Spaceboi

By Elizabeth Broadbent

No one was home. Luna had moved out. Mums was in Asia — she said to see temples. Really, she wanted more work done. Her face seemed like some strange cat-creature’s, all tight eyes and tiny nose. My father might’ve been in Beijing on business, or he might’ve gone to Soweto for football, or he might’ve lit off for Karbala, where he kept a secret wife and a secret dark-haired, warm-skinned son.

I overrode our auto-offs. A single light in a night-dark house seemed more depressing than a house with every light blown bright, as if a party had emptied or no one had come. Usage-screens shamed me with soaring green numbers. My therapist would tell me my mental health was worth it. I said it out loud, “My mental health is worth it.”

My words echoed.

I could’ve pinged people. There would be a rager somewhere. I could go and get drunked up. I could see the same faces and mouth the same phrases. I lay on my bed and stared at its ceiling. My therapist would say, “Zane, it’s not enough to know what you don’t want. That’s passive. Pick something. That’s active.”

I wanted to snuggle with Baylor and Knox. I wanted Baylor to fuss over Knox’s hair, and I wanted to nuzzle her neck. Both would smell like something yum. I could kiss her soft skin and trace her curves; his lean, long legs would tangle with mine, and his hip bones would bump under my hands. But lately Knox said we made great slam-buddies, and wasn’t it nice nothing got complicated? Baylor never said anything. Maybe they messed around without me. Maybe the three of us had drifted and it didn’t matter anymore.

I could’ve pinged them. I could’ve said, “I miss you.”

Both would’ve said, “I see you all the time.”

I was still thinking about them when my comm went off — Finnick. Luna said he was sketch. I answered anyway.

“Wanna hit up a redlight?” he asked.

I couldn’t have Baylor or Knox, not like that. Every light was on and Luna had left. Better out than home watching holos. Better Finnick than no one at all.

I picked him up in Paoli, since he’d wrecked his Sighra and hadn’t replaced it yet. “I can’t decide between a Keelo Roadster and a Neono Kite,” he told me as we drove to Devon.

Buying either was bodoh, cos they were total malfunctions on maintenance and junked-up crappo besides. I said, “Uh-huh.”

“So how’s Luna?” he asked.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Must be cool to have a fashmodel for a twin.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Next time she asks you to one of those parties, ping, kay?”

“Sure.”

He smacked me. “Why’re you all morose tonight? We’re headed to Clarke’s, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t smack me while I have my hands on the controls, teaparty. You want me to wreck this sol-car like you wrecked your slamming Sighra?” I jacked up my music — Baylor’s favorite Killian Jones drop, that old-oldie about do you like girls or boys — and we didn’t talk again until we reached the redlight. Darkglasses turned it bright-white and gray against the city night.

I was about to slam a bot. It seemed too easy, and this place screamed situation normal.  Slamming a bot was not normal. Or maybe it was. People did. Men used to watch real women dance naked.

“I’ll exterminate your ass if someone finds out I was here,” I said to Finnick.

“Calm your tits,” he told me. “No one’ll know. Hells, Zane, everyone goes to redlights, anyway.”

I should’ve listened to Luna. “I don’t.”

The airlock opened to an anonymous bar. People vaped. A bot mixed drinks. Sharp shadow and low light darkened faces into dim shapes; Killian Jones sang an old-oldie about ashes like ashes. Finnick strode to a barstool. “Whiskey and rye,” he said. “Gin and tonic for that one.”

I took another leather seat. “I might’ve wanted gin and juice.”

“You drink gin and tonic.” Finnick leaned on the bar and half-spun his stool in quick jerks.

“Maybe I wanted to switch it up.”

“Serious lolz, Zane.”

It seemed dumbass, but I had to ask. “So, how’s this work?”

“You’re so ridic.” Our drinks arrived. Finnick batted my hand back, and the bot palm-scanned him for both. “I’ll buy your slamming drinks. It’s your first time. You bum around, then ask for a menu.” He grinned. “When it pops up — don’t go dumbass over it, no one can see — pick a bot. Then you go back and do whatever you want.”

I drew on my vape and blew a long, red puff of strawberry smoke. “Whatever you want?”

Finnick’s smile twisted. “Whatever you want, Zane. Pick your dream girl.”

I dropped my eyes to my drink. Baylor had friend-zoned me. Maybe she’d always seen us as slam-buddies, her and Knox both, and I was too bodoh to know it.

Baylor hated redlights.

“What’s your malfunction tonight?” Finnick smacked my arm. “Pop a menu.”

I pushed a small button on the bar. A horizontal holo appeared, and I almost choked on my own vape. Clarke’s must’ve kept a warehouse. They had sexbots without tits and sexbots with huge tits, sexbots in every color, sexbots in every shape. Some seemed young and some seemed old.

One looked like Baylor. I might’ve mistaken it for her.

Finnick tilted his head at it. “See anything you like?”

I ordered another gin.

“Pick, Zane. It’s not hard.” Finnick laughed. “Or maybe it is. You can pay extra for a holo download.”

I could’ve pinged anyone. But Finnick had pinged me.

I’d finished my drink when Finnick signaled the bar-bot. It rolled over, and he recited a number.

“Yes, fren, we’ll get that ready for you.” It trundled away again.

I scrolled through the menu but skipped the Baylor-bot. Thinking of it felt ick. I had to pick. I was there to pick. Eventually, I read a number to the bar-bot. It scanned my palm.

“What’d you get?” Finnick asked.

I tried for a whatevs-voice. “Geemo, I guess.”

“What’s she look like, teaparty?”

“Like a slamming geemo. Pale. Thin. Black hair.”

“TNA?”

Booze bottles shone. Bright light lit them from below. “Sure.”

“You’re ready, frens,” the bar-bot said a few minutes later.

Finnick slid off his stool. “Sweet. C’mon, Zane.” He led me to a red autodoor, where two holos appeared. “This way, fren,” one said, and I followed it down a red-walled hall to another unmarked autodoor. It opened to a bling bedroom with too many pillows. The sexbot lay on its tummy, knees bent and ankles crossed.

“Hi, Zane. I’m Raven,” it said — they’d ripped my name off the palmscan. The bot wore black, thigh-high net-tights tied into bows; its barely-there undies crisscrossed with satin ribbon. I didn’t want to like it. But black hair spilled over its shoulders, and I could picture its chest under that net top. “What would you like, baby?” it asked.

People said sexbots felt real.

“Are you shy?” It slipped off the bed. That net top was as good as I’d imagined. “Do you think I’m pretty?” it asked. “You must. You picked me.”

“Yeah,” I said, like it could care.

“You’re so cute.” It flipped dark hair over a shoulder. Baylor’s was white-blonde. “Sometimes I have ick guys but you’re totally hot. You’re uni age, too. Bet you can go twice.” It smirked as it touched me. “You so can.”

I didn’t shove it away, but I shut my eyes.

Finnick grinned as we slid into my sol-car. “Have fun?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He didn’t need details. Darkglasses hid my eyes.

“Did you get a download?”

I snaked down a back street. “No, I didn’t get a download.” I hadn’t looked while it happened and I didn’t want to see it.

“I totally did. She was ultra-hot.” He fished out his vape. I opened his window. “There’s a party in Radnor if you wanna go. If not, drop me off?”

It wasn’t late, maybe a little after midnight. Finnick’s smoke hit the slipstream and disappeared. “At Kai and Rosie’s?”

“I guess, yeah.” He breathed a long, brown cloud — chocolate. I hated chocolate.

“I don’t slamming care if you say where you were bumming around but don’t tell them I was there.” Finnick would start right away: I was all up in Clarke’s and slammed this bot . . .

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t snitch you out. Swear.”

Sol-cars packed Kai’s drive and I had to park halfway down the tree-lined street, all huge houses built and rebuilt since the Twentieth. When we walked back to Kai’s, we passed Baylor’s Vispree Mini and Knox’s Neono Caprice.

Kai’s party could’ve been any other, just with different furniture. Some girls stomped to Dance Wars VI. The only candyman was sampling his own stash. A cookbot poured booze in the kitchen; smaller bots rolled around with glowing gel-shots on silver trays. People splashed in a pool. Some wore clothes and some wore bathe-suites and some wore nothing at all.

Luna hung with some of our usual crowd in a white room with round white couches and square white tables. It seemed made for low light. Baylor and Knox were with them. I started to slip out, but someone mentioned Finnick.

“Hey-ya.” I flopped between Auden and Knox.

“Haiiiii, Zane,” they replied. My sister didn’t answer. Her head rested in Tyrell’s lap and her eyes were closed. She was probably flying.

Knox rolled toward me. Laying down had messed up his black spikes. “Luna’s flying.”

I couldn’t say, I miss when it was you and me and Baylor. I miss us slamming but I miss us seeing stupid holos and driving to rando dive restaurants more. I miss us sitting around and talking about stupid crappo. I miss sleeping between you two. I couldn’t say any of that so I said, “I got that, yeah.”

“Did you hear Finnick’s got some cray surprise coming?” he asked. “He pinged a while back and told everyone.”

Finnick hadn’t mentioned a surprise. I slid closer to Knox and fixed his spikes. I could do that without being weirdo. “Did Finnick say anything else about his surprise?”

“No, dumbass.” Auden slurred his s’s. He was flying, too. “That’s why it’s a slamming surprise.”

“Sup with you, Baylor?” I asked.

“Nothing. Bumming around. Waiting for Finnick.” She checked her comm. “He said he’d be here soon.”

Luna raised her head. “Finnick’s sketch. I don’t know why you hang with him, Zane.” She dropped again. Tyrell petted her head.

“Baylor, did you catch the new Jax Biro drop?” I asked. Jax Biro sounded like The Liars who sounded like Killer Grace who sounded like every other geemopop band. Baylor loved him.

“Oh, totally, I heard it the day it hit and . . .” She went on about Jax, how he was coming to Philly and she might go see him, but only if she could get backstage. Knox rolled over a little and grinned. We used to ride Baylor about Jax Biro until she stomped her foot and sulked. Then we’d pretend we were sorry and kiss her until she went melty-soft. She never understood. Knox and I teased her mad for an excuse to kiss her happy. 

I was saying I’d totally go if she was down when Cecily ran in. “Oh my God, Finnick’s surprise is here?” She grabbed Baylor’s arm. “You have to come with me?” she said. “Like, now.”

Luna blinked woozily, then swayed as she shoved herself up. Whatever she’d taken, she’d taken a lot of it. “Should I come?”

“Yeah, you come too,” Cecily said.

Tyrell hopped off the couch. “Guess we should see what it is.”

People sprawled through a huge room — on a canopied king bed, on fuzzy rugs, on curved couches. I should have been ready. I should have known. Finnick’s download played on holoscreen. I didn’t look. He babbled over slick skin-slapping, crappo like, “Yeah, you like it, don’t you?” The bot made moan-y sex sounds. I’d seen flapflicks and I didn’t want to see Finnick’s. The holo flickered on blank faces. No one spoke.

Knox gasped.

Then I looked.

Finnick was slamming the Baylor-bot. Of course he wanted the Baylor-bot. Then he bought the download, cos Finnick liked seeing himself slam, and he was showing everyone cos he liked that, too. I couldn’t tell Knox that Finnick was slamming a bot — I’d have to admit I’d gone to Clarke’s. But I couldn’t let everything think Baylor would slam Finnick.

My stomach pitched like I was speedsick. “You just had to get the bot that looked like Baylor, didn’t you?” I spoke loud over his download. “You’re a total malfunction. I knew as soon as I saw that bot on the menu you’d pick it.”

“It’s a bot?!” A girl’s voice rose. Knox stared at me. I couldn’t think about that.

“Yeah,” I said. “He slammed it at Clarke’s.”

Finnick kicked off the wall, and his mouth twisted like it had at that bar. I should’ve listened to Luna. “How do you know I was at Clarke’s, Zane?”

I couldn’t seem ashamed. I had to throw all-in, no matter what Knox and Baylor would think. “Cos I drove, teaparty.”

Everyone watched like we were an interesting holoflick. Knox wouldn’t stop staring. I could’ve cried. I made myself glare.

“Nice bois don’t go to redlights,” Finnick said.

“Nice bois don’t show their own flapflicks at parties,” I shot back. “Nice bois don’t pretend they’re slamming a real girl when they’re slamming a bot, either. What, did Baylor turn you down, and you wanted to get back at her?”

Finnick’s lips went white and his hands balled into fists. “At least I don’t follow her like a pathetic little puppy.” His voice rose high and ridic. “Baylor, why don’t you love me anymore? Knox? Baylor? Why can’t we all be baes again?”

Knox still stood next to me.

I walked out.

The pool was empty. I took off my shoes and dangled my feet in the warmish water. Why hadn’t I listened to Luna? At least everyone knew that had been a bot, not Baylor. I might’ve been ick enough to hit up a redlight, and I might’ve been bodoh about Baylor and Knox, but she was safe. I drew my wet feet out and hugged my knees. My forehead fit between them.

“Zane?” Baylor asked.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” A small, familiar palm touched my shoulder.

I’m fine, I tried to tell her, but I would’ve cried so I didn’t say anything.

“I wish you hadn’t gone to a redlight.”

I hugged my knees tighter. The pool’s pretty tile hurt to sit on. “There was nothing else to do.”

She laughed quietly. I almost cried again cos I missed it so much. “Literally or figuratively?”

“You know what I mean.” I flushed but at least she couldn’t see.

“You could’ve pinged me.”

I hoped we were alone. I didn’t hear anyone, so I said, “I couldn’t and you know why.”

“You never said you wanted it back. It just sorta stopped. I thought neither of you were interested anymore. If I’d’ve known . . .”

I lifted my head. She was watching the water. “I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t.”

I tried to say, Could we? My hands shook. She knew I’d been to a redlight. I dropped my head to my knees again.

“Anyway. Thanks for telling off Finnick.”

“Baylor?” I spoke toward the tiles.

“What?”

“I should’ve pinged.” It sounded stupid and desperate. I should’ve stayed home. I could’ve watched holos.

“I would’ve answered.” Soft lips kissed my hair. When I finally glanced up, she was gone.

I uncurled and dropped my feet into the pool. Next time, I would ping her. I touched the place she’d kissed. Light met water, then shattered. Next time, I would try.

A six-year staff writer for Scary Mommy with pieces published in The Washington Post and Insider, Elizabeth Broadbent has appeared on CNN, MSNBC, NPR’s All Things Considered, and BBC World News. Her short stories have appeared, among other places, in Tales to Terrify, Penumbric, Tree & Stone, and The Cafe Irreal; her novella, Naked & Famous was published with EJL Editions in summer 2023, and her poetry chapbook, Wrapped in a Burning Flag, comes out in winter of 2024. She lives in Edgar Allan Poe’s city with her three sons, two dogs, patient husband, and too many David Bowie records.