Winks and words twinkled across her retinas. “;-) ;-) ;-) Amitteee hz a boyfrend! Amittee hz a boyfrend! ;-) ;-) ;-)”
The message scrolled left into Amity’s peripheral vision. She grinned and waved at her friends as their autocab pulled away. Amity skipped happily for one, two steps, then three but made herself stop and walk the rest of the way. She palmed the biolock on the door frame. Her face slid from fading giddiness to practiced world-weariness when she spotted her parents watching the Wall in the living room.
“How was the dance?” Mom said. The Wall sensed it had lost its audience and froze, waiting for the command to resume. “Did you talk to any cute boys?”
“Mom!” The girl stretched the word by a syllable; in her head it sounded like “moron.” Amity didn’t believe Mom would recognize a cute boy if one kissed her on the mouth. Mom chuckled and exchanged winks with Dad.
“Go on up to bed. Amber’s sleeping, so ixnay on the oisenay,” Mom said. “We’re leaving for Grandma’s early tomorrow.”
Amity offered both parents perfunctory cheek pecks. The softporndrama on the Wall had already reclaimed most of their attention.
Amity jogged up the stairs to the bathroom. Eleven minutes of scrubbing and brushing later, the teen was in her room. She flopped on her bed and brought up her onboard’s menu. Amity closed her eyes and scrolled through the pictures she’d taken at the dance until she found one of Kyle Latham, widely regarded as the cutest boy at school. They’d danced all night, and she’d let him put his hands on her breasts while they kissed. The picture she had of him smiling, his blue eyes flashing, was a keeper. She attached it to an email and addressed it to the girls from the taxi: “Hndz off, beetches. Heeez all mines. :-)”
Amity cracked a king-sized yawn. She got her syncband from the nightstand, the faux terrycloth circle glowing softly in the dimming room, and stretched it around her head. The onboard made contact, and a day’s worth of school notes, photos, and voice recordings streamed to the Cloud. While Amity slept, the onboard would download her schedule, summarize her required school readings, and update her newsfeeds with the latest in music, fashion, and celebrity gossip.
Amity’s personal CloudPal, KittyKat15, shot her a message in Wizard-World font: “Hi, BFF. Wud u lik a Sweet Dream?”
Amity moused “yes,” and followed KittyKat15 through the menus to a romantic-themed comedy. She entered “Kyle” for the name of the dream’s love interest. KittyKat15 adjusted the image of the romantic lead to suit Amity’s new favorite picture, and the dream began to play.
Amity didn’t notice the seizure that made her piss herself and grind her teeth together fifteen minutes later. She was with Kyle, and he was being so sweet. The wind played with his hair, and his eyes sparkled as he leaned close to kiss her.
“I love you,” she said.
The dream stuttered, and Kyle’s cute face blinked into an eyeless mask. “Ditto, babe,” he said. Kyle bit into Amity’s forehead, his suddenly huge mouth full of tiny, sharp teeth.
#
Davis Wood took a pull from his beer and settled into the battered recliner. The ancient computer in his lap beeped synchronicity with its distant target — an automated observatory on two acres of the Sonoma desert Wood had inherited from his grandfather.
Wood strained to see the heavens through the light pollution and smog, but the only things in view from the observation platform he’d hammered together on his condo roof were the moon and a few of the brightest stars: Alpha Centauri, Canopus, and Arcturus. He held up his beer in salute.
