THE ORANGE PAY phone was nestled not far from the cactuses. She had installed it there the very first day she arrived on the planet. I didn’t ask why she hadn’t told me about it. I don’t think she would have answered anyway. I went there and called my parents, explaining that I had gotten stuck on the planet closest to the sun. They didn’t sound especially concerned, said it had only been three weeks since I had last called. That school had started only a day ago.

Three days later they landed next to the bus stop, informing me there was one angry grandma waiting for me at home. I wanted to say goodbye to Ayala, but when I went back to the apartment to get my things, she wasn’t there.

As we whizzed past Venus, I told my parents I was going to study psychological engineering. That I was going to make shitloads of money and finally start living. My mom said it was a terrific idea. Then she turned on the radio, saying there was a program about healthy cooking that she loved. I leaned my head against the window and tried to fall asleep, ignoring Ayala’s voice telling me to stop kidding myself.

Debby’s Dream House

1.

I FOUND THE job through a newspaper ad. I didn’t even know there were people who built dreams. I was sure they were just created by themselves or something.

The first question Bruno asked me was if I was an artist or advertiser.

I said I wasn’t.

“Very good. They’re the worst. They think they’re producing movies for the Cannes Film Festival,” he said. “They work on a dream for two months and end up sticking a giraffe on a car roof in the middle of the desert.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, so I nodded. Bruno said I got the job, and then announced that it was a shitty one. You work all night, bring your own food, and there were no holiday gift cards.

“Still interested?”

“What does it pay?”

“Fifty an hour. Seventy-five for overtime.”

“I’m in.”

Bruno shook my hand and made me sign an NDA. He asked if I was married. I told him Debby and I were going to tie the knot someday. He said congratulations, then warned me that even if I was taken prisoner and tortured, I couldn’t tell her about my job. “Make up a cover story or something. I don’t need people knowing who I am and start asking for a special dream for their wedding anniversary.”

We left his office and went to the operations room. A small room; three screens set side by side. Looked a little like the control room of a shopping mall security guard.

“Every screen is a customer’s dream. We pull twelve-hour shifts, 7:00 P.M. to 7:00 A.M., five nights a week.”