“Everything about our little family is complicated,” Zoë said. “You’re eighty-eight years old. Jane is a year older than I am. I’m the daughter of a traitor.” “You’re also the only girl in the universe with her own Obin escort,” I said. “Speaking of complicated,” Zoë said. “By day, typical kid. By night, adored by an entire alien race.” “There are worse setups,” I said. “I suppose,” Zoë said. “You’d think being the object of worship for a whole alien race would get me out of homework now and then. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that it doesn’t.”
