Zelu was shaking now. She was trying to contain it all—the hope and the despair, the dance of success, and the need to flee the planet, if only for a while. Sitting down had been a good move. “I’m . . . not trying to die. I didn’t want to die in Nigeria; I wanted to see Dad’s grave and reconnect with the land, home! It was a risk, but, well, I survived, didn’t I? I made sure of it! Now I have a chance to go to space. Don’t you want me to push farther? I can, so shouldn’t I?” Zelu used her shirt to wipe her wet face. “Come on, Mom.” Her mother glared at her, her eyes moistening, too. Now it was
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Whewwww i really get both sides!
