Paper Masks

008. Invest in Conveyors Now (Or: Mild Heroism and Dinner Table Sides)

Over Havana's tinny speakers, my voice warbled distantly, playing the Ballad and Muse duo called Remain in the Shadow, in a party remix by DJ Herohypen.

I'd heard different versions of it about a dozen times today. I had to admit, it was kind of catchy, even though I'd been auto-tuned.

Alfie and I arrived at the same time, weaving through the booths from opposite routes. Our table hugged the corner. Red cushioning threaded into high-arched backs. Beside it, a conveyor belt spun, bringing an endless stream of plates. Spices combined in a mixture that made me remember I hadn't eaten anything since this morning.

I came to a halt next to Griffin, remarkably on time for once. Judging by his clothes, he'd only just gotten released from the hospital, with a coat draped over his shoulders.

He dipped his chin to the ceiling as though directing me to the speakers, where the song filtered to an end. I nodded in reply. A strange pride rose within me. I couldn't really quantify it, but I kept stopping in place to listen, to gaze at what I'd, at least partially, created.

Leaned against the wall, Kit slid out of the booth to switch places with Alfie. Whether it was to spare me from having to face him or because this was the side where Kit could better hear us, I couldn't tell; I had yet to talk to him.

"Guess I'm the lucky one who gets to sit across from you," Kit said as he elbowed Alfie into the booth.

My fingers spun my bracelet. I felt myself smile a little. Saw myself sit next to Griffin, who leaned over to kick me.

Maybe there was something in heroic forgiveness. Was it the right thing to do? Was it all because heroes were meant to act like this?

Both sides of me were in this locked revolutionary war. I swallowed and closed away the masked Muse, shoved them back within. Right now, I wasn't that version of me.

"Guess so." Since I'd been mostly alone for the past while, I'd had the time to scrawl through the accounts and videos of me, falling from the hold of gravity. I remembered taking off my mask, but I couldn't find a single frame showing my face. I hadn't seen Kit put it on me either, but that was the only explanation. That somehow, in the fragment of a second, he'd hidden his anger, put it somewhere else, and protected my identity.

Again. Heroic.

Griffin reached for his glass of orange juice. Multiple empty cups stacked high like a tower.

I blinked. He slow-blinked back, in what I took as a challenge to ask if he was okay. Which would only make Alfie glare at me and remind me I'd sent Griffin to the hospital, so no, he wasn't okay, sometimes I just can't understand you, Essa.

So, fine. I could avoid the subject. "Is that mimosa?"

Griffin wrinkled his nose. "You think I drink champagne? That is the meanest thing you've ever said to me, and you should feel ashamed."

"Do you try to speak in verse, or does that just come to you naturally?"

He sipped his drink to cover his snort. It didn't really work, but at least someone was trying to alleviate the tension, which couldn't have been cut even with Havana's sharp knives.

I checked the holo-menu. A new dessert sang my name: strawberry tart on walnut crust. It was one of Dad's habits to eat dinner last on days he needed cheering up, and it was easy to see why it worked.