David and Clay sat on the steps of the Peony Pavilion, sipping whiskey from a flask. Inside, dance music thumped. Clubbers went in and came out again to smoke cigarettes. Whenever the door opened, David caught a glimpse of the dancers inside, writhing under the colored lights.
He’d been dancing with girls all night, and his feet hurt. None of them wanted to make out, and when he tried to grind, they pushed him away. He was trying too hard, forcing it. It looked desperate. Now it was late, and the whiskey was nearly gone. Clay tucked the flask into his jacket and burped. “I’m gonna head out. Nothing going on tonight, anyway.”
David nodded.
Clay punched his shoulder. “You gonna be OK, D?”
Another nod. Then a shrug. “Yeah, man. I guess so.”
David sat for a long time on the steps, slowly sobering up. He was blinded when a car turned into the lot, shining its high beams in his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw a familiar houndstooth coat and swath of blond hair crossing the pavement. She was on the arm of a tall guy in a baseball jacket — he looked older, maybe in college. David looked away. If he stood up, she’d see him. He slouched lower, willing himself invisible. Then, just as he glanced to see if they’d gone, he saw her walking over, that prim little stride, heels clicking.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, Willow.”
“Fancy meeting you here.”
“I know, right?”
She looked around. “Where’re Clay and Artie?”
“Not here,” he said. “Who’s that?” He nodded toward the guy in the baseball jacket, who was checking his voice mail.
“That’s Mike,” she said, crossing her arms. “He goes to Clark.”
“Boyfriend?’
“Sort of.”
“Is he gonna mind you talking to me?”
She smiled. “We’re not like that. It’s an open relationship. We’re independent.”
David nodded. “Oh. That’s cool.” It was the coolest thing he’d ever heard. Their age difference had never mattered to him, but now Willow seemed so much older, more mature. Somehow she’d grown up since they’d split, and he’d stayed a kid. It wasn’t fair, but it still gave him a hard-on.
“What are you doing right now?” she asked.
“Who knows. The night is young.” Actually, he was exhausted, but he couldn’t say that. Only high-school kids quit at midnight.
“Do you want to hang out?”
“With him?” David nodded in Mike’s direction.
“No, just the two of us.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
Willow clicked back to Mike, her hair bouncing. Mike looked in David’s direction and smirked. David’s cheeks grew hot. What was she saying to him? Oh, babe, don’t worry about him. We used to date, but he’s just a kid. When she came back, she was all smiles.
“You have the Caddy?”
“Sure do.”
“Good.” She grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Take me for a ride. Then we can go back to my place.”
Her place. She meant her parents’ house, of course, but when Willow said it, it sounded more adult.
David flew on the freeway. Why not? They were together, Willow and David, the way it was, the way it should have stayed. The two best-looking people in town — it was only natural. How many times had they done this last year? Just zipped all over, taking the curves of 290 at ninety miles an hour, the lights of Worcester flashing by? They drove east toward Marlborough and then turned around and came back. Willow was chatty. She talked about the school play (with a sample of her Cockney accent), her plans for college (she was following Mike to Clark), about how her dad was going to get her a new red Taurus to replace the old white one. It was easy to just listen. This was communicating. This was connection.
“Do you want to come in?” she said when he brought her back home.
“Sure.”
They went in the back door, careful not to make noise — the Wattses were notoriously light sleepers. As they climbed the stairs, David prepared his A-game. They’d probably talk awhile, then get to reminiscing, and he’d say how he’d never found a girl as cool as her, and she’d say she felt the same about him. And then maybe he’d put his arm around her and lean in for a kiss . . .
He was so wrapped up in planning he almost didn’t realize they were already kissing. She pressed him hard against the wall, then dragged him to her room and closed the door.
“Mmm.” She moaned into his mouth.
No talk, no effort. Just bam. Soon they were on the bed. It was hard to get her bra unclasped in the dark, and she had to tell him it was a front clip, not a back. But then he was on top of her, and it seemed like maybe tonight was the night.
“You have to use a condom,” she whispered.
“OK.”
“Do you have one?”
“Uh, no.”
“Hold on.”
The bedsprings whined as she stretched for the little table. In the sliver of light from the bathroom he could see her open the drawer and pull out a plastic square.
“Do you know how to put one on?”
“Yeah, I know. Jesus.”
David tore the plastic (it took three tries — shit, these things were hard to open) and tossed it aside. He rolled the condom down, pinching the tip, like they’d been taught in sex ed.
“Not there. Not there!”
“Jesus, OK. Keep it down. Just . . . show me.”
So this is it, David thought. He felt vague warmth, tightness. Nothing special. Nothing mind-blowing. He started to move his hips. She moved with him, cooing softly. Did they have to keep the light off? It was hard to get off without something to look at. He pictured her face, her naked body. Then he imagined other bodies, doing other, more interesting things. His mind unraveled its own cinematic story line until he was miles away from the bed. It was only then he started to enjoy himself.
When it was over, she slipped away to the bathroom. He had a brief vision of her in the mirror before she closed the door. A moment later he heard the shower running. David pulled the sheets up to his chin. The room smelled like fruit and cigarettes, and like sweat. He was cold.
When the bathroom door opened, his heart leaped. She’d probably want to cuddle, and the thought of her warm body, maybe feeling the thrum of her heart next to his, warmed him.
“All right. You have to go now,” she said. She stood in the doorway, wrapped in a towel.
“What? Why?”
“It’s a school night.”
“Don’t you want to cuddle?”
“Why, do you?”
“No. That’s fine with me.”
He put his feet on the floor and started searching for his pants. He realized he still had the condom on.
“What should I do with this?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. I don’t care. Just don’t get it near me.”
David wrapped the condom in tissue and stuffed it in his pocket. In the car he blasted the stereo. Let him wake up the neighbors. Who cared? At home, he flushed the wad of tissue down the toilet. As the water swirled, he remembered you weren’t supposed to flush condoms. What if it floated back and the maid found it? Or his mother? Was that possible? Funny, they’d never said anything about that in sex ed.
He climbed into bed. It felt good to be under his own covers, in his own familiar darkness. He’d had sex. At long last. And months before his seventeenth birthday. Not bad. And it had been great! He reimagined it all: Willow’s writhing body, her moans of pleasure, basking in the afterglow while she showered. It was better to be back in his own bed. The returning champion, the conquering hero. He felt like a man. Solitary. Kick-ass.
David turned onto his side and waited for sleep. When it finally came, he dreamed of a warm body, two hearts beating in sync. Then the alarm buzzed, and it was time for school.
They’d curled up by the cold fire pit. Rose’s internal furnace burned off yesterday’s excess adrenaline, and when Charlie woke the next morning, everything was covered in frost but them. A damp strand of hair clung to her neck.
Charlie got to his feet slowly. Sleeping on the ground had done a number on his back. Dirt and pine needles clung to his hair, face, and clothes. Judging by the sun, it was early, but he would have to run like hell to make it to school on time.
“Rose,” he whispered. Her eyes opened. There was no drowsy blink. Just bam and she was awake, like flipping a switch.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got to go to school.”
“OK.”
“Stay here, and I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“OK.”
A smile passed over her lips, and her eyes flicked shut.
Charlie ran home. He felt light, agile. He leaped over rocks, bounded off roots. If only he’d ever felt this way on the basketball court. He hit the main road and followed it south to his driveway. He edged down to the shore and made his way to the back of the house.
Thaddeus was asleep on the couch. Charlie mentally thanked his father. No questions asked, he’d bought them time and an escape route. He deserved to know everything. But not yet.
He fetched some clean clothes and his backpack and scribbled a quick note on the whiteboard, promising to explain where he’d been. His bike still lay where he’d left it in the driveway. Thaddeus would probably harp at him for leaving it out overnight.
A thought struck Charlie as he pedaled to Saint Sebastian’s. Would Sakora send its goons to school? Would they know to look for him there? The sun was shining, the clouds finally parted. Sakora or no Sakora — whatever happened, he could handle it.
Errant data in Rose’s mind, loosed by the broken satellite connection, was sifting, refiling, searching for a home. In human terms, she was having a nightmare.
She lay in an enormous room. She couldn’t move, her legs and arms felt stiff and dead. In her peripherals she saw bodies. Hundreds of them. Rows and rows filled the huge space. Men in long white coats paced up and down, taking notes. One stopped near Rose, the wispy-haired man, who now had antennae like a hungry moth. There was no warmth in his eyes, only detached observation. He reached down. When his hand reappeared it held something — her heart. It was a hub of intersecting spokes, slowly spinning.
Rose looked down. Her chest lay open. Inside, flashing red lights, gnarled hairs, and a hole where her heart used to be. She couldn’t scream.
Breach detected.
Reinitializing imprint . . .
Please wait.
30% . . . 50% . . . 85%
Imprint established.
David.
Rose sat up, clutching her chest. She was in the woods. The sun was out. Charlie . . . he’d left for school. But something was wrong.
David. The ache cinched her heart. Every synapse, every node in her body rang with it. Being apart from him — it wasn’t just pain; it was malfunction, a sin, a tragedy. Her million what ifs were wiped away.
“No,” Rose said, her voice choked and small. “No, I don’t want to want him anymore. Please!”
She listened, half expecting to hear the voice again. But there was nothing. Nothing but her own feelings. Explosions. Light. Rose wanted to pull her hair out and smash herself against the rocks. Even alone, she was divided. How many times could a mind split before it disappeared completely? Rose closed her eyes and breathed. Please, she thought. Please make it go away.
Something moved in the woods.
Rose’s senses kicked into high alert. The sound came again. Leaves crunched in rhythm — footsteps. A large branch lay in the corner. She grabbed it, feeling its steady weight in her hands. “Don’t come any closer!”
Someone appeared on the top step. A pair of white sneakers with dangling laces. Strands of dark hair waving in the breeze.
“Oh,” the girl said. “What are you doing here?”
Charlie pedaled alongside a trundling bus, dust scattering around his legs. Boys in flapping gray jackets flocked like pigeons toward the statue of Saint Sebastian, the red-tipped necktie still snared on the top rod.
There was no sign of Sakora’s goons inside. The head hall monitor gave Charlie a long dark look as he passed, and made a note on his clipboard. Charlie lowered his eyes and hurried to his locker. He removed the spare jacket and tie he kept there. A trip to the boys’ room to check his reflection (pine needles in his hair) and then to homeroom.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, freak.”
Charlie looked up, but nobody was addressing him. Instead, George Thomas stood over a crouching boy. The boy struggled to collect his minidrives, which were scattered across the floor. One had landed under Charlie’s desk. He handed it back and met the victim’s eye. It was David Sun.
“Thanks,” David mumbled.
Charlie stared, slack-jawed. The pale, washed-out kid crawling around on the floor couldn’t be David. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.
The first bell rang and the designated monitor shuffled in, looking bored and ornery as usual.
“All right. Eyes down, boys.”
Charlie plugged Physics 101 into the port. His gaze drifted toward David, who was holding his head in his hands, looking miserable.
“Sun. You awake?” The monitors had no mercy.
“Yes, sir.”
David typed his password and continued to stare at the floor.
“Nuvola, eyes on your assignment.”
“Sorry.”
But before Charlie turned away, David looked up. It wasn’t just exhaustion in his eyes, but something else. A deeper hurt.
No, Charlie decided. You couldn’t do what David did and still care. You couldn’t throw someone away like an old toy, rip their heart out, leave them completely alone in the world, and then act like you missed them. It didn’t work that way.
“What are you staring at?” David said.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Nuvola!” the monitor snapped.
Charlie had no trouble looking away now. He never wanted to look at David Sun again.
At lunch he overheard some boys talking about Companions. One of them, tallish with a hawk nose, drummed on the table as he spoke, bobbing his head to music only he could hear.
“You know, they shock you if you try to grab ’em.”
“Yeah,” said one with close-cropped red hair. “That’s what I heard.”
“What good is a sex doll you can’t have sex with?” said a third, Luther Drake, who Charlie knew from the basketball team.
“Not even like blow jobs and stuff?” said Hawk-Nose.
Luther shook his head. “Naw, man. Think about it. If they shock you for slapping their ass, just imagine. I heard there was this kid over in Auburn who had his pecker fried.”
“Bull.”
“I shit you not.”
Charlie sipped his Coke. The conversation turned to local politics.
“You at Clay’s party on Friday?”
“For a while. You?”
“Yeah.” Hawk-Nose snorted. “Hey, did you see that piece David Sun was with?”
“I thought she was from Maine.”
“Whatever, man. I’d fly to the North Pole to tap that ass.”
There was general laughter. Charlie began to pack up his things. “Man, she’s too good for him, though.”
“Yeah, that girl’s even out of Sun’s league.”
“Not surprised she cheated on him.”
Charlie dropped his change. It rattled across the floor, quarters teetering under the table.
“She cheated on him?” said Hawk-Nose. “How you know?”
Luther shrugged. “David told Clay and Clay told Butkus and Butkus told me.”
“Crazy.”
“Went down on some guy at the party, I guess — speaking of beejes. David walked in and was like, ‘Bitch, we’re through.’ He left with some lacrosse chick.”
“Daaamn.”
“Hey, Charlie,” Luther said. “You all right, man? You eat something funny?”
“Guy looks like he’s about to boot.”
Charlie gathered himself and made for the exit. The cold air was like a smack in the face. The wind chilled the moisture gathering in his eyes.
Rose was better at imitating humans than she knew.
“You’re David’s girl.”
Rose lowered the branch. “Becca?”
“Only John calls me that. He knows I hate it. It’s Rebecca, actually.” She smiled, pleased to be remembered. “Are you going to hunt for dinner with that?”
Rose stared at the branch and let it drop. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Are you OK? I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No. I’m fine,” Rose said, straightening. “I’m sorry, I’m just not feeling very well.”
“Tell me about it.” Rebecca brushed off an iron beam and sat. “Seriously. What’s up?”
“I think there’s something wrong with my brain,” Rose said honestly. “I’m feeling several things at once, but they don’t make sense together. In fact, they’re opposites.”
The other girl nodded. “Sounds like you just got dumped.”
“Dumped?”
“Yeah, dumped. Like, someone broke up with you. Your relationship ended.”
“Oh. Yes. That’s what happened.”
“David, right? I told you that guy was a player.”
Rose said nothing. Rebecca flicked a leaf off the edge of her seat and watched it float to the ground. “I guess I’m going a little crazy, too.” She smiled weakly. “That’s why I’ve been taking some personal days.”
A breeze rolled through the clearing. Rose thought back to the night she met Rebecca. She’d thought the other girl had lost her boy. Maybe she’d been right.
“How do you do it?” Rose asked.
“How do you . . . switch boys?”
Rebecca didn’t reply. The two girls sat listening to the wind in the trees. Then Rebecca took Rose’s hand.
“Come on,” she said.
“Where are we going?”
“Let’s go for a ride. You look like you need a girlfriend.”
Rose knew this term and pulled back. “I don’t want to kiss you.”
Rebecca stopped short, then smirked. “Not that kind of girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
“Let’s go.” She pulled Rose toward the stairs.
“But I’ve got to wait . . .” Rose started. “I’ve got to meet someone here after school.”
“School doesn’t get out until three-ish, right?” Rebecca said, setting her cell-phone alarm. “I’ll have you back by then, I promise. You don’t want to sit around here all day, do you?”
Rose didn’t. Especially if there was a chance the man with the wispy hair would show up. “All right, let’s go.”
Rebecca grinned. “Good. You and me, sweetie. We’re gonna have some girl time.”
Rebecca’s car looked the way Charlie’s bike would look if it had an engine and four wheels. The gray surface was spotted with rust. Rose went to open the passenger door, but it stuck.
“Oh, yeah. That door’s screwed up. You have to jiggle the handle. It’s my dad’s car. I’ve been using it for the past few days because . . . well, because he hasn’t been using it.”
Inside, Rose noticed the emblem on the steering wheel.
“This is a Cadillac?”
“Yep, a real classic.” Rebecca turned the ignition. The engine seemed to grind under the hood, rattling the frame.
“David had one, but his was . . . different. It’s in pretty good condition.” She realized this might have been insulting.
If Rebecca was offended, she didn’t show it. “Oh, old Louis here was probably nice once. He’s just a little worn around the edges now.” She gave the dashboard an affectionate pat. “Isn’t that right, Louis?”
The engine croaked in response. Rebecca shifted and turned the wheel, and they rolled through the tall grass back to the road, where Louis’s rattling worsened.
They drifted away from the lake toward another part of town, beyond the highway. Rebecca’s house sat on the edge of an enormous empty lot. Her house was huge, and Rose said so.
“Forty units in all,” Rebecca said, her voice weary. “Buffumville Estates, my ass.”
They took the elevator to the top floor and followed a dingy hallway to its end. There was a cardboard cutout of a woman in a grass skirt hanging on the door.
“My dad had a bachelor party for his friend Friday night,” Rebecca said. “It was tropical-island themed.”
The inside of Rebecca’s apartment was dank and smelled bittersweet. Shapeless furniture floated on a foamy carpet, and orange light filtered through floor-to-ceiling blinds. A long counter divided the carpet from a tiled floor, where a light buzzed and flickered in an orange casing on the ceiling. Dishes were piled in the sink. In one corner a half-deflated palm tree sagged.
“Welcome to Pleasure Island,” Rebecca said.
“Where are your parents?”
Rebecca’s jaw tightened. Then her features relaxed and her smirk returned. “Mom’s gone. Dad’s down the hall. But don’t worry. He won’t come to until at least four. He’s dead to the world, trust me.”
Through a half-opened door, Rose saw a dark and cluttered bedroom. A figure lay on the bed, one bare, hairy leg hanging off the side.
“Come on, my room’s back here.”
Rebecca’s room was small, the walls covered with posters of deliriously happy couples breaking into song. Pasted to one wall were dozens of playbills.
“Are these for movies?”
“No, no,” Rebecca said, wrinkling her nose. “These are for plays. Musicals. I love ’em. I work weekends at Denny’s to save up for shows in Boston. Though they’ll probably fire me since I haven’t been in to work in two weeks.”
Rose sat on the bed. There was a red bird-shaped pin on Rebecca’s bedside table. She remembered it from the night they’d met.
“This is pretty.”
Rebecca stared at the pin, her smile wavering. “God, don’t you think it’s tacky? I tried to wear it for a while, but I just can’t.”
The note was half buried under minidrives and makeup pencils. The visible elegant script read: . . . our solidarity with the Vogel family, we ask that you wear these brooches in memory of our dear Nora.
Rebecca began to pry her boots off. “I mean, if you’re going to remember somebody, remember them.” Off came boot one. “Don’t just stick a pin on your chest and pretend like that’s all there is to it.” Off came boot two. “All right, you ready for the surprise?”
Rebecca rooted under the bed and retrieved a plastic bottle. It was identical to the one she’d nursed at the campsite, with the cartoon donkey in a bowler hat on the side.
“My brand,” Rebecca said when she caught Rose’s stare. “So, what do we drink to?”
“I can’t,” Rose said. “I . . .”
Except — she could. There was no voice telling her not to, no dancing halo.
“Oh, yes you can.” Rebecca pursed her lips. “Let’s drink to . . . to being independent women. Who don’t. Need. Men.”
Rebecca took a swig, the clear liquid thumping inside the bottle. She winced, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and handed the bottle to Rose. The stuff inside smelled like David’s garage. Rose took a swallow. It was flavorless at first. But then a second, phantom swallow, this one a fireball, chased the vodka down her throat. Hot coals burned in her stomach. She coughed.
“Well, it’s not Grey Goose.” Rebecca took the bottle. “OK, what shall we drink to now?”
Rose thought. “Let’s drink to . . . breaking the rules.”
“Ha!” She took a powerful swallow and passed the bottle. Rose did the same. She wiped her mouth and burped. The girls giggled.
Soon the coal in Rose’s stomach spread heat to her limbs and face. The warmth was a pleasant side effect.
Suddenly Rebecca turned somber. “So I’ve been thinking about that girl a lot.”
“Which one?”
“The one who killed herself.” She hiccuped. “I didn’t know her too well, you know? She must have been so lonely. The night she died I was actually on a date. A horrible date. This guy was so sweet but I just couldn’t . . . it was like forgetting your lines in the middle of a show. Does that make any sense? I actually wished I was dead.” She studied the pictures on her walls. “What if that happens to me?”
“If what happens?” Rose asked. For some reason she had trouble following Rebecca’s words.
“What if one day I wake up and decide I can’t be lonely anymore? And I just have to . . . I even thought about taking pills, once, like she did. But I got too scared. I wonder if anyone would miss me. Would it make a difference at all?” Rebecca’s already flushed cheeks turned a deeper red. She looked up at Rose from under her eyelashes. “Do you ever think like that?”
“I threw myself in a lake,” Rose said. “To stop the voices in my head.”
Rebecca squinted. “What?”
Rose put her feet on the ground, which suddenly felt unsteady. Something funny was happening. Colored dots danced before her eyes. Reds and yellows and blues, blending together. The colored lights swirled and flickered. Suddenly Rose smelled mustard. She felt rain on her skin. She saw prime numbers counting down from one hundred.
“I don’t feel so good.” She tried to stand, but was suddenly on the floor. The landing didn’t hurt, but now the smell of cigarette smoke filled her nostrils. Rose rolled over, gasping. A weight pressed on her chest. She was covered in ice. The colored lights were gone, but the smell of smoke remained, combined with onions and bleach.
She closed her eyes, trying to blot out these sensations. When she opened them, Rebecca was leaning over her.
“Rose? Rose?”
At the sound of her name, the smells and the pressure on her chest vanished. Rebecca shook her gently. She was saying something, but somewhere between her mouth and Rose’s ears the words were scrambled. Gibberish.
“Rose? Lucky-should-best-now-wait-right-two?”
Rose concentrated, but couldn’t find the meaning. “I don’t understand.”
“You-money-right-stamp-feel-blank-sick?”
Rose moaned and rolled onto her side. The haze began to clear. Rebecca’s words shifted back into position.
“Are you OK, Rose?”
“I . . . think so.”
“You look like you’re going to be sick. Here. Come with me.”
Rebecca slipped an arm behind her back, and the next thing Rose knew she was being led down the hallway to the bathroom and lowered onto the turquoise tile.
“OK, here we are,” Rebecca said. She gathered Rose’s hair into a ponytail and held it away from her face. “Go ahead.”
Rose leaned over the bowl. The cool porcelain soothed her enflamed skin. All at once the hot coals in her stomach erupted. The vodka came back out in heaves. It happened until tears streamed from her eyes. When it was over, Rose collapsed against the wall, the hotness drained out. She shivered.
Rebecca closed the seat cover and flushed. “Wowie. I guess you really can’t drink, huh? Did you have a stroke or something?”
The room refocused. The sink, the toilet, the solid floor.
“I think I shorted out,” Rose said. She shook her head. At least there wasn’t any permanent damage.
Rebecca started to stand. “Well, we should probably get something in your stomach. Mine, too. Seeing you heave made me feel kind of bleh. Come on. I’ll make sandwiches.”
“OK.” Rebecca helped Rose to her feet. Something nagged at Rose. As Rebecca opened the cabinets in search of bread, it struck her.
“Rebecca?”
“Yeah, girl?”
She swallowed. “What’s a sandwich?”
After eating, Rose needed to process her food. She wasn’t supposed to do that in front of people, and this was a rule she decided to stick with.
“I’ll be right back.”
She thought she remembered the way to the bathroom, but the short hallway contained five identical off-white doors. The first led to a cluttered linen closet. On her second try she stumbled into someone’s bedroom. It was occupied.
“Oh! I’m sorry.”
Rose retreated, pulling the door closed, but had to peek again. A girl stood in the corner, her blond hair falling across the shoulders of her yellow T-shirt, her arms hanging dead at her sides.
“Hi,” Rose said hesitantly. “I’m Rose.”
The girl blinked and turned slowly. “Hello. My name is Lily.”
“Hi, Lily.”
Lily stared — not at Rose. Not at anything at all. Her eyes simply looked without seeing. Her voice, and especially that stare, were familiar somehow.
“Have we met?” Rose asked. Of course they hadn’t. How could they have? Rebecca was the only girl Rose knew besides David’s mother and Lupe, and she would have remembered Lily’s startling yellow hair.
Lily cocked her head to one side, her bangs swinging. “We are now at minute two of our friendship. At this point, a handshake is appropriate.” She stuck out her hand.
Rose steadied herself on the door. “You’re a Companion?”
“My name is Lily.” Lily’s hand hovered between them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Rose knew there were others like her, but she’d never expected to meet one. She’d guessed they were far away, near wherever the voice came from. “I’m like you,” Rose said. “I’m a Companion. We’re the same.”
“How nice. Tell me more about yourself. I am interested in progressing our friendship.” Lily’s eyes looked through Rose, past her. They were a pale imitation blue. Cold and dead. Rose shivered.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“My last diagnostic revealed no malfunctions.” Lily giggled. “Shall I make you a sandwich?”
Rose backed toward the door. “I have to go now. It was nice meeting you, Lily.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Rose. I hope to see you again soon.”
The other Companion’s skirt was made of a cheap synthetic material with an elastic waist. On impulse, Rose pinched the fabric of the band, careful not to graze the smooth skin of Lily’s stomach, and pulled back the skirt. She glanced down. Lily was smooth. Incomplete, like Rose. A Barbie doll.
Rebecca came around the corner just as Rose closed the door.
“Hey, I wondered where you wandered off to. Were you just in my brother’s room?”
“I’m sorry. I thought this was the bathroom,” Rose said.
“Oh, God. Did you see Paul’s thing?”
“What?”
“His sex toy?” Rebecca shuttered. “It gives me the creeps.”
“How long has he had it?” Rose asked.
“About two months. They say they’re supposed to get more human over time, but it’s like Children of the Damned in there. How could anyone mistake that thing for a real person?” She put her arm around Rose’s shoulder. “Let’s watch some TV or something.”
In the living room Rebecca folded herself into the corner of the couch and perched a bag of potato chips on her knee. They watched a movie about a ghost in a red gown, leaving clues about her hidden suicide note. Rose sampled the tangy, crispy chips, chewing them into a flavorless pulp.
“So is your brother disassociated?”
Rebecca flinched. “What makes you say that?”
“Isn’t that why boys get Companions?”
Rebecca rummaged through the chip bag and pulled out a handful of crumbs. “It’s some sort of program they have. The school counselor said he needed one, but we couldn’t afford it. Since they’re just testing them, he sort of got it on loan.”
“Is he nice to her?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know. I guess so. He tried to take her to this chop shop, to fix her shocker thing.”
“Chop shop?”
“In Worcester.” Rebecca crumpled the empty chip bag and tossed it into the garbage. “Apparently there’s a place where they’ll remove the shocker, so the guys can get their rocks off. Science knows no bounds, I guess.”
Rose stared at the television. Pain coiled in her brain, rolling over itself, twisting. She imagined the man from her nightmare opening up her skull and removing it, the dangling, deadly arrow, now kinked and knotted, a confused useless tangle.
“Where did you say this place was?”
Rebecca’s cell phone began to chirp.
“That’s my alarm. I guess I should get you back, huh?” She stretched her arms and brought her index fingers to her nose. She did this several times and nodded. This was how Rebecca recalibrated, Rose guessed.
“Sober enough,” she said. “Let’s go!”
When Charlie returned the Sakora catalog, Dr. Roger had asked that he come back every two weeks for a “friendly check-in.” The mandatory chats were at two thirty.
“Mr. Nuvola, come in.” Charlie took his place in the big chair. “You’re looking . . . well.”
Charlie looked like he hadn’t slept in days, the puffy bags visible beneath the rims of his glasses. Dr. Roger didn’t look so hot either. His normally oily skin was the color of ash. He reached for a glass of water and knocked it to the carpet. A little robovac skittered from under the desk to suck up the moisture.
Dr. Roger retrieved the fallen glass and refilled it from the pitcher on his desk.
“So, how are things?”
“Not bad.”
“Make any new friends this month?”
Charlie shook his head. “No.”
“Come now, Chuck. There must be something.”
Dr. Roger’s unctuous baritone was thinner, more strained than usual. His posture was too stiff, not his usual bored slouch. He clutched his glass, spilling droplets on the carpet. The robovac hummed happily as it sucked them up.
“Are you having second thoughts about the Companion Program?”
A dry chuckle rattled in Charlie’s throat. “Not really. It didn’t . . .” He stopped himself.
Dr. Roger arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t what?”
Charlie swallowed. “Well, it didn’t work out too well for David Sun. That’s the rumor, anyway.”
Dr. Roger pursed his lips. “Yes, I heard about that. I’m sure instances of patient dissatisfaction are rare.”
“Doesn’t sound rare to me,” Charlie said.
“What do you mean?”
“Human beings cheat and lie. Sounds like she was just acting like a human being.”
“I see.” Dr. Roger took a sip of water. The robovac whirred like a pet waiting for a treat. “And what about you? Any women in your life?”
Charlie had given Dr. Roger only cursory details of his date with Rebecca and had received the “other fish in the sea” lecture in return.
“No.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Charlie coughed into his fist. “Why?”
Dr. Roger shrugged. “You just seem to have a spring in your step this afternoon. I thought maybe . . . but if you say there isn’t anybody . . .”
“There isn’t,” Charlie said, adding after a moment, “I wish there was, you know? But there’s not. Not right now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Well, what have you been up to, then? For instance, last night? What did you do?”
“Last night?”
“Yes. For example.”
Charlie’s eyes followed the robovac. “I was at home.”
“You didn’t go out at all? Not on one of your nature walks?”
Charlie coughed again. And then again. “The air is really dry in here.”
“I’m sorry. Would you like a glass of water?”
“Please.” Dr. Roger filled the second tumbler and handed it to Charlie. “Thanks.”
“Anything to make you comfortable.” His eyes narrowed. “You know how much my patients mean to me.”
“Right. So, anyway . . .” Charlie let his glass rest on the arm of the chair. There was a zipping sound as it slid off the leather, followed by a sharp crunch. The robovac scurried from under Dr. Roger’s chair. Dr. Roger lunged for it, but Charlie had the longer reach. He snatched up the robovac, the tiny wheels spinning helplessly. He turned it over. Next to the serial number was an insignia. A tiny pink blossom. The central stigma was a small mesh like a speaker. But no, Charlie realized. Not a speaker. A microphone.
Charlie and Dr. Roger locked eyes. They were posed like wrestlers, half standing, only five feet of Persian rug between them.
“I thought these sessions were private.”
“They are private,” Dr. Roger snapped. “I’m just doing my job, Charlie.”
“I thought your job was to help students.”
“Students don’t pay.” Dr. Roger’s voice was a growl. “Who do you think pays for your therapy, Charlie?”
“I thought it was the school.” He wanted to sound brave, but his voice quavered. The hand holding the robovac trembled.
“Charlie . . .”
“You gave me the catalog. You probably gave David Sun his. What, do you just go from school to school as Sakora’s front man?”
“Charlie . . .” Dr. Roger said again, with something new in his tone. Fear. “It’s not like that. I don’t work for Sakora, but I agree with their methods, and sometimes doctors and companies can work together.” He interlaced his fingers. “I know the lines are a little blurry, but let’s just talk about this.”
Charlie wanted to say something defiant. He wanted the last word. But he was too scared. He’d never faced down an adult. So he ran. He tossed the robovac and ran for the door, down the hall, and out into the gray afternoon.
He looked over his shoulder a hundred times on the way to the campsite, his bike wobbling on the wet roads. Cars roared past, spraying dingy road water. Charlie imagined black-suited Sakora agents, ready to reach out and grab him. He didn’t slow down until he reached Cliff Road and the stand of trees marking the entrance to the dirt path.
There was a rusted Caddy by the campsite. Charlie came to the edge of the pit. Someone was there, text-messaging. Her face was hidden by a curtain of ink-colored hair, but he recognized her.
“Hello.”
Rebecca looked up and gasped. “You scared me.”
Charlie walked down to meet her. “Hi, Rebecca.”
She stood, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Hi, Charlie.”
“Don’t you have rehearsals in the afternoon?”
“I quit the play.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes met his. “Oh, Charlie. You shouldn’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. I was such a jackass, a total pretentious bitch, but it’s only because I wanted to impress you.” The words rushed out of her, the pressure of days finally released. “Because you’re obviously really smart and know science and I’m just a stupid actress with big boobs. But of course you thought I was a total jackass, and I was a jackass. I am a jackass. And I’m just so, so sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said again, staring at the ground.
“I actually meant about quitting the play,” Charlie said.
She covered her face in her hands. “Right. Of course.”
Silence. Charlie felt himself closing up. He willed himself to say something. Anything. The first thing that came to his mind.
“Rebecca, I think you’re . . .”
“Charlie.”
Rose appeared at the top of the stairs, the wind whipping her hair into dancing flames of red. Charlie and Rebecca glanced at each other. Rebecca’s smile vanished.
“Oh,” she said. “I guess you two are together, huh?”
Rose hurried down the stairs, grinning. “It’s so good to see you.” She wrapped her arms around him, but Charlie didn’t move. Rose backed away. “What’s wrong?”
“Could I, um, talk to Rose for a second?” he said to Rebecca.
She nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’m sure you two want to be alone.”
“I need to talk to you too,” he managed. “If you don’t mind waiting.”
Rebecca’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Um, no. I don’t mind.”
She climbed the stairs, looking back twice before disappearing above the ledge.
“Do you know her?” Rose said.
“She’s just someone I need to talk to.” He stared at the spot where Rebecca had been.
“She’s lovely.”
Charlie’s eyes hardened. He faced her. “Did you cheat on David?”
Rose flinched. “What?”
“Did David leave you because you cheated on him?”
“Did you see him? Did he tell you that?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie exploded. “You just forgot that little detail? And here I am helping, getting in trouble for you . . . and for who? Who are you really? A cheater?”
“No!” Rose said, her eyes brimming with tears. “How could you think that?” She wiped her eyes furiously. “Damn it! Why am I crying? Why is it always me that cries? Why don’t boys ever cry?”
“Oh, stop it. You can probably turn them on like a switch.”
Rose’s hands fell limp to her sides. “Oh. I see now.”
“What?”
“You’re like him. You’re just like him. Is that the way it is with boys and girls?”
Charlie’s cheeks grew hot. “Is what the way it is?”
“Boys make the rules. They do what they want, when they want, and the girls just have to be perfect. And if the girls aren’t perfect, too bad. They can just be alone. And be lonely. Do you know how awful lonely is?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do know.” He clenched his jaw. “Look, we don’t have time for this. Come on.” He grabbed her roughly by the arm. “We have to get out of here. We —”
There was a sharp crack, like a branch breaking. Charlie felt a flash of pain across his cheek. He put his hand to his face — the skin was hot. He gaped at her. Rose stared back, her eyes scared but focused. She’d slapped him. She’d slapped him in the face.
“Don’t grab me,” she said. He released her arm. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, but you can’t grab me like that.”
“OK,” Charlie whispered.
“I’m not your Companion.”
“I know.”
They were silent. Leaves rustled at their feet. The sting in his cheek felt almost numbing.
Rose sniffed. “I’m not a cheater, either.”
“OK,” said Charlie. “I don’t . . . most people you can’t . . . I can’t trust people, usually. I’d like to trust you.”
“I don’t lie. And I didn’t cheat. But I can’t tell you what happened.”
“Why not?”
“Because you won’t like me anymore,” she said. “And you’ll throw me away.”
“I wouldn’t ever do that,” he said.
Rose sighed, her breath shuttering. “Companions don’t have girl parts. You can’t have sex with me, Charlie.”
Charlie blinked. “I . . . who said I wanted to have sex with you?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
He laughed weakly. “Well, maybe, but I mean, we’re friends first.”
Rose didn’t reply.
“I like you,” he said.
“But I’m incomplete,” she said, “and not very sweet anymore. I used to be sweet, at least. I don’t know what happened.”
“Sweet is nice, but . . .” Charlie laughed again. “You’re real.”
Rose smiled through her tears. “I thought you were going to say sour.” Her smile faded. “I can’t get him out of my head, Charlie.”
“So, what do we do?”
“I have an idea,” she said, sniffing. “But I’m going to need your help.”
Rebecca sat on the hood of her car, humming tunelessly to her iPod. When she saw Charlie, she took out her earbuds.
“Lovers’ quarrel?”
“Could you give us a ride?” he asked.