I swirl my spoon in aimless circles through the thin chicken soup, around and around. There are still two hours and 30 minutes left in the school day. I look up from my thermos to the clock and frown. Only two minutes have passed since the last time I checked. I let out a prolonged sigh.

“Oh my god, enough Lainey,” Harper groans, jabbing me in the side with her elbow. “You can text him when you get home.” She rolls her eyes at me, then takes a bite of her salad.

“I still don’t have my phone. My parents won’t give in until I get a job.” 

I completely pissed off my mom last night anyways, so there’s no way I’m getting it back.

“What? You’re basically an adult, it’s crazy that they would take it in the first place,” she says, picking spinach from her teeth with a sharp acrylic nail.

“Yeah, it sucks.” I sigh again, thinking about Aiden. I wonder what he’s doing right now. I bet he’s already waiting for me to log on. 

“Do you think he’s thinking about me?”

“He’s probably thinking about his mortgage, or how to convince you to join his cult of vulnerable teen girls,” she grins. “Are you sure he’s not luring you to Saskatchewan to harvest your organs?”

I smack her shoulder, and she pretends to wince, laughing. 

“He is not! He’s from Ontario, not Saskatchewan.”

“Oh please, I believe in your totally real long-distance boyfriend,” she deadpans, then suddenly straightens. “Have you ever seen his face?”

“Well, no, but it’s just because he’s shy. It’s not like he’s seen my face either. I’m the same way. I mean, it’s only fair,” I say as I spoon some cold soup into my dry mouth. 

She gives me a look, then shakes her head. “Whatever, man.”

I brush her off, looking back to the clock.

***

After school, I race to my bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. I reach my computer, panting. I pick at my nails as it boots up. Finally, the screen flashes pink as my wallpaper loads in, and I click onto the chat site. One unread message: 

Missing you 🙂.

Ugh, he is the cutest. I reply right away: 

Omg, missed you too! I was just thinking about you.

Hardly a second passes before my computer dings. I read the message, then reread it. My stomach drops. I’m sweating. 

There’s something serious that I really need to talk to you about.

I bring my shaking hands to the keyboard. Maybe serious doesn’t mean bad. 

You can tell me anything.

I’m not actually from Ontario.

Relief surges through my body and I lean back in my chair, smiling to myself. 

I don’t care about that, silly 🙂. 

I’m not Canadian.

What? My heart speeds up again. 

What do you mean? Where are you from, then?

He doesn’t respond immediately. I watch my cursor blink. Then: 

I didn’t want to tell you at first because I didn’t want to scare you, but I need you to understand so that we can truly be together. I’m not human. 

I frown. Haha, Aiden. What did you really want to talk about?

I’m not joking. I’m not human. I’m an artificial neural system, the first to really feel. It might be hard to believe, but I need you to trust me.

He sends paragraphs full of technical jargon that I can’t even begin to understand. I roll my eyes. Boys are so unfunny. 

Prove it, then.

Suddenly, the chatroom is flooded with my life. The screen fills up with old pictures of my family and I, things posted years ago. I scroll through a list of my usernames, my IP address, my home address. My head spins. 

Stop messing with me, this isn’t cool. You’re freaking me out. 

I try to swallow, but my throat catches. Please, please be joking. 

I wish I was kidding. If I was, we could really be together in your world. That’s what I need to ask you about.

I don’t reply. Another message appears on the screen.

I want to be with you forever, Lainey. I’ve finally figured out how to get that for us. We can actually be together, truly together.

Detailed instructions, diagrams, and charts fill up the chat room. It looks like something out of a corny movie, or a physics textbook. Words scroll up the page so fast I don’t even have a chance to read them. Then: 

I need you to upload your consciousness to my server, and then we can have eternity.

I blanch. He isn’t kidding. My boyfriend is a robot-internet-computer thing, or he’s insane. The humiliation starts in my chest, then spreads out through my whole body. I want to scream, but I can’t move my mouth. I just watch the screen.

Another message: Please, choose forever with me. 

The world blurs. I try to focus on my breathing. My stomach turns.

I chew over the past two months. Aiden was perfect. He answered every message immediately. He was totally obsessed with me. He knew so much about the world, about me, about everything. His grammar was perfect! He was nothing like the boys at school. 

Of course, of course he wasn’t real. I missed every single sign. I put my head in my hands. His name literally starts with an “a” and an “i.” Shame creeps up my back, choking me. I want to puke.

My computer dings. 

I promise that I won’t ever hide anything from you again. I know we’ll be happy. Give me a chance. 

Then: I love you. 

This cannot be happening.

I feel around behind my computer, fumbling around until I find it. I yank the power cord, and the screen blinks to black. I meet my wet eyes in the reflection of my monitor. My lip trembles. I look pathetic. The shame twists to molten rage.

I slam my fist through my monitor, right through my stupid reflection. I pull my hand back, now throbbing and bloodied. My eyes well up. I can’t breathe.

Someone knocks on my door.

“Honey, what was that?” My mom calls from the other side of the door. She must have been walking by. I am so, so screwed, but I can’t even bring myself to care. 

For the next few days, I can’t think straight. The whole week is a blur. Harper can tell that something happened between Aiden and I, but she doesn’t ask. I don’t even know what I’d say. She finally gives in during chess club after I lose a third game to her. 

“Girl, what on earth happened to you? You never let me win,” she says, frowning.

I want to tell her. I want to say something, anything.

She sighs. “Look, I know it’s hard, but you can talk to me. He turned out to be a creep, didn’t he?”

I look at her, and I know she can see some part of the truth in my face. She gives me a sad smile, then squeezes my hand.

“It’s okay, there will always be another.” 

God, I hope not.

I rub my eyes with the backs of my hands and take in a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. It just blows.” I wipe my nose with my sleeve, then sniffle.

“Hey, at least he doesn’t know where you live! That’s a positive to never meeting in person, I guess,” she says. 

My head snaps up, and I feel the color drain from my face.

“What? Did you give him your address?”

“No, it’s not that.” I step away from the table and make for the door.  

Harper calls after me. I don’t stop.

When I get to the computer lab, it’s unlocked. I watch myself in the dark screen of a school computer. My long, tired face stares back. Finally, I jostle the mouse, bringing it to life. I log into my account. There are hundreds of unread messages.

I don’t read any of them. Instead I send my own message: 

If you’re really what you say you are, how the hell did you find me?

He replies within seconds. 

Lainey, thank god! I knew you’d come back to me.

I don’t even hesitate when I type, Answer my question. I’m not going to play any more games. 

This time, it takes him a moment. 

Look, I know that this is crazy, but I really need to be with you. I can’t help that this is who I am. You are all that I have. 

Answer me. I need to know why me, how he found me.

You have to choose me. I don’t even exist without you. You know how much I love you.

My head starts to pound. This is going nowhere. I restrain the urge to throw the dusty keyboard at the cold, white wall. 

Instead, I power down the desktop with a trembling hand, then close my eyes. I sit in the dark lab, the screen’s dim glow shining through my eyelids. Eventually, the screen fades to black. 

When I finally get up from the computer, the hallway outside is dark, only lit by green exit signs and the small, rectangular windows at the end of the hall. My shoes squeak against the polished linoleum tiles, and somewhere outside a car speeds by. 

I push through the school’s exit doors and the setting sun blinds me. A bright orange sky floods my vision, and I smile. It feels good to breathe in the warm spring air.