Page 26 of Chaos Theory
‘That’s what she said,’ mumbles Shane.
‘Really not the time.’
‘Sorry.’ He returns to his phone. ‘It says to do this as soon as possible. Also says – feck – liquid is one of the worst things that can happen to electronic devices.’
‘You don’t say.’ I raise an eyebrow at him.
‘Maybe I should stop reading.’
‘Be quiet for a minute – let me concentrate.’
I locate the battery compartment on Kobi’s back. It’s secured with a series of tiny screws. I brandish the screwdriver for confidence.
‘Okay, let’s do this. Righty tighty, lefty loosey.’
He laughs. ‘Oh wow, you’re really learning a lot on that robot course, aren’t you?’
‘Well, I haven’t got to the module on “How to Cope When Your Idiot Friend Suggests You Do Something Incredibly Stupid with Your Multimillion-Dollar Robot”,’ I say through gritted teeth, rotating the screwdriver.
‘So you’re saying we’re still friends? That’s good.’
I shoot him a look that I hope says,I don’t know what we are right now, nor do I care.
‘Sorry, I’m just trying to break the tension,’ he says.
‘Battery is out!’ I say triumphantly. I hold the slender shiny cylinder aloft like I’ve just won an Oscar, then place it carefully on the shelf. ‘Next?’
‘Next, remove all the liquid.’
I make the growling sound again.
‘Wait, wait, it says…there are two steps to removing the liquid, or is it two options? It’s not clear. Sure maybe let’s just do them both, to be safe. Number one, use a hair dryer.’
I look up. ‘I don’t suppose you happen to have a hair dryer to hand?’
‘No. But I bet I know who does. I’ll be right back.’
He hauls himself up, wobbles a bit, then lopes from the room. He reappears a few minutes later, a miniature pink hair dryer in hand.
‘Who owns that?’
‘Imelda. Keeps it in her drawer. For those last-minute touch-ups she’s always going on about. Here.’ He hands it to me. ‘Do your worst. And I’ll refrain from making any jokes about blow jobs.’
‘Very mature of you.’ I switch the device to high and start blowing air all over Kobi.
‘Wait!’ he says. ‘It says cool air only. Oh, and don’t blast it – low air flow is what it says here.’
‘Sorry, Kobi.’ I adjust the settings and undulate the device, gently blowing air all around Kobi’s parts, pointing it into grooves and crevices. I do not currently own a working hair dryer – my one blew a fuse six months ago and I never got around to replacing it. I mostly wear my hair up anyway so I don’t need to spend much time styling it. I wish it was tied up now. It bounces around every time I move the dryer.
‘You look good,’ says Shane. He’s resumed his position on the floor.
‘Don’t distract me.’
He can definitely tell I’m not wearing a bra. Men are so obsessed with breasts, I bet they’re always aware of the proximity, status and aspect of the nearest ones, no matter what else is going on at the time. It must be like knowing if it’s warm or cold, or sensing an atmosphere. Probably so automatic that by the time a man reaches his early twenties, the task has been outsourced to a division of the subconscious brain.We need this information tobe available at all times, just in case, but we don’t want it up here, cluttering up the frontal cortex. Let’s store it in the medulla oblongata, shall we? Safest place for it. Handy for dream time also.
I clear my throat. ‘Okay. What else?’
‘The last step is “cover the device in drying agents”.’
