Bytes and Broken Hearts
Chapter One
Sutton
The occasional plastic bench lines the hallway, crowded with students watching digital bulletins that advertise upcoming events like Junior Prom, a dance no one has asked me to—not the time to dwell on that.
I sit with my knees to my chest, my right foot tapping against the hard cement floor. Screens cast a blue glow on my platform shoes. Outside of the buzz of milling students, the hall’s bare, with nothing more to sit on. Minimalistic to the last angular panel.
We all wait for the same reason: to get the details for the Warren Enterprises internship. Once the data comes, someone would update the screens with the internship requirements.
“Do you think they’ll update the screens before lunch?” Dylan asks from my left.
I elbow him. “Quiet.”
Even after sitting for over a half hour, my heart pounds like I’m on my virtual bike. Any minute now.
“Everyone else is talking.” He smirks and wraps an arm around me, so I’m enveloped in his musky aftershave. “Relax, Sutton. It’s not like the recruiter will show up to demand a code challenge right here and now.”
You never know.
Dylan’s a wonderful guy and has been for the two years we’ve dated, but this is my dream, not his. He wants to be an engineer because his dad expects it, not because he’s passionate about it.
With thousands of applicants a day, this company has the highest pay, the best benefits, the widest range of jobs, and the coolest campus. And no layoffs. It’s as sturdy as our solar highway, with just as many branches. Except not entirely powered by the sun.
Even if we don’t get the importance of this, our parents do. Dylan’s dad made sure he understood by taking him to the Shacks, where people wind up when they’re denied even the janitorial jobs that expensive robots have yet to replace. With automation, jobs have slimmed, especially the prestigious ones. For Dylan and his family, only the prestigious ones will do.
While I don’t want to end up in the Shacks either, I’ve dreamed of building games since I was a kid.
I’m here for me.
They could have offered this opportunity to any high school or college, and I’m afraid of losing access to it.
What will the requirements be?
My hands twitch and I pull out my drawing pad to calm myself. I sketch a dragon with a smart pen, the creature taking flight beneath my fingers. With my boyfriend beside me, my usual book characters are a subject matter no-go. I don’t blame him. In his place, I wouldn’t like him sketching fictional crushes either.
I sweep my pen outward and orange and red dragon fire stretches into the edge of the screen. The vibrant colors, the movement…
Any changes? I look up. No.
I return to my drawing. Moving to the spikes at the top of the dragon’s head, I add a whimsical purple fade. Why not? My pen responds to the pressure at the point.
Then I pause again to re-check the bulletins.
A kid with knobby knees slows as he passes the screens across from me, his eyes lingering on my pigtails and floral hair ties and resting on my shoes. I meet his gaze and he stops.
His cheeks redden. “Sorry,” he mutters, “you just don’t look…” His voice trails off as he gestures to the other students. Then he shuffles forward to find a place on the floor.
I ignore him, though my mom would point out the same thing. Nobody looks at me and sees engineer.
“You’re over-stressing this,” Dylan says. “Let me help.” He draws out a deck of playing cards from his pocket, shuffles them, cuts three decks, and lays two out on the floor. Someone nearly steps on the cards as they pass, but Dylan sticks out his elbow, forcing them to give us a wide berth.
He fans out one small deck. “Pick one.”
Smiling despite myself, I choose a red two of hearts and stuff it into the middle of the pile where he can’t possibly find it.
He collapses the deck, stacks the three separated piles, and flips through them. Then he reaches for my hair, and tucks a strand behind my ear. My ear burns as he retracts his hand, a card tucked between his knuckles.
Why’s he so hot when he does that?
We met at a pool party, then again at a junior high dance. He wore fitted, smart clothing, the designer kind, and asked if I was the girl who splashed him at the pool.
I’ve had issues with boys in the past, including a two-week fling with a boy who claimed I was “high maintenance” for wanting him to spend time with my friends. Dylan, on the other hand, likes a balance of time apart and time together. And if there’s anything Dylan knows how to do, it’s have a good time.
“One of these days, I’ll figure out how you do that,” I promise him.
His eyes glint. “But you never will.”
As Dylan tucks the cards away, however, anxiety reinstalls like default software and I look up and down the hallway. Dylan mirrors me.
“We can come back,” he says. “The requirements will still be here, and we won’t have missed the hot food.”
I cast him a quick, sidelong glance before returning to my vigilance. “You’re that hungry?”
“Confession—I didn’t think it would take this long and the guys are waiting for me in the parking lot.”
Of course, that’s what he’s thinking about.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.
He smirks. “Would you survive without me?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Thanks, babe.”
I roll my eyes and smile as he walks away.
I’m glad I have him here with me, even if he doesn’t care to stay.
Just as Dylan walks away, Mr. Barton, a short man with balding hair, walks down the hall. His heels clack in the eager hush. In one hand, he clutches a chip, in the other, a steaming cup of coffee.
Dylan turns as Mr. Barton walks past, and follows him. He makes goofy faces over Mr. Barton’s shoulder and I smile as he grins at me.
No lunch then. Even he can’t resist knowing.
At the bulletin across from me, Mr. Barton stops and plugs in the chip.
We all wait, Dylan at Mr. Barton’s side.
Then the screen flickers and a digital flier displays, with the company logo at the top.
WARREN ENTERPRISES
Gamma Gaming
Internship Opportunity Guidelines:
Amaze us with your creativity!
This internship opening is reserved for our gaming department. Please submit all projects to our Principal Engineer, Marcos Turner. If the department that reviews your project is impressed, we’ll invite you on campus for an interview. Once hired, you’ll spend six months after graduation at Gamma Gaming. Then, after your internship, you will receive a grant for the Arizona Institute of Technology.
Example projects include: data pad apps, programmed robot assistant, self-driving hoversport pod, technical support call automation AI, etc.
There is only one internship opening. Deadline: May 1st 2101.
If you’re interested in learning more, please speak to administration.
My palms sweat. Only a few months—a daunting deadline. But a foot in the door at a tech company like this one…it’s why I bust my butt in school. I’ll do whatever it takes.
“Short and to the point,” Dylan mutters at my side again.
I jump at his voice, but he doesn’t look at me. I hadn’t noticed him rejoin me.
Mr. Barton’s smooth cheeks crinkle all the way to his ears as he smiles at the students lining the hallway, all peering at the bulletin in confusion.
“They hardly gave us any guidelines,” a boy complains. The girl beside him nods in agreement.
Mr. Barton smooths his suit and gestures to the glass screen. “This is exciting, isn’t it?” He must not have heard.
I don’t mind. Fewer constraints mean more options.
As I stand to leave, Dylan takes my hand and I hope he doesn’t notice how slippery my fingers are. Then he pulls until I’m turning into him. His uniformly spiked hair doesn’t have a single hair out of place. Usually, I love how put together he looks. This time, his easy manner cheapens my concerns rather than assuaging them.
He studies my expression, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You want to try for it, don’t you?”
Of course, I do. Why else would I come?
I suppress the flair of exasperation and pose a different question.
“Well, we don’t all have dads who can get us prestigious jobs when we graduate, do we?”
Creases form between Dylan’s brows. “That’s not how engineering interviews work, Sutton. They have interview panels. I know because my dad leads them from his remote office. I won’t get hired simply because my dad’s an engineer. You’re thinking of smaller tech companies, and most of those were snuffed out years ago.”
The bulletin said there’s only one internship.
A weight compresses my ribs.
“You plan to apply too?” I ask.
He gives me a long look. “What did you expect?”
So we’ll compete for it.
Ignoring my silence, Dylan plows on.“You think I don’t want this, but that’s not the point. I need this as much as you do.” He sighs. “Look, I have to go. The guys have been waiting in the parking lot for the past hour—they’re not interested in the internship. But I promised to join them and I still haven’t eaten.”
Shaking my unease with a quick shrug, I say, “Sure.”
I can’t ask Dylan to back down from racing for his future any more than I’d appreciate him asking the same of me. But if I want to build games for a living, this is my chance, and I can only hope our relationship is strong enough not to let competition divide us.
Chapter Two
Axel
While the rest of the school ogles over internships, I say screw them.
“The windshield, Axel!”
In the school parking lot, I swing the front of my board up, riding the air like I would a wave. I twist my hoverboard so it sweeps across the dormant car’s windshield in a wide arc.
Dylan, a friend I’ve known for years, pauses on his board to watch. “You make me look bad.”
Grinning at the glint in Dylan’s eye, I twist the board around in time to catch a nervous edge in Eli's smile. Despite his agitation, he raises a fist in support, the faces of our other friends blurring too much to distinguish behind him.
After the world adopted self-driving taxis, our school started renting parking lots to charge taxis and fund school sports. And what better thing to do with quantum-locked cars on a magnetized parking lot than to hoverboard over them?
When Dylan let me borrow his dad’s beta model of the new Radix hoverboard, this activity hatched in my brain and became our favorite pastime. We turned a parking lot into a next-level skate park.
The muscles in my legs scream as I return for the same sweeping motion, and my lungs fill with air as light as the wisps of the clouds streaking overhead. It’s air tinged with the dust of a constant spring breeze.
A shock of magnetic energy propels my weight upward and Dylan hoots.
Each movement flows like a dance step as I shift my weight.
After many nights spent illegally riding self-driving taxi roofs, we’ve never been caught.
My windshield-ramp shatters, bits of glass pelting the smooth, shining parking spaces. The solar asphalt shifts, black nanotech particles absorbing the glass like wet tar swallowing diamonds.
But the windshield doesn’t self-repair—probably shouldn’t expect it to, but everything went so smoothly before.
I stare, gathering my wits as I return my board to hovering at ground level, though my heart plummets somewhere beneath my toes.
Shit.
As I turn to my friends, my anxiety mounts. I’m sorry… Dylan’s face drains of color. Eli’s already running, his braids bobbing over the tops of the taxis.
Dylan snatches the board from my grasp and stuffs it into his bag. He doesn’t need to explain why. I don’t blame him. It’s his spare, registered to his name. If I’m caught with it, they’ll tie him to the crime.
With his board secured, Dylan runs in the opposite direction, the added weight of two boards slowing his pace.
Then, the rest of our friends disperse, leaving me amidst the chink of dissolving glass as it rolls off the car’s hood.
I shake myself, forcing the stupor from my limbs as I sprint toward the school, my muscles already burning as they carry me as fast as I can move them. Sucking in breaths, my lungs compete with the beat of my feet. Half the parking lot still separates me from a place to hide.
With the alert systems in place, it’s only a matter of time before the incident lands on the principal’s desk from a furious taxi service CEO or some other executive with deep pockets, breathing down the school’s redbrick neck. And when they discover who did it, our parents will be informed.
Not if they never find out.
The school’s front doors slide smoothly open as I rush through, nearly slamming into a girl as she waves goodbye to someone in a taxi. She doesn’t seem to notice but smiles as I pass.
Joining the throng of students, I try to blend in, though kids on all sides cast me sidelong glances.
A girl a year younger than me, wearing floral perfume, winks. “Hey there, Axel,” she says, dipping one shoulder in greeting. She’s attractive enough to make me pause, accepting her flattery with a quick look. Any other time, I’d stay to talk, but in scenarios where teachers and principals are likely scanning the hallways for mischievous perpetrators, it’s always a good idea to look like nothing’s amiss, and she makes an easy outlet.
I reflect her energy with my traditional suave grin, the grin of a guy who has more friends than he can count. It’s taken years of careful gameplay to become the person this girl sees. It’s what makes my days at school golden.
“Hey,” I say in return, though I don’t remember her name.
As I settle into my usual act, I stand taller, the compliment of the girl’s attention making it natural. My shoulders relax, and if my legs didn’t remember the tension of my hoverboard, I might forget the broken glass altogether.
After an hour of not being caught, confidence returns to my stride, masking the guilt. I swagger toward the bathroom to camp out until our last class ends. When the hallways clear, I’ll decide if it’s safe to leave.
Passing students nod in my direction.
Looks like we made it—
Two hands with fierce thumbs seize my shoulders and squeeze until my shoulders touch my ears and I’m limping backward.
“Mr. Turner,” Principal Bee hisses in my ear. “Don’t think you’ve gotten away.” The tip of her long fingernail digs into my soft skin. She doesn’t let go of my ear but releases me enough that I can straighten. Then she yanks on my earlobe, so I’m forced to follow her to her office two hallways down.
As soon as the door glides shut, she lets go, and I rub my head, though my ear continues to throb, reminding me of the trouble I’m in. She ushers me to sit in a chair made entirely of hard angles.
I stay standing, however, until she circles behind me and pushes down on my shoulders, forcing me onto the flat seat.
The principal sits in her chair, steepling her hands with her long nails touching. Her olive skin and unattractive red lipstick remind me of a swamp monster from a horror flick I watched with my friends last weekend. She’s also a foot taller than me.
It’s not very often that I have to look up to meet someone’s eyes in a way that makes me lean back and rub my neck with discomfort. Like, I should have worn basketball shoes. Or brought a seat stuffer.
I don’t like feeling small.
My heart pounds, though I command it to slow.
She glares at me over gleaming fingernails. “Do you realize how much you’ve cost the school today?” Her words don’t match the colorful and warm tones of her Hispanic accent, though the strength of her voice warns of brewing vexation.
I grip my chair until my knuckles turn white but say nothing.
She reaches across her desk to pick up her data pad, glances at her computer, and speaks. “Call now.” The data pad rings as she watches me, a triumphant gleam in her eye.
“Ms. Turner? Yes, this is Principal Bee. I have your son with me.” She casts me another quick glance, filled with venom.
I restrain an amused smile. My mother doesn’t care to be bothered. Clearly, Principal Bee hasn’t spoken to her before.
“He was caught on camera today hoverboarding over taxis in the parking lot. Shattered a windshield.” Principal Bee frowns. “No, I’m not asking you to pay for it—” Principal Bee’s frown deepens. “No, he wasn’t doing drugs. But—”
No one need ever worry about me and drugs. I’ve seen enough to keep my distance.
Principal Bee shakes her head. “Miss Turner, I—” Slowly, Principal Bee shuts off the call on the data pad and sets it on the desk.
I do my best to hide my smile. My mom’s inattentiveness frustrates me, but sometimes her personality flaws come with benefits. Like right now.
“Don’t look so happy,” Principal Bee snaps. “This is a huge liability to the school. Massive corporations run these taxi companies and we’ll have to pay them out of pocket. It’ll come from school funding. Meaning the kids who worship you won’t get the same quality of education as they might have otherwise had. Maybe if they knew this, they wouldn’t like you nearly so much.”
She cocks her head as if waiting for her words to take root.
Keeping my face impassive, I stare back because, while I do care, I’m not about to show it.
“This must never happen again,” she continues. “I don’t want to kick you out. With what little support you have at home, I know you need this school, but you need to take your education seriously, Mr. Turner. You’ll have community service, and if this happens again, I don’t care what you need or how dismal your future is. I’m kicking you out. Do you hear? And if your mother won’t take responsibility for your actions, I’ll call your brother.”
I flinch, almost imperceptibly. How does she know about my brother?
“You can’t call him. He’s not my guardian. It’s against school regulations.” I keep my tone even, but I’m sure she senses the anxiety that leaks into my voice because a smile returns to her face.
“Your brother is heavily involved in the school and the district, and we’re good friends,” she says. “In other words, I’ll make a personal call.”
Personal friendships with student family members should be illegal, but I press my mouth shut.
Honestly, I never want to explain this to anyone. Because how do I explain that my brother left after a fight with my mom years ago and never came back? How do I explain that my mom is never home? That after my brother left and my father went to prison, she steadily stopped caring about anything beyond her nightly fix? Or how I waited for my brother for years, hoping he would remember me, and he never showed? Instead, he told my mom he would send me clothes and then blocked her from contacting him.
My mom is a lot of things, but she tries, and she’s had a hard life. She didn’t deserve to be treated the way he treated her.
“My brother forbade all contact,” I tell her.
Wearing a smug smile, she folds her arms. “Maybe so, but I have his information and his permission.”
The separate spaces my mom and brother occupy are supposed to stay galaxies away from this one. My mom won’t come here without a sound reason, and I haven’t seen my brother in years. If my friends took one look at my bedraggled mom, it would ruin my entire image to the point that there wouldn’t be pieces to pick up. As for my brother, he chose to stay out of my life, so I’ll keep him out.
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be contacted because he wants nothing to do with me,” I say.
Maybe the feeling is mutual.
She raises an eyebrow as if she doesn’t believe me, so I add, “He won’t come.”
Principal Bee rests her elbow on the table and wedges her chin on her palm. “You’ve confirmed it. Every time you do something obnoxious, I will invite your brother here for a formal talk. And I assure you, he will come. Remember that, Mr. Asher.”
“It’s Axel.” My voice matches the condescension in hers.
“What?”
“Axel,” I repeat. “It’s Axel.”
She checks her sheet. “No, it says right here, Asher Turner.”
Does it matter what the records show? Can’t I choose what I want to be called?
I close my eyes.
While I don’t hate the name Asher, I hate that everyone shortens it to “Ash.” What other name is shortened to Ash? Ashley. That’s a girl’s name.
I’m not an Ash.
“Just give me the damn community service—”
And get me out of here.
Scowling at me from across the desk, she says, “That’s not how you speak to your school principal.” She waits for an apology, and I stare back. Eventually, she relents. “I expect you to do as I ask without complaint.” The corner of her mouth lifts as if what she intends to ask won’t be at all pleasant. “Bright and early. Often on Saturdays.”
I nod, hoping I won’t regret this, and want to run over this moment with a tank when my friends plan exciting things to do without me. But my school life is all I have. I’ll do whatever it takes to salvage it. Even community service on a Saturday.
She shoos me out the door with a wave of her hand.
Despite her agreeing to not bring my brother into this, I walk out the sliding doors to find a sleek silver car parked in the front row of the parking lot. The shining paint stands out like a beacon against the black taxis.
I stop cold on the cement.
My mom says my brother owns a silver car, and few people outside my brother own cars anymore. It has to be him.
Except when I blink, the car vanishes, as if it was just my fear manifesting itself.
Relief mixed with bitter disappointment wage for space inside my head, but I brush them aside.
I’ll find my way out of this mess the same as he did—without anyone’s help. Every paycheck gets me closer. Mom and I will be able to afford an apartment, eventually.
Though my brother isn’t actually here, I turn around and escape back into the building, choosing to leave out the other side, just in case. I’ll go the long way and meet up with my friends later.
My feet carry me farther from the school, across the black asphalt of a parking lot filled with inactive taxis and a night sky that’s blank, save for drones and the city’s light pollution.
A dead weight settles within me, as if Principal Bee set a timer on my years of happiness.
Of course, my slice of paradise can’t last. True happiness never does for kids who live on recycled food in trailer parks. Despite my streetwear jeans and t-shirts featuring popular techno bands, no one wants to be me. Not when they find out I’m not who they think I am.