Microstory 390: Attention

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Acknowledgement

Here you are. You’ve gotten people’s attention. They notice that you exist. Maybe you’re in the middle of a group of friends, or you’ve been all alone in the big city. Maybe you finally have a job where people value other people’s opinions, or maybe you have some new platform for getting your point across. People are paying attention to you, so you better not mess it up. What’s so much worse than people not agreeing with you is failing to make yourself understood clearly and concisely. This is your chance, don’t blow it. Mom’s spaghetti, as my local radio station personality would say. Are you doing okay? See, this is why this is such a late step. Everything you’ve been doing to this point in your life has happened to either help you live long enough to be here, or to prepare yourself. You have to know who you are before you can expect anyone else to get you. Donald Trump is a nobody. No, I’ve talked about how intelligent he is, and also how insane he is, but I also want to make it clear that he’s not a real person. He has no opinions of his own, or rather any opinions he does happen to have are irrelevant to the global conversation. Everything he says has been but one calculated and insidious ingredient in a recipe for success. You see, he knows how stupid you people are. He knows that even if he contradicts himself, his target demographic won’t believe it, won’t recognize it at all, or simply doesn’t care. If he says that abortion is wrong, enough pro-life people will decide to vote for him. If next week he says that fetuses are tasty, he’ll gain cannibal voters, but somehow not lose the pro-lifers, because that would require far too much thought on the voters’ part. Rudy Giuliani, the man known for being the mayor of New York during 9/11, just claimed that the first terrorist attack in the U.S. happened after 2008. Yet people will still love him, and they’ll conveniently forget about all those other attacks, because they already adore him. So before you open your mouth, don’t just think about what you’re going to say, think about how you’re going to say it, and question your position. Be better than Giuliani and Trump.

Validation

Microstory 389: Acknowledgement

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Station

As I’ve said about a million times here, I have autism. I honestly didn’t know if I was going to mention it here. Actually, no, the thought didn’t even cross my mind. I had no intention of bringing myself into this site except in the usual “write what you know” kind of thing. I was diagnosed as an adult, but even before I knew, I knew. In fact, I can go back to a journal entry I wrote in either middle school or very early high school where I admit this to myself. Basically the deal with autism is that, whatever other kind of psychological problems you have going on, they’ll really just be part of that. Because autism is not a disease. It’s an array of conditions found, to a certain degree, in a quantifiable fraction of the population. Ultimately, I have a neuroatypical brain, and you have a neurotypical brain, but they’re both just human brains. This is the way I am, it’s integral to my identity, and though I do want to become a better person, I don’t want to get rid of it. That would be lobotomy, and no one wants that. Before I understood all this about myself, and even since then, I’ve been “the quiet one”. Those who don’t know me can be confused by this. People have actually been pissed off that I don’t engage them in a stupid goddamn conversation about the meaning of the temperature today being one degree different than yesterday. Man, stop talking about the weather. I really need you to let it go. Anyway, here’s the kicker. Those who do know me know that I prefer to be quiet, so they let that happen. They go about their conversations and leave me out of it, because I usually don’t want to contribute. But sometimes I do, and how am I supposed to get their attention? This is a very literal example of what I’m saying here, and I can confirm and not deny that I told this story so I could stretch out the next few entries. The first step to being an accepted and respected member of a group or society is acknowledgement. People have to first realize you’re even there, and only then can you possibly get them to hear what you have to say.

Attention

Microstory 388: Station

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Gourmet Eating

Does he mean, like a train station? Or a bus station, maybe? No, of course not, that would be stupid, self. Just like the one about extravagance, I guess I put this in here so that I could discuss it, but not so that I could be a proponent for it. I’ve always completely hated the idea of a class system. I think most people disagree with classes they hear about in “dem foreign countries”, but most don’t think all that much about the ones at home. We each live at a particular station. The only difference between now and the dark ages is that anyone can theoretically move up in rank and make their life better. The problem with this, and capitalism in general, is that there always has to be people at the bottom. In order for the rich to exist, and live in such extravagance, there have to be those living below them. In fact, the number of people living below them must necessarily be greater. This is where the 99% movement came from. It’s funny, those protests began not long after I heard independently that statistic about the top 1% controlling about 40% of the world’s wealth. I even designed an entire television series around that concept. It’s set in another galaxy where a parallel race of humans have mastered genetic engineering to the point of generating trillions of slaves using the DNA of human precursors (not neanderthals). The main characters are from...well, they’re closer to Earth, but not all of them are from here. Their main objective is to end slavery altogether and created a more balanced economy for all residents. They’re met with backlash from even the poorest in the galaxy because this is the only system they understand, and not even they consider the slaves worth protecting. They’re literally sub-human, after all. But to me, it doesn’t matter. As someone with a soul, I’m pretty good at detecting other people with souls, and every soul deserves freedom. But I’ll even take it further than that and make the claim that no one should be without. Every single individual has a right to everything they want.  This includes food, shelter, clothes, brownies, and even spaceships. Screw your station. I’m not better than you, and you’re not better than me. We’re just different.

Acknowledgement

Microstory 387: Gourmet Eating

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Extravagance

I don’t get what the big deal is about food. When I tell people that I have a binge-eating disorder, but that I also hate food, they look like they’re about to call the mental institution. Food to me is a chore, especially the preparation of it. Cooking and eating feel so unproductive to me. I look at it this way, my hunger and weakness is a problem, and food solves that problem. Meanwhile, my writing and other work are not solutions to problems. Not having money is a problem, that’s true, but it’s much more nuanced than that, and the expectation of work is so ingrained in our society, that not doing it seems strange. Again, this is my personal perspective, but if I were given the chance to take one pill every day that would give me the energy and nutrients I need, then...well, I would first call the FDA and USDA, but once the necessary safety precautions were cleared, I would so do it. But that’s just me, it really is. Other transhumanists feel similarly, but they still appreciate the taste of a proverbial fine wine, while I don’t. For the rest of you, however, food is just...it’s amazing. You talk about it, and you look into new restaurants, and you try new foods, and you smile. Oh man, that face you get when you eat something you didn’t know you’d love, it’s priceless. I wish I could take a picture of that. Here are two interesting facts about food; not a single civilization has not eventually discovered ways of cooking food, and not a single civilization has not eaten socially. Eating in groups started out as an evolutionarily trait. Not only are tribes safer because of the safety in numbers principle, but it also fosters camaraderie and teamwork. This gives associates an opportunity to study, empathize, and learn from each other so when danger strikes, no words need be spoken. We never got over that, and though I would love nothing more than to not have to eat, I don’t think you should get over it. I don’t think you should stop eating, and I don’t think you should stop enjoying your meals. Just remember that tiny inefficient portions are but a superficial sign of gourmet cooking. True gourmet still contains positive calories.

Station

Microstory 386: Extravagance

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Legacy

This is not a step. I repeat...this is not a step. This is not something you should be striving for. This is superfluous, wasteful, and another synonym for excessive behavior. I only put this in here because it is a possible way to live your life, and I know some people are interested in it, and it deserves academic attention. One of my favorite rap artists, Conner 4 Real dropped a hot bonus track called “Should I Move?”. It’s a fascinating satirical song about the human condition, society’s demands for what kind of goals people should have, and the imprudence of materialism. In it, Conner tells an obviously fabricated story about the so-called “hardest day of [his] life” where he struggled with whether to buy a larger second home even though his current home is plenty large. Spoiler alert, at the end of the fictional version of Conner’s tale, he does end up buying the house, and keeping “the old one for [his] dogs”. It’s a ridiculous situation, having two houses that are so close together. I applaud Conner for writing such a serious musical piece that’s unlike any of the other poppy music he normally puts out. Quality of living is a spectrum. The most impoverished of us live in terrible conditions with no food, no shelter, and no help. The richest live so extravagantly that the only work they do is designed to make them more money, rather than contribute to society. The Purge franchise of movies is about a dystopian future where the wage gap has grown so large that politicians have annually legalized all crime in order to cull the poor. They do this on the belief that the poor are draining the nation’s economy. In reality, it’s the opposite. Sure, rich people who own businesses are supporting the economy by employing the less fortunate and continuing to cycle money. But so much of what they, and other rich people, do is only about their own purses. This doesn’t help the economy. Yes, in the short-term, you’re supporting the yacht industry by buying ten yachts, but this will lead to diminishing returns, and only help a select few in the population. Your goal in life should be to become as successful as possible, but beware the moment success transforms into unfulfilling overconsumption.

Gourmet Eating

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 3, 2088

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The real centennial was more than a month ago, but people were still celebrating. Any chance to have fun was a good one. Mateo never really understood what exactly had happened a hundred years ago, but Kansas City was apparently the center of it. Several hours later, it was 2088.

Makarion was kind enough to set him up in a safehouse so that he wouldn’t have to sleep on a park bench again. Come morning, Mateo woke up with a little perspective. Things were starting to feel normal. Wake up, watch a movie, go to bed, wake up, run for your life, go to bed. Rinse, repeat. He didn’t have a purpose. Having never had control over how he traveled through time, he had originally assumed that it was either random, or for a very good reason. Other salmon seemed to have some kind of job to fulfill. Aunt Daria teleported around saving people. His father jumps in and out, doing something of importance each time. Even Horace Reaver was originally commissioned to put right what once went wrong day by day. Mateo and Leona were once called The Rovers by The Delegator, but that nickname seems to have been lost to time, and never really had any meaning. These are the kinds of things Mateo had questioned about himself, but no more. It didn’t matter. If The Cleanser wanted to toy around with him, then so be it. Things could be worse. He didn’t know about this time period, but where he was from, many people were much worse off than this.

This new insight came with a few side effects. He realized how old Makarion had gotten. They had been sent through time against both of their respective patterns, so it was hard to tell quite how old he was, but Makarion was looking sixty-something. Saviors are said to not live long. When his aunt first told him that, he had taken it more figuratively, that their lives were just filled with hardship, but now it was looking like accelerated aging was part of the deal.

“It looks like you might not have long,” he said while they were sitting in the backyard, watching the wind blow.

Makarion laughed a little at what sounded like hidden irony. “I’ve been around a lot longer than you think.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not gonna get into it.”

“You said you would never lie to me again.”

“The hell I said that.”

“Damn...” Mateo said with an aw shucks face. “I was hoping senility would set in and you would just believe me.”

“No, saviors age fast, but not magically so, and it doesn’t affect our brain function. It’s just a physical downside to how we move around. We’re fundamentally different than other salmon. Other teleporters do just fine, but our particular method is taxing on the body. I’m only better off than your aunt was at this stage in her life because I don’t ever have to teleport. Hers went through a lot more than this body has.”

That was a clue. “You just referred to your body.”

“What?”

“You speak of your body as if it’s not really yours. I’ve always suspected something strange going on. The fact that you’re the only salmon I’ve heard of who’s broken out of his own pattern, how much you know about the future, there’s something else going on. What did you do to your own body?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Makarion replied, even knowing it was pointless.

“No, I want to know what your deal is. Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you different? Do you have temporal powers I don’t know about?”

“I’m not having this conversation.” He tried to walk away.

“You think by breaking your pattern, you became more like the choosers, but you didn’t. You’re more like the humans.”

This seemed to intrigue him. “What?”

“A salmon only has a one-track mind. We’re forced into this life, and we do our best to survive. That’s all we think about, because that’s all we’re allowed to think about. The choosing ones are insane because when they discover what they can do, they suddenly have all these options that they didn’t even know were possible.”

“How would you know what it’s like to find out you’re a chooser?”

“I’m guessing a little here, and having faith in my own intuition.”

“I thought Catholics only have faith in their God.”

“Shows how much you know about Catholics.”

He started sizing Mateo up, but still wanted to know where he was going with this. “Please...continue.”

“Choosers have all this power, even the ones with restrictions, like that guy who can only teleport by line-of-sight. I’m sure some of you are good, but there’s a reason why Kayetan feels like these mysterious powers that be treat you all as criminals.”

“Why?”

“Because you are. You can do things most people can’t, and it corrupts you. From what I gather, no one is born knowing this about themselves, I mean not in the way that babies learn on their own that they have hands and feet. You spend your early years knowing what it’s like living in the filth with the rest of us. Then someone reaches down and lifts you up to show you how beautiful the world can be. And all you can do is destroy it, because living in filth is all you know, but no one good was around teach you to not take your newfound perspective for granted.”

“I think I follow,” he said. “I think.”

“The fact is that time travel is always dangerous. Every benevolent action you take necessarily comes paired with an equal or greater amount of harm. I killed Hitler and saved the world from hundreds, possibly thousands, of more deaths just from the war going on for a few more months. But in doing so, I killed Leona’s father. I erased myself from time. Hell, I even made Theo be born a girl this time. These were consequences that could not be prevented, even with these chooser powers, and I really believe that. What other things did I change? How many people died that should have lived? How many were never even born, just like me?” Then Mateo lowered his eyelids to illustrate seriousness. “And how many of these changes to the timeline are you people making on a regular basis?”

“So,” Makarion started to ask, “what’s the takeaway from all this?”

“Good or bad, time travel is bad. If I had chooser powers, I would use them once. I would go back to whenever it was invented, and kill its creator with Hitler’s gun.”

Makarion revealed a knowing smile. “Time travel wasn’t invented, my son. It was only contained.”

“Who are you?” Mateo pressed once more.

He sighed like he was finally giving up. “I’m The Rogue.”

“No, I know what your nickname is. Though, to be honest, I met the first Rogue, and you’re nothing like him. He was nasty and vicious. You’re better than that, I know you are.”

“This is not true,” Makarion said. “I’m not just like him. I am him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You wanted the truth, and your little thesis on the ethics of temporal manipulation proved to me that you’re ready for it. Well...part of it, anyway.”

“Now I don’t follow.”

“I am the original Rogue you met a month ago. I have been the entire time.”

“I killed him.”

“You killed that body,” Makarion confirmed. “I transferred to another one. That’s my real chooser power. I can possess others, and utilize their powers as long as I’m there. When I leave, I lose those specialties, and am limited by whatever I have access to with the new body.”

It made some sense, but was also a disappointing revelation. That Rogue was not a good person. He showed no sign of remorse for his actions, but Makarion always appeared to be a decent person who had simply lost his way. “So Makarion didn’t break out of his pattern. You’re just not Makarion.”

“No, I’m limited to his ability to teleport, but the powers that be have no control over me no matter which body I’m in, so I use these powers freely.”

“Well, if you can move to other bodies, why don’t you just move to someone more powerful?” He went over a few scenarios. “Shit, why don’t you take over The Cleanser’s body and stop all these tribulations?”

“If I had known how bad things would get, I would have done that before the Gulliver’s Travels tribulation. Unfortunately, you stripped me of that power. I’m not only limited by Makarion’s specialty, but by the substrate itself. I can’t leave. I’m stuck here.”

“So in killing you in the castle, I doomed myself. You could have helped me if you weren’t like this.”

Makarion, or The Rogue, or whatever, shook his head adamantly. “No, Mateo, you saved me. I’m only like this because of what you did. You were right that power corrupts. I spent a lot of years as a human before finding my power, and when I did, I abused it. It’s like a drug, and you basically rehabilitated me from it. I’m actually pretty sure possession comes with a level of absorption of traits from the original inhabitant. That is, I’m better than I was when I was in the other body, because Makarion was better than him. I was never really against you, that much was true. The Cleanser really did recruit me decades ago. He even procured for me the only other Rogue body you knew as me. Don’t feel bad for him, he was corrupt as well. But I did steal his body, and that was wrong. If I thought there was a way to kill myself and return Makarion to consciousness, I would. And again, that’s because of what you did. You showed me the man I used to be. When I was at my worst, you showed me kindness. You didn’t give up on me, and I bet you didn’t even realize what you were doing. That’s because you’re a good person, Mateo. You don’t think about doing the right thing, the choices you make just are good. I will be forever grateful for what you’ve taught me.”

Mateo didn’t know what to say. Those were some of the nicest words anyone had ever said to him, and they were coming from the mouth of an enemy. Or rather through the mouth of a stranger, from the mind of a new friend. “Well, we’re not done yet. I think it’s time we fight back.”

The Rogue put on his game face. “I’m ready.” But then he lurched.

“What? What is it?”

Makarion’s mouth moved around like he was speaking, but no sound was coming out. A reddish light started emanating from his throat, though. It grew so bright that it started coming out of his eyes, and even his ears. A powering up sound started to rise in tone amidst the distinct sound of a cry of pain. The light formed cracks in Makarion’s face, and then all over his body. The scream intensified and increased in volume. Having reached critical mass, the Makarion body exploded into thousands of shards that flew away from ground zero and blinked out of existence like sparks.

Where the Rogue, Makarion had been standing was now only The Cleanser. “Enough of the lovey-dovey shit. I knew I would have to kill him once he started showing feelings for his prey, I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.” He pretended to brush bits of Makarion’s body from his shoulders, but there were no remains. He was gone. “No matter. I’ll just handle this myself. But no more movies. Let’s try to be a little more original from now on.”

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Frenzy: The Knight After (Part V)

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I can hear movement in the room with me, but it’s dark and there are lot of crusties in my eyes. I calmly but with likely a lot of fear in my voice ask, “where am I?”

“You’re in my apartment,” a voice answers.

“Not the hospital,” I half-state, half-ask.

“Not in the hospital, no.”

“Why am I not in a hospital?”

“Well, because...” he trails off.

“Because what?”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough to know how to call the cops.”

“I’m not here to hurt you. You were already hurt. I dragged you out of the rain and tended to your wounds.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Everyone thinks doctors are the only ones who treat patients. Well, ya know what? Doctors barely do anything. Nurses are the ones who do the real work. Doctors breeze in, ask a few questions, scribble on your chart, and then go play golf.”

“So...you’re a nurse?”

He sighs. “No, I was a scout. I know how to treat a basic head injury. I didn’t think you wanted to go to a hospital because that’s not what we usually do.”

“Who’s we?”

“Never mind that.”

“Creep factor is heading towards eleven.”

“I told you that I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s often what people say before they hurt you.”

“Have a lot of experience?”

“Could you please turn on the light?” I ask. “Your shadow is freaking me out.”

“Thistle, turn the lights on,” he orders his home system. Oh my God, he’s hot. He must be at least five years older than me, but it’s like this love at first sight thing. He has smooth skin and cool brown eyes. His hair goes down to his shoulders, and it’s this interesting grayish tone that I can’t tell if it’s natural or fake. He’s medium build, muscular but not disgustingly ripped. If I had to describe the perfect man, I would probably just give you this guy’s name, if I knew it. He smiles kindly at me. “Hello again.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Never mind.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Do I? You must remember me from another life.”

What an odd thing to say. “What time is it?”

“Almost six. If there’s a silver lining in this,” he says and all I can think about is his hair. “...it’s that you actually managed to get some sleep. It was foolish of you to be outside that late, in the rain, with those stupid fucking goggles on.”

“Whoa,” I reply. “Don’t hate on the goggles, this wasn’t there fault.” He looks at me like I’m trippin’. “Okay, maybe it was.”

He nods like a teacher with a student who finally “gets it”. Then he stands up and starts walking toward the kitchen. “You better eat some carbs so you don’t fall again during the actual race today.”

Now I’m freaked out again, but...but those eyes, doe. “How do you know I’m in a race?”

“You’re famous,” he says. “Turn on all screens.” The entire bedroom area of the studio apartment turns into an immersive video experience. I had been wondering why the walls were completely bare. They’re not walls at all, just giant screens. We’re currently looking at two beautiful sceneries: a beach at sunrise, and a time lapse recording of autumn leaves falling from a forest of trees. A weather card and other widgets float around, along with a muted news feed about the Frenzy.

“Could you turn that up?”

“Unmute,” he commands.

The news anchor is in the middle of her story, “...witnesses say that Mr. Demir was able to return home shortly after the incident, and it has not been reported that he will not be able to run. Mr. Kaveda on the other hand, suffered too serious of damage to compete. He was unable to speak with us, but his family laments the unfortunate turn of events since this will be Mr. Kaveda’s last chance to win the Frenzy before aging out near the end of November. This comes on the heels of shocking news that dozens of other racers were automatically disqualified from this year’s event due to the recent strange weather in the area. Speaking of which, Maggie Nimbus, what do you have to say about this weather?”

“Mute,” my sexy nurse commands before the weather woman can go into her spiel about why she has no clue what the hell is going on.

“Braxton can’t run,” I say, mostly to myself.

“You were lucky. I saw the Gauntlet run.”

“So you’re a fan?”

“Of the race? Yes,” he answers, presumably fearful that I might be referring to a possible fanboy crush he has on me. “I hate running, but I admire the athleticism, so I live vicariously through you. I’m 24, so it’s only recently occurred to me that there might be a...creep factor to that.” He takes a sip from his tea.

I put my tail between my legs. “I’m sorry about that. I appreciate you taking care of me. I don’t have a medical alert chip in my arm, so I probably would have died out there alone. How could I ever thank you...?” I trail off, indicating that he should give me his name.

“I’m—” he stops himself like a stripper forgetting that she’s not supposed to give out her real information. “Everybody just calls me Ace.”

“I’m not everybody. I’m famous.”

“Still...you can call me Ace.”

“Very well, Ace.” This flirting is either going really well or I’m barking up the wrong tree and he’s just a pleasant social creature.

“Come on. My world famous quiche is almost done. You’ll regret it if you miss your opportunity to try it.”

I get out of the bed to find that I’m wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. That’s all I ever wear because they’re better to run in, but these are not mine. They’re not even my brand. “Uh...” is all I can say.

“Oh, sorry about that. Yeah, the creep factor is a thousand now. But you were wearing all wet clothes. I couldn’t let you keep those on.”

I don’t know what to say to him next. I feel fortunate that he treated me medically; but it’s also weird that he had to remove my clothes without permission; but I suppose if anyone’s going to take my clothes off, I would want it to be someone who looks like this guy; but I wouldn’t have wanted him to see me like that when I haven’t had time to, uh...get ready? “Thanksssss.” Stop saying the letter s, idiot! Jesus!

“I have some extra clothes in my dresser.”

As he’s putting the final touches on his supposedly amazing quiche, I open his drawers, looking for something that works. The top drawer has briefs, just like the ones he gave me, but the drawer after that is full of boxers. Most people choose one or the other, so unless he’s weirder than I thought, there’s someone else. “Do you have a roommate?”

He drops the fork he was using to test the taste of his dish. “What?”

I look down at the bed I had been sleeping in. “This is a pretty big bed for just one guy.”

“I...” he trails off again. He does that a lot too. It’s like he thinks he’s talking to someone he already knows well, and then has to remember that I’m a stranger, and adjust his words accordingly. “He’s gone.”

“I’m sorry. Bad breakup?”

“It was necessary,” Ace explains. “He’s about to go live abroad for four years.”

“You couldn’t follow him?”

He takes another fork out of the dishwasher. “Not where he’s going.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He’ll come back,” he says. “The most important people in your life will always come back, sometimes at unexpected times, but they’ll be there for you when you really need them.”

“That’s beautiful.” My phone goes off. “Crap, my mom’s calling.” I let it continue to ring, because if I tap the ignore button, she’ll know something’s up. When it’s done, I grab it. “Call Keilix,” I command it, and wait for the call to go through. “Keilix, you up?—Well, that’s good. Listen, you need to back me up if my mom asks whether I stayed with you last night.—I was doing a dry run and couldn’t get back in the rain, so I slept at a bus stop.—I know it’s dangerous, but I’m fine, would you just do this for me?—Okay, I didn’t mean to doubt you, but I’m just gonna tell her that we were studying.—Love you too.”

“You’re a really good liar,” Ace points out.

“No,” I counter. “I’m just a teenager.”

Mom accepts the lie without too many questions, especially because of Alim. Now he’s a good liar, and can always think on his feet. He’s always covered for me, even without me preparing him for it, which I never do. I love that guy so much, I need to say that to him out loud sometime. I find some clothes that fit me perfectly. Ace says that they’re his boyfriend’s that he just hasn’t gotten rid of yet. If his ex is my size, maybe he has a type, and maybe I’m his type, and maybe I should stop fawning over a guy who’s seven years older than me.

Still, the two of us have a nice breakfast. He was right, his quiche is amazing. It’s possibly the best meal I’ve ever had, and I’m not just saying that because I have the hots for him, or because my mother’s cooking isn’t the best. Don’t worry, she doesn’t particularly like cooking, and doesn’t think it’s great either. I don’t cook at all, so it would be nice to be with a man who could take care of that for me. Damn, there I go again. I gotta get this outta my head. The race. The Frenzy. That’s what’s important. That’s happening today. I have to get back to headquarters, check in with the council, and get my ride to my starting point.

Ace acts like he’s known me for years. He starts clearing the table and says, “welp, you better get going. I hear it’s bad if you finish a race in last place.”

“That’s a myth,” I say jokingly.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you a ride, but I’ll summon one and charge it to my account since your mother has access to your transactions.”

“That would be lovely, I’ll find a way to pay you back with cash.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists. “Just win that race for me, okay? I’ll be watching your feeds on the main screen.”

“I can do that,” I say with confidence. It’s gonna be tough, though. I’m not really ready for this year. I would give anything for a chance to go back and try these last few days over again, as long as it didn’t mean never meeting Ace.

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