“Just Lift for me,” said Sahara.
“Order a real drink if you want one,” said Saif with a laugh, “I’m not going to narc on you.”
Sahara smiled warmly, as if this was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. “Maybe later.”
“Bubble tea,” said Anja. “Lychee if they’ve got it.”
Marisa looked at the menu. “Looks like strawberry, honeydew, mango, rose, and taro.” She tapped one. “Mango for me.”
“Rose, then,” said Anja, and tapped Saif lightly on the knee. Marisa looked at the gesture, lingering just slightly longer than necessary on the boy’s leg, and wondered if Anja was . . . perusing the menu, to use her own metaphor.
Marisa sent her a quick message: Are you after him or his drugs?
He’s all yours, Anja sent back.
That’s not what I meant, sent Marisa. Why did everyone think she was chasing this bastard?
This gorgeous, gorgeous bastard.
Saif smiled, a kind of self-deprecating smirk that said I should be embarrassed, but I’m too damn proud of myself. The sheer confidence of it made Marisa want to gag. “You’re going to laugh at me,” he said, already chuckling at himself. “I’ve got a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe, and that prompts some, shall we say, rather childish drink orders.” He jerked his chin at the menu screen. “Order me a Candy Apple.”
Marisa raised her eyebrow as she searched the menu. “I’ve never even heard of a Candy Apple.”
“Apple juice and butterscotch schnapps,” said Saif. “It’s every bit as thick and sugary as it sounds, and if they had it I’d add caramel syrup.”
“You weren’t kidding about the sweet tooth.” Marisa sent the order, and a payment icon popped up on each of their djinnis; Saif grabbed it first, paying for the drinks with a single blink before leaning back into the curved red couch. Marisa forced herself to stay cool, looking anywhere but at Saif, and sent Anja another quick message: Please don’t buy any more Bluescreen.
Anja didn’t respond to that one.
“So what’s up with the nulis?” asked Saif, and Sahara began to explain her vidcast. Marisa watched his polite responses, eager and charming, and idly scanned his ID: Saif Roshan, living in LA on a student visa from India, studying business at USC. There was an odd glitch in the data, probably from an aftermarket edit. She’d done similar work on IDs herself, including Bao’s sisters, hiding certain legal information that they didn’t want public. Knowing that Saif had something to hide made him even more interesting than before, like a drop shadow on an image that made it pop out from the background. She wondered idly what it might be—a juvenile record? Unpaid fines somewhere? Nothing serious, or he couldn’t have gotten into USC.
I need to stop thinking about him, she told herself, and focused on the Synestheme again. She unspooled a long, white cord from the housing in the table, and when she plugged it into her headjack the music seemed to come to life around her, pulsing visibly in the air as the Synestheme interfaced with her djinni to blend all five senses together. She blinked up a few enhancements, feeling almost as if her body itself was merging with the music, and watched Saif as he smiled and murmured politely to Sahara’s ongoing monologue. A waiter nuli floated down to the table and deposited their drinks, and Marisa took a long, slow sip from her bubble tea; the mango was delicious, and the Synestheme interpreted the taste visually with a burst of subtle sparkles.
“So,” said Anja, stirring her own tea with its oversized straw. “You carrying tonight?”
“Every night,” said Saif. “You buying?”
“Buying what?” asked Marisa innocently, simultaneously sending another message to Anja: You’ve got to be kidding me.
Saif pulled a pair of black thumb drives from the pocket of his shirt. “Bluescreen. You girls try it last night?”
Sahara’s message popped up in Marisa’s vision: Is that why she brought us here?
“They didn’t,” said Anja, “because my father freaked out.” The Synestheme turned her voice into a pale pink cloud the same color as her tea, and she winked with an audible ding. “But he’s not here, so pass ’em out.”
“Wait a minute,” said Marisa, leaning forward. Her own voice came out like a cloud of shifting shapes. “He freaked out because something legitimately freaky happened.” She looked at Saif. “You want to explain that?”
Saif’s brow furrowed in genuine concern. “What happened?”
“She started sleepwalking during her trip,” said Sahara. “I’ve got the clip saved if you want to see it.”