Point B (a teleportation love story)

by Drew Magary

  The girl slipped through the gate without a word and her suitor was left alone and ignored. Grief-stricken. He threw his flowers against the brick wall and yelled “Bitch!” before taking out his phone and porting away. Another rude thunderclap.

  “What was that all about?” her mom asked.

  “I don’t know, but I hope that kid ports into an open volcano.”

  “Anna.”

  “I’m joking. I meant that I hope he ports in front of a locomotive.”

  “Anna.”

  “I didn’t say it had to be moving.”

  “Drop your phone in and let’s get on with this.”

  Anna joined her mom at the bin and took out the PortPhone. It still felt great to hold it in her palm. She had a thick case for it in the shape of a bulldog, and she called the phone Dougie when no one else was around. What a miracle the thing was. You could take it out of your pocket, hit PORT, feel the shiver, and then be anywhere you wanted, albeit still stuck on this chaotic shithole of a planet. The PortPhone was a key to every door, and Anna loved Dougie as much as everyone else loved their PortPhones, no matter how much misery owning one brought her, nor how much misery she could carry with it.

  She took the bulldog cover off and saved it. Now it was just some phone. Now it would be easier to abandon.

  “Anna.”

  “I’m ready.”

  She held the phone over the bin and dropped it down.

  “How’d that feel?” her mom asked.

  “Like the cell door just slammed shut,” Anna answered. She was faking that particular bit of drama. It didn’t feel that bad.

  “They give you laptops and tablets and smartphones, you know. You’ll still be able to scratch a lot of your itches.”

  “You still have your PortPhone, don’t you?”

  Her mom sighed. “I know, I’m a hypocrite.”

  “It’s all right. I get it. I’d be a hypocrite about it too if I were you.”

  “You’re gonna be all right here.”

  “I know that. What about you, mom?”

  Her mom began to cry. “Oh, Anna. Anna, I’ll never be all right.”

  They wrapped their arms around each other. Whenever Anna was away from home, she had terrible visions of Sandy dead from suicide. She could picture Sandy slipping away from one of her two dishwashing jobs and doing it with a gun, or with a razorblade, or porting to a scenic cliff and taking a swan dive off of it. Anna didn’t want to picture any of that, but her imagination possessed an inward cruelty that she couldn’t purge no matter how hard she tried.

  They kept hugging. Every time they embraced, the angst would bleed out of Anna and leave her refreshed and renewed. And yet, how often did she and her old lady hug each other? Once a month? Why didn’t they always hug like this? It was like both of them wanted to be stiff with tension all the time. Like they both knew instinctively that relaxing, in this world, was a lousy idea.

  “Port to Hawaii for a little bit,” Anna whispered. “Get some sun.”

  “Hawaii is an ant farm these days,” Sandy said. “Everyone ports there.”

  “Then go where the people aren’t. Send pictures.”

  “Your tuition here may be paid for but your room and board isn’t, and your father has never written me a child support check. I have work to do.”

  “Just take care of yourself.”

  “There’s no point in that. You’re all that matters, Anna.” She pointed at her watch. “Every Wednesday, at 5pm, I’ll port right here so you can see me. That okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t even have to come out to say hi if you’re not in the mood. I’ll never smother you.”

  “Too late!”

  “But I’ll never stop worrying.”

  “I don’t think anyone stops worrying anymore.”

  “I guess not.”

  It was time for Sandy to go, but of course there had to be an awkward bit of lingering. There had to be an all-too-noticeable moment where Mrs. Huff didn’t want to leave, and Anna felt too guilty to actively push her mom away. The port group after Anna’s started popping in, the portwinds blowing harsh against the Huffs.

  “Mom, you should probably let me go.”

  “Can you blame me if I don’t want to?” Sandy asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “But you’re right. I guess it’s time. But remember: Wednesday at 5pm.”

  “Got it.”

  “And I love you.”

  “Me too.”

  Her mom took out her PortPhone and hit PORT. Another portclap. That was it. Sandy Huff was back in Maryland already. It took nothing to leave, and nothing to be forgotten.

  SEWELL HALL

  “Welcome to Druskin!”

  That was Orientation leader Brendan McClear. Anna knew his full name because it was right there on his name tag, in handwriting far too neat for a boy his age. Brendan McClear handed Anna five different forms.

  “You’re gonna have to sign these,” Brendan McClear told her.

  “What are they?” she asked.

  “Just some silly forms. Oh, and here’s your name tag.”

  “I don’t want a name tag.”

  “But—”

  “No,” Anna insisted. “I hate name tags.”

  “Everyone has one today. Plus you can take your passport lanyard off as long as you’re on campus! Don’t you want everyone to know your name?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh.” Brendan McClear was crushed. The flop of blonde hair on top of his preppy little head wilted at her reply. Brendan McClear couldn’t comprehend a world where people didn’t want to wear a name tag. Anna half-expected to see tiny gears and flywheels come popping out of his head. “You should just keep the name tag handy in case you change your mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  Brendan McClear remained undeterred. “Now, I’ve got your room assignment and your transponder.”

  “Transponder?”

  “Yes!” He fished a clear plastic band out from a basket. “It goes around your ankle. Very light. You don’t even notice it’s there after a day or two.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It alerts them if you cross the Harkness Wall, that’s all. Please note that Druskin would never sell your personal information to a third party or use your location for financial gain.”

  “I’m not wearing that. They use those in prisons.”

  “I’m sorry but it’s compulsory.”

  “You’re not sorry.”

  She took the transponder and strapped it around her ankle. Brendan McClear wasn’t smiling anymore. He was now deterred. He’d had enough of dealing with someone so rude.

  “It monitors your vitals,” he reminded her, “So if you take it off, they know.”

  “Well now, if they know so much, it makes you wonder why I’d ever need a name tag, then.”

  “It’s not for them, it’s for your fellow classmates.”

  “Who is ‘them’, anyway?” Anna asked.

  “Student Services.”

  “That’s a pleasant name,” Anna cocked an eyebrow, “for a bunch of spies.”

  Brendan McClear took out a map of campus and circled one of the buildings, then slipped the paper her way. “You’re in Sewell Hall, room 24. I can walk you there if you’d like, although I bet you’d prefer to find it on your own.”

  “That I would, Brendan McClear.” She waltzed away from the Orientation kiosk and toward Sewell Hall: a boxy, red-bricked edifice that looked like a giant board game piece. Its metal front door was propped open with a rock that had been painted over many, many times. The freshest coat had WELCOME JUNIOR CLASS OF 2032 spelled out in deep maroon strokes. Next to the door was a ceremonial cornerstone with the inscription SEWELL HALL, 1920.

  No one was there to greet the new Sewell girls as they lugged their rollerboards over a threshold that jutted up from the doorway with nasty intent. All of the seniors were due later that day. Anna passed through the e
ntrance and into a damp, airless hallway. All hard surfaces: brick pillars, iron window frames, thick linoleum flooring. The spirit of 1920 had clearly never left this place. It was an architectural curiosity of a dump. The hall made a T at the end and split off to both sides. Anna got to the split and looked through a wide glass partition down to a sad little common room below.

  This wasn’t in the catalog.

  At both ends of the T hallway were cold, dark stairwells that wound up to the top of the dorm, like twin freight shafts. Anna searched in vain for a working elevator—that charming relic of years past—but it was already clear that she was gonna have to hoof it. Every quarter-turn of the west stairwell brought her to an even-numbered room, each door colorfully festooned with the names of its residents, with new girls giggling and yammering away behind it. Like they all already knew each other. Like they had instantly figured out who was whose best friend before Anna had even entered the fray. As always, her best one-liners would be reserved for an audience of herself and no one else.

  Three full flights and she was only at Room 12.

  “Jesus.”

  She could dive like a champ, so she was in much better shape at the moment to fall than to climb. By the time she made it to the top, her back was a waterfall.

  Her first assembly was in less than thirty minutes. She walked into the room and was greeted by blank white walls and a bed (a cot, really) with a thin mattress and a nasty iron frame that was a close relative of chain link fencing. There was a cheap particle board desk, upon which rested a school-issued laptop already plugged in and network-enabled. Five sad brown cardboard boxes were stacked in the center: all the crap that Anna and her mother had shipped to school in advance of her arrival, all in boxes carried along dilapidated highways by trucks that now ruled the roads in grim solitude. On top of the boxes was a laminated piece of orange construction paper that blared ANNA HUFF in all caps, with little stars and flowers surrounding her name. The kind of nameplate that would decorate a preschool coat hook. She took it and threw it in the trash can.

  There was a mini-fridge and Anna prayed it would be fully stocked. She swung open the little brown door and saw nothing but fluorescent light and barren, off-white grates. Right away she decided this fridge would be for sugar-free energy drinks and nothing else. No food. If there were food in there, it would leak and stink and take up too much room and she would eat it at unhealthy hours. Instead, she would stock this fridge exclusively with bullet-shaped cans adorned in green lightning bolts and flaming skulls, with twenty-four ounces of liquid taurine packed tight inside.

  If you could just port, you could get an energy drink. Why can’t we just port to get some goddamn drinks?

  The room was a double and Anna could hear rustling coming from behind the door of the inner room. She was terrified of knocking. God only knew what kind of fresh awkward hell awaited her behind that door. She was gonna put off the discovery of her new roommate for as long as possible. Instead, she went over to her new bed and opened up the drawstring of the thin white laundry bag sitting on top of it. Inside she found a towel, a fitted sheet, a starched top sheet, a blanket, and a generic toilet kit. All of it was mummified in shrink wrap. A bugle played “Reveille” in her mind while she stared at the package.

  Suddenly, there were voices coming from the inner room. Anna turned and stared at the door.

  “Mom, what are you doing here? You can’t just port in.”

  “Is this where they put you? In a double?”

  “It’s fine. Be cool about it.”

  “Unacceptable. I’ll be talking to Dean Vick about this arrangement.”

  The door swung open and Anna saw a massive shadow creep across the threshold: the silhouette of a woman six feet tall. Anna always noticed the shadows of people first. A tall woman emerged in front of Anna, clad in a royal blue pantsuit, with all manner of chunky blue-and-gold costume jewelry hanging off her wrists and ears and neck, like spoils of victory. Her hair was ink-black and aggressively curly, like a Slinky you twist and twist some more until it's on the verge of lashing out at you. On her left wrist, between her solid gold bangle bracelets, was a platinum watch encrusted with enough precious gems to fill a throne room. Anna recognized her instantly.

  “You’re Emilia Kirsch,” Anna said.

  Kirsch glanced at Anna but didn’t bother to address her directly. “This is the roommate?” she said curtly to the inner bedroom. “This is unacceptable. We’re being treated very shabbily here.”

  “Mom, it’s fine.” Now here was Lara Kirsch coming out of the room to tame her own mother. Sleek black bob with bangs. Green eyes. Neon blue eyeshadow. Bright clear lip gloss. Jean vest. Black tank top. Neon bangle bracelets. She was the girl at the gate. No wonder Anna thought she had recognized her. It was Lara Kirsch, for shit’s sake. The CEO of PortSys was in Anna’s room, and now her kid was Anna’s roommate. Anna had seen Lara on the Internet dozens of times, photographed out in the wild with male and female paramours alike. Anna always paused on those photos for just a second to get a better look at Lara. Now they were face-to-face. In person, Lara Kirsch was even more magnetic to behold.

  “Everything is fine, mom,” said Lara. She looked at Anna with a wink. “She’s cool. You’re Anna, right?” Lara’s voice was low and smoky enough to unlock muscle knots.

  “Yeah,” said Anna.

  “I’m Lara.” She ran a finger across her name tag. “You didn’t get a name tag?”

  “I didn’t want one.”

  “Man, I should have been smart enough to turn mine down, too.”

  “Well it’s a completely absurd arrangement,” said the elder Kirsch. “After all I’ve given to this school.”

  “I really don’t mind, mom.”

  “Well I do,” Now Emilia gave Anna a scan. “Lara, you were not supposed to have a roommate, much less one who seems so… pedestrian.”

  “How do you know I’m not a superstar?” Anna asked Kirsch. Lara held back a guffaw when she heard it. For Anna, that made mouthing off to Kirsch worth whatever came next.

  But Kirsch didn’t bother returning the volley. Instead, she took out her PortPhone and queued up Maps.

  “How can you port from inside the wall?” Anna asked.

  “Donate $50 million to this school and you’ll have the answer. I somehow doubt you’ll ever attain the privilege, dear.”

  Kirsch evaporated with a pop, leaving the two girls alone in Room 24. Anna stared at her new roommate. She couldn’t help it. She wanted another laugh out of Lara. A full one. She wanted to pull endless laughs from her.

  “I really hope she went to buy us drinks,” Anna cracked. Lara’s eyes crinkled as she broke into a spasm of giggles. One laugh down.

  “I can’t believe you talked shit to Emilia. No one does that. You’re my hero, Roomie.”

  “Really?” Now Anna wanted Kirsch to port back in so she could get off a few more potshots.

  “I’m sorry about her,” Lara said.

  “She clearly loves you,” Anna replied.

  “Love takes on a lot forms, but I haven’t figured out what form hers takes just yet. You’re gonna get me in trouble with her if you’re always that proud of a wiseass.”

  “I’m not.” Not always.

  “You all right if I take the inner room? It’s more private and protected for me. But it’s also a touch smaller, so it’s a fair tradeoff.”

  “It’s fine. Who was that boy?”

  “What boy?”

  “The boy hounding you at Druskin Gate.”

  It took a second for Lara to remember. Anna wished the boy could have seen how easily she had forgotten him. “Oh! Oh, him. He’s just some boy.”

  “He seemed fond of you.”

  “Kiss them once and they expect the world.”

  Anna nodded, even though she had never been kissed, nor she did ever talk about the fact that she had never been kissed. One time a boy tried to kiss her in eighth grade, but that didn’t count because boys were disgusti
ng. True kisses had thus far eluded her. She kept that morsel of personal information wrapped in thick, impenetrable layers of brute snark.

  “You going to the assembly?” Anna asked.

  “I don’t think we have much choice. Wanna go together?”

  YES. “Sure.”

  “Then I’m gonna get settled and then we can head over, provided ol’ Emilia doesn’t port back in.” Lara walked up close to Anna and, for a brief moment, stopped smiling. It was like the whole room went dark. “For real though, Anna: be careful around my mom. You don’t want her eyes on you.”

  “Okay.”

  That was it. Whatever black veil fell over Lara as she spoke urgently about her mother was gone, and she radiated joy yet again.

  Another girl, blonde and tan and vivacious, came up the stairwell and leaned through the doorway.

  “Lara!” The girl shouted Lara’s name like she knew her well. Anna already hated her. “Lara, you hitting assembly?”

  “Yeah!” said Lara. “Cool if my roommate comes?”

  The girl in the doorway looked at Anna and took a split-second longer to approve the request than Anna would have liked. That girl should be asking us if it’s cool for her to come along.

  “Yeah, sure,” the girl said. She was not nearly enthusiastic enough for Anna’s taste.

  “We’ll see you there, then,” said Lara.

  “See you!”

  Once the interloper was gone, Anna slyly nudged the door closed. Judging by the mob outside of Druskin Gate, Lara Kirsch was not the sort of girl who was left alone very often. Already, Anna was angling to preserve whatever solitary moments she could get with her.

  “So,” Anna said, “You’re from New York, huh?”

  “I am but I hate it there.”

  “Why?”

  “You mean, apart from the obvious?” Lara gave Anna a flawless impression of her mother’s scowl. Almost too good. “This is unacceptable, Lara. We’re being treated very shabbily here.”