When I wake up, I’m surprised to see warm lamplight. There’s an off-white ceiling over me, with gold trim. I start to scan down the off-white wall and see a familiar poster. I’m in my dorm room. How did I get here?

I try to sit up but the world suddenly tilts at a dangerous angle and my stomach threatens to heave-ho! all over the place. I lower myself back down onto my bed slowly.

“Betsy?” Walter’s voice says from somewhere to my left. “You up?”

I manage to turn my head so I can see him. He’s perched on Nancy’s bed, looking rather uncomfortable. It’s then that I realize Nancy left several of her bras and underwear spread out on top of her disheveled sheets. For someone so smart, she’s not the most organized gal. She also really hates putting away her laundry.

“What happened?” I ask, and I’m surprised to hear how hoarse I sound.

“You blacked out almost instantly,” Walter says. “Then, you came to for a bit and threw up all over Solomon while Roger was pulling out your wire. After he finished the upload and pushed it back in, you passed out again. Roger and I had to carry you back here, and Solomon…” he pauses and stifles a laugh. “Solomon had to jump in a stream to wash off all the vomit.”

How embarrassing! It takes everything in me not to roll onto the floor and groan miserably. Not only did I vomit in front of my crush but I also vomited on one of my friends. It’s a wonder I’ve maintained a popular social status for so long.

“Did people see you guys carrying me? What did they think?” I ask.

“They mostly thought you were drunk,” he says. “And we didn’t bother correcting them. It seemed like a valid enough thing, a High Five getting blackout drunk. It’s not like your circle hasn’t done that before.”

It’s true. The amount of times my friends have gotten drunk is actually kind of scary when you stop and think about it.

“Good,” I say. “So did it work? Did he jailbreak me?”

“Well,” Walter says. “I can’t say for sure. You were out when we passed through the open zones. It definitely worked for me, though. Solomon couldn’t read my thoughts, or even so much as see my thought bubble, while Rodge and I were carrying you.”

“That’s amazing,” I say. “I hope it worked for me too.”

“Oh, and I paid Rodge. He’d only take the $25 for you. He said he expected a solid, five-minute make out after you brush your teeth a few times.”

“Can’t I just make out with you?” I mumble.

Walter’s cheeks light up with blush again. “Surely,” he says, grinning. “But I’d prefer if you at least used some mouth wash first.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I say, laughing. “I’m not up for it tonight. I still feel a little nauseous.”

“I should probably go,” he says. “Let you get some rest. If you need a sick day tomorrow, tell the teachers to look at Solomon’s memory. I’m sure he’d attest to all that barf you spewed on him.”

I can’t help but wince at the thought. How gross.

Walter stands and closes the gap between us. He kneels down so we’re looking at each other eye-to-eye. After gently stroking my hair away from my face, he kisses my forehead. “Thanks for coming out tonight,” he says softly. “Next time we can stay inside and…maybe it’ll just be the two of us.”

“I’d like that,” I say.

“Goodnight Betsy.”

“Goodnight Walter.”

~~~

By morning I’m back to normal. Nancy doesn’t ask me any questions about why I was asleep so soon, or why I was still in my uniform. But, after I come back from my shower, she does remind me of all of the homework I didn’t finish last night. Cumquat! One of the assignments is due before study hall! I guess I’m working through breakfast this morning.

As we walk through the open zones, I remember my app is turned off now. I glance at the space above people’s heads as I pass by them. Nothing. Not a thought bubble in sight! The realization that I am free to think about whatever I please is almost overwhelming. I can’t remember the last time I had this kind of privacy. What should I think about?

“So what’s up with you this morning?” Nancy asks as we walk into the dining hall. “I haven’t seen any thought bubbles over your head. Did you purchase the blocking upgrade or something?”

“Yes!” I exclaim. “I did. I was…testing it out.”

She looks a little hurt. “By blocking me? I thought you trusted me.”

“It’s actually a beta version of a new blocking upgrade that blocks everyone. It’s nothing personal, I just…I just missed keeping my thoughts to myself.”

“Oh,” she says, perking up a bit more. “Well, if it’s everyone then I guess that makes sense. Can you still read my thoughts?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“So you won’t know what anyone is thinking?” she asks. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Don’t you think that’s a little…dangerous? I mean, what if someone wanted to hurt you? Or what if Blanche thinks something bad about you and spreads it around to other students in her thought bubble? You won’t even know what hit you!”

I shrug. “People lived for centuries without reading people’s thoughts and they were fine.”

“But think of all of the crime that’s been prevented since the mental streaming app was introduced. There’s so much security provided,” she says.

“It’s not a big deal, Nance,” I say. “It’s like being in a neutral zone all the time. It’s pretty nice, actually.”

She purses her lips, thinking this over. “I guess when you put it like that. Just…just watch your back while you have this upgrade turned on. You’ll never know for sure if people are telling you the truth, and that seems a little scary if you ask me.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I say. “I’m not too worried about it, but I appreciate your concern.”

The morning goes by with relative normalcy. Despite the concerns voiced by that nerd in the woods yesterday, no one seems too bothered by the lack of thought bubbles floating over my head. After 4th hour, Walter pulls me aside in the hallway again.

“So, how’s it going?” he asks. “Did it work?”

“I think so,” I say, smiling. “I feel so relieved. I can stop paying attention in class and not have to worry about the teachers noticing. I can think about how irritating Blanche is without her knowing. I can even think about you and you’re none the wiser.”

A smile starts to spread across his face. “You’re thinking about me?” he asks.

“Well, I mean…yeah,” I say, tucking some hair behind my ear and looking at the floor between our shoes.

“Do you have a date to the dance yet?” he asks. “I know dances are kind of lame and it’s, like, tomorrow but…maybe you and I could go together?”

“I’d love to!” I blurt out. Then, I remember Blanche’s tyrannical couples costume idea. She never came out and said it, but I know she was intending on pairing me with Solomon. She probably won’t be happy at the idea of me going with Walter. And after seeing me with Solomon’s arm around my shoulders, Walter probably won’t be happy about me going with Solomon. Do I kill my popularity? Or my chances with the guy I actually like? High school is complicated.

“Great,” he says, grinning. “We should coordinate our costumes…mostly because I don’t have any costumes.”

“Um, yeah,” I say. How do I explain my predicament without totally turning him off? I relish in the realization that I can agonize over this right in front of him without having to worry that he’ll catch on. Maybe I will make out with Roger after all. He might just deserve it for giving me all of this freedom!

“Actually, I think I have a date,” I add. “It’s just Solomon so it’s not serious, just…Blanche is so controlling and she has this idea in her head that-“

“Hey,” he cuts me off, “don’t worry about it. You’re a High Five. I knew it was a long shot.”

“We should go out though,” I say. “Like…on an actual date.”

Walter’s smile starts to fade. “Whatever,” he says, shrugging.

What?! What does he mean ‘whatever’?! I glance to the space above his head and suddenly feel aggravated about not being able to read his thoughts. Forget Roger. I won’t be kissing him ever.

The warning bell chimes and Walter and I part ways. I’m not satisfied with how we left that conversation. Yes, I’m a High Five and therefore have certain social obligations to uphold, but I’m also a High Five for orange’s sake! That makes me one of the most desirable girls in this whole stupid school! Why do I feel like Walter’s suddenly giving up on me? Is he just being sensitive? Or did I give him the wrong idea about Solomon? Ugh.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts about Walter that I’m late to my next class. Mr. Fitch, the young and handsome history teacher, steps in the way of me making it to my desk.

“Why are you late Miss Miller?” Mr. Fitch asks, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I got caught up talking with someone and lost track of time.”

“Your mental streaming app is off,” he comments. “Are you using some sort of blocking upgrade?”

I remember the lie I told Nancy this morning and decide that I’d better stick with that. “Yes. It’s a new version and I’m beta testing it. It blocks out the entire app, so I can’t read other people’s thoughts and they can’t read mine.”

Mr. Fitch makes a thoughtful face. “That’s pretty advanced. How did you get the chance to beta test it?”

“I, uh…” Strawberry. I didn’t delve this far into my lie before. “I know a guy.”

“I see,” he says. I can tell he’s not really buying this. “Well, I need you to turn off the upgrade while you’re in class.”

I should’ve asked Roger about turning my app back on. It hadn’t occurred to me before. Mr. Fitch is the only teacher I have that cares about seeing students’ thoughts during class. Why hadn’t I counted on him noticing?

“I can’t,” I say. “It’s a requirement for the test. I’m supposed to see how long I can last without switching the app back on.”

He sighs. “You rich, privileged, private-school types are never going to learn if we don’t start enforcing rules,” he mumbles. Then, he looks down at me. “Fine. But if you come back on Monday without it on, I’ll have no choice but to send you to the headmistress.”

“Yes sir,” I say. As I walk through the classroom to my seat, I feel the stares of my classmates boring holes into my head. Members of the High Five don’t get in trouble. We just don’t. I’m sure some of my classmates are more than happy to see my brief fall from grace, but for the billionth time today, I’m happy I can’t read their thoughts.

~~~

The rest of the day is rather uninspired. So, I’ll skip to dinner. The thing about weekends at Heppherd is that we’re allowed to eat off campus. Come Friday dinner, if you have the transportation, you have the free pass. Most of the time, the dining hall is left with a bunch of middle schoolers and freshman. There are a few upperclassman who opt to eat in because it’s cheaper and less stressful than coordinating a bunch of people’s different tastes in food. I know for a fact that Walter only eats out on Saturdays, if he eats out at all.

I walk into the dining hall, rocking my joggers and favorite comfy t-shirt. I see Walter seated at his usual table, accompanied by Roger and a couple of underclassman nerds I don’t really know. After passing through the food line, I stroll over to their table as casually as possible. Walter’s facing away from me, so he doesn’t see me coming.

All of his friends stop talking and stare at me. Walter pauses mid-chew and looks around at them.

“Wha’sh wrong wi you guysch?” he asks around his mouthful.

“Dude,” one of the nameless nerds says. He points over Walter’s shoulder. He points at me.

Slowly, Walter turns his head until he meets my eyes. He shuts his gaping mouth [still full of food] and swallows hard. After choking a little and recovering from that, he says “Betsy. Hi.” His face is bright red and his eyes are watering a teensy bit.

Making boys nervous is kind of a side-effect to being in the High Five. It’s also kind of endearing, if it’s the right boy.

“Hi,” I say, smiling. “Mind if I join you guys?”

“Why aren’t you out with your friends?” Roger asks.

“Sit down,” Walter says. “Ignore Roger. We all do.”

“Hey!” Roger says.

I pull an empty seat closer to Walter and set my tray down. I’m about to ask the other guys what their names are, when everyone freezes again. When Walter and I turn to see why, we see Blanche and Solomon standing behind us.

“Mind if we join you too?” Blanche asks, all smiles and sunshine.

Roger jumps to his feet. “Please,” he says, gesturing to a chair occupied by one of the other nerds. “Take Simon’s seat.” He rips the chair out from under the kid who must by Simon and slides it closer to his own chair.

“Uncool!” Simon exclaims.

“What do you know about cool?” Roger snaps. “Please, Blanche.”

“Of course,” she says. Then, she turns her attention to the underclassmen. “Would you guys mind giving us the table? I kind of need to have a seniors’ only conversation.”

“Really?” Simon mutters.

“Definitely!” the other underclassman exclaims at the same time. “We’ll be on our way.” He grabs Simon by the arm and pulls him away. Simon protests the whole time, complaining about how he didn’t even finish his sandwich.

Blanche and Solomon sit down. Roger looks pleased. Walter looks…apprehensive.

“So, what’s up B? Finally decide to take a ride on the Roger Train?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Her smile snaps off, leaving a stony expression on her model-perfect face. “Hardly. I know about the jailbreak. I want in.”

I start to say “How do you-” but she cuts me off with a maniacal giggle.

“As if you would ever block Nancy,” she snaps. “Also, Solomon is a terrible liar. He doesn’t cover up his thoughts at all.”

Roger takes a bite of his food and chews it slowly, making thoughtful noises until he swallows. “There’s a price, you know.”

“I know.”

“And…the more prestigious the customer, the higher the cost,” he continues.

“I figured as much,” she sighs. She puts her bored face on and starts to pick at her nails. “You want, what? A 20 minute make-out session?”

“Deal!” Roger exclaims. “When do you want me to switch it off?”

“Tomorrow night, before the dance,” Blanche says. “Dexter and I always come late. And it would be such a relief not to have to keep up appearances when I just want to let loose. The fact that even dances can’t be neutral is beyond annoying.”

“Okay. We’ll meet by the front door in the grand lobby,” Roger says.

“Ew. Why there?” Blanche asks.

Roger looks at Solomon, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I didn’t try to tell her anything,” Solomon says, sounding a little defensive. “She just coaxed it out of me.”

“He does it in the woods,” Walter mumbles.

“The woods?” Blanche repeats. She says it in the same way you might say something like “You eat flies?”

“Well, yeah. It’s illegal. The woods are where all of Heppherd’s debauchery goes down. How do you not know this?” Roger says.

“Oh, I know,” Blanche says. “I just ignore it. The woods are so…unclean.”

“Then don’t come,” Walter says.

“Shut it, Williams. One word from me and you’ll never have Betsy.”

Walter opens his mouth to protest, but I step in instead. “You don’t own me, Blanche.”

She flashes me her famous, evil smile. “Think what you like. But you and I both know I could drop an atomic bomb on your social life in a matter of seconds, and that your great, great, great grandchildren will still suffer from the fallout.” She turns back to Roger. “Tomorrow night. 7:45. Grand lobby. And you had better all be there.”

“Why do I have to be there?” Walter whines.

She glances at him, and I don’t know how, but that one glance is enough to shut Walter up. After Blanche is content that she has what she wants, she gets up and leaves the dining hall. The rest of us finish our meal in silence and go about our lives.

~~~

I don’t see any of them again until we meet up in the lobby before the dance. Solomon and I never did coordinate a costume, so he shows up as a police officer. I show up as a cheerleader. It’s the same costume I wore in 9th grade, and I just don’t care enough to acknowledge Blanche’s dirty looks when she sees me.

She’s sporting a red monokini with the word Lifeguard printed across her chest in white. She’s got a small dab of sun screen on her nose, and a white zip-up hoodie. That’s it. No pants. No shoes. She’s going to freeze in the woods.

Roger and Walter aren’t wearing costumes, and it’s probably for the best. We head outside, silent, and nobody speaks until we reach a clearing in the woods that Roger seems to like.

“Alright,” he says. “I need you to lie down on this blanket, Blanche.” He spreads a blanket out on the ground and places a pillow near the one side. I would like to note that even I did not get the courtesy of a pillow.

It takes a few minutes for Roger to set everything up. While he’s getting things ready, we hear sirens from the other side of campus, where the main gate is. I shiver involuntarily. It sounds like an ambulance.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Solomon says.

“Who cares?” Roger says. “It’s time to do this.”

Walter comes over to me and throws an arm around my shoulders. We watch as Roger moves Blanche’s hair and preps the spot on the back of her head with an alcohol wipe. Pretty sure I didn’t get one of those either.

Roger’s hand starts to shake.

“You okay, Rodge?” Walter asks.

“Yeah,” he says. He flexes his hand a few times and leans in to make the incision. Suddenly, his arm twitches violently. The scalpel is plunged into Blanche’s neck. Blood starts to squirt out in true horror movie fashion.

Blanche screams.

“Roger!” Walter yells. Roger’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he falls to the ground, seizing. Walter and I leap into action.

I grab Blanche’s neck as she gurgles and coughs around the pain. Walter tries to hold Roger still to keep him from convulsing into a nearby rock. I look around for Solomon, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“What happened?!” I shout.

“I don’t know!” Walter cries. “It’s like epilepsy or something!”

“Betsy…” Blanche croaks.

I grab the wound on her neck more firmly, keeping the scalpel in the cut. Blanche’s blood seeps through the cracks of my fingers and drips down my hands, staining my sleeves.

“Where is Solomon?!” I scream to no one in particular.

In response to my question, I hear a thump and a groan. I look over to Walter lying limp on the ground, while Roger still seizes. Solomon is standing over Walter, a tree branch in hand.

“W-what are you…?” I stutter.

“I’m sorry,” Solomon says. He steps toward me and lifts the branch up. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

Dark.

Light. Red and blue. Noise. Sirens. Wailing and moaning. I’m lifted from the ground. I’m pushed into an ambulance. Beeping. Wires. Blood pressure cuff.

Dark.

Light. Fluorescent – too bright! Rolling. Rolling fast. Blankets. Voices. Severe head trauma. Damaged mental streaming app. Go to surgery.

Dark.

Light. Low and non-threatening. I’m awake this time.

Everything feels stiff. I stretch my fingers, my toes, my arms and legs. I’m on a bed, but it’s not a hospital bed. I sit up and see a glass wall in front of me. I’m not in a hospital at all.

I hear retching to my left, so I look. Another glass wall is there, and Roger’s on the other side. He’s kneeling over a waste bin, vomiting. He’s wearing plain gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. A thought bubble floats over his head. It says: Oh, gross. Everything hurts. I just want to sleep.

A thought bubble?

“That’s right,” Solomon says. I turn back to the front of the room. He’s standing there, wearing a suit. There’s a gun on his hip. “Your mental streaming app has been restored.”

I try to form the question in my mind, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll see it long before I’ll be able to say it.

“You were in danger, Betsy. Roger’s code had ramifications even he couldn’t predict. The sirens you heard before you passed out in the forest were for his freshman buddies. Little Simon and Howie. They were the first people he tested the code on. They started seizing on their way to the dance. Turns out Roger didn’t wait very long before trying the code out on himself. I imagine if he did, things wouldn’t have gotten so grim for Blanche.”

“Is she-“

“She’s fine,” he cuts me off. “No thanks to any of you. Simon’s fine too. But Howie wasn’t so lucky. You see, as it turns out, the implant in our brains that produces the mental streaming app has a feature that regulates a self-cleaning regimen. The code, though designed to shut off the outward projection of thoughts, actually shut off the entire implant. Without the regimen in place, the implants started to corrode and break down. Human brains aren’t made to withstand rust. The good news is you’ve all been outfitted with the newest model of the implant, made entirely of non-metal components. The bad news is it took Howie’s death, and Simon and Roger’s brain damage, to alert us of that need.”

“And Walter?” I ask.

“He’s right there,” Solomon says, pointing off to my right.

I turn and see Walter on the other side of yet another glass wall. He’s lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling (notably not made of glass). His thought bubble reads: Betsy, stop talking to Solomon. And stop reading my thoughts.

I turn back to Solomon. “So where are we? And why are you dressed like that?”

“You’re in a secret government facility,” he says.

“Tell her everything,” Walter grumbles.

“You’re under observation to ensure prope-“

“Tell her who you are!” Walter shouts, sitting upright. “Tell her right now.”

“I don’t see what good that will do,” Solomon says.

Walter jumps to his feet and stalks over to the corner of glass where our little rooms meet. “TELL HER!” he roars, his face turning bright red.

“My name is George Merrick, and I was assigned as an undercover agent to gather information on Roger and Walter,” Solomon says. Or…George, apparently.

None of this makes any sense. I can feel my forehead crinkling in confusion. “How old are you?”

“I’m 31,” he says.

“And you somehow passed as a teenager for four years?” I ask, incredulous.

“The undercover technology is astounding nowadays.”

I shake my head. “Wait, why were you investigating Roger and Walter?”

“Because my agency and I were tipped off to their research in disabling the mental streaming app. And, more specifically, their research into illegally disabling it.”

“So why am I here?” I ask.

“Because you became friends with the wrong guys at the wrong time. And, admittedly, we needed to know how a female would react compared to a male.”

Anger courses through me, forcing me to my feet. “So I’m like your little lab rat or something?”

“We prefer ‘test subject’,” Solomon/George says.

“Well, the test is over now,” I say, moving across the small glass space. “Time for us to go home.”

Solomon shakes his head. “You’re not going home.”

I gape like a fish out of water. “We have to go home. Midterms are next week.”

Walter sighs. “It’s the middle of November, Betsy.”

I look over at him. He looks weary and aged. His hair is more unruly than usual, and he has stubble on his face. I step towards him. “It’s the end of October.”

He shakes his head, frowning. “It’s the middle of November.”

“How-“

“You were in a medically induced coma,” the man formerly known as Solomon, says. “You took a while to come out of it.”

“I thought you were dead,” Walter whispers. I reach for him, but my hand hits the glass and I remember where I am. He looks so…different. So sad. I just want to hold him.

I press my palm against the glass between us, and he places his hand up. The glass is cold and smooth between us, not like a hand at all.

“I hope you enjoy your new digs,” George says.

“What about our friends?” I ask, turning to him. He just looks like a stranger now.

“We can create an app implanted in your brain that visually projects other people’s thoughts into the air above their heads. Don’t you think we can create a way to erase someone’s memory of a specific person?”

“No,” I whisper.

My knees give out and I’m on the floor. Cold and concrete. Walter’s trying to talk to me. He gets loud again. His fists pound against the glass between us. Solomon stands outside, cold and distant. Or, Not Solomon. George. Roger continues to retch into the waste bin.

A single tear runs down George’s face. He turns on his heels and disappears behind a white door.

Walter’s still yelling.

I curl up on the ground and wish with everything in me that I could just stop worrying about what people think.