Touch

Part 1

Jeremy Heere hadn't touched a drop of Mountain Dew--or anything artificially green, carbonated, and loaded with fructose corn syrup for that matter--since the school play incident. Which was why, in the middle of the mall food court with his Taco Bell burrito, he became incredibly alarmed when he sipped not lemonade, but the distinct bubbly flavor of Mountain Dew from his cup. In the split second it took him to realize his mistake, spit the beverage all over his food, and drop his drink all over the floor, Jeremy knew he'd fucked up.

But maybe he'd caught it in time? Maybe the Squip really was gone forever? Maybe he had no reason to panic.

Too late.

In the middle of a crowded mall food court, Jeremy Heere experienced the third worst headache of his life. The pain ripped through his skull like a bolt of lightning, pain sharp enough to blind him, and he jumped up from his seat with a loud yelp. His chair clattered loudly against the linoleum floor, followed quickly by the table, scattering the sad contents of his lunch. But in an instant it was over, leaving his breathless and hunched over and drenched in a cold sweat. For a moment Jeremy wasn't sure what to do, so he just stood there awkwardly, face growing red with heat as he felt the eyes of the entire food court staring at him.

It seemed he was doomed to be a freak his whole life.

He waited. He waited until his shoulders began to ache from the tension, unable to look up from the floor. And yet there was only silence in his head. No familiar, seductive voice of his computerized tormentor scolding him for causing such a mess. So finally Jeremy heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed.

Hello, Jeremy.

"Shit!" Shit. Shit, fuck, shitty fuck fuck fuckstick fuckfuckfuck. Jeremy made a break for it. He abandoned his mess and ran for the bathroom tucked into the corner of the food court, threw himself through the the door, and locked himself inside the first open stall.

"Oh my god, I have to call Michael." Michael and he shared a college dorm. Michael would have Mountain Dew Red stashed somewhere in their room. Why hadn't they discussed a possible emergency plan before this? That was stupid. This was stupid.

You shouldn't talk to yourself in public, Jeremy. They might think you're crazy. Or, well, crazier.

"I don't want your advice! Shutdown." He hadn't meant to yell so loudly, and he was pretty sure that his voice had cracked, but Jeremy didn't have time to worry about that. He was panicking so much he could barely type. He even dropped his phone twice! The guy in the stall next to him probably thought he was having some kind of fit. (He kind of was, really.)

The phone rang twice and Michael answered.

"Yo, Jeremy! I'm with my mom right now, can I call you back—"

"Code Red, Michael. Code Red!"

"Wait, what."

"I was having Taco Bell and they gave me Mountain Dew instead of lemonade and the Squip is back and I'm freaking out, man!"

"Oh, that's bad."

"You think?"

"Don't freak, dude. I have Mountain Dew Red in a case under my bed in the dorm. Where are you? I can be there in an hour!"

"Heading to the dorm right now!" Jeremy slammed the stall door open and rushed out. He was back in the room he shared with Michael within ten minutes, head buzzing and full of anxiety, and took no time in digging everything out from under Michael's bed.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon oh thank goodness." He pulled a heavy briefcase out from under the bed, covered in pac-man and sonic stickers. Jeremy tried to flip to case open but it was locked. Why would Michael lock the damn briefcase? He couldn't wait an hour! The Squip could gain control somehow any minute and try to take over the world again with some insane Squip hivemind.