FutureImperfect by Stefan Petrucha Page A

still rushed by them, on their way to see what all the fuss was about, not realizing they’d missed it all.
    A few blocks away, near where they’d parked, Jeremy found an old-style diner. It was nearly empty because of all the excitement outside, so he took her in. She slumped into a booth, felt a crack in the upholstery beneath her, and vaguely heard Jeremy ask a waitress for a cup of hot water.
    The diner had chrome everywhere, and even where it wasn’t chrome, it was shiny and silver: the counters, the tables, the knives and forks. It looked nothing like the dull little Formica diner back in Brenton, where she and Harry had had their only “date.” Nothing at all. But it reminded her of it just the same. And it made her cry more.
    The waitress brought a cup of hot water. Jeremy pulled a little packet from his pocket and sprinkled its contents into the cup. Siara watched as the tiny grains of something floated, tinting the water with tan swirls.
    Tempests in a teacup.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Siara asked dully. She wiped her face with her arm. Realizing that wasn’t enough to sop up the tears, she grabbed a napkin and blew her nose.
    Jeremy shrugged. “Herbal tea. To help you relax.”
    She shook her head. “I don’t want to relax. I want to be upset. Harry’s…”
    He pushed the cup toward her. “Take a sip. You’ve still got your mother’s demo tonight.”
    She raised an eyebrow at him.
    â€œI can’t go there now,” Siara said. “My mother wouldn’t expect me to.”
    The steam from the tea rolled up into her nostrils. It had a spicy odor, like nutmeg. Jeremy gently lifted the cup and guided it up to her lips, like he was her dad or her big brother or something, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She didn’t feel like fighting, so she took a sip.
    The liquid, not too hot, slid down her throat. She could feel it warm her all the way down into her knotted stomach. She realized that, logically, the warm feeling should stop there, at the bottom of her stomach, but it didn’t. It kept going down her legs into her toes; then it floated up her back, into her arms, even her fingers.
    Everything started tingling. The knot loosened. Even the tingling where her pet had bit her finger vanished.
    She blinked. She wasn’t crying anymore.
    â€œFinish it,” Jeremy said. “It will help.”
    So she did. In a few moments, while the pain over Harry’s death didn’t stop exactly, it felt like it was floating away.
    â€œWhat’s in this?” she asked as she put the empty cup down. “Valerian root?”
    â€œSomething like that,” Jeremy said. His face looked so serious as it scanned her, so concerned, it made her smile. Why was she smiling? How could she smile when Harry was dead?
    Something strong and warm tugged against her fingers. It took her a moment to realize Jeremy had taken her hands in his, cupped them, and pulled them toward the center of the table. She looked up into his steady blue eyes.
    â€œIt’s important you keep busy now,” he said in a funny sort of monotone. What a weird thing to say; again, like he was her dad or something, only her own dad would never say anything that dadlike. Shouldn’t he talk about how awful it was to watch someone plunge to his death? How sorry he was? How he never really hated Harry, even though, of course, he did?
    She tried to raise an eyebrow at him again but couldn’t find the strength. Instead, she just said, “Yeah.”
    â€œSo I think it’s important that you still go to the demo tonight.”
    She hesitated, but his eyes and his voice were so much stronger than she was. Their certainty invaded her, like a poem, like the tea.
    It made sense, in a way. Keep distracted, keep busy.
    â€œYes,” she said.
    â€œYour mother’s been working so hard, there’s no reason to upset her, not on her big