“Nian’er, take off one glove. Don’t right get pirate rust on Auntie Qin’s sewing.”
On the front porch of the [Gu Family Flying Courtyard Star-Cruiser], twelve-year-old Gu Nian nodded once.
He reached down with his right hand, unfastened the wrist strap of his left space-suit glove, and pulled it off with a crisp hiss of equalized air. He folded the white flannel-titanium glove neatly and set it beside his father’s teapot on the porch rail.
From the kitchen doorway, Auntie Qin nodded in immediate approval, resting her hands on her hips.
“That’s a good boy, Nian’er,” Auntie Qin called out, pointing her wooden rolling pin toward the starry void beyond the front gate. “Do you know how long it took me to stitch the double-lined cuffs on those mittens? If you got black meteor grease on the white flannel, I’d have to scrub it with vinegar and baking soda for an hour!”
“I know, Auntie Qin,” Gu Nian replied dutifully, flexing his bare left fingers in the warm courtyard breeze. “I’ll keep my sleeve clean.”
Beside the stone table, ten-year-old Su Nuannuan held up her pink watering can to cheer him on. Eight-year-old Jiang Tuntun swallowed a mouthful of sweet space-cabbage leaf and waved both small fists in the air.
