4
Antarctica / Knox Coast
“WHAT DO YOU WEAR for Antarctica?”
Carmela stood in the doorway of Nita’s bedroom, looking in with considerable confusion at the clothes hanging about in the air. In some cases they were literally hanging—like the ones that were floating about on their hangers because Nita hadn’t bothered to remove them before the clothes emerged from her closet. Tops and pants and skirts were so thick in the space between her and Carmela that Nita could hardly see anything of Carmela but her feet.
“Would it be out of bounds for me to pass a comment here?” said Kit’s partially unseen sister.
“You can pass a comment, you can pass go,” Nita said, pushing through a tangle of tops of various colors. “You can pass anything you like—and maybe you can pass me those pants. Yeah, those right there . . .”
Carmela moved among the floating garments like someone making her way through the down-hanging branches of a thickly grown forest. “These ones?” She plucked a pair of white Capri pants out of the air and held them up between her hands, turning them back and forth. “These are from last year, Neets.”
“I know.”
“And are you sure about wearing white to Antarctica this time of year? It’s getting on toward fall. We must be close to their version of Labor Day. Assuming they have that down there. But then again, no one owns the place, do they?”
Nita had to stop and laugh, pushing her hair back out of her face. “Antarctica? They say they don’t. Or at least, international law says they don’t. But all the big countries spend their time working around that one. Everybody’s got a scientific base somewhere down there, and while there are people doing science, sometimes they’re accidentally acting as cover for some secret weapons thing or some such . . . And everyone pretends it’s not happening and quietly spies on each other every way they can.”
“And probably nobody pays any attention to Labor Day. Well, you still don’t get to wear these pants. Your legs aren’t the same length they were last year. And besides, Dairine is having a Capri-pants phase right now, and the last thing you want to look like at a party is your little sister.”
“Oh, God,” Nita muttered, “this is turning into a nightmare. I can’t make up my mind about anything.”
Carmela chucked the white pedal pushers onto Nita’s bed, then flopped down on it herself and watched Nita push her clothes around in the air. “Why the stress levels?” she said. “You’re going to be there for—it’s not even a day, is it?”
“Afternoon until evening,” Nita said.
Carmela rolled over on her back and looked at her upside down. “So throw a few things in a bag and go! This fussing is atypical for you.”
Nita rubbed her face, then dropped her hands helplessly and sat down on the windowsill. “Everything’s so different all of a sudden,” she said. “And it makes no sense, because nothing is that different.”
“Well,” Carmela said, with the air of someone walking on eggshells, “one thing. The B word.”
Nita moaned. “There are moments,” she said, “when I wake up and it’s the truest thing in the world. And there are others when I wake up and think, What the hell have I done? I don’t know how to be, I can’t think what to say, I freeze up.” She made a disgusted face. “I blush.”
“Saves on makeup,” Carmela said.
Nita snorted. “Only if you can get it to stay in the same place all the time.”
“And you’re going to tell me,” Carmela said, “that my baby brother is just cruising right along as if nothing’s happened.”
By and large, this was entirely too true. Nita sighed. “Look. I need a baseline. How many boyfriends have you actually had?”
Carmela waved a hand airily about. “Many have auditioned for the position,” she said. “Very few have achieved that lofty status.”
Nita couldn’t restrain the snicker. “Possibly because their having achieved it still doesn’t stop you from flirting with everything else that moves.”
“What, I should limit my options? Flirtation does not necessarily imply a lesser level of commitment.”
“And this is why you’re in demand for interstellar negotiations,” Nita said. “Because you can come out with a sentence like that, and people believe it.”
Carmela simply smiled and didn’t deny anything. “So how many?” Nita said.
“Three, maybe four. No, three, I’ve stopped counting Bill, he turns out to have just been a self-obsessed dork.” Carmela let out a long sigh that suggested she was more disappointed with herself than with him. “I was way too much for him to handle.”
Nita refrained from sharing the opinion that for most beings in their local universe, Carmela fell into that category. “Did any of them ever make you spin your wheels like this?”
“That was usually the signal to get rid of them,” Carmela said. “I don’t mind butterflies in the stomach, but when they start getting big enough to be mistaken for helicopters, I believe in cutting my losses and getting out while I can.”
“Well. With Kit—”
Carmela waved her arms. “There’s a sentence that’ll go on and on. Leave it for now. You need to get yourself together or you’re going to be late for this thing. Worse, I’m going to be late for this thing, and I refuse to miss a chance to see people treating Kit like a superhero. Why’re you having so much trouble deciding?”
“Well . . . there are going to be so many other people there. And I don’t know who they’re going to be! Or I know in a general way, but I don’t know how they’re going to be dressed. I don’t want to make a bad first impression, but I’m not sure what a good first impression’s going to look like! There’ll be kids there from all over the planet, all ages, wearing all kinds of things, and I just—I don’t know!” Nita waved her arms. “Should I look serious? Should I look playful? Should I try to stand out? Should I try not to stand out? I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a showoff—”
Carmela shook her head and bounced off the bed, pushing the floating clothes off to one side and another. “Forget this stuff,” she said. “We can both spare half an hour. Let’s go to the Crossings and buy you something completely new. Stuff from the Crossings is always classy, and new is always good for taking your mind off yourself when you’re nervous.”
“Oh, God, ’Mela, are you kidding? No way there’s time—”
Carmela flung her arms wide. “Will you listen to her, Universe? She has no time to go a few thousand light-years to buy some clothes. There are so many things wrong with that sentence, I scarcely know where to begin.” Then Carmela sighed. “But you know what? This isn’t about the other kids, or the weird new people, or how you’re going to look in front of them. This is about him, isn’t it?”
That was a thought that brought Nita up short. She opened her mouth, then realized she wasn’t sure what to say.
“Yeah,” Carmela said. “Because otherwise, if things were what we laughably think of as normal around here, you’d be completely busy obsessing over whoever this new kid is you’re mentoring and how the two of you are going to keep him in line.” She paused. “Is it a ‘him’?”
“Yeah. I think he’s from San Francisco.”