As if summoned—and technically, he was, by my text—he was perched on one of the top steps. A ring of keys dangled from his hand. His arms were folded, his legs splayed. He’d look like a cologne ad if fault wasn’t etched on every one of his features. I wanted to hate him, but I didn’t.
I was angry with the universe, with Wells, with the algorithm, with everything that came with Soulmail. And maybe most of all, with myself. Because I didn’t know what to believe anymore, and I relied much too heavily on other people to make me happy.
I made an effort to trot, which resulted in me stomping up the steps until I was ten feet from him. My chest heaved. Icrossed my arms. It’s hard to be haughty in sweatpants, butI was doing a bang-up job of it. “Where were you tonight?” Iasked, my voice trembling on the last syllable.
“I—”
“What did Ido?”
He startled, as if bewildered. “It’s not you,” he said.
Part of my anger—embarrassment?—dissipated. “What do you mean?”
He raked a hand through his hair, the keys jingling. “I’m sorry I didn’t show up tonight. My phone was on silent, and I’ve been under tons of pressure to finish my project. I honestly lost total track of time.”
“That’s a bullshit excuse.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I really do suck at time management.”
My nostrils flared. “That’s a terrible quality.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“If you didn’t want to come, you should have said so.”
“Ididwant to.” He rose, descended two steps in quick succession, stopped. “It’s—do you want to see?”
I paused. Cars drove behind us, someone beeped, someone belted something—a One Direction song, of all things—in Central Park. “I’m still mad,” I said.
“You should be,” he said.
I waited.
He exhaled. “I’m a jerk friend, and you deserve more.” This was the second time in my life he’d hurt me, but if there was one thing about Caleb that I’d always appreciated, it was his honesty.
I shivered.
“It’s warm inside,” he offered.
“Fine. Let’s go see.”
The hair along the nape of his neck curled the same way it always had, and my heart squeezed in my chest. I’d been trying so hard to keep everything together, squared, orderly; to acclimate myself to my new life, to move on with my Soulmail-mate. I’ve never been able to recapture that feeling of running through the dunes with Caleb, of no responsibilities and soaking up every piece of information I could, of this same hair that used to poke from beneath his Polo hat.
The ceilings soared above us. For the second time today, I was someplace after-hours, only this time I wasn’t barefoot. When we were in high school, we fundraised a few thousand dollars by way of gourmet candy bar sales and “canning” outside of Dunkin’ Donuts to hold our prom at the New England Aquarium, and I’ve never forgotten the sensation of wearing satin and my first pair of heels, watching jellyfish and sharks and seals and clownfish zoom on by while elsewhere, the trove of kids who’d be there in the morning slept.
Caleb was there for that, too.
We passed the bronze statue of Teddy Roosevelt. He sat like Santa, ready for a child to climb onto his lap. I resisted the urge to do so myself. “It feels weird being here after hours. Like I’m breaking in.”
“Well, you’re my guest, so you aren’t. Though I’m not theoretically permitted to entertain guests, so there’s that.”
“So you’re saying, don’t yank anything from the exhibits?”
He shot me a look. “You’re on the tightest security system in the city. Your move, Adler.”
We passed an elevator bay. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Seriously. One of, anyway. Most things government-funded get linked into this high-scale system.”
