Peyton noticed the apartment was freezing as she bolted the front door, tossing her purse and heavy school bag onto the couch. Her feet ached from standing all day.

  She glanced at her phone, noting the temperature was 64 degrees, and adjusted it with a swipe. Her internal battery was almost dead. On the way to the bedroom, she kicked off her uncomfortable teacher flats, leaving them scattered in the hall.

  On her dresser, Malachi floated lazily in his fish bowl.

  "Don't look at me like that," she said, dropping a pinch of fish food on top of him. "Skipping one day of yoga doesn't make me a bad person. What have you done all day? Nothing. You've done absolutely nothing."

  Malachi ignored her, his tiny mouth opening and closing around pink flakes.

  It was only Monday. How could she be this tired? Sixth period had been a complete energy suck, wall-to-wall bodies wanting nothing more than to exit the building. Admittedly, their feelings were valid. And now that she was going to Mars, staying present at school was becoming increasingly difficult. Peyton's wrist vibrated. She didn't look at the notification. It was probably Bryant asking about dinner.

  This was her life, and only other teachers could fully relate. She loved it, but there was never much juice left in the tank after 3:16 p.m. Peyton reached down, searching the bedspread for her phone. A text from Bryant waited.

  "We on for dinner? Leaving gym now."

  Peyton sighed, pulling the comforter over her head.

  Ordinary people do these things, she thought. They work, get a workout in, shower, and go back out into the world after dark. But she was exhausted, and if she wanted to do anything, it was read mission logs. She'd been given access to the prior mission logs. Some of those same astronauts would be joining them on mission six. For example, Commander Mitchell was about to begin her 3rd mission. Peyton would love to eat dinner with Commander Mitchell. But right now she needed a nap. A ten-minute delay in texting Bryant back wouldn't hurt anything. She set a timer. Two hours later, heavy banging interrupted a dream she'd had before.

  She was on the surface of Mars, but wasn't wearing a helmet. Someone was missing. It was a student who was missing, but she didn't know who or where to look for them. Her space boots crunched as she walked, red sand compressing beneath them. She had a feeling the student was hiding, not from her specifically, but from someone. And she wasn't angry about it. She sensed that whoever was missing was in danger and that if she found them, the kid would be harmed in some way, maybe even killed. She touched her face. There was something wrong with it. But there was no mirror to check, just her fingers. And she slid them across her forehead, nose, and mouth, trying to decide what was wrong, but she could never figure it out. Then the sand would start to glow, and she'd lose all interest in her face because not only did it glow, it wrapped around her, pushing the air out of her lungs. And she never fought back because the choking was warranted. Someone had warned her about the choking, but she'd gone to Mars anyway, chose not to wear a helmet, and was helping the missing kid stay missing. And then her phone was buzzing ...

  Peyton sat up disoriented, wiping saliva off her cheek. The bedroom was dark except for the slight glow of the phone.

  "Oh God, she whispered and sprang out of bed. Her eyes swum as she tried to visualize the doorknob.

  "Coming," she yelled down the narrow hallway, hoping her voice would stop the banging, an abandoned flat causing her to trip and cuss.

  Bryant stood motionless as she tore open the door, his eyes scanning her messy hair, crumpled skirt, and swollen face.

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  "I thought we had dinner plans. You look like hell."

  Bryant huffed as he pushed past her and stood in the living room. His hair looked clean and styled.

  Peyton closed the door and turned to face him. The look-like-hell comment had been unnecessary.

  "I'm sorry! I set a timer and slept right through it. I'll be ready in ten minutes."

  Bryant slumped on the couch wordlessly, pulling out his phone. God, he was going to be a baby about this, she thought. Peyton glanced at his shoes, which he'd failed to remove before propping them on her new ottoman.

  "Bryant, shoes!!! You know how much that ottoman cost!"

  Bryant pulled his feet down one at a time, arms raised as if under arrest. Peyton gave him a sarcastic smile before returning to her bedroom, where she unbuttoned her shirt and threw it, frustrated, on the messy bed.

  Twenty-five minutes later, she reappeared in blue jeans and a lavender pullover, her curly hair twisted in a dark knot at the base of her neck. A fresh layer of makeup sat on top of that morning's efforts,

  "Okay. All set. Where do you want to go?"

  "How about tacos?"

  "I could eat tacos. Let's go to El Pasita," Peyton suggested, grabbing Bryant's hand and pulling him off the couch.

  "Table #32 is officially ours," Bryant said, closing an app on his phone.

  In less than fifteen minutes, they were seated close to a window so Bryant could watch his truck. Peyton thought this was ridiculous but kept that to herself. And soon, their mouths were full of warm burritos, homemade salsa, and chips.

  "Sorry, I was an ass earlier. The kids must have been wild today," Bryant said, his mouth full of burrito, which made Peyton frown and point to her mouth, also full but closed.

  After swallowing, she nodded and told Bryant about the M6 essay winners.

  "Yeah, today was nuts. They finally told the kids who is going Mars. Mia was in my class during the announcement, and I swear she almost fainted. She acted like it was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Honestly, I'm disappointed she wasn't excited."

  "Give her a break. She's young, and everyone was staring at her, right? Hell, I would have frozen, too. That's next-level shit, going to Mars."

  Peyton thought about Mia, and her arms crossed defensively. Bryant had a point. It had always been her dream to go to outer space, but she wasn't Mia, and she wasn't seventeen.

  "Yeah, she was shocked. I don't know the other student, but I tracked him down at lunch to introduce myself."

  Bryant raised an eyebrow as if questioning her lack of restraint.

  "What? I wanted to congratulate him. I hope an adult would come find me if I'd been chosen to go to Mars. It's not weird!"

  "I'm just saying you could give them both twenty-four hours to think before you decide they're not responding appropriately," Bryant replied.

  Peyton conjured Trevor's blank face and limp handshake in the cafeteria. What did these kids believe they were competing for when the essay contest was all anyone talked about? No one HAD to go to Mars. Sure, they'd all been tasked with writing the essay as part of an English assignment, but there was an option to opt out of the application process. Mia and Trevor's essays were full of well-thought-out reasons why they should be selected. What had happened between now and then?

  "You know how teenagers are- up, down, all over the place. Three months ago is like another lifetime to them. Who knows what persona they were trying out when they wrote those essays? Sending teenagers into space always struck me as a dumb idea."

  Peyton considered this but didn't entirely agree. Juniors could be moody, but often, they were insightful, the slow morph into adulthood underway. Both students seemed shaken by the news and unable to form much of a response.

  "I mean, they could die, Peyton. You know that crossed their minds today. How is a seventeen-year-old supposed to process that?"

  Peyton pushed her plate back. Her belly was full, and fatigue was starting to set in again. She narrowed her eyes and leaned back against the booth.

  "You realize YOU could also die up there, right?" Bryant said.

  Peyton felt herself getting triggered, but closed her eyes.

  "This is their sixth mission. The five before were wildly successful with zero casualties. Nothing bad is going to happen," she said.

  "Well, I'm less confident, Peyton. I worry you'll get hurt or not come home at all."

  Peyton opened her eyes and saw a mixture of emotions on Bryant's face. Her mom had said something similar when she'd told her about the academic advisor position. How could she explain that for her, nothing could generate any doubts about this? Not crazy dreams. Not over-protective boyfriends. Nothing. Colonizing Mars was humanity's next step. No one would die. Being picked to go to Mars was everything she'd ever wanted to manifest.

  "It's sweet of you to worry, but I'll get home safe for more late-night Mexican," she said, squeezing Bryant's hand.

  He smiled back, sweetly.

  "You can't promise that. No one can."