Page 55 of Ezra
The next day is more of the same. Katrina’s appetite is slowly returning. She orders gourmet coffees, smoothies, salads, yogurts, and occasional sweet indulgences from the deli on the main floor. Her head stays down, focused on numbers and statistics on her tablet screen.
“What’s that?”
“Advertising,” she replies, glancing up at me. “We’re fundraising online. We’ve only raised a hundred thousand dollars so far outside of Lucy Warren’s donation, but?—”
“Onlya hundred thousand?” I scoff. “That’s no small feat.”
“Maybe not,” Katrina laments, “but it’s not enough. Not for what health care costs a person around here.” Her jaw drops. “Oh my god—she did not!”
“What?” I ask, coming over to her.
Katrina holds up her tablet and displays aNew Carnegie Metropolitan Entertainment Newsheadline: “Humanity First’s ‘Sweetheart’ Butts Heads with Dean of College.”
“Th-that’s—” Her face is red as she grips the tablet. “They say I was hostile, that I threw a tantrum!”
“TheMetrois different than theTimes,” I remind her, remembering Rashelle’s particular dislike for that publication.“They rely heavily on sensationalism rather than facts to sell articles.”
“Yeah, well, it’s bullshit.” She pushes back into the sofa cushions, frowning. “I know it’s stupid to get upset, and I can’t control how people see me. But I’m so tired of it. Extremist bimbo, that’s what they’re calling me. Seriously, who says that nowadays? But that means what I say has merit. If they have to resort to personal attacks, they don’t like that my opinion has value.”
I hardly think Katrina Carson is an extremist or a—I research the word—bimbo. That’s one I haven’t really heard in casual conversation. “Ignore them, Katrina. You’re more rational and well-rounded than many people I’ve met.”
She glances up at me. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Katrina works the entire day away, occasionally making little frustrated noises and getting up to stretch her legs around the apartment, rolling her shoulders and wrists before returning right back to where she was. Dedication. Reminds me of me. When she finally takes a break from the numbers, she picks up a stylus and sweeps it across the screen, busying herself with something else. She seems content, no longer upset about those words from the tabloids.
I’m brought out of my thoughts when an unexpected call notification comes across my visual feed from a number I immediately dismiss.
But even as I decline the call, it reroutes the untapped notification to my tablet, which rests on the coffee table where Katrina can see the screen.
She looks up and blinks. “Who’s Amy?”
“No one of consequence,” I reply.
The call eventually stops, but it’s followed by a text message, which pops up on both my visual feed and tablet screen.
Kinda miss you and all the fun we had together. Could we talk?
In silent irritation, I change my notification settings to stop that from happening for the assignment’s duration, but it’s too late.
Katrina glances from the message to me and lifts her brows. “I don’t think she sees it that way.” She sets her stylus down.
There’s a slight tension to her voice, one I wasn’t expecting. Is that indifference or jealousy? I study how she squares her shoulders, noticing a slight spike in her temperature and heart rate, and I find myself wishing she’d never seen the message. While I’ve nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s certainly not anyone’s business, what I can do is put the damn tablet away. I stare down at the infernal contraption, muttering, “Traitor.”
It beeps when I power it down, almost like it’s talking back at me.
“You can talk to non-bionic machines?” Katrina asks as Charlie hops into her lap, and she gives the little bionic spiderling scratches and pets. “Wow, that could almost be cute. Do they understand you?”
“As much as their programming allows them to. Usually their AI is rudimentary at best,” I respond.
“How rudimentary?”
“Imagine talking to a hamster,” I reply. “Except a hamster is more intelligent. That’s about the gist of it.”
Katrina leans back in her seat, exhaling as though forcing herself to relax. “It’s not nice to ignore your lady friends. Trust me. We can get really crazy when you leave us on read. I’ve seen some of my friend Zoey’s conversations with her boyfriend.”
“She’s not a girlfriend,” I reply. “Shewasan acquaintance.”
“Uh-huh.” Katrina doesn’t sound convinced. “Do you havefunwith all your acquaintances?”
