the moment, Max was content to scarf down his meal and let DoubleThink approach him when he was ready.
By the time Max had polished off his second plate of breakfast and ordered a slice of cherry pie, the truckers had left and the local morning crowd was filtering in. A couple sat in the booth across from Max, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. Max turned away and kept watching the vehicles coming and going outside.
Jess brought over a thick wedge of cherry pie and a receipt.
“My shift’s ending. Do you mind if I ring you out? You don’t have to leave or anything. Lorraine will take care of you if you need anything else.” Jess nodded toward an elderly woman with curly white hair.
“Thanks.” Max’s phone showed it was just before eight. He didn’t know how long he should stick around. The man in the corner was still working intently on his computer, and none of the other customers seemed like hacker types. Maybe DoubleThink was a no-show.
Max paid his bill with a generous tip, mentally revising the amount of money he had left.
Just when Max was gathering his things to go, a young woman slid into the booth across from him. The first thing he noticed was her hot pink ski jacket, followed by the black knit cap pulled down low over her forehead, covering the tips of her ears. She wore a pair of those yellow-tinted glasses favored by programmers and gamers who spent a lot of time staring at screens.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she said.
“Um,” Max said. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to help you .” She turned her head to survey the parking lot.
“ You’re DoubleThink?” She looked about Max’s age. She looked like a she.
“Bingo.” Satisfied with what she saw—or didn’t see—outside, she looked at Max.
He looked over her shoulder at the older guy still tapping away at his laptop, oblivious to everything around him.
“I thought he was DoubleThink,” Max said.
“Nah. He’s writing a screenplay.” She sniffed. “It’s terrible.”
Max turned to the girl. “How do you know that?”
“I was curious, so I grabbed a copy. You know, public Wi-Fi. He’s on page 223, with no sign of getting to any kind of point. And his Panjea password is ‘mommy.’ I can’t make this crap up.”
Max stared at her. She had dark circles under her eyes. Of course, she’d had a long overnight trip too.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “You’re . . . ”
“A girl?”
“A teenager,” Max said.
“So are you. So was Evan.”
“Okay, yeah, now that you mention it, I’m surprised by the other thing.”
“Why is it a surprise that I’m a girl? Did I seem particularly masculine online?”
“No, but . . . you didn’t seem particularly feminine,” Max said.
“What does that even mean?”
He massaged the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know. Forget it.”
“You didn’t seem particularly sexist online, but here we are.”
Lorraine swept over to their table and deposited a second coffee mug on the table in front of DoubleThink. The waitress filled her cup, refilled Max’s, and left the pot between them.
“Thanks,” DoubleThink said.
Lorraine winked at her and bustled off.
Max stared at the coffee pot.
“I’m sorry. Does the rest of Drama—” He lowered his voice. “The group know?”
“They never asked, I never volunteered. And why should I? It’s your problem if you automatically assume that I’m a man just because I don’t say otherwise. And, let’s face it, our crowd isn’t big on sharing.”
She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. She was wearing frayed lavender fingerless gloves. Her fingernails were painted white with a black letter on each: A on her left pinky, followed by E, O, and U on her ring, middle and index fingers. Her right hand had H on her index finger, then T, N, and S. Her thumbnails had no letters.
Max smiled. Her nails were decorated with the home row keys from a Dvorak keyboard, which had a different layout
By the time Max had polished off his second plate of breakfast and ordered a slice of cherry pie, the truckers had left and the local morning crowd was filtering in. A couple sat in the booth across from Max, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. Max turned away and kept watching the vehicles coming and going outside.
Jess brought over a thick wedge of cherry pie and a receipt.
“My shift’s ending. Do you mind if I ring you out? You don’t have to leave or anything. Lorraine will take care of you if you need anything else.” Jess nodded toward an elderly woman with curly white hair.
“Thanks.” Max’s phone showed it was just before eight. He didn’t know how long he should stick around. The man in the corner was still working intently on his computer, and none of the other customers seemed like hacker types. Maybe DoubleThink was a no-show.
Max paid his bill with a generous tip, mentally revising the amount of money he had left.
Just when Max was gathering his things to go, a young woman slid into the booth across from him. The first thing he noticed was her hot pink ski jacket, followed by the black knit cap pulled down low over her forehead, covering the tips of her ears. She wore a pair of those yellow-tinted glasses favored by programmers and gamers who spent a lot of time staring at screens.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she said.
“Um,” Max said. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to help you .” She turned her head to survey the parking lot.
“ You’re DoubleThink?” She looked about Max’s age. She looked like a she.
“Bingo.” Satisfied with what she saw—or didn’t see—outside, she looked at Max.
He looked over her shoulder at the older guy still tapping away at his laptop, oblivious to everything around him.
“I thought he was DoubleThink,” Max said.
“Nah. He’s writing a screenplay.” She sniffed. “It’s terrible.”
Max turned to the girl. “How do you know that?”
“I was curious, so I grabbed a copy. You know, public Wi-Fi. He’s on page 223, with no sign of getting to any kind of point. And his Panjea password is ‘mommy.’ I can’t make this crap up.”
Max stared at her. She had dark circles under her eyes. Of course, she’d had a long overnight trip too.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “You’re . . . ”
“A girl?”
“A teenager,” Max said.
“So are you. So was Evan.”
“Okay, yeah, now that you mention it, I’m surprised by the other thing.”
“Why is it a surprise that I’m a girl? Did I seem particularly masculine online?”
“No, but . . . you didn’t seem particularly feminine,” Max said.
“What does that even mean?”
He massaged the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know. Forget it.”
“You didn’t seem particularly sexist online, but here we are.”
Lorraine swept over to their table and deposited a second coffee mug on the table in front of DoubleThink. The waitress filled her cup, refilled Max’s, and left the pot between them.
“Thanks,” DoubleThink said.
Lorraine winked at her and bustled off.
Max stared at the coffee pot.
“I’m sorry. Does the rest of Drama—” He lowered his voice. “The group know?”
“They never asked, I never volunteered. And why should I? It’s your problem if you automatically assume that I’m a man just because I don’t say otherwise. And, let’s face it, our crowd isn’t big on sharing.”
She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. She was wearing frayed lavender fingerless gloves. Her fingernails were painted white with a black letter on each: A on her left pinky, followed by E, O, and U on her ring, middle and index fingers. Her right hand had H on her index finger, then T, N, and S. Her thumbnails had no letters.
Max smiled. Her nails were decorated with the home row keys from a Dvorak keyboard, which had a different layout
Similar Books
