by Drew Magary
Asmi introduced the Huffs to the room. Everyone nodded and then went back to doing exactly what they had been doing before. Anna was taken aback by all of it. Not the noise, nor the sheer number of people, nor even the sensory overload of all the food and music. It was the joy. She had barely remembered what joy looked like. The Kirsches had absconded with all of hers, it was so light and pilferable.
“Is that all the lot of you have to say to me roommate and her mam?” Asmi asked her relatives. They all gave Sandy and Anna pleasant smiles, and then went back to their business once more. Asmi shook her head. “And where are the chips? Did any of you heat up the chips? You’re all hopeless. Hopeless!”
“You coulda done it yourself,” her eight-year-old sister told her.
“Why would I do that when I can make you do it, you little creep?”
“Eat shit!” the little girl snapped.
“Well I would, if one of you dickheads had bothered to heat it up!”
“Stop stealing my glue!”
“You’re lucky I don’t throw you off the roof!” Asmi turned back to Anna and Sandy. “Fair warning: it’s like this all the time.”
“I think that’s okay,” said Anna.
“My dad is out with the vans,” Asmi told them. “Let me show you to your room.” She led them down the hall and opened the door to a room that was smaller than Anna’s room back at Druskin. There was a full-size mattress on the floor blocking the entrance to a lone closet.
“I know it’s small,” Asmi told them. “But it’s safe.”
“It’s perfect,” Anna told her.
“You’re just saying that.”
“No. It’s perfect. We owe you.”
“Actually, that would be wrong, Miz Bumlee.”
“Who’s Ms. Bumlee?” Sandy asked.
“It’s just an inside joke, mom.”
“I have to go help my na with something,” said Asmi. “All right if I let you two get settled in?”
“Of course,” Anna said.
She and Sandy took out their phones and ported to the Rockville locker five times, groaning as they locked and unlocked it on every trip. When they were done, they had filled the small bureau against the window with enough clothes to last them the holiday, along with three bottles of Prosecco and an economy-sized tin of Old Bay-dusted blister peanuts as gifts for the Narus.
Anna sat down on the mattress to check its firmness, and then she lay down on her side and tucked her hands under the pillow. Sandy kicked off her shoes and slid between Anna and the wall, spooning her daughter and stroking her hair. When Anna was five, she snuck into Sandy’s bed one night because Sarah showed her a video of a girl dressed in witch makeup, green skin and bulbous moles included. The video was supposed to be funny, but it scared Anna to death. She huddled by Sandy that night for comfort, and the two of them shared a bed for years after that. Sometimes, Anna’s dad would port in after midnight, stand over the bed, mutter that he was sick to death of “all these girls in my house,” and then either port elsewhere or pass out drunk on the sofa bed.
Now lying together just above the floor, Sandy picked at Anna’s ear and Anna slapped her away.
“Mom.”
“Sorry, there was a bit of dried skin there,” Sandy said.
“Ask before you go poking at me.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. How was your week?”
“Honestly, I don’t even remember.”
“I’m worried about you. You seem sparkless. Maybe you should meet a boy.”
“I don’t like boys, Mom. I like girls.”
Sandy stopped stroking Anna’s hair for a minute. “Oh. Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“I knew,” Anna said.
“I always figured you might. But I didn’t wanna be rude about it.”
“You could have asked. I would have told you.”
She went right back to stroking Anna’s hair. “Well, I think it’s great that you like girls.”
“It’s biology, mom. It’s not some prize I won at the econ fair.”
“Will you just let me mother you? Let me say my mom things.”
Anna sighed. “All right. But no Twenty Questions. Sarah already asked me all of them.”
“Sarah knew?”
“Possibly.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna ask any questions.” She held onto Anna tight. “But maybe you should meet a girl.”
“Yeah.” Anna stared at the barred window and heard the cacophony of port claps and jolly students right outside. “Maybe I should.” She turned around and the two of them were nose to nose. “I’m tired, mom.”
“Then rest now. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, mom.”
Anna turned back onto her other side. Sandy held her tight and they drifted off into an afternoon nap. Druskin was always pushing you to be self-reliant and independent. For four months, Anna had bopped around the campus as a small adult with pronounced and pressing responsibilities, along with very real adult traumas to navigate with no help whatsoever. But now Sandy was here and Anna could be a girl again. She didn’t dare upset her mom with the news about Jason Kirsch. Instead, she fell asleep in Sandy’s arms. She could have slept clear through the rest of 2030, even with no earplugs in. Wasn’t it so wonderful to sleep, and to forget.
But Asmi had other plans.
OXFORD/LONDON/STONEHENGE
An hour into naptime, Asmi gave a hard knock. Anna woke up in her mother’s arms, her ear hemorrhaging sweat all over Sandy’s cardigan sleeve. The Huffs shook off the cobwebs and opened their bedroom door. Asmi already had her phone out.
“Shall I show you around?” she asked them.
They ported to the Bodlean Library.
“That’s the Bodlean Library,” Asmi said.
“Can we go in?” they asked.
“Not really.”
They ported to Christchurch College.
“That’s Christchurch,” she told them.
“Can we go in?” they asked.
“Not really.”
They ported to Buckingham Palace.
“That’s Buckingham Palace,” she told them.
“Can we go in?” they asked.
“Not really. Big line.”
They ported in front of a sandwich shop.
“That’s Morton’s. My favorite sarnie shop.”
“Can we go in?” they asked.
“Yeah. We can go in that.”
They each ate a chicken curry salad sandwich on fresh baguette before porting to Stonehenge.
“That’s Stonehenge. Bunch of rocks,” Asmi told them.
“It’s kinda boring,” Anna said.
“God, yes. It’s shit.”
“Has it always been by the side of a highway like this?” Sandy asked. Anna and Asmi stared at her. “Why are you two looking at me like that?”
They ported to the Turf Tavern, which had a patch of grass growing over the sign above the entrance. They pushed open its weathered, dark green plank door and passed through the stick-style cottage, ducking under low wooden rafters and emerging outside on the tavern patio. There was an open fire cage with free benches around it. Sandy grabbed a pint of Caffrey’s for herself, plus two Cokes and a basket of thick, salty fries for the girls.
“It’s nice here,” Anna told Asmi.
“Innit? UK has their act together a bit more than the U.S., but that’s not saying much. At least they do gun checks here in the free zones.”
“It’s more than that, though,” Anna said. “It has your, I dunno, vibe. It’s clearly your hometown.”
“It is! I mean, Manchester was home first, but now this is. UK’s not the same as it was, though. It’s an angrier place now. Maybe it was always shite, and I was just too young and stupid to notice. I mean, look at me. I don’t really remember a time when people didn’t call me a bloody terrorist. It’s like people want a home, but they don’t want any
one else to have one.” She leaned in and whispered to Anna. “I need to talk to you one-on-one.”
Sandy overheard that and took her cue. “You know what, gals? I’m gonna walk around a bit.” She got up and left them to their devices.
“You never told me how you ported out of school,” Asmi told Anna. “You really stole the battery out of Vick’s phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant. The bellend. What’d you do with it?”
“It’s in the Sewell bathroom.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah see, that’s why I hid it there.”
Asmi sat back and put her arm around Anna’s shoulder. The fire in the cage sent daredevil sparks whirling up into the coming twilight. Anna stared at the flames dancing around in the air like quick fingers.
“There are a lot of things you haven’t told me,” Asmi said. “I didn’t want to pry, but—”
“No, I should have told you more, I just got overwhelmed and scared by everything. Druskin makes everyone keep their mouth shut and that’s what I hate the most about it.”
“Well, that and the food is shite.”
“Heh.” She focused more intently on the fire twisting and mutating. The Student Center at Druskin had a fireplace that kids liked to read around, but it was a gas fireplace. You flicked on a switch and the flames went up in a consistent row, fed by a burner hidden under a mass of fake logs. The fire looked the same every time. The logs didn’t collapse. The coals didn’t grow white hot. It was a bore. Thus, Anna was enjoying the chance to see a real fire burn and collapse. She got excited when barkeeps came around to dump fresh logs into the cage and kick the flames up again.
“Bamert and I ported because we were looking for the man who killed my sister,” Anna told Asmi matter-of-factly.
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah. Anyway we found out who it was and somehow that just made the whole thing a hundred times worse.”
“Who was it?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“The hell I don’t. It’s bloody fascinating.”
Anna noticed a lone man sitting near another lit fire cage. He was wearing a brown canvas jacket and had a tweed golf cap pulled down over his eyebrows. He was looking at them, and not being all that subtle about it, almost like he wanted Anna to see that he was looking at her. Then he got up and left.
If you should ever decide to port out of Druskin again, just remember what’s out there waiting for you.
She scooted close to Asmi and whispered, “Not here.”
“Oooooh!” said Asmi. “Could this go all the way to the top?”
Anna didn’t answer. Instead, she gave Asmi the look. Rather than press the issue, Asmi pulled out her PortPhone.
“I want to show you something, but your mam is still in there.”
“Can you show me quick?”
“Yeah! Reckon it’d only take a minute or two.” She gestured to the back door of the tavern, where servers ducked in and out with fresh, frothy pints. Sandy was talking to a man at the bar. “Although we could piss off longer if your mam is trying to get laid.”
“Stop it.”
“What? It’s allowed! She can bring him back home but they have to keep three feet on the floor, love.”
Anna started to crack up. “Oh God.”
“We have a closet that you can duck into while they’re shagging,” Asmi suggested. “You won’t have to watch.”
“Fuck you!”
“AHAHAHAHAHA.”
“I’m gonna port to the North Pole and get the hell away from you,” Anna said.
“I tease, I tease.”
Anna settled down and took a sip of her Coke, now all lukewarm and syrupy after being too close to the firelight. “I guess we could ALL stand to get laid, so more power to my mom.”
“You ever done it?” Asmi asked.
“No. You?”
“I have. It was such a fucking mess I won’t try it again for a while. You kiss a boy and he’s always thinking three steps ahead. He just wants to get there, and then he doesn’t know what to do when he does! You’d think a boy who’s keen would know how to work his own knob. I reckon you’ll have better handle on what to do when you’re with a girl.”
“Lord willing.”
“Now, do you wanna see the main attraction or not?”
Asmi grabbed Anna by the elbow and stood her up. Now they were in London, right off of Piccadilly Circus. Asmi spun Anna around and there, in front of them, was a store front painted wedding cake white, with varnished beechwood benches and a kitchen awash in gleaming steel. A clay oven the size of a car sat in the back corner of it.
The sign above the restaurant wasn’t finished yet but Anna could already see the outline of NARU AUTHENTIC stenciled in.
“Is this—”
“Brick and mortar!” Asmi said. “The foot traffic details you gave us were fucking spot on. You can make consistent revenue here, all year round. Come on in!” She unlocked the door and led Anna into the restaurant. It was so clean that Anna abhorred the idea of future customers making even the slightest mess.
“This is gonna be a hub kitchen for us, too,” Asmi went on, “Working portwall. No more mobile kitchens. We can just run the food out to the trucks from here, the way the big franchises do now. And we can open new kiosks anywhere we want!”
A short old man was hunched over the counter, furiously jotting down notes on a legal pad. He didn’t bother to look up when they came in.
“Dad!” Asmi shouted. “Dad, we’re here!”
The man looked up. He was bald on top, save for a few stray hairs, and he had on a striped polo shirt than hung well past his waist. He came out from behind the counter and gave Asmi a peck on the cheek.
“Asmi.”
“Dad, this is my roommate, Anna Huff. She’s friends with the Bumlee family.”
Mr. Naru’s eyes lit up. “Ah, Chester Bumlee!” He shook Anna’s hand vigorously. “Very good businessman.”
“Thank you for having us in your home,” Anna said.
“No no no, I insist. If Asmi says you’re good, I believe you are good. Come.”
He led Anna and Asmi behind the counter and into the back kitchen. There were porcelain bowls and plates piled high on the racks, along with stacks of flatware caddies and a power dishwasher large enough to clean off a baby whale. Mr. Naru gestured to it all with pride.
“Our first store. Thirty percent gross revenue to your friend,” he told Anna.
“Holy shit.”
“Come.”
He led them into a small back office and opened up a buxom safe under the desk. He grabbed a weathered yellow envelope that was stuffed thick with cash, then handed it to Anna.
“For Mr. Bumlee.”
“Jesus,” Anna said. “What do I do with all this?”
“Shoes,” Asmi said. “This Christmas, you’re getting some shoes. Maybe even more than one pair.”
Anna stole rubber cement from Mr. Dawson’s art class to weld the soles of her mary janes back on, but the grip didn’t last. They were already back to flapping and gathering up snow and mud.
“Okay, I could use some shoes. Mr. Bumlee thanks you for this, Mr. Naru.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Very good businessman.”
There was a tap on the storefront glass. A group of pasty boys were waiting outside the restaurant. Asmi waved them off.
“We’re not open yet.”
“We’re hungry!” one of them yelled. He was a scrawny boy in khakis and a black t-shirt with the Conquistadors emblem silk-screened over the left breast. More of his buddies ported in around him, and they weren’t all British. There were some Americans. There were some Aussies. They all wore the matching khakis-and-shirt combination.
Asmi pointed East. “We have a van open on Broad Street in Oxford. You can port there.”
“Aww, but we’re hungry now, and your food looks sooooo good,” the boy said with naked sarcasm. The others laughed.
“Are you thick in the head? We’re not fucking open yet!”
“Excuse us, are YOU the one acting like you belong here? I don’t think so.”
The skinny boy, apparently the chief hooligan, kicked at the door. They weren’t hungry at all. The glass pane on the door cracked.
“DAD!”
Mr. Naru came out from the back and put his hands up. “No no no no!”
The mob didn’t care. The boy kicked until his boot finally broke through. The other boys hucked rocks at the windows as indifferent port tourists passed by.
“Can you call the police?” Anna asked.
“It wouldn’t matter,” Asmi said. She ran over to her dad. “We have to port out.”
“No, I’m staying.”
“Dad, please!”
“FOOKIN’ LET US IN.”
Asmi fished Mr. Naru’s PortPhone from his khakis pocket and queued up a pin. “Dad, NOW.”
The mob crashed through the plate glass window with the skinny boy leading the charge. They came rampaging inside like a virus replicating itself, uprooting tables and lobbing chairs over the counter. One of the Conquistadors took out a pocket knife and threw it end-over-end at Mr. Naru, nailing him in the shoulder. Asmi’s dad slumped down against the counter as the mob ran into the back kitchen, emptying out the flatware bins and smashing fresh plates on the ground. They chanted “SHOW US YOUR PAPERS” over and over as one particularly nasty kid stood atop the counter like he owned the joint and lobbed a rock at Asmi’s head.
Asmi grabbed a carving knife from a block and was about to start slashing through the boys when Anna held her back and gestured to Mr. Naru, bleeding all over the floor.
Asmi set the knife down and screamed “Hit PORT” at her old man.
“No,” he said.
“I’ll bloody do it for you.” She pulled him up as a ceramic bowl whizzed past their heads. He hit the prompt while she pushed him forward and he was gone. She and Anna quickly followed suit.