‘How was school?’ Dad asked at dinner, as he did every day. I used to find it tedious, predictable, but he was genuinely interested.
‘Boring,’ I answered as I always did. ‘Miss Johnson gave us an essay on the fall of the Soviet Union. Three thousand words.’ I groaned the last sentence.
Miss Johnson has been my history teacher since we got to this planet, though I have never met her in person. She teaches us online. There are two hundred and seven other students in my ‘class’.
‘I loved history,’ Dad reminisced. ‘It was my best subject.’ This was not news to me.
‘Maybe so,’ I answered, ‘but it’s all so irrelevant. Why should I care what happened on Earth? I will never be going back.’
He looked sad. ‘Never say never,’ he mumbled without conviction.
‘As if we will ever have enough money for the journey.’ I felt bad as soon as the words were out, they had hurt him. ‘Anyway,’ I hurried on, ‘the only history we need to know is the history of here, of Utopia Nova.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t think it has enough history for a three thousand word essay.’