“Where to?” Dom asks, unlocking a sleek, black car parked in front of the scrape. It raises three questions; the same ones Gen has with the glance she trades with me. One, where the hell are we going to take her? Two, how many years’ salary is that car? And three, how the hell did she get a spot right in front of the scrape? Right now, the first is important.

  “There’s a small diner on Clinton Street that’s pretty great,” I answer.

  “Old ‘Cuse it is.”

  “What the hell, Jaqs?” Gen whispers as Dom crosses to the driver’s side door. “How are we with Dom Higgs?”

  “I wooed her with a cig and my stunningly bad conversation skills.”

  Gen’s eyes narrow, unsure. But she gets in the car without complaint. I settle into the rear-facing seat, facing Gen amidst the glow of neon green. It reflects off Dom’s dark skin, catching on the highlight on her cheekbones and the glint of her eyes. She presses a thumb to the start panel in the console between all of us, and a quiet hum overtakes the car. A seatbelt slips across my chest and lap, pressing me into the mold of the chair.

  “Do you want to enter the diner’s name?” Dom asks, motioning to the screen between the four seats.

  “Sure.” It’s easy enough to send the address from my holo to the car, and with a small, deep trill so opposite to Az, it’s jarring, and enough to make me miss him, the car slips into traffic. Gentle music permeates the air along with the sweet scent of apricots.

  Personal scents are a thing in expensive cars, but this is the first time I’ve experienced it. It makes my head swim.

  “So,” Gen ventures. “You didn’t like your party?”

  Dom laughs, and the two begin a shallow conversation while I send a message to Mel asking her to meet us. Might as well bring the whole group together.

  The car moves through the city like a panther of old. Sleek and on the hunt for spots to slide into. On the balcony of the scrape, the neon lights were magical. Each one is a stolen star unto itself. Down on the street, the mirage is broken. The lights burn through the darkness. People crowd sidewalks under them in brilliant blues, proud pinks, and garish greens to mimic the glare from the myriad of ads that steal the darkness from the sky. A wonderland of color, all for our amusement as we slip by.

  Mel replies to my text with confusion, but agrees, and soon the car is finding a spot in a parking garage. Gen and Dom have switched to a conversation about coding that I jump into with ease. We’re a riot of sparkle and color, laughter, and the click of heels. A miniature force to be reckoned with as we trample down the stairs and across the street to the diner.

  The three-story diner is huddled among its taller cousins but makes its mark with a neon front shifting through every color to splatter the street and sidewalk with a rainbow. We enter and are greeted by a recreation of a dining hall of the 1850s. Faux square wooden panels decorate the ceiling with special intricate pieces for the glass chandeliers to drip from. These hang over white tables, clothed in heavy fabric, with intricate metal chairs. A host stand, tucked into a corner of the room, beckons us. A tall, masc presenting person leads us up the stairs. My knees complain with every step.

  We peek into the second level as we pass. It’s decorated like a 1950s diner. Over a black and white floor, the fire red booths and white tables line the walls under blue and pink neon lights. A bar with matching red seats takes up one whole wall of the floor. It hides the alcohol in old equipment from the time, not daring to break the immersion.

  On the third floor, we land in a large monotone room of deep greens and midnight blacks, absent of neon lights. Our small cohort tumbles into a booth patterned with leaves, and I lean on the fake wood table, breathing heavy from the climb. The electronics of the menu are hidden behind a fake leaf in the wall, trying to obscure the modern amenities to fit into the green consciousness of the 2050s, when things were horrible, and the tech we have didn’t yet exist.

  At least some things have gotten better.

  Gen orders us coffee and a plate of poutine to share.

  “Um, excuse me,” says a nasally voice that makes me grin. “Who the hell do you think you are? Like, this is my table.”

  Gen turns with mock affront. Mel stands in a silver sequined jumpsuit with a neon pink belt and shoes.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Gen starts. “But fuck off.”

  Dom’s eyes go wide.

  I try to hold back a laugh, but it spills out of me. “Yeah, ma’am, get lost.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “How dare you?” Mel growls, keeping up the act. But it’s all too much, and Mel, Gen, and I burst into laughter. Dom glances between us all like we’ve lost our minds. I scoot over and allow Mel to sit.

  “Dom, this is Mel, my roommate and an actress.”

  Mel reaches out a hand and, in her normal, soft voice, says, “Pleasure to meet you.”

  Dom relaxes and takes her hand with a smile. “It was a good bit, you had me going.”

  “Did you all already order?” Mel asks, leaning across me to access the menu.

  “Yeah, coffee and poutine to share.”

  Mel nods appreciatively and picks a milkshake from the menu. “I thought you all were at that party. Did it suck?”

  Gen and I meet each other’s eyes.

  Dom chuckles. “Yeah, it sucked. Jaqs saved me from my party and asked if I wanted to meet some people and get food.”

  “Well, welcome to the chaos. I hope you like cursing.” Mel’s grin spills joy across her face. The smile falls as she looks around the diner. “Why did you pick this floor? I hate being reminded that all of this happened."

  “We didn’t pick. This is where they sat us,” Gen answers.

  Mel purses her lips. I don't blame her. Few people like being reminded of the 2050s. Of the devastation and the mass migration as people fled rising tides and ruined crops. ‘Cuse wasn’t the only city that grew in population while other, at the time bigger, cities decreased and died altogether. Nola was gone. Parts of New York City, Boston, and a smattering of other cities were flooded. Hurricanes ruined Houston. And Florida had shrunk, its outer edges eaten by the sea. People began to worship the nature they had forsaken for so long. Never mind the fact that they should have been doing that, or at least respecting it, all along. Maybe things would be different if they had. We wouldn't have restaurants dedicated to the greenery that we lost, the animals that no longer exist, and a mock celebration of a time that should be mourned.

  But people will use anything to make cost.

  “Dom,” Mel says, playing with a leaf draped over the seat. “What do you do for a living?”

  A waiter bot comes bearing coffee and Mel’s milkshake. It does little to ease the awkwardness that Mel isn’t even aware she caused. Anyone involved in the tech industry and those who consume it are aware of Dom. She’s a powerhouse of an inventor. Most people—people at the party—and not our wild family unit, would talk to her about inventions, upgrades, stocks, or whatever rich, successful people talk about. But not Mel. And with the ease on Dom’s face, Mel not knowing is a good thing.

  “I create tech things and update projects,” Dom says, passing around coffee. Mel helps by unloading the creamer and sugar. “And you’re an actor?”

  “Yes, but small parts. Still trying to get my big break.” Mel sits up, quick as lightning. “Speaking of, Jaqs, remember that guy named Robert?”

  “Unfortunately,” I reply, shoulders tensing.

  “What?” Gen asks, brows creasing.

  Oh no.

  “He’s a weird one,” I mutter, trying to defuse a budding situation. “You don’t want to meet him. Not dating material at all.”

  Gen kicks me under the table. “I’m not asking to date him.”

  “He’s a random guy who keeps showing up at auditions wanting to help me. He found me again and offered to assist me in getting a better role. Said he understood wanting something so bad it hurts and how hard it was to get your foot in the door. Gave me his contact info this time. Said he was with an agency called Prism, sorta weird, but it seems legit. Should I call him?” Mel says.

  “No,” Gen snaps.

  I chew my lip. This is bad. I try hard not to police what Mel does lest I come off like her mother, but Robert worries me with how much he’s pursuing Mel. And given what Evangeline told me about how he’s a snake, I don’t want him near her.

  Dom sets her coffee down. “Did he say anything more about helping you? Did he want something in return?”

  “We didn’t get that far, but maybe? It makes sense, right?” Mel asks.

  “He’ll want something, alright,” Gen grumbles. “Prism isn’t any good, Mel.”

  “Oh, have you heard of them?” Mel replies.

  Gen’s lips twist.

  The waiter bot is back with the food. It beeps three times to announce itself and waits for Mel to take the plate before it leaves. Like vultures to a fresh carcass, we dig in. I make sure to get a fry with a cheese curd and a good helping of gravy. Mel flicks a cheese curd off her fry onto the plate. Heathen.

  “I’ve heard of them,” Gen answers. “And it’s not good things.”

  “They’re not all bad,” Dom says. “Nothing is all bad.”

  I flick my eyes between Dom and Gen. Dom’s motions are graceful and fluid. Not a care in the world. Gen is stabbing fries with her knife like she’s Michael stabbing a devil. Whatever she’s tied up in with Evangeline and Prism, it’s got her on edge whenever the topic is broached.

  “Prism is all bad,” Gen says. “They act like a mob, trying to amass power and control to have political gain. They say they’re helping people, promise great things, and exploit those people. Don’t talk to Robert, Mel.”

  “Isn’t that all rumors? From what I’ve read, they want to help people, and yes, they do require some sort of payment, but it’s not like that’s a unique thing.” Dom replies. “It’s like loaning a friend something, you want it or something else back, even if it’s returned friendship or a shoulder to cry on.”

  “Well, I’ve never met someone from Prism who wants friendship,” Gen mutters.

  I want to say something in defense of Evangeline, but Gen doesn’t know, and can’t know, that I met with her. Plus, Gen’s had far more conversations with Evangeline than I have. It may very well be that for Gen, Evangeline has never shown the slightest bit of friendship.

  And it could be that I’m naive for thinking the kindness Evangeline has shown me has been anything but her buttering me up to get what she wants.

  It’s better to say nothing.

  “Well, I have met at least one who seems friendly,” Dom replies, meeting my gaze.

  I swallow the poutine in my mouth and glance away.

  “So is Robert friendly or not?”

  “No,” Gen snaps.

  “I agree,” I say softly. “He seems like bad news, Mel.”

  “All right, I’ll stay away from him,” she says with a shrug, accepting our opinions without worry.

  I need to talk with Evangeline. I may have gotten myself in over my head in agreeing to help her, and Robert hounding Mel needs to be addressed. This whole agreement may have been a mistake.

  Gen leans back with her coffee. Her teeth are clenched, her mouth a grim line. Mel is asking Dom about travel, unaware that Dom has traveled the globe and space. I lean forward.

  “You doing all right?” I whisper across the table.

  Gen sighs. “Fine.” It comes out flat and unconvincing.