How to Repair a Mechanical Heart - By J. C. Lillis Page 0,61
speakers; Abel and I sit crosslegged on the bed in the tiny back room. We’re wearing matching white baseball caps that say I GOT LUCKY IN VEGAS in glitter, and beside us on two paper plates are remnants of the world’s unhealthiest lunch: leftover truck stop biscuits and gravy, plus a fried-egg-and-cheese scramble with onions and tomatoes from a roadside stand near Victorville. There’s tomato juice on my Castaway Planet shirt and Utah dirt under my fingernails. I’ve never been happier in my entire life.
He takes a deep breath. “Should we do it?”
“Now?”
“It’s been so long.”
“Three days.”
“Okay. You first.”
“No, together.”
“On three. One, two…”
We whip out our phones. The no-media rule Abel thought up was great in terms of first-boyfriend-bonding, but it’s Day 3 already and our fingers have been itching since Vegas. 72 hours without email or Facebook, not to mention the Cadsim fanjournal, the Church of Abandon, or the newsfeed at the main Castaway site, is kind of like seeing how long you can go without peeing or using the letter A.
“Susannah’s in Tucson with my mom,” Abel reports. “Just did her twentieth book signing. She tweets ‘i miss u, have fun u should kiss brandon.’”
“Aw. Tell her you are, right now.” I lean over and give him a peck. “Okay, new rumor: Sim might have an evil clone next season? Whaaat?”
“Not true. Darras debunked it last night, apparently.”
“When?”
“Twitter party.”
“Thank God…Oh, damn. Got a college orientation email.”
“Begone. We’re not thinking about that.” Abel waves it away. “Ahhh, retro robot. How I’ve missed you…”
Great. Four emails from my parents. I click one.
Hi Sweetie,
We haven’t heard from you since Sun. nite – tried calling you twice today but your phone was off. PLEASE make sure you call us tonite!! You know how we worry. Are you and Becky having fun? Hope you’re really getting a chance to enjoy your alone time together, you 2 are so good for each other. Dad says to tell you, you can take her out for a special dinner anywhere you want. It would be our treat.
Be very safe! Remember, we love you.
Mom (and Dad)
P.S. Helped Fr. Mike with the ice cream social yesterday – he says a big hello.
I reply Sorry! All’s well, having fun! and delete their email fast. Not going to bother me.
“You’re missing some quality flailing over here,” says Abel.
“Yeah?”
Remember, we love you. What was that? The sneakiest guilt trip ever.
“What’s wrong?” Abel says.
“Just—annoying emails.”
“Well, the night after our little afterglow video went up, there was an all-night party post that hit thirty-six pages by morning.”
I grin. “We are legendary.”
“The bards sing of us. whispering!sage wrote a series of haiku about how their community brought us together.”
“Wow!”
“Then a_rose_knows tried to make the #abandonship hashtag happen in our honor.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Several reports of heads exploding, lady parts combusting…doomerang theorizes that she’s actually dead and this is her heavenly reward…lone detective pops in her cynical head to say we’re clearly playing them like a fiddle and laughing our asses off.”
“Mm. I don’t care for her.”
“Me neither. You will also be pleased to know that due to our hookup, sorcha doo melted into a pink puddle of happiness and is now typing with her disembodied eyeballs.”
“This pleases me.”
“It’s so great, Bran. Everyone capslocked the whole entire night and they posted gifs of fireworks and Kermit the Frog flailing, and—Oh.”
Abel’s whole face changes. His eyebrows push together and he cocks his head. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing, just…” He hands me the phone, tries to keep it light. “Their fearless leader appears to be M.I.A.”
retro robot: Um, so…I hate to stop flailing for even a second, but WHERE IS OUR MAMACITA?? Has anyone heard from her?
whispering!sage: omg literally not a thing. like I said, she was supposed to meet up with us at the ball but she never showed.
sorcha doo: u guys. that’s weird. really.
a_rose_knows: I know. BIZARRE. Packs of rabid wolves couldn’t keep her from this place after official Abandon hookup. It is known.
amity crashful: I’m worried, people. I gotta admit.
A little chill flashes down my back. The biscuits and gravy sink in my stomach.
“You don’t think…” Abel clutches my arm. “…her head literally exploded, do you?”
I tap the second page of comments. I scan it, scrolling fast with my thumb.
“Two hot boys are being sought for manslaughter in connection with the cranial detonation of one hey_mamacita,” Abel says into a salt-shaker microphone. “The boys should be considered armed, dangerous, and extremely—”
“Oh God. Look at this.”
retro robot: Guys. Guys. Look. HER JOURNAL’S GONE.