by Alicia Rades
Except . . . Not this time. Not with Carter.
I stop wiping at my dress. “How come everyone cheered?” I find myself saying. I don’t know where that came from, but I feel the need to explain my question. I let my eyes wander up to his face as I speak nervously. “In the lunch room after you got your upgrade. Everyone seemed to like the fact that you got a new implant. They weren’t jealous or anything.”
He shrugged. “I think a few of them were, but having the upgrade is cool, I guess. You know, people think your upgrades are always cool, too. If you weren’t such a loner, people would want to ask you about it, but everyone is afraid to.”
I snort. I actually, legitimately snort. My cheeks flame in embarrassment, and my hands shake against my dress as I go back to working the fruit punch out of it in an attempt to avoid his gaze. “No, they wouldn’t. Everyone hates me. They hate me because of my upgrades.”
“You really think that?” Carter asks. He looks me up and down as he says this. Then he shakes his head. “That stain isn’t going to come out. Here, take it off.”
“What?” I can’t believe what he just said. Carter Hayes just asked me to take off my clothes. I mean, it wasn’t like that, but it still makes the nerves in my body ignite.
I look down at my dress and realize he’s right. It’s probably better to walk around in my bikini than a ruined dress. I slip it off, which makes me feel really awkward because his eyes are on me. I think I see them linger for a second.
He holds out his hand, and I hand over my dress even though I have no idea what he intends to do with it. He gestures for me to follow him, so I do. We walk down a long hallway and into a laundry room. It’s a lot smaller than my laundry room, barely big enough for two people, so when we step inside, it feels kind of cramped.
Carter smiles as he holds up a bottle of bleach. “This should do it,” he says as he throws my dress and some bleach into the wash.
“You sure know your way around the Wright’s house,” I say, almost too softly because I still can’t believe that I’m alone with him.
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I used to date Ariel, so I’d come over a lot.”
“Used to?” I ask, surprised at how bold I am at the moment. Judging by the way Ariel still hangs on him, I assumed they were still together.
He nods as he shifts toward me slightly, and then his body presses up against mine. I freeze. What is going on? Is he flirting with me? Then I realize that he’s only putting the bleach back on the shelf. We wouldn’t be pressed up this close if the room wasn’t so small. Still, I can’t help but take in his scent and go weak in the knees.
“Oh. My. God.”
Carter and I both look toward the hall where the voice came from. Trish Spencer, Ariel’s right-hand lady, is standing in the doorway. Of course, she had to choose the most inopportune moment to walk in on us.
Trish flees, and Carter chases after her. Because I don’t know what else to do, I follow quickly behind him.
When I reach the end of the hall and enter the kitchen, Carter is saying, “Come on, Trish. It wasn’t like that.”
Ariel is standing in the kitchen with her arms crossed over her body. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and she’s glaring at Carter.
“I was just helping her clean up from spilling juice all over her,” Carter explains.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ariel says.
“They were totally making out,” Trish says.
“We were not!” I defend, although what I really want to do is disappear. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I look around the room quickly, and everyone has stopped to watch the scene. It’s not just people in the kitchen; everyone in the living room is looking on now, too.
“What are you even doing here, Mila Brooks?” Ariel snarls at me. She pronounces my name as if it’s poison in her mouth.
I freeze. There are so many eyes on me right now. “I—uh.” My quick breathing makes it hard to spit out my words. I choke on them. “Your announcement said anyone was invited.” The lump rising in my throat causes my explanation to come out as a mere whisper.
“You didn’t actually think that meant you, did you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say.
“News flash,” Ariel says, “it didn’t. I don’t invite losers to my parties.”
I’m keenly aware of all the other eyes on me, but I’m not sure if Ariel is. If she was, would she be saying such hurtful things and risk her chance at homecoming court? Or is this the kind of thing people like about her? I can’t imagine why they would.
Tears threaten at my eyes. “Okay,” my voice cracks, and I hate myself for letting that happen. It only shows my weakness. I don’t dare open my mouth again.
I turn to leave, but Ariel doesn’t seem like she’s finished yet. “If your loser boyfriend P.J. is here, you better take him with you.”
I ball my hands into fists and want to turn back and smack her in the face, but I don’t have the courage. I can’t even turn back to correct her on J.P.’s name. Instead, I push through the crowd and rush toward my bike.
“Mila,” a voice calls behind me. “Mila.” It’s catching up.
I grip onto my bike’s handlebars and swing the kickstand up with my foot. Strong hands grip around my shoulders. I try to push them away with a single hand, but I only start crying instead. I turn to see who chased me, and I find Carter standing over me once again.
“Come to make fun of me, too?” I ask with vengeance in my voice.
“What? No,” he says, his eyes shifting between each of mine. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. What Ariel said was really insensitive. If she didn’t want everyone to come, she shouldn’t have invited everyone. I just want you to know that we’re not all like that.”
I tear away from him and push my bike forward, swinging my leg over the seat.
“Come on, Mila,” Carter says. “You can’t ride home in just your swimming suit. I’ll give you a ride.”
“I don’t want a ride,” I tell him. I start pedaling to put distance between us.
From behind me, I hear him call out again, only I can’t be sure of his words. “She only hates you because you’re prettier than her.”
7
I get home and still feel completely humiliated. Okay, so I was at her party, but is that any reason for Ariel to act so hostile toward me? What does she have against me, anyway?
I opt for a hot bubble bath to help me forget about the party. I turn on some peaceful music and let it play softly in my head.
A voice cuts through the music. “Are you okay?” It’s the same voice as before, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of it.
I somehow manage to answer, “No.” And then I realize I’m talking to a stranger in my head. “And get out of my head!”
“I only want to help,” Parker says.
I figure I have a few options. If Parker is a real person and somehow managed to tap into my program, then I should be able to find some way to block him out. But if he’s just a figment of my imagination? What if I created him to deal with things like this? Or maybe he’s part of the program. That makes sense. What if Parker is some sort of computer-generated emotional therapist or something?
“I, uh, just had a bad day,” I try, wondering how much therapy I could get from the program, if that is, in fact, how it works. “I went to this party,” I explain, “and this girl humiliated me.”
“I told you not to go,” Parker says. For a moment, I think about J.P. since he’s the only one who told me not to go, but then I remember Parker said something about me not going, either. I think that’s because deep down I knew something bad was going to happen if I ran into Ariel. And how could I not run into her in her own house? The program must have picked up on my worry and was trying to save me the trouble.
Suddenly, I find myself telling Parker all about the incident. I don’t know where this newfound co
nfidence comes from, but I think part of it is because I’m pretty sure he’s not an actual person and that he’s just part of the program. No way would I open up to someone like this in real life.
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear him right,” I continue, explaining to Parker about what I thought I heard Carter say as I rode away on my bike. “I mean, a guy like that wouldn’t call me pretty.”
“Why not?” Parker says in my head. “It’s the truth.”
I scoff. “You’re programed to say that to make me feel better.”
“Well, did it work?”
I run my hand through the fading bubbles in my bath water and let a small smile form across my face. “Maybe a little,” I admit.
“Then I’ve done my job.”
“Thank you for listening,” I say with sincerity.
“No problem. You can talk to me about anything.”
I know our conversation is over, but I still think about Parker as I get out of the bath and dry myself off. If he really is a computer program, which makes the most sense, then I really can talk to him about anything. But even if talking makes me feel better, it’s not like he’s real. Even so, he seems to be the first person—thing?—in a long time that I can actually talk to.
A wave of nausea hits me as I dry my hair, and I grip onto the edge of the sink for support. I can feel a headache coming on, probably from stress. I get dressed and pop a few painkillers before crawling into bed much too early. I lay in bed for a while replaying the events from earlier that day.
And then something hits me.
Before I went to the party, Parker said something about leaving my hair down. And then at the party, Carter said he liked my hair down. What else did Carter say? He said I was beautiful. So did Parker. And their voices . . . They are similar.
Is it possible that Parker and Carter are the same person? Carter does have the upgrade. What if there is some psychic connection between us and our upgrades? What if they’re connected somehow so that we can communicate in a different way than normal?
I sit up straight in my bed. I want to call out to Parker and learn more about him, but I lose my nerve when I consider that he might actually be Carter. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Except, why would Carter Hayes want to be inside my head and make me feel better?
I just want you to know that we’re not all like that. That’s what Carter said. Is it possible that he’s trying to prove something with this? Maybe he feels like helping me will make him feel less like Ariel and give him more purpose or something.
But that can’t be right. Why me?
Besides, I don’t need his help. It’s not like I’m broken or anything.
My headache only grows stronger as I consider these possibilities, so I try to put it all out of my mind. It doesn’t work well, but after a while, I’m fast asleep.
8
Parker—whoever or whatever he is—doesn’t contact me at all on Sunday. I think about him a lot, but I’m able to take my mind off him with a long bike ride. Later that night, my dad asks me about my implant. I don’t tell him much because I’m not sure what Parker is yet, and I don’t want to scare my father into thinking it’s a glitch in the program. I try to coax out of him whether or not there’s a therapist function, but I’m apparently too subtle because I don’t get a clear answer.
At lunch on Monday, people stare at me again. I purposely leave my hair down to hide my implant, but something about the atmosphere in the room makes me want to curl up in a ball and disappear. I’m sure everyone is talking about how Ariel humiliated me on Saturday, but I’m lucky enough to sit at a corner table where I can turn away from all the watching eyes. It doesn’t make the stares go away, but at least I can’t see them.
I almost think that I’m overreacting and just being paranoid. Why would people care about me? But the nervous look on J.P.’s face tells me I have a reason to be suspicious of my peers.
“They’re staring again, aren’t they?” I ask J.P.
He nods and rubs his neck the way he always does.
I give an involuntary shudder.
“Oh, it’s not all bad,” J.P. says. “They’re probably considering voting you for homecoming court.”
I gape at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, after the way Ariel treated you on Saturday, who wants to vote for her?”
“So you heard about that?” I poke at my food and don’t meet his gaze.
“Well, practically the whole school was there.”
“Except for you,” I point out.
“I was working,” he defends.
I stare back down at my food and go silent again.
“By the way,” J.P. adds. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your records like you asked. There’s nothing that raises any red flags, but it looks like you’ve been stressed lately.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “With Ariel’s party, I have been.”
“Are you sure it’s just stress?” His soft eyes almost don’t meet mine, but when they do, he offers a light, encouraging smile.
I nod. “I’ve just been really stressed and embarrassed, I guess.” That’s enough to make him drop the subject.
As I leave the lunch room, I catch Carter’s eyes again. My heart flutters in my chest. Could he actually be Parker? I honestly don’t know. A part of me almost wishes he is.
When I get home from school, I take another few painkillers and lock myself in my room to try contacting Parker. I just have to know who he is. Is he a real person? A figment of my imagination? A computer program? Carter?
I cuddle up on my big cozy chair in the corner of my room and wrap a blanket around my body.
I don’t know how to make him appear in my head, so I call out a few times. “Parker, are you there?”
There isn’t a response for a couple of minutes. I don’t know what that means, but finally his voice rings clear in my head.
“I’m here. Are you okay?”
“I need to know who you are,” I demand.
“I’m just a friend,” he says, which only annoys me. I need the truth.
“But what are you? Are you a computer program, or are you a real person?”
“I’m just here to listen.”
My tolerance level is so short at the moment that I want to explode. Why can’t he give me a straight answer? But it’s not just that that annoys me. Everything about my life has been building up in the last few days, giving me a pounding headache that I can’t seem to shake. I’m exhausted, and all I want is for this headache to go away and to maybe actually spend time with someone my own age instead of secluding myself or hanging out with my mom.
“Fine,” I say. “You say you’re here to listen. Well, sit back and relax because it’s going to take a while.”
I don’t consider who Parker really is as I divulge all my insecurities and secrets because it’s easier that way. I let myself believe he isn’t real, but another part of me nervously wants him to be Carter. There’s something about his anonymity that makes the whole thing easier, though.
He stays so quiet that I’m not sure he’s still there. A tear runs down my cheek as I tell him about all my problems gaining friends throughout the years and how alone that makes me feel. I don’t let my voice waiver, though, so I hope he doesn’t notice.
“When I was in first grade, I had tons of friends,” I tell him. “Even Ariel Wright was my friend, but then I got my first implant. I was the first one in my whole grade and the grade above me. At first, I thought my classmates would think it was cool, so I showed it off. Only, it made them jealous. For a few days, I was the talk of my class. Everyone wanted to see how my implant worked.
“And then Ariel stopped talking to me. She made up this stupid club, but I wasn’t allowed because I had the implant. She promised cookies to all the members and even had this huge sleepover I wasn’t invited to. I know it’s really dumb because it was, like, 10 years ago, but thinking
back on that, it still hurts.” I take a deep breath. “Are you still there?”
“I’m still here,” Parker says.
“The thing is that I’ve tried to make friends over the years. Just last Saturday I sat by a group of girls at Ariel’s party. I don’t think they wanted me there, though. They just talked about boys who I didn’t know and didn’t really acknowledge me.”
“What about J.P?” Parker asks.
“J.P. is great and all, but we never have much to say to each other.”
“Maybe if you would open up to him more about things like this, he could be your friend.”
I laugh because the idea sounds so ridiculous. “The only reason I’m opening up to you is because I don’t know if you’re human or not. Right now, it’s easier to believe that you’re just a computer program.” I pause for a moment. “What are you?”
Just then, my watch buzzes. It’s a message from my mom telling me it’s dinner time.
My head still pounds as I rise from my chair. Only when I get to the dining room do I realize something. I never once mentioned J.P. to Parker.
That thought scares me, but it could honestly mean anything. It could mean Parker is someone I know, like Carter. Or it could mean the computer program can read my thoughts outside of what I share with it. Or it could just mean Parker is a part of my subconscious and he already knew about J.P.
I try a more direct approach with getting answers from my father at dinner. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”
“Sure,” he says with narrowed eyes, like he doesn’t know where I’m going with this.
“Let’s say that you created an upgrade that had a therapist application.”
He stops with his fork halfway to his mouth. “That’s actually a really good idea. I don’t know why we’ve never thought of that. I’m going to bring that one up with the team.”
Okay. Well, that at least tells me Parker isn’t part of a computer therapist program. Dad would know about him otherwise.