Learning to Dance

“Pedro always used to complain about these things when
he took that survival course in third year,” said Taz,
slurping up a noodle with a smacking sound. “I never really
believed him until now. I didn’t realized anything could
taste this bad.”
Something about hearing her say that name put a definite
damper on Up’s good mood. “How is the Garbage-sniffer?”
he asked casually, twirling his own noodles on his fork.
Taz frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that. He
changed a lot while you were away, Up. He’s not so bad.”
Up raised his hands in innocence. “I guess you’d know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Up said, feeling unreasonably angry. “You two
seem to be quite – close.”
Taz stood and put her hands on her hips, looking like a
cross between a fearsome Starship Ranger and a really
pissed-off teenaged girl. “Are you talking about when the
idiota tried to kiss me? If you hadn’t noticed, I decked him
a good one for that, and he won’t be trying it again soon.
He’s only just started talking to me again.”
“That’s great,” said Up, and Taz stamped her foot in
frustration. The resulting bounce spoiled the effect and only
made her angrier.
“Oh, why are you so estúpido, Up? No es Pedro el que
me importa, imbécil.”
He had no idea what she’d said, but there was an insult
in there somewhere. Taz started throwing things into her
pack. “Vamos,” she said, throwing a water bottle at him
roughly. “I can’t wait to get off this moon ridícula.”
They bounce-walked in silence for the rest of the
afternoon, Taz muttering the occasional Spanish insult
under her breath, and Up stalking along behind her,
watching the sweat trickle down her back, between her
shoulder blades and disappear into the damp white of her