Quöé and her clique called us staid, today, among a few other less polite assertions.  Can you imagine that?  Me!  Staid!

I didn’t understand what they meant until I remembered how they used to look at me and my cousins when we first got here, before we’d learned to stop looking around for a patch kit at every gust of wind.  But can you imagine trying to explain to these coddled dirtsiders that for the most of us who live in orbit and the most of the rest who don’t live on garden worlds, our entire lives have been spent one thin bulkhead and careless mistake away from the blood boiling out our ears?  If we don’t look carefree and pranksome enough to them, there’s good reason.

Oh, and they think that really happens, too.

– diary of Callia Irithyl-ith-Irileth, exchange student