“This is a joke,” Noni says, arms crossed in front of the state-of-the-art driverless car Teddy sent for us in the morning, upon my request. We’re both wearing boring black hats and sunglasses, our hair tied up in buns, upon her request. “I know I only said ‘a car,’ but you’re not one of those genies who takes wishes literally. You’re a human being with a brain. Or did dropping out of high school ruin you forever? We need a driver. Human security. Not a ‘look who we are,’ rich jerk mobile.”

“Come on!” I say excitedly, snapping a photo. “I explained everything, and Teddy approved the outing. He said Noxim is a ghost town.”

Noni goes rigid as I chatter on.

“But in a safe, chill way! And this car is the cutting edge when it comes to privacy and security. It follows you! It has a SWAT team on speed dial, or something cool like that! She’s like the Mina of cars, Nons.”

Noni shoots me a look as the car’s door handle scans my fingerprint. “Because that worked out so well for Dad.”

I hush her. I won’t let anyone’s bullshit ruin my day today. “Don’t make the car upset,” I whisper, grinning wickedly.

She rolls her eyes and follows me into the car’s coconut-scented embrace.

A girl with braces and a light smattering of acne opens the door of the Noxim Visitors’ Center for us with a bright grin and a jaunty little wave. Her collared shirt has been freshly pressed, and she wears a name tag reading Welcome, I am with handwritten emoji below it (the smiley showing all its teeth and the dancing girls).

“Welcome to our town,” she says, each word crisply enunciated. “I hope you’re not here to visit the ice caves? The ice caves originate from the year 1864 and are the fascinating result of Mount Vilox’s high altitude and unique climate. These caves develop vertically, and one can find ice deposits of varying thickness, but—” She sputters to a stop, red splotching her cheeks. “Wait. Do I know you?”

“We’d love to hear more about the ice caves,” I lie quickly, fidgeting with my sunglasses and turning on my effervescence like it comes through a spigot. My nerves are fried little ramen noodles, but there’s rejuvenating power in acting. “They’re so cool.” The truth is, I’ve never once been. Dad thought they were dangerous, and there was an age restriction for entering, too. We never made the cut.

The girl’s face falls, inexplicably, so I stumble on.

“We wanted to see what was new in town, too. So of course we thought: Why not ask someone who really knows?” I smile, feeling a little used-car salesman–y, but you never know what will play well. “What’s your name?”

The girl, thrown from her routine, recomposes herself and adjusts her shirt. “Mikki.”