I set the pings to audio only. Tila has a lot more friends than I do. It never bothered me before, but looking at the list of names downloaded from my implants and projected onto the kitchen table, I feel like she’s left more behind in this world than I have. Her artwork. She collects people, and always remembers faces and names. Though I’ve made some impact with my VivaFog machines, I only have a small circle of friends, and I couldn’t say for certain if I’m closer to them than she is to hers or not.

“Here goes,” I mutter, and ping the first name on the list. I have a little thrill of anticipation. I’ve often wished I could be more like my sister: stronger, braver, so sure of herself, whereas I always questioned myself and my perception of others. I relied on her too much, in many ways. By channeling her, maybe I can start relying on myself.

I start with Diane, the curator of an art gallery nearby. Once, she had an exhibition of Tila’s artwork. It was a success and yet after that first and last exhibition, Tila couldn’t stand the thought of another gallery opening. She told me they were stealing pieces of her by buying her art. I hadn’t understood it: wasn’t that the point of making art? You put a little bit of yourself on canvas, or into a sculpture, or onto a page, and then you give or sell it to others so they also enjoy it?

Since then, whatever work she did was never seen by anyone but the two of us. Her paintings are beautiful, and it seems a shame that nobody else shares them, but I respect her decision and the reasons behind it, and so does Diane. They’ve remained close friends.

“Hey Tils!” Diane says.

“Hey, Di,” I say, folding my face into a smile—even if she can’t see it, she’ll hear it in my voice. I lean on my right elbow, like Tila does. She pitches her voice different from me, a little lower, but aside from that, our inflections are identical. We can still speak at the same time if we want to. It unnerves people when we do it. Diane’s speaking, and I focus on her words.

“… You can make it to the gallery this weekend, right? You’ll love this new artist. Such dark, fascinating work.”

And here we go. “Sorry, Di, I’m gonna be out of town for a while.”

“Really? Where?”

“China. Taema’s got a job and I’m going with her. Can you believe it?” I strive for Tila’s lighter tone.

“Oh, it’ll be lovely this time of year. How long are you going?”

“Not sure. I have an open ticket. Might even be a few months.”