“So what are we supposed to do?” His voice cracked. “Because you clearly don’t trust me, which means you’ll never date me. And this ‘look but don’t touch’ thing we’ve got going on? It makes me crazy, so we can’t be just friends.”
And then all of a sudden his eyes filled, his lower lip kind of trembled, and Mac, my Mac, started to cry. Clearly not pleased with this development, he gave an exasperated huff. Yet tears kept sneaking out. He brushed them away with his thumb, sniffed. More tears came. And watching Mac try to not cry while fully crying—at the thought of losing me, mind you—I mean, it was almost as upsetting as watching the Mr. E. video for the first time.
Whatever other labels he fell under, Mac was one of my best friends. We were supposed to protect each other from hurt, not cause it.
All my anger dissolved away as if I had melted out of my clothes. Picking up my coat, I rummaged through the pockets until I found a tissue. I handed it to him. He blew his nose. I picked a fleck of tissue off his cheek.
“Thanks.”
He held his arms open. I walked into them and, in my socked feet, stood on his shoes. I messed with his curls. He pressed into my touch. We put our foreheads together. And it was then I realized I did trust him. Mac had been there for me this week. More than my mom or my dad or my brother, and, with the exception of maybe Sharma, more than any of the girls. So what did the past matter? Mom and Audra were right. The thing about history was that it was freshly created every second.
I’ve never understood indirectness or people who were afraid of definitive sentences. It’s actually really easy to get what you want. You just say it. And what I wanted was Mackenzie Rodriguez.
“Mac—”
He kissed the side of my head and untangled himself.
“It’s been real, amiga. Be safe tomorrow in Philly, okay?”
Sure, I could have stopped him. I could have completed my sentence. But if Mac so badly wanted to walk out of my life without any further discussion, then I figured it was probably best that I let him.
At two a.m. my Doc belched. It was the new txt sound I’d given to AnyLies. President Malin always said that we are born limitless and then proceed to chip away at that status throughout our lives. She said we create our own fears. So I figured why give AnyLies the power of a scary txt tone?
Audra could worship the B&P chick, or, well, herself, I guess—ew, hello, narcissism—all she wanted. Corny as it might be, I still thought President Malin was the SHT, and her Limitless speech still equaled my all-time fave. I’d first heard it after a particularly rough spell with my mom second week sophomore year. Up to that point, I’d been using my mom as my sage-advice wellspring. But since I began at Prep, all her advice had gone down the “maybe you should try being less you” route.
President Malin had been my go-to guru ever since.
My Doc belched again.
I know we’re not txt friends anymore.
Was wondering tho how it feels?
After a lengthy pause, I replied.
moi How what feels?
Coming in last. Not on top anymore, are you? Look at what weak foundations you built. I took it all away in a matter of days.
moi That’s what you think.
My Doc spooled angrily.
THAT IS WHAT I KNOW.
Grinning, I fluffed my pillows, then clicked off my light. Before muting my Doc and hunkering deep under my covers, I shot off one last message. I even happy-sighed as I closed my eyes. It would be a good sleeping night.
moi Sure thing. I just hope you’re ready. I am SO coming to get you.
A HopSkip bus to Philadelphia took two hours and cost eighty-five dollars round-trip. Sharma and I arrived forty minutes early and still had to wait in a line at least a hundred people long. Last night, I’d group txted all the usuals about going to Philly, and then one by one I’d deleted names from the list. Mac’s went first, then Audra’s, then Fawn’s, and last Kyle’s. So it was only Sharma who’d received the Rory debriefing, along with the Woofer pic that AnyLies had sent me of her wearing the Kyla wig. Her reply had been instant.
sharm Ha! Where’d you find that? Wore it all night. Me + extensions = awesome. What time we leaving for cheesesteak central?
Earlier that morning—almost exactly one week to the hour that the video dropped—Sharma and I were excused from classes before we even set foot in school. Off-grounds passes, signed by each of our dads and a deputy secretary of Homeland Security, were sent to each of our teachers excusing us for the entire day so that we could attend a classified meeting.
“Whoa, a little over-the-top, don’t you think? How’d you forge that?” I asked when I saw the e-sig. “Graff will never—”
“Will never say anything. Only forged the parent signatures. Hubert owes me.”
“Sharma, sometime I’d love to hear more about what you do in your free time.”
Now, as a glacial wind blew up Thirty-Seventh Street, we huddled together for warmth. It was so cold, Sharma wasn’t even on her Doc—a first. It also equaled the first time we’d hung out alone, ever.
“And then they were down to two, huh?” she said, as if she’d hacked my brain. “Man, winter is by far my least favorite season.”
“Sharm,” I snorted. “It’s so cold, you just made a complete sentence.”
“Kylie, did you know only one percent of people are thought to have an IQ higher than one hundred thirty? When they tested mine for Code to Work, they estimated it at one-sixty-eight. The test’s wack, because there are infinite kinds of intelligence, but Einstein’s IQ was only estimated at one-sixty. I’m pretty sure I’m able to speak in complete sentences, but no one wants to hear what fourth-wheel Sharma has to say unless it’s about amping up their connection speed or, like, hacking Destiny Spark’s Doc. Which is not even that interesting, B-T-W. She totally underutilizes her tech. It’s okay. You don’t have to make consternation face. I was a fourth wheel even when there were only three of us.”
I couldn’t have been more surprised than if Sharma had peeled off her face, yelled Ha-HA, and turned out to be an alien. I’d known Sharma for three-plus years. She’d been talking in gamer-speak this whole time because otherwise she thought no one would listen to her?
“Do I know my friends at all?”
“Better than anyone.” Sharma blew warm air into her gloved hands. “Don’t look so upset. We all do it. If I didn’t watch you online, I’d never know how amazing you are. The chats you have with the people in your clubs, the essays you write. Audra thinks I’m the smartest, but Kylie, I think we tie. Every morning, when I give newsreel, you already know it all except for the funny trending vids. Trying to trump you equals the most interesting part of my day. But around us, you way scale back your smarts and natural interests.”
“If I didn’t, you guys would think I was even more unbearable.”