The PulseTeam, Book Two: Evolution

Chapter Ten: Saving The PulseTeam

Part One: Failing To Reassure Alexa

The Monitor | Cleveland, Ohio
Friday, May 26, 2034 | 20:00 EST

Tonight, I have everything ready for me and Alexa's date night. I have the Disney Princess Marathon we agreed on and the Chinese food. (Yes, we watch Disney Princess movies; sue us!) But this time, instead of her coming to my room in her usual crop top and shorts, she arrives in a loose white t-shirt and a baggy pair of gray sweatpants.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I say, "where'd your other pajamas go?"

"I'm too fat for them," she replies, plainly and sadly.

"According to... whom?" I ask coldly, clearly very irritated.

Who told my sweet drop of chocolate vanilla that she was even a fraction of an ounce overweight?! I will literally RIP THAT PERSON APART.

But I can probably already answer--not guess--the question of exactly who put this utterly ridiculous and utterly damaging notion of her obesity in her head.

"No, wait, don't tell me: It was BRITTNEY," I state with a crisp scowl on my face, crossing my arms.

She only hangs her head in response, and tears begin to fall from her face. Fuming, I gently take her face in my hands and softly say, "You let her get to you again, didn't you?"

Sniffling, she nods.

"Okay," I say, sighing, I wrap my arms around her as she cries silently, and it all comes together. "I know what I need to do. In the meantime, I want to show you something. But first, I need you to do me a favor."

She pulls away and asks, "What is it?"

Calming down a little, I reply, "Go and change into your other pajamas."

"But--" she starts, and I cut her off.

"--No buts, honey. Go change."

"But--"

"--Alexandra Myshon Smith: In order to show you what I need to show you, go change... please."

"Okay," she concedes, and she leaves.

Once she comes back in my room in her normal sleepwear, I take her by her hands and lead her in front of my mirror.

"David--" she starts but I cut her off again.

"--Just hear me out," I say, standing behind her and placing my hands on her shoulders. "I wanted to show you what you think you think you look like versus what I can plainly see you look like."

"Why?" she asks. "It's not like it's going to make any difference."

"Oh, I think it might," I say, as I streak over to my work desk and grab two one-inch discs, and walk back to her.

"What are those?" asks Alexa.

"These are cerebral transmitters," I reply. "They will allow your eyes to transmit video signals to my brain, and my eyes to transmit video signals to your brain."

"For what purpose?"

"I need you to see you the way I see you. And I need to see how you see you. And the only way to do that is for us to look through each other's eyes. Literally. So let me just put this on you..."

I place a transmitter on her right temple, and the other on my right temple.

"Lightly tap it twice to activate it," I say.

We do so at the same time. At first, it's a little dark, and then there's a flash of light. As our eyes adjust to the light, I see a bigger, flabbier version of Alexa who isn't as... aesthetically pleasing as the real-life version.