Sam Greeley never intended to fall in love with the greenhouses. He knew they were a dead-end work detail, never meant for kids like him who had high enough mod scores, even in ninth form, to qualify for university scholarships.
In fact, when he’d first been assigned the detention that sent him up to the food-growing zones, he’d meant to protest it. He hadn’t been part of the singing, dancing group of students who had blocked the corridor, making everyone late to class. He’d tried to scoot past, and that was when the teachers zoomed in, assigning detentions to everyone in the immediate vicinity.
Sam was going after Mr. Lewis to explain when Eleanor Mackey grabbed his left arm and turned it, so she could view the armband screen on his forearm. “Sam, you have detention, too? Thank goodness. Last time they sent us to the greenhouses, I was stuck doing some horrible, dirty, mindless task without even any intelligent conversation to break up the monotony.”
Wilson Cartier strolled up and draped his arm over Eleanor’s shoulders. “I thought you were with me repairing superwheat supports the last time you wound up in a greenhouse detention.”
Eleanor shrugged out from underneath his arm and winked at Sam. “See what I mean?” Then she picked her school tablet up off the corridor floor and sauntered toward her next class, her blond hair swinging in loose waves long enough to violate ship code. But who would report the captain’s daughter for something like that?
“What a tease, huh?” Wilson said, bumping Sam’s arm. “But, hey, I know you weren’t part of this mess. If you want me to vouch for you to Mr. Lewis or Ms. O’Day, we can probably get you out of detention.”
Sam stared at Wilson’s nearly new uniform and tried to figure out what the GenM heir was up to. Wilson and his cronies never talked to Sam. They certainly didn’t do him favors. “That’s OK. I was in the hallway when I should have been in class, and the greenhouses always need more hands, right? It won’t hurt me any.”
Wilson shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. The greenhouses can be plenty dangerous. Especially for guys who can’t keep their eyes off other guys’ girls.”
“Other guys’ girls?”
“What, you think I don’t see the way you look at Eleanor?”
Who did the idiot think he was fooling? “Eleanor doesn’t have a boyfriend. She’s certainly not yours.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Eleanor may not realize it yet, but she’s definitely mine.” Wilson slapped Sam on the back in a way that probably looked friendly to the cameras but that felt anything but. Then Wilson ambled down the hallway toward the gym.
Sam scowled after him.
Cretin.
But the guy often understood people better than Sam did. If Wilson thought Sam was a threat, did that mean Eleanor liked him? An unfamiliar swooping sensation swept through his gut, and the corner of his mouth quirked upward.
Eleanor Mackey might like him.
He hummed the song his classmates had been performing as he made his way to Calculus.
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