Point B (a teleportation love story)

by Drew Magary

  “You don’t think I’ll get in trouble if you get caught? Whose number is in your PortPhone contacts? What’s the address on his PortSys bill? It doesn’t take a fucking genius to get it sorted, Anna Huff.”

  “I promise I’m not going to do it again.”

  The school-issued smartphone blew up on Anna’s nightstand. She grabbed it and there was a push alert that read NEW MESSAGE FROM: LARA KIRSCH.

  “What the fuck?”

  “That’s your old roommate, right?” Asmi asked.

  “Yeah, it is,” Anna said.

  “Well, what’s it say?”

  “I, uh, boy now there’s a whole bunch of stuff I gotta decide if I should tell you or not.”

  “You tit!”

  “Bear with me! It’s 6am!”

  “I know that because you just woke me up, dickhead!”

  Her phone blew up again. This time, it was actively ringing. Who makes an actual voice call in 2030? It was Burton.

  “What could he want?” Anna asked. “God dammit, there is too much stuff happening right now.”

  “Go on and answer it!”

  “Okay, okay.” She picked up. “Burton?”

  “You need to get rid of your phone, that phone, and you need to get your transponder anklet back on,” he told her. He wasn’t fucking around.

  “Why?”

  “It’s Bamert. They got him by The Crater. He’s getting put up tomorrow night.”

  MRS. LUDWIG’S APARTMENT

  Mrs. Ludwig offered fresh pastries and tea to the Sewell girls every Sunday morning. She baked all her goodies from scratch, the heavenly scent of jumbo Bavarian pretzels slathered in Allgäu butter and airy Franzbrötchen floating up to the top of each stairwell, gently rousing the girls and welcoming them to their day off.

  On this particular Sunday morning, after stashing her PortPhone above a gypsum ceiling tile in the Sewell bathroom, Anna Huff was ready to partake. She was so excited for fresh pretzels, in fact, that she knocked on Mrs. Ludwig’s door a full half an hour before they were ready to come out of the oven.

  Mrs. Ludwig cracked open the door. “Yessss?”

  “Is it too early for teatime?” Anna asked.

  “No. But look at you. You look like you haven’t slept at all!”

  “I haven’t.”

  “You should sleep, then. Sleep sleep sleep.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Ugh. Well, come in then, I guess.”

  She opened the door all the way and Anna surveyed the living room. Mrs. Ludwig had “Mustang Sally” playing on a loop on a wireless speaker. It was the only song she liked.

  Anna really should have studied Shelby’s features more when she first met that stupid cat. All she remembered was that Shelby was white, fluffy, and surly. As it stood at the moment, there were a dozen such cats lounging around the apartment: on the sofa, under the sofa, behind the drapes, on top of the china cabinet, etc. A dozen more were secreted God knows elsewhere in the place.

  Shit.

  “Sit down, Anna Hoof.”

  Anna sat down on the hard loveseat and stroked the cat sitting at her feet. She reached down and gave its collar a little tug, revealing the name HENNY etched in the tin name plate. No beginner’s luck for her this time. She grabbed a madeleine and munched on it to compensate.

  “Schmecks?” Mrs. Ludwig asked.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Why haven’t you slept?”

  “Can I invoke confidentiality with you?” Anna asked.

  “That is not a thing.”

  “Can it be?”

  “Eh, I suppose. Although if you tell me you have killed a man, I break this promise. Yeah?”

  “No, I haven’t killed anyone just yet.”

  “Good. I have.”

  “What?!”

  Mrs. Ludwig let Anna twist for a moment before breaking into a giggle. She had a flawless deadpan. No one could ever tell when she was fucking with them.

  “A friend of mine is about to get put up,” Anna confessed.

  “Oh. Is it the Virginia boy? The one who wears all those hideous suits?”

  “Mrs. Ludwig, only I get to make fun of Bamert.”

  “Awful suits. So loud. I’m sure he’s a fine boy otherwise. What did he get caught doing?”

  “He ported.”

  “Ohhhhhhhhh! Now that’s something! How’d he do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Anna lied.

  “I mean, how would you even trick the little anklet?” Mrs. Ludwig asked her. “Kids have been trying to do that for ages!”

  “Not the faintest idea. Could I have an energy drink?”

  “At seven in the morning?”

  “If I’m gonna be awake, I may as well be awake.”

  “Let me put on some tea. They’ll fire me if I give you kidney stones.”

  She walked to the kitchen and Anna examined seven more cats: Buddy, Max, Moritz, Wilson, Pickett, Liam, and Georgina. All duds. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

  Mrs. Ludwig came back with a tray carrying a teapot, a creamer, cups, saucers, and sugar packets.

  “Lemon?” Anna asked.

  Mrs. Ludwig sighed. “Right. The lemon. One moment.”

  She fled and Anna groped four more cats: Bilbo, Kaiser, Bacon, and Shelby. SHELBY. She wanted to shave a giant X into Shelby’s fur to keep track of him, Kirkland-style. Alas, Mrs. Ludwig was already back with the lemon.

  “There we go. Everything you need. Now, we have Darjeeling, Earl Grey, chai, green tea, and something called Morning Zinger, which sounds very American and bad.”

  “Got chamomile?”

  Mrs. Ludwig hung her head. “Oh, what the shit.”

  “Earl Grey is fine.”

  “No no no! You want chamomile, I get you the chamomile.”

  She got up again. Anna grabbed Shelby and ducked into the toilet. When Anna tried to pull the anklet off her, she screeched, bared her thin fangs and raked a claw across Anna’s forearm. Anna dropped the cat and bit down on a hand towel to keep from crying out in pain.

  “You all right in there, schatz?” Mrs. Ludwig asked from the kitchen.

  “I’m all right! I just went to pee and a cat joined me. No worries!”

  “Is that Shelby in there? Let me know if you want me to come in and smack her on the head.”

  “Nope! Everything is way cool!”

  Anna wrapped a wad of toilet paper around the scratch to stanch the bleeding. There was a bacon-scented candle resting by the faucet. Anna sniffed it. Smelled like bacon, all right. Now Anna wanted bacon.

  She held the candle down for a coiled Shelby.

  “Please don’t die from this,” she whispered to the cat.

  The cat took a tentative step over and licked the cold wax. Anna gently slipped the anklet off Shelby’s neck and then onto her own foot. By now, the laceration on her arm had bled through the toilet paper. Droplets of blood dotted Mrs. Ludwig’s shag bath mat.

  Anna pulled the bacon candle away from Shelby and the cat screeched once again. So she let Shelby have at it while slipping out the door.

  Mrs. Ludwig saw the blood. “What the—”

  “Just a flesh wound, Mrs. Ludwig.”

  “Did the cat do this? I should throw her out the window, the little shit.”

  “It’s fine, really. I should go.”

  “You didn’t have the tea! Or the Brötchen!”

  “I know, I know. Listen, Mrs. Ludwig: confidentially, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

  “You’re losing blood, is what you’re losing.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  Mrs. Ludwig wrapped Anna in a hug: firm and tight. Mrs. Ludwig was a skilled hugger, almost as good at it as Sandy.

  “In the end, it’ll be okay,” she told Anna. “If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. L. Hey wait a second, that’s what your couch cushion says!” Anna pointed to a small crocheted pillow in the living room that, indeed, expressed
that exact sentiment.

  Mrs. Ludwig winked at her. “That’s my favorite pillow for a reason, Anna Hoof. You’re going to be fine.”

  Anna was crying, her blood dripping down onto the rug and a parade of cats coming to lap it all up. Mrs. Ludwig let go of Anna and fetched a First Aid kit from the kitchen, cleaning off Anna’s arm and smearing it with unguent.

  “No matter what you do and no matter what happens, everything passes,” Mrs. Ludwig said. “Life moves forward, yeah?”

  “When?” Anna asked her.

  Mrs. Ludwig laughed. “You want me to set the oven timer for it? Whatever you do in life, do it with a good heart. That’s all you can control. And get some sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  Anna went to leave, but Mrs. Ludwig stopped her.

  “No tea?”

  “You told me to sleep.”

  “I guess I did! Huh.”

  Anna walked out, then doubled back and peeked through the door one last time. “Oh hey, the cat started eating the bacon candle. You might wanna check on that.”

  GOULD HOUSE

  The “I miss you” text was ruining her. She needed to talk herself out of love and all it took was one text for the job to become Atlas-esque. Was it a cursory “I miss you”? Was Lara just being nice? Or had Lara Kirsch—freed from Druskin to roam the world and party with literal rock stars—really missed her short time confined to a tiny, smelly dorm room with her weirdo roommate? It was a maddeningly vague thing to say. A thoughtless pleasantry but also a gateway phrase to “I love you.” To be missed and to be needed was just a tease compared to being loved, but it was also a start.

  Lara wanted to meet. And talk. Alone. Anna remembered when she sprang a “can we talk” on Emma Chance at homecoming freshman year. Face-to-face. Not over DM. They walked out to the school parking lot together, the October night air so brisk you could crack it. At the time, Anna thought that Emma agreeing to have a talk meant she wanted Anna to ask her out. That’s what “the talk” is for in high school. Emma Chance wanted no such thing. She thought Anna had a beer connection.

  Now Lara wanted a talk of her own. The texts burrowed into Anna, making her hot and flush, her mind taking them and running with them through the hills and fields. She could hear Lara saying “I’ve missed you” to her face, in low and breathy tones. I’ve missed you, baby doll.

  Stop it. Sarah wouldn’t want you doing this. This is just puppy love. You’re a dumb dog.

  She treasured the text chain from Lara like it was a handwritten postcard, reading it over and over and picturing what Lara’s face might have looked like as she was typing each missive. But now she had firsthand evidence that this love was virulent. This love had no ethics. It was compromising her soul’s immune system. Every second she held onto it was a betrayal of her own sister. Sarah wanted Anna to find a girlfriend, nagging Anna for love life updates the way Sandy might have if Sandy’d had any free time to ask. Now Anna finally had an update for her sister, and it was a fucking disaster of one. Okay Sarah, so the deal is… oh God you’re gonna hate my guts.

  She needed a plan for their meeting at the dock. But there went Druskin again, digging into her schedule and stealing every last scrap of time yet again. She was in Burton’s room, commiserating over the situation with her guy friends. Even there, she encountered a critical distraction. Bamert only had a day to prepare his defense before the disciplinary committee. He sat on Burton’s bed in a pink flamingo suit, legs spread wide.

  “How’d you get caught?” she asked Bamert. “What happened?”

  “What happened is that Wade happened. I reckon they upped his donut allowance to go after Vick’s precious bulldog with more gusto. I never saw him coming: a truly incredulous development given that boy’s girth.”

  “This is all my fault,” Anna told him.

  “Pfft, don’t be an idiot,” Bamert said. “As far as I’m concerned, that soup was worth it. Now gimme the bulldog.”

  “No, come on. I’d be framing you.”

  “Just give it to me. Let the unholy Vick have his lame tchotchke back. I bet it wasn’t even made in Georgia.”

  She slipped the bulldog out of her pocket and felt its smooth, polished body. She understood why Vick liked it, though the idea that they might share a common interest was yet another unwelcome revelation. She wanted to drive a steamroller over the figurine and mail Vick the pieces. Instead, Bamert grabbed it out of her hand, dropped it into his shirt pocket, and gave it a little pat.

  “There we are. Safe and sound, little fella. And your phone?”

  “Hidden.”

  “Well, that’ll do. Legally, they weren’t allowed to break into my PortPhone, although I’m surprised your nemesis didn’t put a gun to my head and demand I do the retinal scan.”

  “What about your anklet?” Anna asked. “Do they know it’s fake?”

  “Nope. They were so mad at me they forgot to ask how I got past the wall.”

  “And Vick didn’t take you to his basement?”

  “No. Bless his microscopic heart, I guess he’s choosy about who gets to be a lab rat.”

  “Don’t call me a rat.”

  “You know what I mean, Anna.”

  “I can speak for you in front of the disciplinary committee,” Burton offered to Bamert.

  “You’re a true gentleman and I accept your offer, so long as you stay on topic. If you start actively bitching about the upholstery in The Latin Room, they’re gonna put me up for porting and for murder.”

  “I would talk for you, too,” Anna said. “But I’d be worthless.”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near that room,” Bamert told her. “Vick put me under the lights for three hours to get me to sing about the both of you. I don’t know what it is about this school. All this horseshit about honor, yet you so much as fart in another person’s face they’re dying to have you blame a friend for it.”

  “It’s to scare everyone else into falling in line,” said Burton.

  “Yeah well, fuck ‘em.” He took a swig from a bottle of clear fluid and grimaced. “Blech. Burton, what the devil is this swill you’ve given me?”

  “That’s called ‘water,’ Bamert.”

  “Well, it’s disgusting.”

  “I’m gonna confess to Vick,” Anna told them. “They’ll kick you out if I don’t.”

  Bamert smacked his own thigh. The ensuing clap rang out as loud and true as anyone porting out. “Anna Huff, I will be damned to hell if I let that man near you ever again, or if I let you be a part of this wicked process.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I can survive this ordeal and you can’t. Edgar’ll make a call and this’ll all go away. Even if they boot me, there’s another dipshit prep school out there more than willing to dip into the family coffers.”

  Bamert wrapped his hulking arms around his knees and squeezed like he was trying to pop them. Anna could see his beard twitch. He stared up at the bare ceiling, like he was in a chapel to make a plea to God.

  “Bamert,” Anna asked him, “Are you okay?”

  He whipped out a tin of Kodiak and tucked a fat, moist dip under his lip.

  “I’m fine. Just gonna be another pleasant exchange between Edgar and me. Same as it ever was. You know, when I was old enough to walk and talk, my folks didn’t bother with nannies or any of those child care accoutrements. When they left the house they’d leave me behind all by myself, with some food and water on the counter. They may as well have put a doggie dish on the floor for me. They’d tell me not to answer the door. I spent whole days alone in that fucking house, talking to the walls and conjuring up invisible friends and painting my face with magic markers. Then they’d come home drunk and yell at me because I’d made a mess. I was six, mind you. So, you know, trouble’s no trouble for me. Trouble is the primary form of communication for the Bamert family.”

  They sat quietly before Burton asked, “Oh hey, I never asked you: Why’d you draw on your face?”

  “A
w hell Burton, does it even matter? That’s enough stewing about me. Now, Anna Huff.”

  Anna looked up at him. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t you worry about me. I’m nothing. You, my dear, have far more pressing matters to tend to. Do you know what you’re going to say to Lara Kirsch?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you’ve got a few hours,” he told her. “Should I prepare a sonnet?”

  “I don’t know what I even can say.”

  “Then let her talk first. Everyone wants to say the right thing, but sometimes that’s the other person’s job.”

  SALTON BOATHOUSE

  Lara was late. Anna was standing behind Salton Boathouse, situated just north of the Druskin bookstore and overlooking an enclosed 2km stretch of the Hobscott River that stretched all the way to the gym and the playing fields. Follow the river and it ducked under the stone bridge where Anna had spent that first, magical-yet-horrible night with Lara. Now her only company was a flock of double-crested cormorants perched at the edge of the dock, their long necks curved like question marks.

  She felt stupid waiting. Entrances mattered and here was Anna, dressed plainly and standing alone in the cold with her teeth chattering, like a dope. She had the rose pink bracelet on but why? Why’d you wear that? She alternated between hiding the bracelet in the sleeve of her letter jacket and leaving it out and proud.

  Across the placid river, past the crew launches moored to the dock, she could see a large faculty apartment complex that housed the teachers fortunate enough to not have to live with their students. With its cylindrical chimneys piping away in the grim artificial light, the residence glowed like a working factory. Along the opposite riverbank was a scrupulously landscaped esplanade where families of staffers could stroll and where couples could hold hands inside a gazebo built atop the inside edge of a sharp meander. Anna let out a bracing exhale that made her breath look like a plume of cigarette smoke. During the day, the crew team set sculls and shells down in the still water and sliced through it like it was soft cheese. Their rowing was always perfectly smooth and even. The sight of those dagger-like boats always stopped Anna when she was on the paths. This really was a beautiful school. Druskin could grind you down and abuse you and yet it still had the gall—the naked gall—to enchant you in quiet, hidden moments.