“I know whose side I’m on.”
“Do you?” He picked up his drink. The whipped cream had melted into the coffee, a swirl of white dissolving into brown. “Give us proof.” He walked out.
My phone buzzed at 8:47 p.m.
Pickle:hey. just got home from practice. hog was weird at me all afternoon. wouldn’t say why. you know anything about that?
I was still at the coffee shop. The barista had refilled my cup three times without being asked, and the dinner crowd had come and gone around me. I hadn’t moved.
Adrian:He’s just protective. It’s a good thing.
Not a lie, but not the entire truth.
Pickle:yeah he’s like that. once he decides you’re his, he’s basically a giant knitted attack dog. anyway. last night was good. in case I forgot to say that. actually I know I said it. I’m just saying it again. okay shutting up now. goodnight adrian.
I looked at his name on my screen.
Figure out whose side you’re on.
Adrian:Can I call you?
Three dots appeared immediately.
Pickle:yeah of course
I pushed my cold coffee aside and hit the call button. He picked up on the first ring. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I—” I paused. “I wanted to hear your voice.”
Pickle’s voice softened. “You’re kind of romantic when you want to be. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Not recently.”
“Well, you are. It’s very confusing. You have this whole brooding mysterious thing going on, and then you say stuff like I wanted to hear your voice, and my brain short-circuits.”
I smiled. “Is that a complaint?”
“It’s an observation. I’m a scientist, remember? Galileo of restaurant surveillance.”
“I remember.”
The line was quiet for a moment. Not awkward—comfortable. I listened to Pickle breathing.
“Hog really was weird today. He kept looking at me during drills like he was waiting for something to happen. And then after practice, he asked if I was being careful. Which—what does that even mean? Careful about what? My crossovers? My diet? My—” He stopped. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“He meant you.”
I didn’t say anything.
“He thinks you’re going to hurt me.” Pickle’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Is he right?”
I thought about the footage. The network. The edit notes waiting in my inbox. More of the funny stuff. Meme-able.
“I don’t want to,” I said. “That’s the truth.”
“But?”
