by Sarah Fine
“Oh—he’s the canny?”
I nod. “But he’s so real. He seems so real.” I bite my lip. “You should see him.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Hold up. Tell me what he looks like.”
“Dark hair. Dark eyebrows, kind of thick. His eyes are a lighter brown. Warm, I guess. He just seems warm.”
“Good looking.”
I laugh, all shaky as I remember his lips on mine. “Understatement.”
“Who made him?”
I struggled to remember what Gary had said. “Some company called Am—Amican?”
“Never heard of them.”
“Me neither.”
Neda is frowning. “What do you do with him?”
My cheeks are getting hot again. “We . . . talk. And walk. We flew a kite.”
I can’t read the look on Neda’s face. “You flew a kite.”
“And it got stuck on the widow’s walk and we went up there and I freaked out and he kissed me.” It comes out in one mad rush.
Neda’s eyes widen.
“On the forehead,” I add. Her expression makes me think telling her the rest would not be a good idea.
“Is that . . . what’s supposed to happen?”
I squirm. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
“You were into it.”
I am so jittery that the mattress shudders beneath me. “I don’t know.”
“You were.”
“Okay,” I say, too loudly. Rafiq will hear. What if he hears?
“Is that against the rules or something? I didn’t know cannies could . . . wait.” Her eyes narrow. “Can he?”
“Can he what?”
“Cora, don’t make me explain this to you.”
“He told me his ‘casing’ was mass produced—it’s the same one they use for personal companions.”
She laughs. “He can, then. He totally can.”
I can’t speak. Nothing I say will be right.
She shakes her head. “I think I need to meet this guy. I want to know what protocols he’s running, what his settings are.”
“That sounds so weird. He doesn’t look like a machine at all.”
“But you’re sure he is.”
“Gary put him to sleep and woke him up with a voice command. It was pretty convincing.”
“Okay.” She tilts her head. “Cora, what about this thing with your mom?”
A strange flood of unpleasant tingling erupts in my chest and creeps up my neck. “The detective was just here, wanting to talk to me. Mom sent her away.”
“You haven’t talked to the police about that night?”
The last two weeks are a fog, dark and choking. “I must have told the paramedics what happened. But I was kind of out of it, especially right after.”
“Okay, but if the detective wants to talk to you, does that mean they don’t think Hannah’s death was an accident?”
My legs curl beneath me as my body tries to make me the smallest target possible, preferably invisible.
“Cora. It’s okay. Try to stay calm. You know the truth. You know you didn’t hurt her, right?”
My mouth has gone completely dry.
“You know that, right?” Neda asks, quieter this time. “Right?”
“Right,” I whisper. I can’t breathe.
“What? Can you tell me?” She waits, and when I don’t answer, she says, “Right. We should get together.”
“You can’t come here.” I stare and stare, hoping she’ll understand. The walls literally have eyes, and no move I make isn’t monitored.
“Can you come back to school?”
She gets it. Because the school? She knows exactly how to get around their systems. She could do it here, too . . . She’s proven that. But now I’m too afraid she’d be caught. “I want to. I hate missing school so much.”
Not really. I just hate being watched like this. I feel like I’m on a table, under a laser knife. I don’t get to keep a thing to myself.
“Sometimes I think I’m going crazy,” I blurt out.
Neda looks at me for a long time. Her eyes are a little bit shiny. “Sometimes, I think surviving looks crazy. But it never is, okay?” Her teeth clench. “Surviving is the best way to tell the people who have hurt you that they can go to hell.”
Chapter Twelve
Data review.
Internal narrative: on.
Supplemental vid evidence acquired: Franka surveillance feed 4:57 p.m., July 10, 2069, 1st floor, Room 9, informal designation: “Den”
The house canny sets a tray of small cakes and cups of tea on the end table next to the sofa. “Do you need anything else, Cora?”
Cora, who is sitting next to a young woman of approximately the same age, shakes her head. “We’re good, Gretchen.”
Cora’s companion, whom the facial-recognition database identifies as Neda Rahbani (16 years of age, completed 11th grade at Clinton Academy), is wearing a pink hijab and red lipstick. Neda Rahbani (hereafter referred to as Neda) leans forward and picks up one of the cakes. After taking a bite, she smiles. “Drake is amazing, and so are these petits fours.”
“I knew you like them,” Cora says, “so I asked him to make some for us. Welcome back.”
Neda looks over at her. “That was really nice of you, Cora.”
Instead of smiling, Cora looks uncomfortable. She shifts her weight and looks away from Neda. “I wanted to make you happy,” she says quietly.
“What’s up?” asked Neda.
“Nothing.”
“Everything you are doing right now is screaming that it’s not nothing.”
Cora releases a loud sigh and turns back to Neda. “I missed you while you were on vacation.”
Neda smiles. “I missed you, too. How was your Fourth?”
Cora grimaces.
“Uh-oh,” Neda says.
“Can I ask you something? Do you think of Lara and Hannah and Mei as your friends?” Cora asks after 11 seconds of silence.
Neda chuckles. “Sometimes.”
Cora’s head tilts. “How can you be friends with someone only sometimes?”
Neda reaches out, seemingly intending to touch Cora’s arm, but then retracts her arm. “I just meant that we’ve sort of drifted apart.”
“They say mean things about you sometimes.” Cora makes this statement quickly and loudly. Her fists are clenched.
“Oh, I know that,” Neda says. Her facial expression and voice suggest amusement.
“You do?” Cora’s expression suggests confusion.
“Sure. It’s not like they haven’t been that way since second grade. Mean girls.”
“Mean girls.”
“Yeah, you know. I tolerate them when I decide it would be more fun to hang with them instead of being somewhere else, but my emotional well-being in no way depends upon their opinions of me. I honestly don’t care.”
Cora stares at Neda. “You don’t care that they say mean stuff?”
Neda shrugs. “Doesn’t hurt me, because they’re not capable of hurting me. I’m doing my own thing. Building my own world. Sometimes I choose to share it with them, but mostly I don’t. I have no need for their approval. It’s not based on any metrics that hold my interest. And I have plenty of people in my life who think I’m awesome anyway. My parents, for instance.” She grins and leans forward. “My ‘computer club.’” When she says “computer club” she bends and straightens the index and middle fingers of each hand twice. “And you.”
“I do think you’re awesome.”
“That’s why I included you on that illustrious list, Cora.”
“Oh.” Cora rubs her palm against her other forearm. “I wish I didn’t care what Hannah says.”
“It’s kind of a conscious decisional process, my friend.”
“Oh, hey,” says Hannah as she walks into the room. She leans over the tray and places 3 petits fours on a napkin before sitting down on the couch opposite Cora and Neda. “What are we up to?”
“We were discussing conscious decision
al processes with regard to dealing with relational aggression typified by arbitrarily applied social norms used to enhance in-group–out-group tensions,” Neda says. She smiles calmly. Cora, seated next to her, shows visible signs of emotional dysregulation with her facial response.
“Those petits fours were for Neda,” Cora says to Hannah, picking up a cup of tea.
“And there are enough there to feed our entire family,” Hannah replies. “Don’t be childish. How was your vacation, Neda?”
“Refreshing,” says Neda.
“And did Cora tell you about her little breakdown on the Fourth?”
Tea sloshes over the rim of the cup Cora is holding. She appears to be struggling to keep herself still.
“What?” says Hannah before biting off half a petit four. “It was kind of a big deal,” she says with a full mouth. “And you guys are such good friends.”
“Cut it out, Hannah,” says Neda. There are signs of increased tension in the muscles of her face.
“Just making conversation,” Hannah says, rolling her eyes. “Trying to get Cora the support she deserves. I think she might need some intense mental health treatment.”
Cora lets out a whimper. Drops of spilled tea dot the thighs of her pants. Her cheeks are flushed. She has begun to rock.
“Okay,” says Hannah. “Unlike you, I can take a hint.” She rises, puts 3 more petits fours on her napkin. “Neda, thanks for hanging out with Cora. It’s really generous of you. I know from experience that it takes a lot of—”
“Leave us alone, Hann,” Neda says. She opens her mouth, appearing to yawn, then covers it with her hand. “We were having a really interesting conversation before you joined us.”
Hannah laughs, but the smile disappears in less than 1 second. She turns and leaves the room. Neda reaches out and takes the cup of tea from Cora’s hand, then offers her a cloth napkin from the tray. “Cora,” she says. “Cora, look at me. It’s all right.”
Cora grimaces. Her eyes glitter with tears.
“Why didn’t you tell her to go to hell?” Neda asks. “She was asking for it.”
“I don’t know,” Cora whispers.
“I bet you told her to go to hell when she said mean stuff about me.”
Cora’s rocking drops abruptly in intensity. Her lips twitch, then form a slight smile. “I tried.”
Neda puts the napkin in Cora’s lap. “And that means more to me than fifty million fake compliments from Hannah or Lara. Okay? I just wish you’d stand up for yourself the same way.”
Cora nods. Her body is still.
Neda grins. “Good. Now have a cake. They are divine. And I think we should eat every single one of them without leaving a single crumb behind. Deal?”
“Deal,” says Cora. She takes a bite of cake. She smiles, and it is genuine.
End of vid section analysis, 5:34 p.m., July 10, 2069
2:02 a.m., July 13, 2069
Hannah’s night-vision settings are on, rendering her visual field in shades of green and black. She is in Cora’s room. She slowly approaches the bed. Cora’s blond hair is visible on the pillow. Hannah is very quiet as she leans over her sister. “CC,” she whispers.
Cora’s body jerks, and she flips onto her back, her hands up and her face in a classic fear configuration, brows drawn together, upper eyelids high, lips stretched. She shoves her hands out, and for a moment the cam perspective is entirely obstructed.
“Ow!” says Hannah, and her own hands are in the cam view now, holding Cora’s wrists. Cora’s hands flail, and she makes a high-pitched sound suggestive of high-intensity fear. “Calm down, jeez! I just wanted to talk to you!”
Cora seems to calm slightly. She blinks several times and peers up at Hannah. “It’s two in the morning.”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking about something. About how you freaked out with all the fireworks and everything.”
Cora closes her eyes. “Get out. I was sleeping.”
“But I’m worried about you.”
Cora’s eyes reopen. “Good, because you almost gave me a heart attack just now!”
“I want to know what happened to you. You know, when you were a little kid.”
Cora’s facial expression changes subtly, no significant shifts in her musculature, but there is a clear increase in tension. “Nothing happened to me.”
“I know that’s not true. Your mom told me as much.”
Cora’s bottom lip trembles. “Mom? But . . . she did?”
Hannah appears to nod, based on the oscillation of the cam perspective. “She knows you and I are close, and she said it would make her really happy if you confided in me. Your sister.”
Cora covers her eyes with her hand. “Leave me alone, Hannah.”
“Did your dad do something to you?” She leans closer and whispers, “Did he molest you?” Hannah lets out a cry of pain and rapidly moves from the bed.
Cora’s elbow now protrudes from the covers. It appears she has just jabbed Hannah in the torso with it. “Leave me alone,” she says again.
“He did, didn’t he? Or did someone else do it?”
“Get out of my room.”
“Both? Was it both?”
Cora is quiet. She has shifted and is facing the opposite wall now. Hannah moves closer. “Come on, CC. I’m trying to help you. You always push everything down. I could tell you weren’t even going to tell Neda about anything that happened on the Fourth. You have to talk to someone.”
Cora’s shoulders are shaking. Hannah touches her arm. Cora jerks away. “You don’t have to be hostile,” Hannah continues. “I love you. I’m trying to keep you from hurting yourself again. I’m trying to understand why.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I know you’re lying.”
Cora sighs unsteadily. “He didn’t molest me, Hannah. No one else did, either.”
“Oh.” Hannah is quiet for 3 seconds. “Are you sure? How can you be sure if you don’t remember?”
Cora looks over her shoulder, her expression angry. “Do you want that to be what happened?”
“No! I just . . . don’t get what could be so terrible.”
“Of course you don’t.” Cora sounds weary.
“What does that mean? You do remember that my mom died, right? And that’s not the only bad thing that’s happened to me. Don’t think you know everything.”
Cora turns back to the wall. “I never said I did. But I haven’t asked you what happened to your mom, and you don’t need to—”
“Her car’s auto-nav failed, and it crashed,” Hannah tells her. “I was eleven. I was supposed to be with her, but I told her I didn’t want to go to some stupid gallery event.”
“You were lucky.”
“Was I?” she asks. “Sometimes I wish I had been with her.”
Cora mumbles something that is not loud enough to transcribe.
“What?” asks Hannah. “What did you say?”
“I’m sorry your mom is dead,” Cora says. Her tone is flat. “Please let me go back to sleep.”
“God, CC. That’s not very nice. It’s impossible to get close to you. Did you know that?”
“So maybe you should just leave me alone.”
“I can’t,” says Hannah.
“Why?”
End of vid capture, 2:14 a.m., July 13, 2069
3:29 a.m., July 14, 2069
“—it feel?” Cora’s face is close to Hannah’s cam lenses, illuminated by the night-vision setting. She is grimacing, baring her teeth. Hannah’s perspective shakes. Cora appears to have her by the shoulders. “Do you like that? How does it feel? Do you want to talk now?”
“Get off me,” Hannah shrieks. “Get off!”
Cora moves upward and backward, staggering a little. With the increased breadth of perspective, it becomes apparent that she is in Hannah’s room and has just gotten off Hannah’s bed. “Don’t come into my room at night again,” Cora says, still showing her teeth. She turns and walks out the door.
End of vid capture, 3:30 a.m., July 14, 2069
3:18 p.m., July 14, 2069
Hannah looks down at her hands, which are wrapped around a dripping glass of lemonade, and then toward a doorway. “Franka, is she here yet?”
“She is in the foyer, Hannah.”
“Could you tell her I’m in here?”
“Yes, Hannah.”
Hannah looks to her left. She is sitting at a table in front of a large bay window, through which a river is visible. She lifts the glass to her mouth, obscuring the view for 1 second. Then she looks toward a noise—the canny chef has set another glass of lemonade and a cloth napkin at the place across from her.
“Hey there, you,” says Maeve as she enters the room. She is wearing a dress and heels adjusted to a height of 7.5 cm, and her auburn hair is loose around her shoulders. “What’s up?” Her smile decreases in intensity as she looks at Hannah. “Or should I ask, what’s wrong?”
Hannah looks out the window again. “Oh . . .” Her voice is strained, as if she is about to cry. “I think I need your help.”
“Has something happened? Are you in trouble?”
Hannah appears to shake her head, based on the horizontal oscillation of the cam perspective. “Cora just . . . she told me to talk to you. After she got so upset on the Fourth, I tried to talk to her, and she told me to ask you. She said that you could help me understand. You know, about things that had happened to her. She said it was too painful for her to talk about but she wanted me to know.”
“She did?” Maeve frowns. “I’m not sure . . .”
“She said you didn’t like to talk about it, either, but that you’d do it because you love her.”
Maeve’s eyes are shiny. “She said that?”
Hannah nods. “And I love her, too.”
“I can tell, Hannah. You’ve been wonderful to her.”
“But I worry about her. I mean, look what happened! I thought she was going to kill herself.”
Maeve’s shoulders sag, and she bows her head. “My poor baby,” she whispers. “I’m so glad you were there to stop her.”
“I almost didn’t make it, Maeve, and I had no idea how to calm her down. She gets upset so fast—you should see how angry she gets when I do even little things, like asking her to share snacks she had Drake make for our friend Neda. There were dozens of little cakes, and I thought she was going to have a stroke just because I took a couple!”
