Eden paused the playlist called “Fables of the Reconstruction,” which she figured must be the songs her parents listened to when they’d done a big DIY renovation of the house when Eden was just a baby.

The device pulsed light, like it was waking up to listen.

Normally, Eden would head downstairs when her mother got home. They’d talk about their days—mostly just the surface stuff, like homework and work annoyances, sometimes a new book the publisher was acquiring—and maybe cook together. But the device’s rules were clear.

“Finishing up my homework!” Eden called out. “Down in a bit!”

“Oh-kay,” her mother said with a touch of confusion.

Eden only had to survive another hour before Eli came to take it. She just wanted to be done with it. She hadn’t liked babysitting the few times she’d done it, and this had started to feel like that—equal parts boring and too much responsibility.

She checked her phone.

Nothing new.

Clicked on Julian’s profile pic. God, he was cute.

Downstairs, her mother said, “Alexa, let’s play Jeopardy!” and the theme music floated up, followed by the smell of garlic.

Eden was hungry. Probably over smoothies she would have told Anjali about the theater thing with Julian. She would have told her how she bumped into him at the movie theater last week, on that random day off, and how they’d been the only two people in the theater, and how he sat next to her in the dark, then slid his hand around hers and used his thumb to stroke her palm, and then, later, her leg. About how they’d kissed for a few minutes, during the closing credits. They’d had an awkward conversation and goodbye while exiting the theater—he had somewhere he had to be; she gave him her phone number—and she hadn’t seen him since.

She hadn’t told Anjali because she was hoping she’d never have to. When something else, something less embarrassing, happened she could tell Anjali that instead.

Except nothing else had happened.

It was all taking so long that now she was impatient to just tell Anjali so she’d have someone to commiserate—maybe even strategize—with. Maybe Anjali would think, at first, that it was weird to kiss a guy under those circumstances. But in the theater, in the dark, unplanned—that had seemed like maybe the only way it would ever happen for Eden and also it had been … exciting.

Eli texted: I’m early. I’m outside.

So much relief.

She wrote back: I’ll be right out.