2103:10:19:14:35:00

  The bell rang and fifth period Physics class ended, along with the school day itself. At least, for most students.

  I pressed the standby on my tablet, put it and the stylus in my backpack and stood up from my seat. “Bye Amber. Have a good weekend,” I said to my deskmate. Unlike me, she’d finished her remedials at the end of September.

  But that wasn’t the important part.

  “Thanks. You too- well, after your remedials, I mean,” she said. “Have fun with your friends.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile. “It’s my first sleepover, so I don’t know what to expect. But I think it’ll be fun.” I hopped a little in joy. Millie had invited Saga, Jolie and I on Monday, and in my excitement, I told Amber about it practically every single day. She must be tired of hearing it by now, even if she didn’t let it show.

  “Do you have plans?” I asked, going down the conversational tree step by step.

  Amber’s face turned annoyed for a second, before she fixed it. Did I say something wrong? “Not really. Just… hanging out at home.”

  “That’s fun too,” I said. At least, I’d had fun spending weekends with Mom. But from her reaction, maybe Amber didn’t? “Well, see you next week,” I said when the silence began to linger. I did a little wave and went over to my friends.

  Part of me wanted to invite her, but no, I couldn’t. Not only was it not my house and thus rude to invite her, but Amber and I weren’t that close yet. I’d yet to successfully get her to have lunch with us, let alone hanging out after school. At least my friends already agreed Amber had a standing invitation – albeit a tentative one on Saga’s part.

  But again, that wasn’t the important part. No, what was important was that we were finally on speaking terms. Not just me getting into an almost argument with her, but actual polite speaking terms. It started with her returning my greetings on the seventeenth – yes, I remembered the date, and not just through my memcordings – and I slowly grew that olive branch into a tree of small talk and conversation.

  Unfortunately, she had yet to talk about her ‘dark history’, as Millie put it. But I wasn’t ready to give up, and Amber’s been putting in the effort expanding our dialogue as well. Inch by inch, we were growing closer together. I’d even gotten her to laugh once, albeit by accident. I still didn’t know why – talking about the weather was a perfectly normal way to start a conversation. Right?

  Regardless, things were going well. Now, if only I could get her to join our friend group…

  I did a light jog-skip to Millie’s desk, and by extension Saga and Jolie’s joined desks as well, as they were on the row just behind Millie’s. I opened my mouth to greet them, but Millie was faster.

  “Oh, I see how it is,” she said, sounding angry. “Now that the broody one’s talking, we come second.”

  After half a second staring, I realized she was joking. “False,” I answered deadpan. “I said ‘hi’ to Abel yesterday and he said ‘hi’ back, so that’s another rank down the list. And Jolie and Saga are still ahead of you, so that means you’re at least ranked fifth.” I rubbed my chin in consideration. “Maybe sixth, depending on how my talk with Miss Sims goes later. I’ll send you an updated list once I know for sure.”

  Ran a bit long, but I felt good about the joke. And from the looks on everyone’s faces it was well received.

  “Oh no,” Saga whispered gravely to Jolie. “She’s making jokes.”

  Jolie nodded, expression equally as grave. “If it’s contagious, we might have to make a run for it.”

  “Rank five or six huh,” Millie said, ignoring the backseat commentary. “Does that mean your mom is even lower?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Unasked for, my brain made a weird connection. “She’s Rank Zero: The Ultimate. There is no overcoming her,” I quoted.

  Saga looked pensive, snapping her fingers. “Where’s that from? I swear I heard that somewhere before.”

  Meanwhile, Jolie was cringing. “Frontier Blue,” Jolie said, grimacing.

  “Frontier Blue II,” both Millie and I corrected, hers more excited than mine. “The Final Frontier,” Millie whispered with exaggerated awe, leaning back with her arms wide.

  “Right,” Saga groaned. “That’s what it was.”

  I remembered watching it – and its prequel – one weekend with Mom. It wasn’t very good, although Mom had been laughing basically the whole time – despite it not being a comedy. Seeing Millie smile at the mention of the movie, I came to an unfortunately conclusion: my mother and her had the same sense of humor.

  I must never let the two meet.

  At least I could bring Jolie and Saga with me for support. Or to suffer with me, either or.

  “Oh! We could watch it together at my house tomorrow!” Millie said excitedly. “Make it a night and do the whole trilogy! It’ll be so much fun!”

  “I call veto,” Saga said. Millie’s hand went to her left shoulder as she jerked it back slightly, as if she’d been shot.

  “Seconded,” Jolie added. The second shot hit, Millie’s body jerking to the right as she let out a groan.

  “Thirded,” I finished. My words struck true straight in her chest. Millie slumped over in defeat, body sent sprawling over her desk.

  “You’re no fun,” we heard her mumble from within her slump. I smiled while Saga and Jolie laughed out loud.

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  Conversation continued for a while about what to do tomorrow and the day after, until eventually I retrieved my phone and looked at the time. “I have to go,” I informed the trio.

  “Don’t wanna be late for your parole hearing,” Saga joked. I agreed with a serious nod and a heavy, rumbling grunt, causing her to snort in amusement.

  We said our goodbyes, good-lucks and see-you-tomorrows, and I was off.

  My usual sixth period meeting with my mentor was a special one today. Though it hadn’t quite been two months yet since school started, there’d been plenty of quizzes and tests in the meantime. My results were mixed, with middling to bad scores in things like History, UniLang and Literature, and above average to good scores in the harder sciences, like Chemical Sciences, Biology, Math and Physics.

  But while results were mixed, they were improving rapidly thanks to my nighttime studies – even with half of it being replaced by training and going out masking. It was enough for Miss Sims to want to discuss things about my future with Mom and me today instead of waiting until the results of the quarterlies.

  Not that I was complaining. Remedials had been fine in the beginning, but that was because most of my time would be spent studying regardless. But now, with both friends and masked life becoming more important and my knowledge catching up to the norm, I wanted to spend those extra hours as I wished. Especially since they were hours where Mom was at work.

  I knocked on Miss Sims’ classroom door and I heard her say, “Come in.” So I did.

  I was surprised to see the room was occupied by more than just Miss Sims. Mom was already here despite being ten minutes early, and there was another woman present, one with a familiar face. It was the woman from city hall who’d accompanied Mom and me on my second visit to Hudson-Howard, before we made the decision I would enroll there. Her name escaped me, and so did the exact date and time of this second visit, meaning I couldn’t search my memcordings quickly enough to retrieve it.

  Although I couldn’t be sure, from the way they were seated – not just the four school desks put together, but from how the laptops and tablets were out and on – I guessed they’d been here for some time already.

  “Here, Sammy.” Mom reached backwards and dragged a seat from another desk next to her. She patted the seat invitingly.

  I sat down next to her.

  “You remember Brandy from city hall?” Mom asked.

  Which was ruder: telling the truth or lying?

  Reading my thoughts, the woman laughed softly. “That’s fine, I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your mind these past months. Brandy Medlin, but call me Brandy. I’m from Charm’s Child, Youth and Family Services, and the one assigned to your case. Although considering your progress, it’d be better to say I’m the one monitoring it.”

  I grabbed the lifeline and steered the conversation away from my forgetfulness. “My progress?”

  Miss Sims was the one to pick up the thread, nodding at my question. “We’ve been discussing your test results and the trajectory it points toward, along with your integration into the class environment on a social level.”

  For a reason I failed to detect the cause of, I found myself becoming nervous. I knew I’d done well – on the academic part at least – but perhaps due to Miss Sims neutral tone of voice, I found myself getting anxious. Combined with Saga’s comment about this being a ‘parole hearing’ and the presence of someone from city hall, this felt very much like I was about to be judged.

  Which was not inaccurate, considering, but something I had not expected when coming here.

  Miss Sims continued. “To put it bluntly-” I could not recall her ever not putting things bluntly, “-we’ve been impressed with you. Not just on your results, but with the efforts you put into it, both on the academic and the social front. From what I’d been told to expect, this is a rarity among the achronally displaced.” She looked at Brandy, who nodded in agreement.

  I felt a cold settle in my stomach. I had not considered what would be expected from other cases of achronally displaced, and so had not bothered to follow their example. Had they found out I wasn’t achronally displaced? That I wasn’t who I said I was?

  I glanced to Mom and while she smiled reassuringly, there was some worry in her eye. I found it uncomfortable. She usually beamed with pride at even the smallest accomplishment, let alone a compliment like Miss Sims had given. I shifted my eyes to Brandy from city hall, and found hers meeting mine with an oddly piercing look, as if ready to reveal.

  “As backwards as it sounds, this has led to some concerns,” Brandy said. I found my heart beating wildly, doing everything in my power to remain as still as a statue. Her eyes remained pointing straight at mine, much longer than was common from my experience.

  “Now, these questions might be uncomfortable and you might not want to answer them. That’s fine – perfectly normal. But all I-” she glanced at mom and Miss Sims for a second, “-all we want is to help you. And in order to do that, we need to be honest with each other. So we implore you, please try to answer our questions as openly and honestly as you can, alright?”

  I swallowed and felt cold sweat trying to escape my pores, but nodded nevertheless.

  “Thank you,” Brandy said with a kind smile, yet still bearing those same piercing eyes. “Then, here goes. During these past months, do you have trouble sleeping?”

  I blinked at the non sequitur. I looked at Mom, who looked somewhat uncomfortable at my scrutiny. I was fairly certain I answered appropriately each and every morning. Had she caught me leaving when I went masking? Or caught me lying awake at bed in night, or seen me on my computer when I was supposed to be asleep?

  “No?” I answered, unsure.

  Her eyes did not move away from me. “How many hours would you say you sleep each night?”

  Thankfully, I had researched this one. “Eight hours,” I said, feeling a bit more confident.

  “Every night?” she asked.

  I nodded and hummed affirmatively.

  “Hm,” she hm-ed. She looked at her laptop for a brief moment before turning back to me. “And what about the night of Saturday, September eight? Do you remember why you couldn’t sleep back then?” Brandy asked.

  That sinking feeling returned in full. The first night I went masking. The night I broke my nose. “I…” couldn’t come up with an excuse, “don’t know.”

  “That’s alright,” Brandy was quick to reassure. “Was this the first time you had trouble sleeping?”

  “Yes,” I was quick – perhaps too quick – to answer. Would it have been better to say I did have trouble sleeping? What was the right answer here?

  Nevertheless, Brandy accepted the answer and continued. “And following that night, did you have more nights where you had difficulty?”

  “No,” I answered. Better to follow through on my decision.

  “Not even on other nights your mom was called in? Both before and after that Saturday?” Brandy asked. Her voice was clear of any suspicion, yet I felt like each question was another attack.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What was I supposed to say? I couldn’t say I never slept. That could lead to me being unmasked, or worse, lead to the discovery I was an android. But was I supposed to reverse course? Hold firm in my answers? Hesitate? Declare? What do I need to do to-

  I felt someone grab my hand, startling me out of my thoughts. I looked down and found my hand shaking in my Mom’s grip while she rubbed soothing circles on the palm of my hand. When I looked at her, I saw tears forming in her eyes.

  I looked away quickly, fear and guilt surging through me. Turning to Brandy found me meeting a compassionate gaze, and when I turned toward Miss Sims, hoping to find an island of neutrality, even she seemed to be affected by the situation.

  Where did I misstep? Where had I gone wrong?

  “You did nothing wrong Sam,” Brandy said, reading my thoughts once more. “We understand that this is a stressful, even a scary time for you. Even without your daunting challenges, people around your age and older often have difficulties with managing their lives. Relationships, feelings, study, puberty and all the changes it brings to both your body and mind – all of it can make just getting through the day in and of itself difficult enough. Add to that your own challenges – challenges that even the most intelligent and well-adjusted adult would find it difficult to deal with, and everyone would understand how difficult things must be for you right now.”

  I… didn’t understand anymore. Where was this going?

  Thankfully, Miss Sims came to the rescue. “We fear you’re pushing yourself too hard. Considering your old academic record, observed behavior in class and at home, and the fact you’re – as you helpfully pointed out in your first day at school – less than a year old by your own reckoning-” I felt Mom’s hand squeeze tighter, “-and you might begin to see where our worries stem from.”

  I simply had an entire night to spend learning and training. Add my memcordings into the mix, my android body requiring little upkeep, and my higher-than-average-for-a-teen levels of willpower and discipline, and anyone could’ve done what I did.

  “I’m just worried about you, Sammy,” Mom said. “I know I can’t be around you every moment, and I know you were the one that wanted to go to school immediately. But ever since you came back, and then that night, I-I don’t…”

  I felt Mom’s hand tremble. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath in, followed by a steady exhale. When she opened her eyes again, there was steel in them – if steel could be warm, caring and loving.

  “Besides your mentor and Brandy, I’ve talked with some of your teachers, educators, child psychologist and advisors, and even my own therapist on what would be best for you. They’ve all given many different answers – some of which run counter to what you want, and so we won’t pursue,” she explained. “But if there’s one thing they and I can agree on, it’s that you need someone you could talk to. Someone outside your direct circle who you can trust, who you know won’t be able to tell others whatever you say to them and who won’t have an effect on your life outside of what you concede to them.”

  She took in another deep breath before saying, “In other words, I think it would be good for you to talk to a therapist.”

  This wasn’t the outcome I’d envisioned. I guess I should be pleased I wasn’t discovered, but this wasn’t exactly a comforting outcome. What would I even do in therapy? It wasn’t as if I could tell them anything important.

  “I… don’t know if I want to,” I said, treading carefully. “The one at the hospital didn’t seem that helpful.”

  “I promise you Sam,” Mom said gravely. “While they both count as therapists, there’s a world of difference between a clinical psychiatrist who focused on finding damage from your displacement, and a psychologist that’s all about helping you.”

  I hesitated.

  “Please, Sammy?” she said. “If for whatever reason you won’t do it for yourself, can you do it for me?”

  As often happened when Mom made a request, I felt my heart ache with guilt. I gave in and nodded. “Okay.”

  She beamed at me and hugged me tightly.

  The rest of the talk went more easily. Remedials were reduced from nine to two hours a week – in part because of my successes, in part to go to therapy – and would be revalued at the end of the quarter.

  We were let go – I didn’t even have to go to remedials for the rest of the day – and went home with Mom. Though not before fetching some ice cream.