Scarlett Epstein Hates It Here(64)

He dropped his fork with a clatter and put his head in his hands.

Sheila’s voice was measured when she asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” he said.

*

What Steve didn’t know was that there was not actually that big of a surplus. Parents had started purchasing the wiped, refurbished Miss Ordinarias—not for their sons but for their friendless daughters. The blinding-white Miss Ordinaria rental places had become as accessible as any Apple Store, and it was unexpectedly lucrative. (There were rentals for one day, one week, one prom date, one school year, one four-year college roommate, one wedding. . . . )

If you were a middle-class seventeen-year-old girl who was weird or different or had health issues, or even were just flat-out unlikable, it was highly likely your parents rented a robot slumber party friend for you that year. If you were upper-middle-class, maybe you kept one through high school. If you were rich, you got yourself a lifetime friendship.

*

Scarlett learned this when her father rented her one. His visit was an unexpected surprise. He lived pretty far away, with a whole new family. But as soon as she saw the large white box on the lawn, she knew.

“I just wanted you to see how different you are from—that.” He looked encouragingly at Scarlett, and she winced inside thinking about her Ordinaria mom. “Just for a day! And then, if you like it, maybe I can swing a four-year college roommate rental for a graduation gift.”

Scarlett looked down, her face burning with humiliation.

“Besides,” he asked, “it’ll be nice to spend time with someone your own age, won’t it?”

“Technically,” she said, trying not to let her voice waver, “she is, at the oldest, six.”

He left, and Scarlett sat on the lawn with the unwrapped box and cried, like the biggest spoiled baby ever. Was she that big of a loser? And for that matter, which half of her was the loser—the Ordinaria half or the human half?

She untied the ribbon and opened the white box. The girl inside it immediately sat up, with pale skin and thick straight hair the color of leaves in autumn. Scarlett recognized her from school: She’d belonged to Gideon. She was his eighteenth-birthday present, until his father used Gideon’s high profile (this year in TIME it was “heir to the Ordinaria Inc. fortune” and “young playboy,” a phrase that could not apply to Gideon less) to rent her out for astronomically high rates.

“Hey!” said Ashbot.

Scarlett realized that if Ashbot was a rental now, her memory had been wiped, and she had no idea who Scarlett or Gideon were anymore.

“Um . . . hello.”

“So, we’re hanging out today, I think, right?”

Scarlett nodded, getting the vague sensation that this interaction wasn’t a one-way street: Ashbot was sizing her up too.

“Wanna go to the bookstore?” suggested Ashbot. “Or—oh!—they’re playing that French subtitle movie in an art house movie theater in Hamilton; we could go there.”

Scarlett wondered if Ashbot was programmed with some background info on Scarlett’s likes and dislikes . . . or if Ashbot was just into that stuff. She thought for a moment, bit her lip, and shrugged.

Even Scarlett surprised herself when she asked, “Want to go see that stupid Nicholas Sparks movie?”

“Okay.”

After the movie, they sat on a rusty set of kids’ swings overlooking the white behemoth of Ordinaria Inc., and together they watched it become dusk. Scarlett felt odd, maybe even a little nauseated. Something was shifting inside her, like someone had put braces on her worldview.

“Do you . . . feel stuff?” asked Scarlett. She was sure the Miss Ordinarias started out uncannily human in the first place . . . but they gained more unique personalities and speech patterns only over time.

Ashbot shrugged and looked away. “Not really.”

But it sounded less like a robot’s answer and more like the answer of a girl who doesn’t want to admit that she does, in fact, have feelings.

“Did you feel stuff today?”

Ashbot thought about it. “Today right before your dad came in, four girls were rented as bridesmaids, for the same bride, because she seemed awful and I guess nobody wanted to be in her wedding party, and I felt, maybe angry? And I didn’t want to be angry! Only creepy guys rent the angry ones.” She shuddered, then looked thoughtful. “I think we sort of feel like . . . always the second-best thing. Like our roles are already decided for us when we’re rented, even if it’s just for a day.”

Scarlett had been so very wrong. She had been wrong from top to bottom, left to right, her wrongness splattering everywhere like a Pollock painting.

“I’m sorry,” Scarlett said.

“For what?” Ashbot asked.

“I, um . . .”

. . . Militarized an angry mob to chase you off the Pembrooke campus and probably short-circuit you if they had the chance. Underestimated your worth.

“I just . . . I wasn’t very nice to you.” Scarlett stared out into the sunset and said softly, “It was just because parts of me are like you. And I didn’t like those parts of myself. You know?”

“It’s okay.” Ashbot nodded. “There are parts of myself I don’t like either.”

*

Scarlett banged on Gideon’s door until his father answered. His face immediately curdled.