‘Cause people totally hate me. It’s like they think I’m this sickie psycho who will infect them. This Typhoid Mary thing, right? Can’t they wake up? The epidemic was all propaganda! It wasn’t as viral as they made it out to be! I’m
cured
, for God’s sake.”
“Maybe the epidemic was the Illuminati trying to control the population, and they’re annoyed they failed,” I try.
“Yeah, and you are a laugh a minute, Ella! Seriously, I can’t deal with that vile disease. You and Grandpa were the only ones who understood me, who cared that I was sick. Now, he’s not even around.” She stares at the waves.
My neck creaks when I look up at her. “The professor still cares about us,” I say sympathetically. “He left to… to, you know, pursue his dreams. And to end sickness. He’s doing a good thing, Gabby. Besides, you have me! I can sit on your desk and learn things at school now. I hated being in that cramped bag and peeking through the pockets. This whole pretending to be a robot thing was a genius idea.”
“If anyone knew you were really human—”
“—they won’t find out.” I pat her thumb. “People just think you have the coolest toy in the world that can help with the homework.”
Gabby cracks a small smile and picks up sand, running it through the gaps in her fingers. “I don’t blame you, you know. They shouldn’t have filmed you.”
I shrug. “I went viral on the internet. It’s every teenager’s dream!”
“But you’re not a teenager…” Gabby mumbles, sweeping her golden hair behind her ear. It’s the same color as the sun’s reflection on the waves. I like it.
I don’t reply. Gabby’s been particularly snappy lately, and I don’t want to aggravate her further. She pushes herself up. “Let’s go. Dinner’s almost on.” She lifts me onto her shoulder, my parrot on a pirate shtick. “It’s Thursday, so I’m guessing spaghetti. Yum!”
“Spaghetti looks messy.”
“That’s half the allure.”
Gabby trudges through the sand, visibly saddened to leave behind the calming waves. I’m not bothered—after all, there’s always tomorrow.
She ungracefully shuffles up the cemented stairs until we hit road. The street is empty, and the stores are closed. It’s amazing how quickly the world shuts down.
“I don’t want to go home.” Gabby kicks a pebble. “Pam and Jason will be going at each other again.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call them that,” I say quietly, removing my hand to shake out sand from the socket.
“It’s the only way to grab their attention lately.”
“They’re not here right now,” I say, “so you don’t need to do that. They’re your parents; you should treat them as such.”
“And you’re…” Her eyes flash when she turns to me, her frown turning sympathetic. She sighs and shakes her head. “No one’s who they think they are.”
I don’t know what she means. Maybe she’s depressed. I could find some pills in the medicine cabinet. One of them is bound to help.
“Can we walk down Main Street?” I shift uncomfortably when Gabby turns into a dimly lit street.
“Why?”
“Because the TV reported six local girls missing last night. I don’t want you to be number seven.”
Gabby pauses at the intersection. She knows I have a point. Her usual shortcut shaves ten minutes off our walk, but the Main Street route promises lights and people—two things that render darkness less terrifying. Reluctantly, she turns around and continues down Main Street, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets.
Riding on Gabby’s shoulder is what it must be like for a human to ride an elephant or camel. Her strides are unpredictable and bumpy, so I have to hold onto her ear for balance. No one looks at me. The town is used to Gabby having a “robot” on her shoulder.
We stop at a store window with dozens of dolls smiling blankly at us through their plastic prison boxes.
They spot us and wave, banging on their boxes to get our
cured
, for God’s sake.”
“Maybe the epidemic was the Illuminati trying to control the population, and they’re annoyed they failed,” I try.
“Yeah, and you are a laugh a minute, Ella! Seriously, I can’t deal with that vile disease. You and Grandpa were the only ones who understood me, who cared that I was sick. Now, he’s not even around.” She stares at the waves.
My neck creaks when I look up at her. “The professor still cares about us,” I say sympathetically. “He left to… to, you know, pursue his dreams. And to end sickness. He’s doing a good thing, Gabby. Besides, you have me! I can sit on your desk and learn things at school now. I hated being in that cramped bag and peeking through the pockets. This whole pretending to be a robot thing was a genius idea.”
“If anyone knew you were really human—”
“—they won’t find out.” I pat her thumb. “People just think you have the coolest toy in the world that can help with the homework.”
Gabby cracks a small smile and picks up sand, running it through the gaps in her fingers. “I don’t blame you, you know. They shouldn’t have filmed you.”
I shrug. “I went viral on the internet. It’s every teenager’s dream!”
“But you’re not a teenager…” Gabby mumbles, sweeping her golden hair behind her ear. It’s the same color as the sun’s reflection on the waves. I like it.
I don’t reply. Gabby’s been particularly snappy lately, and I don’t want to aggravate her further. She pushes herself up. “Let’s go. Dinner’s almost on.” She lifts me onto her shoulder, my parrot on a pirate shtick. “It’s Thursday, so I’m guessing spaghetti. Yum!”
“Spaghetti looks messy.”
“That’s half the allure.”
Gabby trudges through the sand, visibly saddened to leave behind the calming waves. I’m not bothered—after all, there’s always tomorrow.
She ungracefully shuffles up the cemented stairs until we hit road. The street is empty, and the stores are closed. It’s amazing how quickly the world shuts down.
“I don’t want to go home.” Gabby kicks a pebble. “Pam and Jason will be going at each other again.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call them that,” I say quietly, removing my hand to shake out sand from the socket.
“It’s the only way to grab their attention lately.”
“They’re not here right now,” I say, “so you don’t need to do that. They’re your parents; you should treat them as such.”
“And you’re…” Her eyes flash when she turns to me, her frown turning sympathetic. She sighs and shakes her head. “No one’s who they think they are.”
I don’t know what she means. Maybe she’s depressed. I could find some pills in the medicine cabinet. One of them is bound to help.
“Can we walk down Main Street?” I shift uncomfortably when Gabby turns into a dimly lit street.
“Why?”
“Because the TV reported six local girls missing last night. I don’t want you to be number seven.”
Gabby pauses at the intersection. She knows I have a point. Her usual shortcut shaves ten minutes off our walk, but the Main Street route promises lights and people—two things that render darkness less terrifying. Reluctantly, she turns around and continues down Main Street, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets.
Riding on Gabby’s shoulder is what it must be like for a human to ride an elephant or camel. Her strides are unpredictable and bumpy, so I have to hold onto her ear for balance. No one looks at me. The town is used to Gabby having a “robot” on her shoulder.
We stop at a store window with dozens of dolls smiling blankly at us through their plastic prison boxes.
They spot us and wave, banging on their boxes to get our
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