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sorcha doo:
lol what do u know about Brandon. can u give us more details
whispering!sage:
yes please. insider details. we will venerate you forever and bake you snickerdoodles. from scratch.
lone detective:
IF you’re legit. Ha.
Oh, I’m legit. Let’s see…
Abel looks me up and down.
Brandon’s eyes, close up, are the deep and mysterious blue of an ocean at midnight. His hair smells intoxicating, like freshly mown grass and dryer sheets. He is a man of exquisite intelligence and sensitivity, as evidenced by his music collection which is crammed with Dylan and Jeff Buckley and Elliott Smith and a buttload of other dead or half-dead singer-songwriter types. He irons his shorts, he reads vintage Ray Bradbury, and he likes plates with compartments because he can’t stand when food touches other food, which could be a
Plus…he secretly thinks Cadmus is H-O-T-T.
He taps post comment and cringes. “Don’t kill me!”
I don’t care about the Cadmus thing though, the room is spi
“Does my hair really smell like grass?”
“And Bounce. I wouldn’t lie about something so important.”
He aims a sparkly shivery grin at me. I lean over him and refresh the page.
hey_mamacita:
I choose to believe you, mysterious stranger.
sorcha doo:
me too me too me toooo omg 5 million goosebumps rte now
lone detective:
Sounds a little too breathless for me, tbh.
thanks4caring:
what about Abel? Do you know him too?? DETAILS.
I drag the laptop up on my knee.
“What’re you doing?”
“Shh.” I’m already typing.
His shoulders bunch and he fakes a shudder. “Should I be scared?”
I narrow my eyes. “Terrified.”
I don’t know Abel as much as I know Brandon. However, I can tell you that he smells like ci
ALSO, here’s a scoop for those of you attending the Castaway Ball in Long Beach. THEY’RE GOING. Together. I heard Abel bought the tix before the trip even started.
“Wowww.”
Abel’s chin is on my shoulder and his finger is tracing my words in the comment box and the room is seriously tilting, his warm breath prickling my neck and setting off tiny electric shocks all through my arms and legs. My knee is touching the wreckage of a WordWhap game from earlier; the tiles are all jumbled now except for Abel’s wi
I tap post comment.
The community goes ballistic.
amity crashful:
I am smiling so hard I literally ca
sorcha doo:
i squeed so loud my mom came ru
hey_mamacita:
HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL EVERYONE PAINT YOURSELF A TECHNICOLOR PICTURE OF THE GLORIOSITY THAT AWAITS AT THE CASTAWAY BALL. IT IS JUST EXACTLY WHAT I PLANNED FOR THEM. i’m not even kidding you guys. chapter 18 of “how to repair a mechanical heart,” verbatim from my outline:
Brandon and Abel attend the ball together at the Long Beach con. By now Brandon has fully co
retro robot:
OMG mamacita that is eerie. I love you so much.
sorcha doo:
mamacitaaa u give me life.
hey_mamacita:
THIS HAS TO HAPPEN. WE WILL WRITE IT INTO BEING.
We can’t stop giggling. I shove the laptop off me and Abel takes its place, he twists around and drops his head in my lap and laughs through his fingers and wow his head is heavy and beautiful, like some sort of ancient stone that glows inside and holds all the secrets of the universe. He clasps Plastic Sim to his chest. I pluck Plastic Cadmus from my neckband. I walk him down my arm, hop him lightly over Abel’s smooth forehead, nose, chin, throat. I tap his clavicle with Cadmus’ tiny boot.
“Hey. Tin Man.”
Abel closes his eyes and grins. “Yes, Captain.” He gets the Sim voice just right: smooth and clipped, like a sexy GPS.
“Got a proposition for ya.”
“I shall look forward to receiving it.”
I draw a slow circle around Plastic Sim with the head of Plastic Cadmus, skimming the center of Abel’s chest. I pretend it’s my finger there, tracing and retracing a ring around his heart.
“We should do it,” I murmur.
Abel’s eyes fly open wide and I see Bec sit up in the loft.
“No. No no, not that.” I pat his hair. It’s so soft, like fresh cotton candy. “I mean we should give the fans what they really want. At the nerd prom.”
“I should deflower you under the disco ball?”
“Nooo…But what about a kiss?”
He lifts his head off my lap.
“For serious?”
“Why not? We’re the creators.”
“Like, full-on—”
“Full-on fanfic fantasy. We’ll dress like Sim and Cadmus. Plan the whole thing out this week. Their heads will explode.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I mean…” He picks at the pinecone rug, biting back a smile. “Can you handle that?”
I quote hey_mamacita’s new chapter. “I’m ready for anything.”
“Brandon?” Bec’s shimmying down from the loft. “Can I see you a second?”
“What’s up?”
“Outside. It’s about Dave.”
“Sure…”
She hurries me outside to the kiddie playground two RVs over and it’s so so beautiful, it’s like a snapshot of every summer we RVed together as kids, the same creaky swings and dented slide and monkey bars curved in a rainbow arch. You can almost taste the juice boxes and smooshed PBJs. She sits me down on the rusted merry-go-round and claps her hands on my shoulders.
“Remember that time—”
“—we exploded marshmallows in your mom’s microwave? Yes.”
She sighs. “Remember two years ago, when Nick Fazzolari wanted to take me to Burning Man and when I told you about it you just did this with your eyebrows and then the next day I backed out?”
“Yeahhh…”
She gives me the eyebrows.
“Aw, what?”
“I’m ready for anything?”
I tamp down a laugh. “So?”
“This is quite the turnaround.”
“Yeah, well, it happens.” I stretch out on the merry-go-round platform. “Sudden conversion. Road to Damascus. Bam!”
“Uh-huh.” She climbs up next to me. “Tell me you know what you’re doing.”
“It’s all fake. Relax.”
“Fake.”
“Yes.”
“A hundred percent fake.”
“Yes.” I think about Abel’s head in my lap. “…Eighty-five percent.”
“Brandon!”
“What?”
“Just—proceed with caution.”
“It’s Abel.”
“Hence my concern.”
“He’s awesome.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I thought you wanted me to find someone. You were like, ‘you can’t stay fucked up forever’—”
“I know! I do. I want you to. Just…”