please strip so we can check fit. I missed the entire Murder Bear incident because I was standing in my underwear while two women were arguing on how my hem should look on a pair of pants.”
The girl with braces leaned in on the opening, wondering what the tall green boy looked like in just his underwear, especially after hearing his abs were calendar worthy, too.
“Do you like it,” she asked, “or do you feel like a toy they are dressing up?”
Y’kem eased his chair closer to the table, catching the thread.
“Except when it makes me miss a moment, I don’t mind. It is nice just being told, here, wear this, sort of like a uniform when on duty. This is just a different kind of uniform. Someone in my position back on V’ren was expected to dress well, but given a choice, if I could have dressed as comfortably as our skater girls here, I would have died for the chance.”
That got a genuine laugh from the crowd. Someone behind them muttered that he looked like a music video extra. He smiled anyway.
Another teen, this one with green streaks in her hair, more curves than was fashionable, and a cheap ring light clipped to her phone, took the space that opened.
“Question for you,” she said to MJ. “People online say you are… a little bit of chaos.” She grinned so it was clear she meant it kindly. “How does it feel to sit here as a brand ambassador, interviewed by people who aren’t going to be warmly greeted in those same boutiques.”
MJ rolled the question around for a second.
“Life lesson, we don’t have control over how others behave, only how we respond,” MJ said, motioning the girl closer. Then she lifted her chin a little with a single finger, bringing her head all the way in to hear the whisper. “Never let anyone make you feel lesser. You are about to go viral,” she said, and offered the lightest, most demure public kiss a girl ever got in public, and knew the internet was going to explode.
She took the girl’s phone, snapped a selfie of them, and sent it to herself before handing it back with contact info.
The girl froze for half a heartbeat, then laughed into it, one hand flying up to cradle her ring light like it was suddenly fragile. Her friend off to the side let out a sound that was half squeak and half cheer. Someone in the back yelled, “Ya valió,” and you could feel a dozen group chats light up all at once.
Chem leaned toward Rita without looking away from the bloggers.
“Three minutes until that clip is cut and stolen by someone who did not clear usage rights,” she said in V’ren.
“Two,” Rita murmured back. “One if they are any good.”
The girl with braces took a breath, wiped a thumb under one eye like she might cry and refused to, then shoved the churro into her mouth in a single determined bite. MJ watched her chew, checked that she was actually breathing, then nudged the cone back to the center.
“Next question,” MJ said. “Before someone from security has a heart attack.”
MJ texted the girl quickly. Stay close.
Louisa texted back. my name is louisa. YT: Call me Lou
MJ hit her back. I know I invited you
The boy in the UNAM hoodie had recovered first. He lifted his phone a little higher and turned toward Maja.
“Vale, for the skater,” he said. “We saw clips of your half pipe in Missouri. This city is not built for boards, but if Mexico City gave you one legal night to skate anywhere, with spotters and paramedics and no cops, where are you going first.”
Maja swallowed the last of her bite of torta and wiped her fingers on a napkin.
“There is a church on Reforma. The one with the long steps and the big plaza. I am not saying I would skate it. I am saying I have seen the lines.”
A ripple of laughter went through the local kids, the kind that starts low and builds.
“Everyone would scream at you,” the green streak girl said.
“That isn’t why I wouldn’t. Skaters who invade other people’s spaces just because they see an opportunity are pendejos.”
“Question for the two smallest ones,” he said.
Chem bumped her shoulder against D’stan in a go ahead gesture.
“Do you mean us or them?” Chem asked, waving at Rita and Maja, neither of whom cleared a hundred sixty two centimeters, while the twelve year old V’ren girls both topped a hundred seventy two.
The boy laughed, adjusted his grip on the phone.
“You two,” he said, nodding at Chem and D’stan. “On the ships you worked, not just did chores. If every kid in my school had to do your job for one month, what would they learn that they cannot learn in class?”
Chem sat up a little straighter.
“I labeled things,” Chem said. “My father studies diseases. My mother keeps babies alive. If I mixed up the labels, someone could die six jumps away because they gave the wrong medicine. So if I could choose, I would make every kid here label samples for a week. They would learn details are not boring. Details are the part where people live or do not.”
D’stan nodded, then folded her hands on the table, fingers interlaced.
“I kept schedules for a few of the senior crew,” she said. “I told the good captain where he was supposed to be and who he was supposed to meet and how long he would have. If I did not write it down, sometimes it did not exist for him. Important people like to pretend time is flexible. It is not. So I think every kid should have to keep an adult’s calendar for one month.”
A couple of the local teens looked at each other like they were quietly picturing their fathers and teachers and liked the image.
Louisa, feeling a lot more confident knowing who invited her, shifted target, turning her phone toward Sael.
“You look like you belong in those boutiques,” she said, tipping her chin at the white skirt, the brown top, the flash of silver at Sael’s navel. “Not us. You wake up to watch sunrises, they told us. What made you pick that outfit for a food court in Mexico City, and not something simpler.”
Sael adjusted her sunglasses, pushing them up so the girl could see her eyes, and let the question hang for a heartbeat.
“All of us signed brand ambassador deals and part of what we were doing in Colorado was sitting for sizing and fittings where no one got to see. I was given a total of fifteen outfits I could choose from while in Mexico, including accessories, all from Mexican brands or boutiques. After the heat of yesterday I decided I liked the way this one from Mar y Magia feels because I like the way it flows, and I was hoping it keeps me cool.”
The girl blinked, then smiled slow.
“And the belly piercing,” she asked. “Was that for the cameras too.”
“That was for me. I saw a few people in Missouri with them and liked the way they looked. I told the designers I would be getting one and to not give me anything that rubbed too much, and Mar y Magia did well by my request, I think,” Sael said. “The cameras are just a side effect.”
From the edge of the group, a lanky boy raised his hand.
“Question for the brand people,” he said, glancing between Y’kem, Sael, MJ, and Kevin. “You are wearing things most of us cannot afford. You are eating where we eat. When you leave, the brands stay on the adverts and we go back to thrift stores. Do you feel guilty about that, or do you not think about it at all.”
“We are eating here first because we were told the food is really good. I have not been disappointed yet. They started contacting local bloggers about an hour before we were set to arrive, so this place didn’t get overcrowded. I hope all of you get to be a little more famous asking the sorts of questions you want to know. I hope all of you go to bed tonight a little happier than you woke up. I want nothing but good things for all of you, but let me pose this question in return. Why should I feel guilty about a brand most people can’t afford paying me to wear their clothes. Do people get envious of other celebs for having brand deals?” Y’kem answered for them.
The boy in the UNAM hoodie turned his camera to Kevin.
“What did your friends back home say when you told them you were going to live in Missouri and fly with aliens instead of staying in Boston?”
“I think my friends would have been horrified by how I spent my first few days. My dad was in meetings with Matt and the V’ren and my mom was going to be busy so she signed off on sending me and my sisters out to do some work. I am strong and not lazy so I said give me some farm work. No one can say I didn’t work hard, but farm work uses a lot of muscles in ways that I wasn’t used to. I could barely move after eight hours. I think someone told on me, because the next two days I got sent off to do kitchen duty. I wasn’t really at it, but I did meet Mall there and it would have been a tragedy if I hadn’t no matter what my friends thought of it,” Kevin said, throwing the images up to a publicly available screen. “It wasn’t until a few days later that I found out I would get the opportunity to fly.”
“Do your sisters watch your streams,” the girl with braces asked. “Or do they think you are annoying.”
“All siblings think you are annoying,” Kevin said. “That is universal law. I know my younger sister does watch them, she has become an apprentice to Mall.”
The questions loosened after that, the way they always do once the first few kids realize nobody is getting mocked for asking something earnest.
“What’s the best thing you have eaten so far this morning.”
“Whatever it was she put on our plates,” Chem said, as she, D’stan, and Rita all pointed to the same stand. “We just said we were hungry. I can speak that much Spanish, now.”
“Maja, are you off to skate the city alone and terrorize the press?”
“I might do the latter if I have time. Me and my cousin Renaldo and his friends are going to teach them to work a pump track after lucha. I am really excited to see the lucha in person. It isn’t something we get to see in Missouri despite having so many Mexicans.”
“The capital has the best lucha. I understand Marshall has sumo, are you a fan.”
“It is exciting, but I like the lucha storylines.”
“Sael, what are your plans after lucha.”
“Running back to the hotel to change before I go to a tasting event at Cartografía. One of the Miguel en Vivo producers knew someone with an extra ticket and thought I might enjoy it.”
“What are the rest of you doing.”
“We’re expected at the University Art Gala,” Kevin said for the three of them.
“We were offered passes, does anyone want mine. I’m not going,” MJ said. She held her phone out and let the first connection take it. Then she pocketed the phone like it was settled business.
“Chem, on your ship, if a kid our age messed up one label, what happens for real, not the adult version.”
“This is one of those things V’ren and human custom are fundamentally very different. I am not saying one is better than the other, but I have been apprenticed to an office manager for over a year, not just the last few months. It is expected that I will fail and then I will be expected to figure out how to fix it. My job is very real with very real consequences for me and for our patients. I have a lot to learn, but not where it comes to labels.”
“Do people on the ship treat you different now because of the barn cat video, or do they pretend they never saw it.”
“I went famous the night I sat at Lord Marmaduke’s table. People know my name, but as far as other V’ren treating me differently, not really, though I have come to meet others I might not have and that is a good thing. D’stan and I might not have ever become friends otherwise. That is not caste, just proximity. Though I don’t know Kevin well, yet, I do know Mall and both his sisters, which I find to be a good thing as well,” Chem explained.
“D’stan, when someone calls you ‘princess’ to your face, what do you actually think in your head in that moment.”
“That I might have to punch Kevin again since he is the one who got people started on it. I suppose I could blame Matt since he was the one that first leaned into my cousins being ‘Alien Princesses.’ I am just not sure punching him would do me any good.”
“D’stan, what is the most normal thing you have done today so far, like ‘this could just be any twelve-year-old girl’s day’ normal.”
“I checked in the mirror about ninety times before I left, then several more times once here, and at least once to see if this cute boy was checking me out, and found myself disappointed when he was looking at Kevin.”
A few more hands went up, a few more answers landed, and then the rhythm shifted, the subtle tightening that meant the day was about to move on whether the kids were ready or not.
A hand brushed MJ’s shoulder, fingers light but insistent. One of the Marmaduke security staff, mustard yellow polo, black-edged crest.
“Ten minutes,” he said quietly.
MJ nodded. “Vale. Last questions in DMs, people. We have masked violence to attend.”
On the way out, the crowd thinned to a moving knot. The food court opened toward the stairs, where tiled steps dropped down into the cool, echoing mouth of the subway concourse.
A Marmaduke Logistics runner appeared from the shade, mustard polo, slate pants, a plain charcoal backpack looped in one hand. No crest, just good stitching.
“For you,” she said to MJ in English, tone all business. “From upstairs.”
MJ took it without breaking stride, swung it onto one shoulder as if it were just another piece of press junk. She walked a few more paces, then slowed, letting the others drift ahead.
“We’ll catch the next train,” MJ announced to the group. They were set to do forty-five minutes of pics before lucha, five minutes late would still have her there on time.
The green-streak girl, Louisa, turned, ring light dangling from her fingers now, ready to slide it back into her shirt pocket. MJ held the backpack out by one strap.
“For your channel,” she said in Spanish. “You will know what to do with it.”
Louisa blinked, took it with both hands. The weight surprised her, it wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t empty either.
“The front pocket has a surprise for you,” MJ told her, wanting to see the girl’s face light up.
Louisa had built her channel on hand-me-down tech as the youngest girl in a family of six. Only Gerald was younger, and he got even more of the leftovers than she did. Clothes were easier, her oldest sister had good taste and their sizes actually lined up.
No one else in the group paused or seemed to notice they had peeled out of the scrum. Rita was already arguing with Chem about masks. Sael tipped her sunglasses down to watch a busker tune a guitar. Kevin pointed out the subway entrance like it needed pointing out.
A man in black and gold nodded to the pair as they peeled off, like he had been expecting this.
“That is the latest iPhone,” Louisa said, looking back and forth between the phone and the tall girl grinning at her.
“I told you I invited you because I had watched your channel. I saw your equipment struggles lately. I had one of our tech people put this together for you. If you want to talk after lucha we can do that too, privately. I got us a space.”
They rode the last stretch down together, into the tiled underworld. The air smelled like metal and old rain. Ahead, the underground mall stretched in three directions, bright signs and polished floors, a knot of afternoon shoppers parting around seven kids, then again for two stragglers who would still make the same train despite their best efforts.
