Free Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I by Lee Davidson Page A

that’s good. How are you guys adjusting?”
    “Mmm,” I answer noncommittally, thankful to have a mouth full of mashed potatoes.
    Anna jumps in. “Not bad. I still can’t get over the amazing food.”
    The conversation stays light while we eat and then the three of us play Sats. When Rigby joins us, I deal him into our fourth game. Liam wins as usual. By our fifth game, a rumble grows from down the hall.
    Liam looks toward the archways while he shuffles the deck. “The slackers are back.”
    I choke on my drink. “Already?” There’s no way three days have passed.
    He smirks. “Time flies.”
    As if to prove him right, Willow bounces into the room ahead of the herd.
    “What’s up, losers? Did I miss anything?” Jovial, she plops into the chair beside mine.
    Liam points his thumb at Willow. “Honestly, I don’t know how you stand this one.”
    I’m barely listening. Three days already?
    “Her? Shoot, he’s got it easy!” Rigby barks before cannibalizing another toothpick.
    When a throat clears behind him, Willow’s smile grows so big it nearly cuts her face in half. “Hey, Shane,” she says, looking above Rigby, whose face is now burning red.
    “So, uh…you guys excited about training today?” Jordan asks, smacking Rigby on the shoulder before grabbing a chair and squeezing himself into a position at the now crowded table.
    Training? My eyes bulge in disbelief and I give Willow “the look.”
    “Oh yeah. I probably forgot to mention that,” Willow says in her most aggravating voice. I heave an exaggerated sigh.
    “Wait till you see the field.” Owen voice comes from behind me. He drags a chair close to a beaming Anna and leans over her to talk to me. “So, Grant, you know Clara’s totally digging you, right? You should ask her out; she’s a major babe.” His eyebrows dance up and down. “But she’s nothing compared to you,” he whispers to Anna.
    Willow’s paying attention now, as is Rigby. She looks indifferent. Rigby looks curious.
    “You gonna hit that?” Rigby asks.
    “No!” I say too loudly. Willow shakes her head, though she’s clearly not surprised by my sudden outburst.
    “Mind if I do? I mean, not hit that —sorry girls, that was disrespectful. But I’d totally ask her out if you’re not going to.”
    “Be my guest.” Please.
    As if choreographed, the Satellites begin pushing their calimeters, saying their good-byes, and vanishing from the room as quickly as they arrived.
    “Thanks for the heads-up on training. A little notice would have been nice,” I say to Willow on our way out of Benson.
    “You gotta check your schedule or something?”
    “Funny. Is being annoying intentional or a natural gift?”
    “Hmm, I’d definitely say natural. Good to know I still have my charm after all these years.”
    We stop at a hallway where Orders is spelled out in stained glass overhead. I stand to the side of the line in an effort to see around the crowd in front of us. “What are we doing?”
    “Picking up your assignment.” Willow may as well finish her sentence with “Duh.”
    My mouth drops into an O .
    “Shoot. Did I forget to mention that, too? Sorry.” There’s nothing apologetic in her tone.
    On the verge of hyperventilating, I try to keep my cool. Willow will never let me live it down if I crack right here in front of everyone.
    “Don’t worry, kid. You won’t begin your assignment until you’re cleared from training. That’s a couple of weeks out still,” she assures.
    The hall is similar to the others, constructed of dark marble. I nervously tap my boot on the floor while more people file behind us. The classical music being piped in makes me think of Tate, which heightens my nerves. I can’t place the melody, though Tate could likely recite the title, composer, and probably even the date after just a few seconds of listening. She’s ridiculous when it comes to things like that.
    “You’ll have some time to review your assignment after training,”