“Really. They developed it so they could put the faces of A-list actresses on existing porn clips. I can show you if—”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

He gave a suit yourself shrug and turned back to the computer. “Okay,” he said, “now, who’s your favorite actress? Or singer, or whatever.”

Maggie was at a loss for a few seconds. She wasn’t a big pop-culture person. “Try RBG,” Maggie said.

Toby frowned, shook his head. “How about someone who isn’t, like, seventy years older than you.”

“You said the software was good.…”

Toby sighed, then pulled up images of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Maggie then saw the video clip he’d just recorded of her on the screen. No makeup, bags under her eyes, unbrushed hair. At the same time, she thought she looked more grown-up, tougher. Her mind skipped to her kneeing Eric in the balls. She was a badass, she told herself. And that prick wasn’t going to get the best of her.

On another monitor, hundreds of RBG images flicked by.

Toby said, “This is gonna take about twenty minutes. I can make some pizza rolls if you wanna hang?”

“I’d love some pizza rolls,” Maggie said. She had a memory of the two of them in middle school, watching TV and eating a pile of the roof-of-the-mouth-burning snacks.

Toby disappeared, then returned with a plate full of pizza rolls. While they ate, Toby told her his plans. He was taking a gap year to work on his secret project. His parents agreed on a one-year plan—if he wasn’t supporting himself by then, he was off to Cambridge.

“Are you excited for MIT?” he asked.

“Yeah, a little nervous leaving my dad behind.”

He started to say something, but stopped himself. “How’s your brother’s case going? Does all this”—he pointed his chin to the computer monitor that was still flashing images of RBG at rapid speed—“have something to do with it?”

Maggie was spared the explanation when Toby noticed that the program was complete.

“Ready?” he asked.

Maggie nodded.

Toby wiped his hands on his pants and went back to the workstation. On the screen was a frozen image of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. But she was wearing Maggie’s clothes. Toby clicked the mouse and the video began. It was both amazing and troubling. The late RBG stood in Toby’s garage and said, “Eric Hutchinson is an asshole. A total asshole!”

“How in the hell…?” Maggie said, impressed.

Toby beamed, proud of himself. “Give me an hour to adjust the lighting and minimize the blurriness around the head”—he pointed at the screen—“and it would take an expert to tell it’s a fake.”

Maggie shook her head. “Play it again.”