His phone suddenly buzzed on the table.  He looked down and read the notification.

“I’m downstairs.  Can you take a break?”

“You mind if I get out of here for a few minutes?”

“Sure thing.  I’ll just keep working on this part while you’re gone,” the man said, not looking up from the laptop screen.

“Be there in a sec.”  he texted.

The stairs were more effort to go down, but the elevator was a big risk.  Two of them were broken, leaving only one to serve seven floors of employees.  The last couple of times he’d taken it, the car had stopped on every floor up and every floor down.  Completely unacceptable.

He took the stairs, bounding down at a faster than usual pace.  Between the stuffy meeting room and talking to his sister outside under that magnificently blue, clear sky, he’d take the latter any day.

The air outside hit him like the smell of a fresh pie baking in the oven.  He savored it, almost able to taste how much sweeter it was.

“Hey Zane.”

“Hi Analyn.”

“What are you doing here in the middle of a weekday?”

“I called in sick this morning.”

“You’re so bad.”

Analyn chuckled.  “Just a little bit.  I mean, come on.  It’s too beautiful outside to work today.”

Zane gazed up at the sky almost emotionlessly.  “Yeah, you’re right about that.”  Without looking down, he continued, “So what brings you to visit me at work?”

She held up a plastic container.  “I was bored and made lunch.  Spaghetti and meatballs.  Thought I’d be nice and bring you some.”

“From scratch?”

“That’s the only way I make it.”

“Wow, awesome.  Thank you!” Zane said, accepting the proffered container.

“Were you busy?”

“Nah.  Just in some stupid meeting with a guy from another department.  He doesn’t really need me.”

“Wanna go take a walk then?”

Zane glanced over his shoulder.  “Sure, but I might have to duck into the bushes or something if my boss suddenly appears.”

“You don’t have to if you’re gonna get in trouble.”

He laughed.  “Nah, it’ll be fine.  I need a break anyway.”

They headed down the sidewalk toward the garden.  There was an archway, and above it a sign lettered in Gothic font on a wooden base, painted black and forest green with gold filigree adorning the border of each character.  It read “Towncenter Park,” the name of the business complex in which Zane’s employer rented its office space.

“You have any plans tonight?” Analyn asked.

“Nah, I’ll probably just be hanging around the house.  You?”

“Same here.”

Zane laughed.  “We really need to make some friends.”

“We’d probably have more incentive to do that if we didn’t have built-in friends in each other.”

“Well if you wouldn’t have followed me here…”

“Oh, don’t start that again.”

Three years ago, Zane landed a new job – his current job – while at the same time, Analyn graduated from college and happened, only by coincidence, to get a job in the same city.  It was the second closest major city to where they grew up, but still a good three hour drive.  It worked out well though, in that they had the ability to pool their resources and rent a nice house in a good, safe neighborhood that was not close, but not particularly far from where either of them worked.

“We should try going out to a club or something instead of sitting around tonight,” Zane said as they passed under the floral arch.

“It’s so hard to make friends in a club, though.  Too much noise.”

“True.”

“Haven’t you made any friends at work yet?”

“No, they still haven’t replaced Dan.”

“After two years?”

“Yeah.  I’m still the entire department.”  Zane brushed his hand against the velvelty petal of an amaryllis.

“Oh, that sucks.  I thought I’d heard you mention another person you worked with.”

“Shannon?”

“Yeah,” Analyn said.

“She’s just a lady from accounting that has a bit of a crush on me.  I don’t work closely with her, though.”  Zane paused, then continued, “What’s your excuse for not having made any friends at work?”

“Still no one my age,” she said.  “I mean, I like my coworkers, but they’re all in their mid-40s and married with kids and responsibility and stuff.  They don’t have time to hang out.”

“Guess it’s just me and you then.”

Without looking at Zane, Analyn nodded.  “It’s not so bad though.  Either of us could be alone in this city.”

“Yeah.  I guess it’s also lucky that we get along pretty well.”

Analyn laughed and took an extra long step to avoid a crack in the sidewalk.  Overhead, they could hear the sound of a helicopter’s rotors fluttering as it raced across the sky like a supercharged ant – black silhouette against blue sky, all details hidden by the intensity of the sun.

“I guess I probably need to head back to work,” Zane said.

“Sure.”

They circled around the garden and back down the Towncenter Park sidewalk.  The helicopter was almost out of view, but Zane could still just barely make out the deceivingly small dot in the sky that represented something like two tons of metal and plastic.

“Thanks again for the food,” Zane said, holding up the container.

“No problem.”

“See you tonight.”  He hugged her.

“Later.”

Zane took one last breath of the fresh, sweet air and headed back inside.  He exhaled, then inhaled some of the stale air in the lobby of the building.

“Hey Zane.”

He looked up and saw Wendy from human resources.

“Hey.”

“She was beautiful.  Girlfriend?” Wendy said.

“No.  My sister.”

“Oh, that’s Analyn?”

“Yeah.  She came to bring me some food.”  Zane held up the container.

“How nice of her,” Wendy smiled.  “You should’ve brought her in and let us meet her.”

“Sorry, maybe another time.  It completely slipped my mind.”  Zane flashed a smile and continued to the stairs.  It was a long climb back up to the seventh floor, so he took it easy.  No point in getting all tired or out of breath just to get back to a boring meeting.

His conversation with Analyn lingered in his mind as he climbed.  It was true that neither of them had made friends.  In high school, they’d each had plenty of friends.  They were pleasant people to be around, or so he thought, but the problem seemed to be more in meeting the right people.

Zane had usually been pretty good at being able to figure people out, too.  He could tell when his sister was annoyed, and furthermore, he knew better than to do anything to exacerbate the condition.  People used to come to him in high school when they had problems, when they just needed someone to talk to.  Not necessarily for advice, just when they needed a friendly set of ears and a warm pair of eyes.  There were lots of times when he wanted to offer advice because he empathized or sympathized so well with whatever issue the person had, but he held his tongue.

His entire world had almost been defined by that trait.  It’s how people knew him, and it was all lost when he moved.  Without that reputation, he was just another normal guy trying to fit in with the world around him.

When he reached the fifth floor, the muscles in his legs were starting to complain.  Zane considered this and silently wished the elevators would be fixed soon.

By the seventh floor, he was breathing heavily but knew he’d recover quickly.  He stared at the door that would lead him back into the hall that ended at the meeting room.  Being able to see the beautiful view again would be nice, but it would only serve to make him envious of his sister.  She got to be out there under that sky, and he had to be inside, behind glass and metal and concrete and plaster.

Zane pulled out his phone and started writing a text to Analyn.  ”We’re going out somewhere tonight.  No complaints,” it said.  He reread it and pressed ‘send.’

Satisfied, he took a step toward the door, smiled, and said, “We’ll make friends somehow.  I promise, Analyn.”

He could have the same conversation he’d had with her back when they’d met in college – that she was too old to be doing things like that; that she wasn’t a skater punk.  Nine years later, he’d long given up on that and gotten used to her eccentric hair.  Maybe he’d even grown to like it.

“How’s the research going?” Cal asked.  He flipped through a notebook with hand-written diagrams and symbols and scribbles of things he only barely or partially understood.

“Decent,” she said.  “I was up until three trying to make sense of Martin’s notes, but I just don’t get this neuroscience stuff.”

“What’s decent about that?”

“I don’t think we have to understand it to get Kytara to function at a basic level.”

“Martin’s research was pivotal to understanding any of this,” Cal said, gesticulating at the server cluster behind her.  “Kytara is dead in the water without him.”

“Not necessarily,” Morgan said, shuffling through another notebook that she’d seemingly pulled out of nowhere.  She stopped on a page and her face lit up.  “Ah, here it is.”  She handed the notebook to him.

“Kytara…revision…99…”   Cal looked up from the page.  “What does this say?  Martin’s handwriting looks like chickenshit.”

“Neuralware unnecessary for Kytara project.  Revision three of Kytara OS software with standard neuralware has 99.5% probability of compatibility.”

Cal froze.  “You’re kidding me.”

Morgan shrugged and pointed at the words in the notebook.  “Martin said it, not me.”

“How could standard neuralware possibly handle that much throughput?  The synapse translation algorithm would burn a hole in your head.”

“I don’t know, but Martin’s notes from the few days preceding his death show that he definitely thought he was on to something.”  Morgan grabbed a datacard off of the desk and handed it to Cal.  “Check out the one that smells like coffee.”

“All of Martin’s files smell like coffee.”

“Not on that card,” she said, making a face.

Cal took the card and held it flat against his fingers.  The data instantly transmitted to Cal’s neuralware and assigned the proper receptors to each file.  Some were named like traditional computer files, such as “March 12th research data.”  Other bits of data only had smells or colors or warmth.

“Fuck, everything on this card smells like pot,” Cal said.  “Was he doing all of his work stoned?”

Morgan shrugged.  “Probably.”

Cal continued sifting through the data until he finally found the only one that smelled like coffee.  It was lukewarm and held no identifiable data other than the standard timestamps from its inception and modification.

He opened it up and took a look at its contents.

“Whoa.”

“Found it?”

“Yeah.”

“Saw the part about data streamlining?”

Cal flipped the datacard around in his hand and held it out to Morgan.  “The entire thing was about data streamlining.”

“I mean the part that’s relevant to Kytara.”

Cal grinned.  “I know.”

“So what’d you think?”

“If we can seriously solve this with code rather than beefier hardware in our heads, we’d be 100 years ahead of anyone else on the planet.”

“They already have functioning AI in a few of the western European states,” Morgan said.

“Yeah, but have you ever tried one of those?  They are artificial, and they are intelligent, but they’re intelligent on the level of an orangutan or a dolphin.  If the Kytara project bears fruit, we’ll have an AI that’s intelligent at or beyond a human-like level.”

Cal pulled a datacard out of his pocket and bent the corner, simultaneously activating a fingerprint encryption algorithm.

“Hold this.”

“Got something on there you don’t want me to see?”

Cal grinned.  “Maybe.”

Morgan reached out and flattened her fingers on the half of the card that Cal wasn’t touching.  There was only one file she could access.  Cal had turned the rest of them into gibberish – smells and colors and letters that had no meaning whatsoever until they were decrypted.

“What is this?  An awkward proof of the Sullivan Construct Theorem?”

Cal laughed.  “Look closer.”

Morgan arched an eyebrow and further examined the data.  This file was mostly text, a few pictures, and a poorly recorded video in measly 4k resolution.  Normally, this data would’ve taken hours to sift through, but with the neuralware reading the datacard and dumping it directly into her brain, it took only a few seconds.  The only thing that really took time was analyzing the data.

“No, no way.  You wrote this?” Morgan asked.

Cal nodded.  “Martin suggested that I do some research on some data of his – the video and pictures that you just saw – and that’s what I came up with.”

Morgan stared awestruck and dumbfounded.  “You reproved the Sullivan Construct Theorem using Calloway computational standards after adding a feature shell and removing a complexity layer?”

“I did,” Cal said, flattening the corner of the card by pressing his finger against it, simultaneously decrypting the entirety of the data on the card.  “Check the rest of the data.”  Cal let go of the card.  She took it out of his hand and analyzed it for a few moments.

“That magnificent son of a bitch…” Morgan gasped.  “He had us each working on complementary halves of the same puzzle.”

“It appears that way.”

“How did he know?  And why didn’t he tell us?”

“I don’t know,” Cal said, “But if we’re right…if Martin was right…this is the beginning of a new software age.”

I feel like half of a person without her.  Less than half of a person, even.  A cracked shell of my former self.

There was nothing harder than to say goodbye to her, so I never vocalized those words.  I held on to that hope for so long that she’d come back, but I watched her walk away, and I think I knew.  I was fooling myself, but I knew she wasn’t coming back.

I dream of seeing her, being with her, but even my dreams pull her away before they end.  I can feel my own passion erupting in the air around me so thick that I can’t breathe, and then I wake up in a cold sweat clutching the sheets of the empty bed beside me.  I wonder, how do you feel without me there?  Is it anything like I feel?  Is it anything like you’d hoped it would feel?

Even during my waking hours, I can close my eyes and see her there.  I see the same scenes playing out over and over and no matter where I am, I break down – fall to my knees and suddenly taste the salt of my own tears.

You were never supposed to leave; never supposed to do this to me.  You didn’t even have the decency to leave me in one piece, so how am I supposed to put myself back together when I am scattered apart like so many petals of a rose?

See the world from the goggles of your judgement,

Part the weave into threads,

See what makes you treat others like dirt,

Take it all apart and find out why you always feel so hurt.

Why do you bicker?

Why do you start fights and condemn?

With an attitude so damning,

You must think yourself a divine authority,

The judge, the jury, and the executioner,

The fire, the fury, and the persecutor.

But you are no better than anyone else,

You are no more than those you torment,

And hopefully one day you’ll learn that

the best way to spread your message is by setting an example worth following.

“Your own vanity,” Twinel corrected him.  Onel shot her a stare that she scoffed at, but it only made him grin wider.

“He has to be punished,” Onel said.  “That is not up for debate.”

“According to the rules, that is so,” Throvian said.  “But perhaps the rules are what is broken.”

Onel scoffed.  “The rules are what have protected us and our ancestors for millennia.  You dare question them?”

“Those rules are as archaic as they are unfair,” Throvian said.

“Throvian, let’s be level-headed,” Twinel said.  “The age of the rules does not decry their validity or authority.  Perhaps in this case, though, an exception should be made.”

Onel glared fire at Twinel and Throvian.  “A singular exception to a perfectly good rule will lead to further exceptions being made, thus causing the rule to become multilaterally worthless.”

Throvian rose to his feet.  “There is simply no arguing with you, Onel.  This is why the elders do not respect you.  This is why I do not respect you.”  He snatched a manilla folder from the table and stormed out of the room.

“You will not defeat me in such a way,” Twinel said, seemingly disappointed in her cohort’s exit.

“Are you aware of the exact wording of the rule of which I speak?” Onel asked.

“Of course.  ‘Let not your heart be captured by one of lesser descent.  To fraternize with the lessers shall mark the beginning, to become intimate with them shall mark the end.’”

Onel frowned.  “Then why do you still argue?”

“Setestrian has brought no harm to us.  He has only brought great heartache to himself for having fallen in love with a lesser.”

Onel groaned and angrily swiped the air in front of him.  “Nonsense!  You speak foolishness, my dear sister.”

“Onel, you lack compassion.  If you yourself had fallen for a lesser, you would understand Setestrian’s plight.  The problem is not my words, but your lack of empathy.”

Onel slammed his fist down into the table, but Twinel didn’t as much as flinch.

“Control your anger, brother.”

“You are only siding with Throvian on this issue because you’ve loved him since we were children!”

“While the latter part of that statement is true, I simply am following what I think is right in this situation.”

“I’ve had enough of this drivel,” Onel said.  “Where are Fovea and Fivoria?”

“Who can be sure?” Twinel said.  “But certainly, those two would side with Throvian and myself.”

“Then Sikal?” Onel hissed.

“Though I’m sure Sikal does not have more important things to do, he is not here,” Twinel said, leveling her gaze at Onel.  “You are defeated, brother.  We are the only ones here, and you know that if it comes to blows, I will be victorious.”

Fire raged in Onel’s eyes, both out of anger for being defeated and frustration in knowing that she was right.

“You win this round, dearest sister, but beware any future discussions we may have on issues on which I require your… allegiance.”

Onel’s words would’ve made any lesser shudder, but Twinel laughed at his pissant attempts to stir fear in her.

“Of course, dear brother.  As it always is.”

“I’m in your next class too, you know,” Ian said.  Melody, in fact, did not know.

“Oh.”

She wanted to listen to her music and ignore this guy, but it was too weird, and he had this sneaking suspicion that something was off about her already.  This was not something she could just block out with her music and ignore.

“Can you sing?”  Ian broke her train of thought.

“Huh?”

“Can you sing?  You seem to love music so much and you have a pretty speaking voice.  I was just wondering if you can sing well.”

“Um, I don’t know.  I guess.”

“Will you sing for me?”

“Dude, I don’t even know you.”

“Oh, come on.  It’s not like I’m asking some great favor or anything.”

“If I sing for you, will you leave me alone?”

Ian laughed.  “For a little while, maybe.”

“Fine,” Melody sighed.

They continued walking until Ian quickened his pace, turned around, and walked backward in front of Melody.

“Well?” he said.

“What?”

“Let’s hear it!”

“Like, right now?”

“Why not?”

Melody raised an eyebrow.  “Because we’re walking to class and surrounded by people that will think I’m nuts.”  She also didn’t want to attract any attention, but kept that to herself.

“You shouldn’t keep your beautiful voice all to yourself.”

“You don’t even know what my singing voice sounds like.”

“I already know it’s beautiful.  I’m just waiting for you to prove it.”

Melody rolled her eyes.  Was Ian hitting on her?  Or was he just crazy?

“Not now.”

“Then when?”

“I don’t know.”

“How about at five o’clock in the park by the lake?”

“I’m not meeting a stranger in the park.”

“I’m not a stranger.  I’ve already introduced myself.”

Melody groaned and stared down at the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding stepping on a crack.

“Fine, whatever.”  The park was public, after all, and usually was filled with college students studying under the cool shade of the trees and families taking their young ones for some outdoor fun.

*     *     *

Melody stood under the shade of an oak tree whose branches stretched up over her head and just reached the shallowest part of the lake.  The wires of her earbuds dangled down the sides of her face and traced a line back to her pocket.  She was listening to the song she was going to sing for Ian.

“Where is he?” she muttered, removing her phone from her pocket to check the time.  It was 5:10, and Ian was nowhere in sight.

The song played on in her ears, and she listened carefully to the singer’s voice – how she carefully controlled her intonation and always let the words leave her mouth with just the right feel to them.

“Melody!”

She turned around.

“Hey, sorry I’m a little late.”

“It’s okay.  Let’s just get this over with.”

“You don’t sound too excited,” Ian said.

“I’m not.”  Her reply came both coarse and flat.

“I will find a way to fix that,” he said.  “But go ahead, let’s hear this voice that you are too embarrassed to share with others.”

Melody groaned and took a swig of water from the bottle she’d been holding.  It was warm and did very little to refresh her.  She took a deep breath and began.

“Ever since you walked out the door

My feelings have been left scattered on the floor

And I know you don’t care,

But I just wanted to remind you…

I’m still here

I’m still here

I’m still here….”

Ian stood there unable to speak.  Melody stared at him, unsure if he had figured out her secret yet or if his mouth was agape for some other reason.

“Amazing,” he said.  “Incredible.  Stupendous.  You sing beautifully, Melody!”

A faint smile emerged on her face.  “Thanks.”

“Please, please sing something else for me.”

She was unprepared for a second song, and she knew that Ian wouldn’t leave her alone unless she did it.

“Fine,” she said, doing her best to sound annoyed.  “What should I sing?”

Ian thought for a moment and then responded, “How about ‘Clicks’ by Number 7?”

Melody froze.  He’d guessed?  Or was this some cruel coincidence?

“I don’t know that one,” Melody lied.

“What?  How could you not know Number 7′s greatest hit?  That’s like the biggest pop song of the past decade!”

Melody shifted her feet.  “I’ve heard it.  I don’t really like it enough to know all of the lyrics.”  Would that work?

“Just sing the part you know, then.”

She was stuck.  She could continue to lie, but he spoke truth.  No one didn’t know ‘Clicks.’

She took a deep breath and prepared for the inevitable.

“Your smile washes over me

Hanging on to every word you breathe

To be alive here with you

Yeah, you make me one happy chick

With every step we take, we just click, click, click

We just click, click, click.”

Melody took a breath and sighed.

“Ho…ly…shit,” Ian stammered.

It was completely inevitable now.

“You…you’re Number 7,” Ian said.  “You’re the biggest pop star on the planet!”

Melody gave him a serious glare and said, “You can’t tell anyone.  Anyone.”

“I won’t,” he said.  The look on his face screamed out disbelief.

“My identity is supposed to be a secret.  No one can know who Number 7 really is,” she said.

“I know, I’ve seen the television specials and read all of the speculation blogs.  I’m surprised your identity has been kept secret this long.”

“So if it leaks, I’ll know it was you, and I’ll find a way to throw the trail off of me.”

Ian smiled.  “You’ve got nothing to worry about.  I’m a trustworthy guy.”  He traced an X over his heart.  “Promise.”

Melody smiled.  “Wow, it feels kind of weird to share my secret with someone.  I always try so hard not to stand out.  It kind of hurts sometimes, but I love singing so much.”

“Why are you in school anyway?  There’s no way you’re worried about getting a degree to support yourself.”

Melody laughed.  “You’re right, but I can better myself as an artist.  That’s why I’m getting an English degree.  Taking classes in creative writing and analyzing the stories and poems of famous authors inspires me.”

“Why are you in chemistry then?”

“I have to take a science.  I chose chemistry – and don’t laugh – because I wanted to be able to make a song with clever puns about romantic chemistry and scientific chemistry.”

Ian stared at her for a second and then completely lost it.

“Hey, I told you not to laugh!” she said.

“I can’t help it,” he said.

Melody grinned.  “You know, we may have just met, but I think you and I may just have fantastic chemistry ourselves.”

every time we say those three damned words,

The ones that hurt so much every time

my answer comes back in deathly silence,

You like to play your little games,

And that’s fine, I have games too,

But if you want to have a chance at all

You’d better choose a side and mean it,

Because I can see right through your lies,

Every time you grit your teeth and smile

I still hear your serpent’s tongue hissing in your throat,

Making me regret every last word I breathed to you.

It wasn’t that Kayla didn’t like her step-sister; rather, it was just that she and Malerie had nothing in common.  Kayla liked pop, Malerie liked hip-hop; Kayla liked sitcoms, Malerie liked reality TV; Kayla liked polka dots and the color purple, Malerie liked stripes and green.  Seemingly, they disagreed on even the simplest things.  Other than that, they got along, but they rarely had anything to talk about, and Kayla hated being the lame step-sister sitting up in the bleachers while Malerie was down on the gym floor spiking the ball like a pro and earning enough points by herself to put her team in a commanding lead.

And that would be enough reason for Kayla to hate having P.E. with Malerie.  Really, it would.

“Kay-kay, come play with us!”

But Malerie consistently found ways to make it worse.

“Sorry Malerie, not feeling too good.”  Kayla hadn’t used that excuse in a while.

It was like Malerie just didn’t get how much Kayla hated this class.  She didn’t want to get sweaty, she had no interest in learning the rules for whatever dumb game they were playing, and she’d probably end up with half a dozen bruises just for trying.

“I still can’t believe your dad married Malerie’s mom.”

Kayla turned to her right where her friend Anna sat.  She’d actually met Anna through their mutual hatred of P.E. at the beginning of last year, which was long before her dad and Malerie’s mom tied the knot.

“Tell me about it.”

“It must be so weird to have grown up with this girl, and suddenly she’s your new step-sister.”

Kayla scoffed.  ”Weird barely begins to describe it.  And it’s only been a week.”

“At least you’re the prettier sister, though.”

Kayla blushed.  ”Thanks.  I wish I could agree.”

“No, really, you are.  Malerie is pretty too, but you’ve got something special that she doesn’t have.”

“You’re really pretty too, Anna,” Kayla paused, adding,  “Too bad neither of us have boyfriends.”

“Yeah, what a pity,” Anna said.

“Class is almost over,” Kayla said, looking over at the big analog clock on the cinder block wall at the front of the gym.

“Thank God.”

They got up and headed down the stairs toward the court where the other girls were smacking the volleyball around.  Kayla caught a glimpse of Malerie right as the ball went to her, and Malerie spiked it so hard that it may as well have been jettisoned out of an airplane with a canon.

The coach blew the whistle, indicating the match point.

“Alright girls, great game.  You can head to the locker room and get changed.”

A few girls congratulated Malerie on the score, but Malerie brushed them aside and ran over to Kayla and Anna.

“Hey Kay-kay!”

Kayla winced at the embarrassing nickname.  ”Hi.”

“Why don’t you ever want to play with us?  It’s really fun!”

“Malerie, you know I hate sports.”

“You don’t have to like them to have fun playing with your sister and your friends.”

Kayla paused at this.  She disagreed with the statement overall, but she wasn’t caught up on the topic of the sentence so much as she was the word choice.

Malerie had grown up an only child, and even though she wanted a sibling – especially a sister – and her mom wanted to have more children, it was impossible once her dad passed away when she was 7.  She thought she’d only be able to dream of having a sister.

Kayla, on the other hand, had an older brother – Benton.  He was a junior in the same school – only a year older than Kayla and Malerie.  They got along most of the time, but it was probably mostly because they left each other alone.

While Malerie was super excited to have a step-brother and especially a step-sister, it didn’t seem like a huge deal to Kayla.  It wasn’t like they were related by blood, and it wasn’t like they suddenly had to get along.

That, however, did nothing to stop Malerie from being cheerful and excited…or from calling Kayla and Benton her sister and brother.

Now, it wasn’t that Kayla didn’t like Malerie, nor did she resent Malerie’s mother for marrying her dad; it was more along the lines that she thought Malerie was using those words – “brother” and “sister” – too lightly.  Like telling a boyfriend that you love him after dating for two days or proclaiming you new favorite song the first time you hear it on the radio.  Benton was Kayla’s brother because they’d grown up together, been through their mother’s death together, shared holidays and birthdays, played with each other on boring summer days, and shared toys when they were toddlers.  Malerie couldn’t just walk in their house and claim to have the same title that they shared.

“Kay-kay, are you okay?”

Kayla snapped out of it.  ”Oh…sorry.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine.”  Kayla paused for a moment and added, “Can you please not call me by that nickname?  It’s a little embarrassing.”

Malerie looked slightly hurt, but tried to hide it behind a smile as she nodded and said, “Sure thing.  I’m sorry.  Should I just call you Kayla then?”

“That’s fine.”

The girls started walking to the locker room.  There was an awkward silence until they reached the rows of old metal lockers.

“I’ll see you later.  Bye, Kayla.”  Malerie smiled a sweet smile and turned toward her locker, which was across the room from Kayla’s and Anna’s.  For just a moment, Kayla felt bad that she was sometimes a little cold to Malerie.

“I think you really hurt her feelings just now,” Anna whispered as they headed for their lockers.

“Well, she keeps calling me Kay-kay.  It’s just…childish.  I mean, we’re both 16 years old.  Give me a break.”

“She likes you, Kayla.  She wants to get closer to you, like real family.  Like a real sister.  Even I can see that.  Why don’t you ever let her?”

This was the first time Anna had poked her nose into Kayla’s personal business like this.

“She can’t come into my life pretending like we’re best buddies, sisters, friends forever, whatever.  She never made any attempt to be my friend before her mom and my dad started dating.”

“Did you ever make an attempt to be her friend?”

“No, but I’m not the one trying to act like we’re so close already.”

Anna frowned as she twisted the combination dial on her locker.  ”Maybe she never tried to be your friend before because you’re so freaking cold sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Anna said.

Kayla couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought that maybe Anna was a little pissed off at her.  She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, though.  If Anna was a little mad, it was her own fault for meddling in affairs that were of no concern to her.

Kayla kept her mouth shut and changed out of her perfectly clean gym clothes (all she did with them on was sit in the bleachers for an hour and a half every day anyway) and back into her school uniform.  Her white shirt was slightly wrinkled from being hung in the tiny locker, but if her navy blue skirt was messed up, she couldn’t really tell.  She ran her hands down the surface of her shirt to try to smooth the wrinkles, but to little avail.

“Is my shirt okay?” Kayla asked, trying to break the silence and change the subject in one swift move.

“It’s fine,” Anna said with a sharpness in her voice.  Kayla decided to leave well enough alone and not push her any further.

The bell rang, and Anna and Kayla parted with little ado.  This left Kayla feeling a little off.

“Hey Kayla,” Malerie said as she jogged up.

“Hey.”

Malerie ignored Kayla’s dry response.  “Ready for English?”

“Not really.”

The two walked in silence for a few moments.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Kayla stared at the ground, but didn’t say anything.

“What did I do?  I’ve been trying to be nice.  I want to be friends; I want to be family, but you keep pushing me away.  Why?  Do you not like me?”  Malerie’s tone was deathly serious.  Kayla had never seen her like this.

“I don’t not like you,” Kayla began, desperately search for the right words as she spoke.  “I just don’t like that you came into my family with the attitude that you are my sister when we’ve never even been friends.”

Malerie broke stride with Kayla and slowed to a stop.  “I’m trying to be friends with you, but you won’t let me.”

“Just because our parents got married doesn’t mean we have to be friends,” Kayla shot back.

Malerie stared for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes.  “What did I ever do to you?  Why are you being so mean to me?”

“I know you’ve always wanted a sister and all, but our family situation does not automatically make us sisters.  We are only related by law.”  Kayla’s words came off shockingly cold, even to herself.

The tears in Malerie’s eyes began to fall down her cheeks as she struggled to regain composure.  “I know it’ll take time, but I’m trying to get you to open your heart to me.  I’m really trying.”

Kayla suddenly felt Malerie’s heart breaking, the words sobering Kayla to reality.

“I like you, Kayla.  I’ve always thought you were cool.  Admired your golden hair, your fashion sense, your good grades, how pretty you are…”  Malerie trailed off.  “I guess I just hoped we could share some bond, you know?  I know we don’t have a lot in common, but…”

“I’m sorry, Malerie,” Kayla interrupted, feeling sharp pangs of guilt.  “I didn’t mean to make you cry.  I like you too, really.  This situation has just been so weird, you know?  I think we can be friends, maybe even sisters, but we have to give it time.”

A slight smile escaped through Malerie’s tears.  “Okay.”

“A little at a time?”

“A little at a time,” Malerie nodded.

Kayla reached forward and wrapped her arms around Malerie in embrace.

“Now come on, we need to get to English before we’re late,” Kayla said.

“Yeah,” Malerie said, wiping moisture from her cheeks with her shirt sleeve.  “Let’s go, Kayla.”

“You can call me Kay-kay, if you want…Mal.”

A smile spread across Malerie’s face.  “Okay, then, Kay-kay.”

Her hair bounced in its ponytail as she quietly jammed out – apparently at her own personal rock concert.  Other students were herding into the room, completely ignoring Melody as though she was just a part of the scenery – nothing more than the paint on the wall or the fluorescent lights recessed in the ceiling tiles.  After all, there was nothing abnormal about a student drinking coffee and listening to music before class started.

The class began to settle down as the professor took his place at the podium and opened a slideshow that began streaming through the projector onto the screen at the front of the room.  The title slide displayed the words “Introduction to Stoichiometry”  in black font against a plain white background – the most boring of slides in the most boring of classes.

“Welcome back to class everyone.  I hope you all had a safe and fun holiday weekend and are ready to dive right into today’s topic.”

Melody heard a few groans from students on her left.  She would’ve groaned herself, but she was busy removing and storing her earbuds in her purse and pausing the music that was streaming from her phone, even though she so desperately wanted to at least finish this song.  If she let her hair down and positioned herself in her chair just right, she probably could’ve listened to music for the entire class period and never gotten caught, but she went out of her way to make herself invisible most of the time, and anything that could potentially draw attention to her would be counterproductive.

Well, almost anything.  She made an exception for jamming out to her music.  She couldn’t help herself anyway, which was another reason to turn her music off during class.

There was no way she could go without music.  She’d been brought up to appreciate all kinds of music:  from the pop music on the radio to the classical symphonies of Schubert and everything in between.  She loved and cherished music as if it were the source of her life force – a quality her parents had instilled in her and nurtured as much as possible.  They loved music so much that they’d even named their daughter “Melody.”

She sighed as she took out her notebook and pen.  The blank page patterned with light blue lines stared back at her, as if daring her to make a move.  She put the pen down to the page and accepted the challenge, as boring as it may have been.  She filled one page with notes, flipped it around the spiral ring, and filled the back as well.  She did this with another page, and another, until finally, class ended.  It had been a blur of terms and concepts she already didn’t remember, as per the usual with chemistry.

She put away her notebook and opened her purse, digging inside it for her phone – the precious purveyor of her music.  This was her favorite part of the day – the instant when the music first began to pour into her ears.  It was like magic as it saturated her thoughts and took over her body.

Melody rose from her chair and merged into the flock of students desperately trying to escape through the double doors on either side of the room.  Everyone else seemed to be in a hurry to get wherever they needed to go, but with her earbuds on, Melody was already exactly where she wanted to be.

She emerged into the hallway moments later and ritualistically made her way to her next class.  It was in another building across the quad, but she didn’t really need to think too hard about it.  Her legs usually just took her there.  Sometimes she wasn’t sure how she ended up in the right place on time every day.

“Hey, you with the gray shirt!”

Melody paused, barely hearing, but realizing that this voice could be calling out to her.  She turned around, finding a guy running up to her.

“Hey,” he said.

“Um, hi.”  Melody did not recognize him at all.

“You are always listening to music.”

“Yeah.”  What did this guy want?

“I’m in your chemistry class.  I always see you rocking out in the corner.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Not good.  Melody did not want any attention drawn to her.  She knew her love of music would eventually backfire, and maybe it finally had.  Her mind raced.  She had to get this guy to go away; had to scare him off or weird him out or something.

No, that would be counterproductive.  If she scared him, he’d probably tell other people that she’s a freak, and that would draw more attention to her.  Best to play this one out, she figured.

“What’s your name?”

“Melody,” she said.  “Like the melody that mother nature plays on wind chimes.”

He laughed.  “That’s an interesting way to put it.  I’m Ian.”

Melody stood there, unsure if she should be shaking his hand and saying “nice to meet you,” or if she should be concerned that this total stranger has approached her.

He laughed again.  “Relax, relax.  I’m not gonna do anything to you.”

Melody looked him up and down, observing his well-fitting t-shirt and jeans, and his clean, white sneakers that sharply contrasted the dark indigo of the denim.

“So did you want something, or…?”  Melody paused, realizing that may have come out a little meaner than she’d intended.

“You seem interesting, and you’re always alone.  I just wanted to introduce myself.”

This baffled her.  Here she tried so hard not to stick out, but somehow, that had caused her to stand out to Ian.  How could she possibly have grabbed his attention?  She always wore neutral colors, she never spoke out in class; never fixed her hair really nicely, never wore makeup.

“What could you possibly find interesting about me?  I’m dull and boring.”  Insulting herself was long past hurtful.  It was a defense mechanism that she’d engineered to convince herself that everything she did was necessary for her own protection.  After she’d told people how boring she was for so long, she might have started to believe it a little.

“There’s something about you,” he said.  “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s a spark there.”

Melody’s face reddened.  “I…”

“You’re trying really hard to hide something, and I don’t know why or what it is, but I know it’s there.”

Melody froze.  This guy…he was seeing right through her.  She might as well have written “Please figure out my secret!” right across her forehead.  Confusion washed over her as she tried to work out how to handle the situation.  This had gone from unfortunate to bad to worse.

He could not find out Melody’s secret.

No one could.

—

The ocean stretched out before Raye, a veritable expanse of vast nothingness, despite whatever may lurk below the choppy whitecaps of the surface.  She took a step up on the railing and hung over the edge of the ship to admire the way the water was cut and displaced in waves by the hunk of metal she was on.

“Be careful, Raye.”

Clark knew she had a daring sense of adventure, but it scared him just a bit to see her hanging over the railing like that.

“I’m always careful.”

“Except for the time you fell overboard late last year.”

Raye turned to him and winced.

“That was a fluke.”

The ship was as long as an 18-wheeler and 2 and a half times the width.  Its white hull was stained with seawater and barnacles, but the wooden deck was as clean as a living room floor.  It was Raye and Clark’s home, after all.  The ship was their castle; their seaworthy abode and escape.

“Yeah, well flukes can happen twice.”

Raye turned around and stuck her tongue out at Clark.

“Is that gesture supposed to annoy me?”

“No, it’s supposed to make you lighten up.”

“Like that’ll happen.”

Clark turned around and headed back to the deck where he steered the ship from.  He gripped the wheel in his hands, admiring how the worn wood felt smooth against his skin.