Morgan Abrams
19 days until arrest
Once he signals the coast is clear, I take Morgan’s hand and pull him with me back into the hallway. It’s cheating, I know, to use the power of Hot Girl against him like this, but it’s easier than having an argument over what to do now. He might be okay staying cooped up in here for however many hours this place is going to be on lockdown for but I want to get home sometime today please.
We go slower this time, so Morgan can give the alert if anyone else is going to come running and risk spotting us. “It-it-it’s kind of hard to d-do that. Like this.”
I pause. “What is?”
“To um, to t-t-tell–”
“Oh. Shit, you heard me think that? I thought you said–”
He huffs, blowing out his cheeks as the two of us start walking again. “Not-not-not normally. Not without, um– without trying. But we’re t-t-touching and that um, it always–”
“I just figured you being touch-shy was an autism thing, not a telepath thing. Or like, you know–”
His face runs red.“It can be many things!”
The hallway remains empty as we power walk through it. Something is finally going our way, thank fuck. Morgan has us turn right at the intersection and the big scary gate between us and the outside is right in view. Thank fuck.
I’ll have to let go of his hand so he can do his hacker thing I guess. I can’t tell if he’s not looking at me right now because he’s being Morgan or –
“J-j-just looking. For um, for a port,” he says.
“Uh, right,” I answer, feeling dumb.
“C-c-can we… this is– I mean–” his face flushes, “th-this is a little. Dis– um, disorienting.”
Now I’m the one inspecting the wall. “Sorry,” I say, letting go–
You pull your hand back, still feeling the pressure of her skin on yours. Extremely normal thing to fixate on, Morgan. Don’t have time to be weird. Need to get on the other side of this gate before anyone else comes running this way.
There’s no convenient window screens showing adverts or recordings of the outside to plug into this time. You practically feel it, the buzzing hum of each and every wire running through the walls. Your finger scratches at the paint at a spot that feels close to the surface. Maybe there was an outlet here once? And then it got removed, or painted over or something.
“Any luck on your side?” Riley asks from across the hallway.
“N-n-no. You?”
“Nada.”
Deep breath. “Awesome.”
You move up to the gate itself, try the handle for the hell of it. It rattles under your effort, unyielding.
“It sure is locked,” Riley says, ever helpful.
“Yep.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a like, plan B for these?”
“We’re uh, looking for-for-for plan C.”
Should have stayed in that break room. Running back there is it’s own kind of risk though. Damn it, the way out is right there. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, wringing your hands as you pace in front of the keypad.
What to do what to do–
Rivka could get through this. She was trying to teach you how to do it too. With the phone thing. But you don’t– you don’t understand what it is you were actually doing right when you got her phone open. And this is a card reader. There’s nothing to type. Nothing to guess.
Just the wires, humming safely in the wall, leading through it to the door and through the floor, to the heart of the Superintendent itself far far below your feet. If you could just… just manipulate it in some way. Grab it. Squeeze it. Make it fucking open damnit.
The light blinks green and the doors unlock with a hiss of air and a cha-chunk. Immediately you jump back, Riley grabbing your arm and pulling you with her with enough force that the two of you unbalance and topple backwards with an echo of ‘ow!’
The doors remain unlocked, but don’t open.
Straining against the static, you can’t pick out anyone on the other side who could have done it.
“Uh… How– why?” Riley says, still half tangled up with you on the floor.
You pull yourself free, a fresh migraine blooming between your eyes. “Th-th-there’s no one. Come on.”
You’ve got the door open by the time Riley’s back on her feet. The two of you hurry through. The air lock hisses shut with a burst of mist and the outer doors pop free. There’s no sense pushing your luck. The two of you stumble through into the outer hallway before whatever just happened can change its mind and lock you in Hydroponics again. As soon as the doors shut behind you, the lock clicks red with a sharp chime.
Riley smooths out her shirt and pants, staring at the once-again locked doors with the stupefied expression of someone who’s just be stumped by their first in-person magic trick. “What the hell just happened?”
“I– I don’t know,” you lie.
***
According to the alert broadcast, the cause of the lockdown is street level this time, in Central, a comfortable distance away. All these interruptions must be driving Rivka crazy. You know… assuming she’s not behind it. Just like the lockdown in Epsilon, the security gates are a half-assed mess, some stopping partway, others failing to drop entirely. No one else walking through the halls seems to be paying the lockdown any mind at this point. Occasionally a suited-up Security officer comes running through and your heart briefly leaps into your throat, but otherwise… it’s like nothing happened.
Even the tram is still running on schedule.
You have to duck, briefly, into the bathroom at the transit station when you catch someone from your old school staring at you a little too long, the current of their thoughts like razor wire. And then that’s it. You’re home free. No one the wiser about what the two of you just did. Without ever discussing it, Riley joins you on the elevator back up to your apartment.
The security check when you exit the elevator is still there, but unmanned. Called away by the emergency elsewhere? The two of you don’t wait to find out. Manage to make it all the way back to your apartment without further incident.
You retreat to the safety of your room. Hesitate only a moment in the hallway, looking down at Rivka’s room at the far end. She’s at work. The odds that she’ll materialize out of thin air without warning are… okay, they’re not zero, but they aren’t high either. You leave the your door open all the same (always have an exit strategy) and fall sideways onto your bed.
Riley, already unmasked, thanks you by throwing herself face down onto the covers next to you.
“Um.”
“One sec, just need to fix my ears real quick,” she declares and rolls over. One questing hand pulls a cable out of her pocket and plugs one end into her phone. The other gets brought around to her implant. Flinches reflexively at the mild electric shock.
There isn’t much of note about your bedroom. A single window-screen, currently set to give a picture of the outside, at roughly the same height and angle you would see if it were a real window but the bedroom were on the outer wall. You’ve stopped making your bed after seeing the state of Rivka’s room, despite the increasingly unhappy messages from A* about it.
Your desk has a terminal and keyboard for doing work when the tablet won’t cut it, and an open space underneath to stash the cluster of day-to-day meds when you remember not to leave them on the bedside table. Stuff for migraines, nausea.
Other than that, nothing. No decorations. No posters. Nothing that, by rights, you should see in every teenager’s bedroom. It’s not really a mystery why. The kind of things you want, you’re not supposed to have – not allowed to have.
On that thought, it’s starting to feel weirder and weirder to be alone in here with Riley. Like you’re intruding, even though this is supposed to be your room. Her parents certainly wouldn’t like it. They probably wouldn’t like half the things the two of you do.
You roll onto your back and unhook your mask, tossing it onto the floor. “I– I c-c-can’t believe we got away with that.”
Riley unplugs her implant from her phone and slides off onto the floor, resting her head against the side of the bed. “Yeah, I feel mad lucky with, uh, you know what.”
She tilts her head up, staring at your side. “You sure you don’t know what happened back there?”
“No idea.”
Liar.
Liar liar liar.
“Hmmm…” Riley makes a show of stroking her chin. “Maybe the Superintendent is going crazy. All the half-assed lockdown procedures? Luring us all into a false sense of security and then…” She claps her hands together, “Bang! I think I watched a horror movie like that.”
You shudder. “Horrible.”
If something is wrong with the Super… That’s just unthinkable. The entire arcology would be screwed. Are you going to have to look into that too? Surely other people have noticed by now right? Actual adults with actual jobs who are supposed to be keeping that from happening?
“Got any snacks?” Riley asks.
***
Riley helps herself to the fridge, picking out a package of cupcakes and bottle of water for herself after handing one of each to you. “I can’t believe your mom doesn’t like. Cook. You know, real food? And you’re supposed to prepare all that Nutripaste shit, you know? Not just slurp it straight from the tube like some kind of weirdo. At least flavor it for fuck’s sake.”
You toy with the plastic packaging of your cupcakes, feeling obligated to defend Rivka. “Th-there’s only the uh, the t-t-two of us. She’s busy.”
“Hah! Busy blackmailing more teenagers?”
“Riley!” you hiss with a sharp gesture at the nearest camera. You’re going to need to scrub the apartment security record just to be safe, aren’t you.
Her cheeks color, chastened. Switches back to signing. “Right. Sorry. It’s just… even before all of you-know-what, she’s driven me crazy. The way she talks to you, how she just leaves you to fend for yourself all the time – it makes me so mad! Like, dude, remember? How she never showed up for you at the urgent care?
“Yeah, don’t think I forgot about that!” she adds before you can interject.
“She was working.”
“So were my parents and they still came out to yell my ear off over being a dumbass. Look at your kitchen, man. She can’t even be fucking bothered to feed you. Remember how she left you hanging when all that harassment shit went down last year – what the hell would have happened if I hadn’t–” She falters, freezing up for a second. Shakes herself and starts again. “And she’s got her stupid AI, right? The one that’s supposed to be her assistant or whatever? What the hell is her excuse?” Her gestures grow increasingly angry as she goes.
“It’s not like that. She–”
“How! How is it not?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, struggling to figure out what to say. How to defend Rivka. Because that’s what you’re supposed to be doing, right? Someone has to.
Riley looks away first. Her sudden anger melting away into discomfort. She hadn’t intended to talk about any of this, until it exploded out of her.
“S-sorry,” you blurt out.
“Dude, what? Fuck off. You’re not the one that needs to apologize. I’m sorry. I just–” she huffs, rips open her cupcake package and shoves one in her mouth before she can say anything else she regrets.
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it though?” Riley signs back. “Would you be so gung-ho on finding out if your mom was really a terrorist if she was, you know, a better human being?”
When you don’t answer right away, she adds, “You know I’m right.”
“It might not be her. Someone took the box after the attack. And Rivka’s card didn’t let us get into Hydroponics anyway.” Not that the card would stop her.
“Yeah, unless this third person is working for her too.”
“We’ll have to see. I’ll look later.” You press your fingers into the side of your head, trying to massage the bone.
“Migraine again?”
You nod. Take the opening to eat your own cupcake. Barely taste the chocolate or frosting before it’s gone. “Do you… think Brayden will get Cassandra on board with all this?”
“Who knows. She’s dating Brayden so there’s got to be something wrong with her,” Riley signs back. She screws up her face in thought, blurts it out before you can cut it off. “Hey, so is she hot?”
“Riley! She-she-she’s–”
“Straight, I know.” She snaps her fingers. “Okay, there we go, we did it. We found what’s wrong with her.”
“Riley.”
“Morgan.” She laughs. “Come on, answer the question. She’s pretty at least, right?”
You avoid her, look up at the ceiling. Study the floor. “I don’t know? I haven’t met her?”
“I’m not asking about her personality dude, you saw the same video as me.”
“I don’t really pay attention to stuff like that.”
“Oh so she’s hotter than me is what you’re saying?”
Now she’s grinning at you. Evil.
There’s no winning this. You jump out of your seat and turn around on your heel, marching out of the room to keep her from seeing your face on fire. “I’m d-d-doing my homework!”
“That’s dodging the question!”
“Y-y-you’re a lesbian! W-what do you care?”
“We still exist in a patriarchal society!” she chants, following behind you. Enjoying this way too much. Evil evil evil.
You ignore her.
“Coward!”
***
Once you make it clear you’re serious about doing homework, Riley settles herself in for long haul, reluctantly – at your insistence – getting out her phone to work on her own assignments. Or to at least pretend to work on them. Helping herself to sitting on your bed while you use the desk. Which. Is a fact that you are trying very hard not to think about.
You miss when the two of you did all your schoolwork together. You’d keep her on track, and she’d explain whenever there were instructions you didn’t understand. Now you’ve got completely different course loads.
Riley seems less interested than ever in doing any of hers.
“Damn dude, how many books do you have?” she says without looking up from your tablet. You turn to find her sprawled across the bed, feet propped up on the wall. Oh great, now she’s looking through the rest of your stuff.
“It’s not all books. There’s also uh, news articles. Th-that kind of stuff.”
“How I could I forget? Your guy-crush.” Riley rolls her eyes at you, smirking.
“Girl,” you correct, glaring at her.
Hesitate.
“Woman,” you correct yourself.
“Right.” Riley nods along. “The zappy-zappy one, yeah?”
There’s plenty of Crow-related news articles and video clips you’ve saved to local storage in there. Just in case. “She’s b-b-been fighting Imago around the city for like… th-three years now.”
Before you can stop yourself, you launch into a whole ramble, talking about the latest article you read about an event last week at some back-alley nanite clinic on South Island. One of the patients got infected early in their stay and ended up transforming (bad sanitation procedures?) only for Crow and Valkyrie to arrive and put a stop to it before the police could even arrive.
Of Boston’s, like… what is it now? Three? No, four? Four active vigilantes. Crow is the one you just can’t help following whenever she shows up in the news. For. Completely normal and serious reasons.
Meanwhile, even on the discussion boards, no one knows what Valkyrie’s glitch is. She must have something going on if she’s comfortable partnering up with Crow and fighting Imago. There’s probably cell footage floating around out there on the Socials that you could track down and–
“Man, okay, but like, and don’t take this the wrong way dude, but I don’t get it.”
You blink, rudely thrown back to reality. “Wh-what’s not to-to-to get?”
“It’s all fake right? Bunch of superhero vigilante weirdos running around the city and shit, I mean, it’s gotta be, right? Or the cops and security people would be all over it.”
“Maybe they–”
“It’s probably some weird promotional campaign, or flexing between rival CEOs or whatever freaky gene stuff rich people get up to. Remember the hoax with the giant rats? The one that turned out to be shilling for some pest control company?”
You remember. Riley was ruthless over you falling for it.
“I bet it’s another one of those. That’s why the police haven’t caught ‘em yet. They gotta be in on it, right?” She shrugs at your frown, shifts her weight on the bed and adopts a more normal sitting position. “Sorry, am I shitting on your thing again?”
“When did you get so cynical?”
“Look, I’m just saying. Look how shit the world is. The human race had its chance, right? And we blew it. Like, collectively, as a species, you know. Not us specifically, we’re innocent.” She signs with her hands as she speaks to emphasis the point. “We’ve been reading about it in my science class, right? The oceans are dead, and we’re in a– a, what was the fucking word, an ‘ecological cascade failure’ whatever that is.”
“When the-the-the failure of one part of a system causes other parts to fail,” you supply automatically.
She nods at you. “Right, that. Meanwhile, we’re all clustered into all these shitty cities, hiding behind sea walls waiting for the literal dam to break or the newest round of the turbo monster plague to kill us all.”
“Riley–”
“I’m just saying. If they were all really superheroes they wouldn’t be wasting their time beating up individual monsters. They’d be like, overthrowing the government or something.”
You want to argue the point but you don’t know how. What to say to refute it. It’s all the same stuff that Rivka bemoans. The kind of thing you try very hard not to think about whenever you poke your head onto the Chattrboard or other Socials and see post after post of people begging for help in the fleeting minutes before the janitor AI deletes them.
The kind of thing that keeps you up at night sometimes, when you just can’t avoid thinking about it any more, wracked with guilt.
“Now you sound like Rivka,” you sign.
“Oh my god, do I?” Riley slaps the sides of her face. “Uggggh. Can I smoke in here? Only drugs can save me from our existential hell.”
You glance towards the door, as if Rivka could explode through it at any moment. “Shouldn’t you be doing your own homework?”
“Nope! I give up! Nothing matters,” Riley declares. She falls backwards onto your bed, kicking her legs dramatically in the air. She fishes around in her pockets, finding her vape pen with a sigh of relief.
You watch as she takes a few hits, blowing thin clouds of smoke out her lips between each breath. She sees you watching and raises an eyebrow, holds the pen out to you. “Want a hit?”
You shake your head. Rivka would kill you.
She shrugs, and takes another. After a few seconds, she finally speaks again. Made up her mind to admit something. Worried what you’ll think of her. “I’ve decided I’m giving up on school.”
“Wh-what? Why?”
“What’s the point? Let’s face it Morgan,” she counts off each reason on her fingers: “Reason one: no one’s gonna hire the Asian lesbian; reason two: no one’s gonna hire the dumb Asian lesbian; and reason three: no one’s gonna hire the D-class family dumb Asian lesbian.”
“You’re not dumb, Riley.”
“Dude, you know what I mean. The minute I can’t lean on our cheating through all this test bullshit, I am more fucked than the head cheerleader.”
You make a face.
“Like, good for Ximena. No shade, but like. Wow.”
“Th-th-that’s gross, Riley.”
She waves off whatever else you might have said in response as she sits back up. Crosses her legs and adjusts her shirt which had started riding up before switching back to signing. “You know what the guidance counselor said to me the other week?”
You draw a question mark in the air.
“That hag told me if I didn’t shut up about being a big lesbo-dyke-girl no HR team was going to want to touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
She rolls her eyes, her signs get a little less clear, a little more emphatic. Worked up. “It’s such bullshit, you know? I tried to play by their fucking rules. Be the good little girl in public and then one mistake. One mistake and it’s all over and I can never be allowed to forget it. Assholes deface my locker and I’m the one that gets in trouble for it. And the notes, and the whispers and the– well, you remember what it’s like. I looked it up, it’s not illegal to like women. Even in this shit-ass country.”
She huffs. Runs a hand through her hair to buy time as she thinks before continuing. “So like, you know, if it costs me getting a job at this crappy company, so what? I’m not hiding myself. I’m going to rub it in people’s faces and make them see I’m just the same as any of them – or, no, you know what? I’m better, actually. You know why? Because I’m not some pervert creep who gives a shit about who fucks who in the privacy of their own home.”
You stare at her.
She’s been sitting on this for awhile. Little bits of it leaking out here and there like smoke under a shut door but you’ve never gotten the full furnace blast of it before. You wish you had that kind of energy – that level of confidence in the face of your own fears. Then maybe you’d have told her already.
She stares back, facing starting to color. Breaks eye contact, crossing her arms. “What?” she says aloud, voice guarded. Suddenly it’s clear she’s had to give this speech before. To her parents? “Are you going to tell me I’m being stupid too?”
Your eyes go wide. “N-n-n-no! No! Um, s-s-sorry. I just…” Brave doesn’t feel appropriate. The therapist loved calling you ‘brave’ too. Usually right before giving you a new tool to hurt yourself with.
“What?” Riley challenges.
“You’re– you’re really cool Riley. And funny. And– and d-d-despite what you keep insisting, you’re way smarter than I am.”
Riley stares at you for second. Trying to decide if she believes you. “Dude, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be failing right now. You’re the brains of our whole operation.”
You shake your head violently. “J-j-just take the compliment.”
She scowls. “Don’t compliment me by putting yourself down!”
“D-d-don’t put yourself down!”
“It’s not– I’m just stating straight facts!”
“Well if– if I’m s-s-so smart then I’ll just have to t-tutor you then!"
You decide it without even thinking about it.
Just because you don’t have a future doesn’t mean she can’t.
Riley physically pulls back from you. “You’ll what?” A beat. “I already told you there’s no point dude, they’re not ever gonna give me a contract anyway.”
You shake your head. “It could still help. You c-c-could try elsewhere. Or… or… a scholarship. Or something. We’ll just… do what we did before? When we were in the same classes.”
“But we aren’t in the same classes. This is just gonna to be even more work for you, dude.”
“I don’t mind.” When she doesn’t respond right away, you add, “I care about you too, y-you know?”
You expected her to make a joke at that. Try to defuse the situation somehow. She doesn’t. She goes quiet, avoiding you. Studies her lap with an intense look of concentration. Thoughts swimming through her head. So much easier to give up, you know. You know. But she doesn’t deserve that.
“What are you working on?” You scoot your chair over, try to get a closer look.
Riley puts her hand out, pushing you back. She holds up a finger. “Nuh-uh. If we’re doing this, I have a condition.”
You sit back.
She wags the finger at you. “You gotta come over this weekend for dinner. Get some real actual food. We can make it a regular study-date thing, got it?”
“I eat real actual food already.”
She doesn’t answer, just blasts you with the most witheringly skeptical look she can muster. You can clearly pick up exactly what she thinks of cultured chicken nuggets grown in the shape of dinosaurs and how little they qualify as food.
You give in. “Fine.”
“Good,” she agrees. “No– wait, scratch that, I have one more condition.”
“H-huh?”
Riley pulls herself to the end of the bed, bringing herself in easy reach of your chair. She grabs the backrest and turns you around to face the computer.
“Uh–”
With both hands she grabs your hair from around your shoulders, pulling it all back. Can feel her critical eye judging the back of your head as she digs into a pocket for a loose hair tie.
“W-warning nex-next time. Please.”
“Sorry,” she offers, not sounding very sorry at all.
You try your best not to fidget. To sit still. She hasn’t done this since before Halloween. You used to like it. Now it’s– it’s complicated now. Hurts in a way you struggle to name.
Once she’s finished, she spins you back around to face her. “Much better. Drowned rat isn’t really your look.”
“Shut up!” You twist away, hunching down. Run your fingers along the length of the braid. There’s a complicated pot of different feelings battling inside your chest. Impossible to sort out.
“You still have that nail polish I got you? From the halloween party?” A pause, then, irritation creeping into her voice. “Your mom didn’t confiscate it all did she?”
You shake your head, a lead ball sinking into your stomach. “N-no. I don’t think– No. She d-d-didn’t.”
“Great! Where is it? Come on, give it here.” She pouts at the expression on your face. “Aww… c’mon, Morgan, don’t be such a wuss. You were so desperate to get me to teach you before and you’ve never done it since. That should be like, illegal.”
“N-n-no it’s not.”
“Well it should be. What’s the big deal, anyway?”
Dread. Nausea. A tightness in your chest. “Y-y-you know why.”
“And you’re going to let an asshole like Jason Shit-For-Brains McGee win? You know who you are, right? So who cares what that wanna-be football cosplayer shits out on the net?”
You throw your hands over your face, shaking your head. “F-fine.”
“Oh please, don’t act like you hate it, you liar.”
That sets your face on fire, heart racing in your chest. “Sh-shut up!”
She laughs at you. Merciless.
Any pretense of getting more school work done today abandoned, the two of you move back to the kitchen with a copious covering of paper towels to catch any errant polish. The window screen over the couch turned on to show some life-streamer Riley likes to watch learning to roller-skate. Riley herself is uncharacteristically quiet as she focuses.
It feels weird, doing it here rather than in Riley’s room. No nosey Parson family members squabbling over control of the screen, or weird kitchen smells going on in the background.
She does your fingernails first before following up with her own hands, admonishing you to keep your fingers uncurled while it dries.
“I know th-that,” you protest, keeping them splayed out on the table. Fighting the urge to fidget with everything you have.
“Uh-huh.” Riley leans back, screwing the cap back on the polish. “So… While I’ve got you trapped in my clutches, I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Awesome.
Always a great start.
She says the next part with an exaggerated casualness. A spike of anxiety palpable underneath as she asks. “What really happened on Halloween? On your end, I mean, after we got separated.”
“Huh?” You blink, caught out by the sudden curve-ball in topic. “Wha-what? You know what happened.”
“Come on dude, I’ve bored you to death a dozen times with my story. How the hell did you get in a fight with Jason? You don’t get in fights.”
Have to swallow the lump in your throat. This is dangerously close to things you can’t talk about. Can never talk about. “D-didn’t– I mean. B-b-brayden probably told you already?”
“Nope!” Riley says, popping the ‘p,’ “and I’ve asked, by the way. He always fucking clams up and says to ask you.”
“N-n-nothing. Nothing happened. I just… I just needed to-to-to um, to get away from the noise that night, and…” oh no, that was the wrong thing to say, Riley’s thoughts have immediately veered in what may be the second worst possible direction. “It wasn’t like that!”
“Like what?” she says, air of innocence.
“I t-t-told you. That was a– a fake video. It’s not– not real.”
“Dude, am I your best friend or what? You can be honest with me.”
Noooo you can’t. You absolutely can’t. Can’t be honest with anyone ever. Life has made that exceedingly clear. And that includes Riley. You’re all the other has right now, and that can’t be jeopardized by saying something crazy like ‘hey I think I’m a girl actually.’ If she were to react badly to that, if she thought you were a pervert or dangerous or something you would– you would…
“Dude, I’m serious.” Riley is trying to look you in the eyes now and you have to dodge her gaze. “You can tell me anything, man.”
“I wouldn’t– I d-don’t even like guys th-that way. Y-you know that.”
The worst part of all of this is that she already knows most of what happened. Has all the tools she could ever need to figure it out, even if she doesn’t realize it.
But she’s all you have and if she actually puts it together, you won’t even have that.
“Alright fine. So it was nothing.” No trace of believing you in her voice. “There was never anything going on between you and Brayden.”
“N-no! I mean yes – th-there wasn’t! Still isn’t!” You play up your indignation a little. It’s almost better if she thinks you’re lying about being gay. Then maybe she’ll stop trying to connect dots.
“Com’on, you know I of all people am not gonna judge you if you two were macking on the side, right?”
Ugh. Gross. Just the one memory of it is distressing enough. “Riley, give it a rest.”
“Give what a rest? Come on, Gay–Lez solidarity is a classic.”
“I’m not– I like g-girls!” Your face immediately burns red as the rest of your brain catches up to your mouth. Someone put you down right now. It’s for your own good.
Riley just laughs. “Alright, alright. Very brave, coming out as straight in this day and age. So proud,” she says, sardonic. She caps the nail polish and pretends to wipe away a fake tear.
“W-well! It apparently is! Around you!”
She laughs at you. A small chord of anxiety unknotting itself in her chest.
Over what, exactly, you’re too flustered to figure out.