Scarlett Epstein Hates It Here(65)

“My son is busy,” he snapped and attempted to shut the door in her face. But it was too late—Gideon was already running down the stairs. He pushed past his father, and he and Scarlett ran to his car. They got in, shut the door, and peeled off.

“What’s going on?!” Gideon asked, alarmed, as he turned out of the gated community and onto the main road.

“Do you want Ashbot back?”

“What are you . . . what?”

“Do you want Ashbot back? She’s at my house.”

“What? No,” Gideon snapped, not entirely convincingly. She just looked at him. Finally, he relented: “I don’t know.”

Scarlett felt the tears spring to the surface but tried to keep breathing.

“Were you upset when your dad took her away?”

Gideon’s face indicated that he was more than just upset. He pressed his lips together angrily as he stared out at the road. “My whole life, I swore I’d never be one of those guys who buys an Ordinaria, and now I’m one of them. I’m such a scumbag.”

Scarlett shook her head adamantly, and one tear fell—ricocheted, really. A selfish part of her wished she could agree with him that Ashbot was just a machine, that being with Scarlett was way more worthwhile. But it had clearly become a false binary.

“They’re not just robots like they used to be. They’re different. They’re, like . . . real. I don’t know how they have feelings, but . . . you didn’t do anything wrong. You like a real girl.”

“But I like you too.” He kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look at her.

She blushed. “Yeah . . . but . . . I mean, we’re half 1.0s. Which is just half, but a much older model. Ashbot is a 2.0. Cutting-edge.”

They sat there for a minute, both thinking the same thing, until finally she said it in a tiny voice:

“Maybe she’s more human than we are.”

Gideon didn’t respond—he just turned off the main road and merged onto the highway, heading to Scarlett’s house.

When they arrived at Scarlett’s, though, Ashbot was nowhere to be found.

“At the very least, the rental place is gonna charge my dad a small fortune,” Scarlett said, glancing frantically under the sofa’s dust ruffle.

“I’m not going to let her be rented out,” said Gideon. “I’m just not going to. I don’t know if I want to keep her forever, but—”

At that moment, Scarlett’s Ordinaria mom came home. She was an older model but a classic bleach-blonde, round-faced and buxom, her fan whirring loudly from overwork—a sound that used to bug Scarlett, but now she didn’t mind it. She passed Scarlett and Gideon and sprawled on the sofa. Her battery, as usual, was at 10 percent.

“Are you two talking about that beautiful Miss Ordinaria? Red hair?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“Oh, yeah, she was with me for a bit, and then she left. I guess your dad thought you needed a friend.” Scarlett’s mom rolled her eyes, then nudged Scarlett and side-eyed Gideon. “But clearly as long as you’re running around with this hunk of man . . .”

“Mom, do not.”

She turned to Gideon fondly. “I remember you when you were just a little toddler playing in the backyard kiddie pool naked, waving your—”

“Okay, thanks, Mom. Do you know where she went?” asked Scarlett.

She shook her head.

*

Sheila answered the door to find an exquisitely beautiful redheaded teenage girl on her stoop, playing with her hair.

“I’m really sorry,” said the girl, “but I was hoping I could use your phone? Mine is dead, and I need to call my rental place.”

“Um . . . where’d you park, sweetie? Do you need to get triple A?”

“No, I mean, I’m the rental.”

And then she laughed exactly like her. Exactly.

Sheila felt her face tingle and got dizzy and placed her palms flat on her thighs while bending over slightly, something she’d been taught to do in the frequent moments she felt she might faint. The girl went on.

“’Cause, I think I want to quit, but I don’t know if they’ll let me. I don’t like being a rental anymore.”

Stunned, Sheila let her in.

“Do you want me to get you some water?” the girl asked. “I’m really sorry if I did something.”

“You didn’t.”

The girl anxiously filled a glass from the tap and handed it to Sheila.

“Why would you come here just to use a phone?”

“Oh.” The girl points to her head. “We have a chip in here with an address, for emergencies. Steve Mullen, VP of Ordinaria Inc., 428 Donovan Lane—”

“Would you like anything to drink?” Sheila asked faintly. “Please help yourself.”

The girl smiled and nodded, then got herself a Diet Coke from the fridge. “Thank you.”

“So—you’re a Miss Ordinaria rental?” asked Sheila.

The girl nodded.

“What’s your name?”

She opened her mouth, then cringed. “I don’t like it.”

“Can’t you just ask for a new one?”

The girl shook her head. “I’m lucky I even have one, even if it’s dumb. Most of us just have a product ID. Hey, d’you have a straw?”