Cyberpunk

grew most of their food and where flowers were always in bloom and where everybody loved everyone else. Nice life for a bunch of mall drones. So why was she thinking of leaving?
    “You should stop by sometime,” she said.
    “Sometime,” I said. “Sure.”
    For hours after we faded, I kept remembering things about her I had not realized I had noticed. The fine hair on her legs. The curve of her eyebrows. The way her hands moved when she was excited.
    It was Stennie’s fault: after the Playroom party he started going to school almost every day. Not just linking to E-class with his comm, but actually showing up. We knew he had more than remedial reading on his mind, but no matter how much we teased, he would not talk about his mysterious new cush. Before he fell in love we used to joyride in his Alpha afternoons. Now Comrade and I had the car all to ourselves. Not as much fun.
    We had already dropped Stennie off when I spotted Treemonisha waiting for the bus. I waved, she came over. The next thing I knew we had another passenger on the road to nowhere. Comrade stared vacantly out the window as we pulled onto South Street; he did not seem pleased with the company.
    “Have you been out to the reservoir?” I said. “There are some extreme houses out there. Or we could drive over to Greenwich and look at yachts.”
    “I haven’t been anywhere yet, so I don’t care,” she said. “By the way, you don’t go to college.” She was not accusing me or even asking—merely stating a fact.
    “Why do you say that?” I said.
    “Fidel told me.”
    I wondered how her twelve-year-old brother could know anything at all about me. Rumors maybe, or just guessing. Since she did not seem mad, I decided to tell the truth.
    “He’s right,” I said, “I lied. I have an account at Yale, but I haven’t linked for months. Hey, you can’t live without telling a few lies. At least I don’t discriminate. I’ll lie to anyone, even myself.”
    “You’re bad.” A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “So what do you do then?”
    “I drive around a lot.” I waved at the interior of Stennie’s car. “Let’s see . . . I go to parties. I buy stuff and use it.”
    “Fidel says you’re rich.”
    “I’m going to have to meet this Fidel. Does money make a difference?”
    When she nodded, her hairworks twinkled. Comrade gave me a knowing glance, but I paid no attention. I was trying to figure out how she could make insults sound like compliments when I realized we were flirting. The idea took me by surprise. Flirting.
    “Do you have any music?” Treemonisha said.
    The Alpha asked what groups she liked, and so we listened to some mindless dance hits as we took the circle route around the Laurel Reservoir. Treemonisha told me about how she was sick of her parents’ store and rude customers and especially the dumb Green Dream uniform. “Back in Elkhart, Daddy used to make me wear it to school. Can you believe that? He said it was good advertising. When we moved, I told him either the khakis went or I did.”
    She had a yellow-and-orange dashiki over midnight-blue skintights. “I like your clothes,” I said. “You have taste.”
    “Thanks.” She bobbed her head in time to the music. “I can’t afford much because I can’t get an outside job because I have to work for my parents. It makes me mad, sometimes. I mean, franchise life is fine for Mom and Dad; they’re happy being tucked in every night by GD, Inc. But I want more. Thrills, chills—you know, adventure. No one has adventures in the mall.”
    As we drove, I showed her the log castle, the pyramids, the private train that pulled sleeping cars endlessly around a two-mile track, and the marble bunker where Sullivan, the assassinated president, still lived on in computer memory. Comrade kept busy acting bored.
    “Can we go see your mom?” said Treemonisha. “All the kids at school tell me she’s awesome.”
    Suddenly Comrade was interested in the conversation. I was not sure what the kids at school were talking about. Probably they wished they had seen Mom, but I had never asked any of them over—except for Stennie.
    “Not a good idea.” I shook my head. “She’s more flimsy than she looks, you know, and she gets real nervous if strangers just drop by. Or even friends.”
    “I just want to look. I won’t get out of the car.”
    “Well,” said Comrade, “if she doesn’t get out of the car, who could she hurt?”
    I scowled at him. He knew how