intent on watching Peter watch Claudia with a sourpuss look on his face that it was like waking up from a dream. That girl who had come on to him at pep rally rehearsal had been a momentary distraction, clearly. Peter was practically turning green while I watched. My plan was already working.
“Wallace Bracken, right?”
He was holding that electronic pad thingie he always had at Boosters against his chest and smirking at me. The boy wasn’t bad-looking with his porcelain complexion, aquiline nose, and shiny dark hair hanging over his forehead. If only he wasn’t constantly bent over his contraption, I might be able to find him a nice girl.
“Yep. You wanna know how I know you’re the second-tallest girl in the junior class?” he asked excitedly.
He was already pulling a chair over to the end of our tableand sitting in it. I looked at Hephaestus, who seemed nonplussed. We hadn’t been talking much, what with me watching Peter and Claudia and not having a clue how to talk to him—or whether I should—about my mother, so this was a welcome distraction.
“I know I’d like to know,” Hephaestus said, leaning in.
“I created this app,” Wallace said, putting the electronic tablet down and hitting the screen a few times. A picture of me came up, taken the other day while I was talking to Claudia, Peter, and Orion at Boosters. “I can take a picture of anyone, and the app will calculate their height, weight, and body mass index. Provided they’re standing, of course. My margin of error is only three percent.”
“Hey. That’s actually pretty cool,” Hephaestus said.
Wallace blushed pleasantly. “Thanks.”
“Does it have any practical use?” I asked.
“True,” Hephaestus said, somehow scolding me with one syllable.
“I’m just saying, what would you do with this knowledge?” I was genuinely curious as I leaned over his shoulder and bit into a carrot stick. “Why do you want to know everyone’s height, weight, and whatever else you said there?”
“Well, aren’t you glad to know you’re the second-tallest girl in your class?” he asked plainly.
I lifted a shoulder. “I suppose.”
“Here. Give me your phone.” He held out his hand, which bore one thick purple band on its ring finger. “I’ll download the app for you.”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” I told him.
His whole face went slack. “You don’t have a cell phone?”
“Nope.”
His hand hit the table with a crack, and I winced. That had to hurt. But he didn’t flinch. “How do you text?”
“I don’t.”
“How do you tweet? Update Facebook? Instagram? Play games? Listen to music?”
I sat up straight at this. “Wait. You can use them to listen to music?”
Wallace looked at Hephaestus as if I’d just dropped in through the ceiling from some far-flung galaxy.
“I know, dude,” Hephaestus said, biting into an apple. “She’s weird.”
Wallace put his pad thingie away and took out his phone, which looked just like the pad thingie, only smaller. He placed his phone on the table and opened up a screen that had songs and bands listed with prices next to each one.
“You can buy any music you want,” he said slowly, as if he was attempting to communicate with a dolphin. “You just need to open an account with a credit card number and you’re in.”
“Any music I want?” This was interesting. I scooted my chair closer to Wallace’s and tentatively touched the screen. I had missed music since I had been on Earth. The stereo system at Goddess Cupcakes played a steady stream of current pop hits, but I was more of a classical connoisseur, and I’d heard nothing of it since my arrival here over two weeks ago. Perhaps these soul-sucking devices I’d so vilified had a positive purpose.
“Here.” Wallace pulled out a pair of earphones and stuck one side in my ear, the other in his. “What do you like? Hip-hop? Hard rock? Country?”
“Mozart,” I told him.
He glanced at me, obviously surprised and
“Wallace Bracken, right?”
He was holding that electronic pad thingie he always had at Boosters against his chest and smirking at me. The boy wasn’t bad-looking with his porcelain complexion, aquiline nose, and shiny dark hair hanging over his forehead. If only he wasn’t constantly bent over his contraption, I might be able to find him a nice girl.
“Yep. You wanna know how I know you’re the second-tallest girl in the junior class?” he asked excitedly.
He was already pulling a chair over to the end of our tableand sitting in it. I looked at Hephaestus, who seemed nonplussed. We hadn’t been talking much, what with me watching Peter and Claudia and not having a clue how to talk to him—or whether I should—about my mother, so this was a welcome distraction.
“I know I’d like to know,” Hephaestus said, leaning in.
“I created this app,” Wallace said, putting the electronic tablet down and hitting the screen a few times. A picture of me came up, taken the other day while I was talking to Claudia, Peter, and Orion at Boosters. “I can take a picture of anyone, and the app will calculate their height, weight, and body mass index. Provided they’re standing, of course. My margin of error is only three percent.”
“Hey. That’s actually pretty cool,” Hephaestus said.
Wallace blushed pleasantly. “Thanks.”
“Does it have any practical use?” I asked.
“True,” Hephaestus said, somehow scolding me with one syllable.
“I’m just saying, what would you do with this knowledge?” I was genuinely curious as I leaned over his shoulder and bit into a carrot stick. “Why do you want to know everyone’s height, weight, and whatever else you said there?”
“Well, aren’t you glad to know you’re the second-tallest girl in your class?” he asked plainly.
I lifted a shoulder. “I suppose.”
“Here. Give me your phone.” He held out his hand, which bore one thick purple band on its ring finger. “I’ll download the app for you.”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” I told him.
His whole face went slack. “You don’t have a cell phone?”
“Nope.”
His hand hit the table with a crack, and I winced. That had to hurt. But he didn’t flinch. “How do you text?”
“I don’t.”
“How do you tweet? Update Facebook? Instagram? Play games? Listen to music?”
I sat up straight at this. “Wait. You can use them to listen to music?”
Wallace looked at Hephaestus as if I’d just dropped in through the ceiling from some far-flung galaxy.
“I know, dude,” Hephaestus said, biting into an apple. “She’s weird.”
Wallace put his pad thingie away and took out his phone, which looked just like the pad thingie, only smaller. He placed his phone on the table and opened up a screen that had songs and bands listed with prices next to each one.
“You can buy any music you want,” he said slowly, as if he was attempting to communicate with a dolphin. “You just need to open an account with a credit card number and you’re in.”
“Any music I want?” This was interesting. I scooted my chair closer to Wallace’s and tentatively touched the screen. I had missed music since I had been on Earth. The stereo system at Goddess Cupcakes played a steady stream of current pop hits, but I was more of a classical connoisseur, and I’d heard nothing of it since my arrival here over two weeks ago. Perhaps these soul-sucking devices I’d so vilified had a positive purpose.
“Here.” Wallace pulled out a pair of earphones and stuck one side in my ear, the other in his. “What do you like? Hip-hop? Hard rock? Country?”
“Mozart,” I told him.
He glanced at me, obviously surprised and