"Fuck off! This isn't funny anymore!"

Every head in the cafeteria turned towards some freshman Rich didn't even know the name of. He chased another kid, one vaguely recognizable as someone from the football team, past the rows of tables. Everyone fell silent to watch the show, heads craning to get a better view. "Give it back!" the kid shouted.

"Hey, don't we know that guy?" Rich asked, pointing to the person getting chased. Said person howled with laughter, only gaining ground on the other kid as the freshman began to gasp for breath.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," replied Jake.

They looked on with rapt attention as the two kids were finally stopped by teachers. There was a brief moment of argument, then one of pleading. Finally, the stolen lunchbox was returned to the freshman, who bowed his head and slunk off to the far reaches of the cafeteria. When the person who'd stolen the lunch sauntered back to their table, Jake returned his high-five as he passed by. Rich asked,"How come you let them do all that shit?"

"What? It's just a joke. And he's never pulled any of that on me. I don't really have anything to do with this."

DROP THE SUBJECT.

Rich said nothing, only crossing his arms and leaning back. His eyes wandered to that freshman in the corner of the room. When the kid moved to open his soda, the fizz ran over the bottle and down his hand, no doubt from being shaken around in a lunch bag. How embarrassing. Rich couldn't look anymore. He wasn't any better. He hadn't done anything to stop it, either.

GET UP. THROW AWAY YOUR TRASH NOW.

He picked up his tray and left. Just as he'd barely made it to the can, the SQUIP gave another warning.

ALERT. I HAVE DETECTED A POSSIBLE THREAT TO YOUR PROGRESS.

Rich dumped the contents of his lunch tray into the can, watching the green and orange mush of vegetables slop into the black trash bag. 'Yeah? What is it, huh? After that stunt with the trampoline, I bet I could do anything and be cool! Ha!'

I KNOW YOU'RE NOT AS CONFIDENT ON THIS AS YOU SAY. YOU'RE STILL AN INTERLOPER. IF YOU MAKE THE WRONG MISTAKE, YOU'LL BE NOTHING MORE THAN A FAD: REMEMBERED FOR A MOMENT AND THEN FORGOTTEN ABOUT. DON'T BE THE ONE-HIT WONDER OF POPULAR KIDS.

His eyes trailed back to his lunch table. Jake, Chloe, Brooke, and Jenna sat in perfect, symmetrical formation, with two seated on each side. Jake's arm was wrapped around Chloe's, signaling that their relationship was "on" that week. True, the table was also occupied by their other satellites and some of the guys from football, but they were four, seemingly untouchable. Five had upset the balance. Not that Rich gave a damn about balance, anyway. 'Okay, seriously, what's the matter?'

I'VE DETECTED THE DISTRIBUTION OF AN EMBARRASSING IMAGE OF YOU FROM THE YEARBOOK OF YOUR FRESHMAN YEAR. SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SPREADING OLD PICTURES OF PEOPLE FOR COMEDY PURPOSES, CALLING THEM "CRINGEY." I ALSO AM SURE THAT JENNA ROLAN HAS RECEIVED THESE PICTURES AND THAT THEY ARE CURRENTLY ON HER PHONE.

'Shit. What picture?'

With that, the SQUIP projected a digital image of the offending picture in front of his face. Sure enough, the picture from the yearbook was just as mortifying as he remembered. It was slightly blurred, and Rich had worn an unflattering grimace from having a camera unexpectedly shoved in his face. He was slouched over in a desk, his eyes were red-rimmed and underlined by dark circles, braces glinted on his teeth, and he still had that awful haircut. He'd be fully down to punch anybody who'd willingly spread that picture around. He'd show them, but then he'd have to kill them. What weirdo goes through old yearbooks before they're even out of high school yet?

YOU CAN'T HAVE THAT PICTURE SPREAD OR YOU'LL REMIND PEOPLE OF HOW PATHETIC YOU WERE BEFORE. ALL SOMEONE WOULD HAVE TO DO TO DAMAGE OUR PROGRESS WOULD BE SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS POSTING IT IN THE WRONG GROUP CHAT.

The bell rung, and a hundred students slung their backpacks over their shoulders and crowded the door. As Rich hurried back to his table to make sure the others wouldn't leave without him, he asked, 'Can't you just delete it?'

I CAN ONLY VIEW AND ACCESS THE PHOTO. I CAN'T DELETE IT UNDER MY CURRENT SYSTEM.

'I'll have to talk to Jenna, then.' As their group walked out the door, he exclaimed, "Yo! Jenna! Hold on for a minute!"

She turned around, and they darted to the side to get out of the crowd's way. Jenna watched as the rest of their group kept going and disappeared down another hall. "Yeah, what's up?"

"I know you have a shitty picture of me. On your phone," he said. He puffed out his chest and pressed a fist against a locker to appear bigger.

Jenna, however, was unaffected, and showed no reaction save for raising an eyebrow. "How'd you even know that?"

CHLOE TOLD ME.

"Chloe told me."

"Weird. I haven't sent it to anyone. Yet. Did she look off my phone screen?"

"Yeah. I think so. Jenna, you have to delete that picture. Right now! Before it completely fucks me over."

"Oh, come on. It's an awkward yearbook shot. Not a big deal. I bet everyone in this school has at least one of them."

TELL HER WHAT I TOLD YOU.

"Come on, Jenna! Just delete the picture! If the wrong people see this, they'll remember what a loser I was. I've worked hard for this and I can't throw it away. Do you get it? How'd you feel if someone posted your embarrassing pictures?"

Jenna crossed her arms, seeming to consider it. "Someone wouldn't post my embarrassing pictures. I'd find dirt on them to use as blackmail by the end of the day. But..." She trailed off with a sigh, shaking her head. "You're not wrong here. Do one stupid thing and you'll never hear the end of it."

"So will you delete the picture?"

"You know what? I will. Just this once. Know that I'm only doing this because some old yearbook picture won't hold anyone's interest for long." The corners of her lips upturned the slightest bit. She pulled out her phone, scrolled to the grainy picture snapped of the yearbook, and let him watch the screen as she deleted it. "Just a heads-up: If that gets out, it wasn't me. I didn't take it in the first place. I just had it sent to me."

"Wait. You didn't take it?"

"Nope. I told you, I have to stay current. Even last week's news isn't important anymore. Hey, don't give me that look. You have your ways to get in with the popular kids, whatever they are, and I have mine."

He barely managed to nod at her before rushing away down the hall. 'The picture's still out there somewhere! Now what?'

THERE IS ONE THING YOU CAN DO. I'LL BE ABLE TO DELETE ANY SAVED COPIES OF THE IMAGE, AS WELL AS PREVENT ANY MORE OF THEM FROM BEING TAKEN. YOU NEED TO UPGRADE.

'Upgrade?'

YOU NEED MY HELP, MORE THAN MOST CASES. YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE THIS KIND OF INCIDENT WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN. YOU NEED TO RETAIN YOUR POPULARITY AND ESTABLISH AUTHORITY. NOBODY WILL DARE CROSS YOU. I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER EVERY TIME YOU'VE EVER FELT WEAK, OR HOPELESS, OR COMPLETELY AT THE MERCY OF STUDENTS STRONGER AND CRUELER THAN YOU. REMEMBER THAT, AND MAKE SURE YOU NEVER FEEL THAT WAY AGAIN.

He couldn't. He couldn't go back to where he'd been. Before he'd taken that pill, control on anything was out of his reach. An unnamed something had cast dark, oozing shadows over every corner of his life. It had poisoned his memories and made him question if he'd ever known happiness at all. It had taken every shitty remark from his dad or some asshole in school and played it over and over through his mind at a deafening volume. Old friends didn't understand, and old favorite songs became insincere and grating. He'd wanted to die. He'd been willing to do anything. The SQUIP was his final chance to make anything seem to matter again. No. He could never go back.

'Whatever you have, give it to me. I want the upgrade.'

(User command received. System upgrade initiating.)

YOU MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE.

The second bell rang, shrill and tinny. Kids poured into their classrooms. The crowds in the hallway grew thinner and quieter.

SEE THE BOY AT THE END OF THE HALL? WITH THE TACKY GREEN HEADPHONES ON HIS NECK? TAKE THE HEADPHONES.

(System upgrade 20% complete.)

'Why am I gonna do that? I don't know that guy,' he thought. He drew closer to the kid in question. Those headphones were not entirely unfamiliar, although he'd seen them before on a completely different person. He'd had to look at them while sitting at a desk and staring at the back of their owner's head in biology. When paired with the red hoodie, they gave the effect of a shitty neon Christmas tree.

(System upgrade 57% complete.)

(Initiate pain receptors.)

I WON'T SHOCK YOU AGAIN IF YOU LISTEN TO ME. I'M TRYING TO KEEP YOU FROM BEING PUSHED AROUND YOUR WHOLE LIFE. YOU MUST SEND A MESSAGE TO THOSE WHO'D TAKE YOU DOWN THAT YOU ARE NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH.

Almost there. The choice was his. Was it his? He swerved to the side of the hall nearest to the row of lockers. The headphones were almost within his reach. Just a few steps more and all he had to do was take them. The SQUIP had never done him wrong before, so why should this time be any different?

(System upgrade 89% complete.)

I HAVE DELETED ALL DIGITAL COPIES OF THAT YEARBOOK PHOTO. IF YOU WANT THEM TO STAY GONE, YOU WILL DO AS I ASK.

He reached out. What was he doing? Would he really go through with it? Revenge was one thing, but fucking with someone who'd never done crap to him was totally different. Then again, who's to say the kid won't cause problems in the future? The SQUIP had weird future-predicting programming in there somewhere, right? And if he let that picture get out, he'd be the target of even more bullshit from the popular kids anyway. If he didn't listen to the SQUIP, his whole life would fall apart.

(Initiate pain receptors.)

GET ON WITH IT ALREADY.

His hand clenched around the green plastic resting around the other kid's neck. In one swift motion, he ripped it off and jerked backwards.

(System upgrade complete.)

RUN.

Rich took off, headphones clenched in his hand. His palms grew sweaty. He heard a yell of surprise from somewhere behind him. Heads turned. The thin headphone wire trailed after him like a strange antenna as he turned the corner.

The hallways were almost clear by then. His footsteps pounded the tile behind him. He glanced over his shoulder long enough to see the kid he'd stolen the headphones from, chasing him down the hall and rapidly losing ground.

STOP RUNNING NOW. TURN TO FACE HIM. REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD YOU ABOUT CONFIDENT POSTURE.

He did, getting a good look at the guy for the first time. He had about half a head of height on Rich, but his lanky, stretched-out frame made him seem even taller. "What do you want, Tall-Ass?" Rich asked. He gestured awkwardly to the headphones still in Rich's hand.

WHAT, THESE? MAKE ME.

"What, these?" he replied. He twisted them about in his hand, silently threatening to snap them in half. "Make me."

DODGE LEFT. THEN BACK.

The guy reached for the headphones, but Rich jumped to the left and moved them out of his reach. Then, he jumped backwards.

"I literally don't know you! Why...why are you doing this? Don't you have anything better to do with your life?" he asked, pulling away from him. Rich rolled his eyes.

SAY SOMETHING TO THROW HIM OFF GUARD.

"It doesn't matter. Why don't you, uh, fight me! To get them back!" Maybe it wasn't the best thing he could've said, but it was simply the first thing he'd thought of.

"I...what? Come on! I don't want to fight you," the kid said. He picked at a loose thread on his sweater and stared at his untied shoes. His mouth hung open. He glanced around as if to check if anybody else was seeing this or whether the entire encounter was a bizarre hallucination.

"Why not, huh? I stole your shit and ran off. Kind of an asshole move. I'd fight me." Oh, god, saying what he'd done only made it seem more real. Wasn't the SQUIP supposed to make people like him? Every instinct he had screamed no, wrong, this was wrong, but he couldn't stop now. Could he?

(Initiate pain receptors.)

He couldn't. Tall-Ass still just stood there like an idiot, with that stupid open-mouthed stare. Rich didn't know him, but in that instant he hated him. He hated his greasy hair and acne-spotted face. He hated his slouched shoulders. And he hated how he wouldn't fight back, make the SQUIP decide he was more trouble than he was worth, and let Rich leave him alone. Rich dangled the headphones in front of him and pulled them away at his weak lunge. Come on, dude. Throw a punch already. Do what he never could. "You don't deserve these," Rich said, holding them tight again.

"Hey, screw you. They're not even mine, they're my friend's! And he'll kill me if I lose them. Well, he won't kill me, but he'll get all mopey and that's honestly worse, and..."

I DON'T CARE. MAKE HIM STOP TALKING.

Rich slammed his fist on the locker behind him and exclaimed, "Shut up!" The other guy flinched at the metallic clang.

DROP THE FIST. STEP BACK. LOOK NONTHREATENING.

Rich followed instructions and pulled away. The clacking of high heels came from around the corner. "Hey, hey! Where are you supposed to be? Get to class, boys!"

APOLOGIZE. LEAVE THE SITUATION IMMEDIATELY.

"Sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I'm almost to class," replied Rich. He wrapped the headphones around his own neck and went off to his own class.

He could still hear the other kid talking as he left, but their voices faded more with every step. "But-I-he..."

"Get to class, Mr. Heere. Unless you want a detention for lateness?"

'This was just a one-time thing, right?' Rich asked the SQUIP.

NOT IF YOU WANT TO THRIVE. PEOPLE LIKE HIM ARE WEAK. YOU NEED TO MAKE THEM FEAR YOU SO YOU WON'T BE PERCEIVED AS WEAK.

Stupid question. Oh, shit. No stopping this now.

A scuffling of shoes and he was gone. Rich entered his next classroom and took his seat across from Jake. The teacher began speaking, but Rich didn't hear a single word of it. The headphones, though made of cool metal and plastic, burned a hole into his neck and made his blood boil. He did not think of the kid he'd stolen it from, nor did he think of the original owner of the headphones. He didn't even think of Tall-Ass's real name, even though he damn well knew what it was. If he thought of his name, then that was the gateway to wondering what he did after school, or what music he listened to on those headphones, or what his favorite movie was. He couldn't imagine that, because then he'd have to also speculate about the guy's hidden fears and insecurities and other touchy-feely bullshit. If he was going to do this, he couldn't think about his target.

Jake leaned over in his desk and whispered, "Hey, where'd you get those headphones? Aren't they-"

TELL THE TRUTH.

"I stole 'em from some kid."

Jake's eyes widened. "...Oh. Wow. Really?"

Rich nodded. Come on, Jake. Say something. Anything. Tell him off. Make him give them back. Before he has to do worse things.

"Okay. Was the look on his face at least funny?"

Damnit, Jake.

TELL HIM YES. DESCRIBE IT.

"Shit, yeah, it was hilarious. He was all like..." He then followed that with an exaggerated mockery of the kid's expression. Not that he'd been thinking of it much the first time.

Instead, he remembered seeing the guy retreat after getting caught. The kid probably resembled a scared little mouse that retreated at the first sign of danger. How pathetic. God, he hated that. (HE HATED HIM.)

...

"Jakey D!"

"...Richie G? Nah, that doesn't have the same ring to it."

The house was not his, yet there he was, lounging around like he owned the place. The TV played some show or another, volume boosted to blaring by large black speakers. From the hallway, Jake emerged. He entered the room, barely seeming to register the other person, and flopped onto the couch with a sigh. "Dude, where were you?" Rich asked, voice cutting over the pounding bass.

"Got a call from my aunt. She wants to know if I'm okay. I'm fine, really. The old lady probably thinks I'm starving on the street."

FIND OUT WHY, BUT DON'T SEEM TOO INVESTED. YOU DON'T WANT HIM TO FIND YOU TOO NOSY.

"Should've told her you were starving on the street. Her reaction might've been funny."

"You don't know my aunt. She'd cry and then never let me out of my sight 'till I'm eighty," he replied. "That would actually suck." Jake pulled a half-eaten bag of Doritos from next to the couch and stuck his hand inside. "Hey, she's in Ohio right now, nothing she can do. She can't stop me."

"Stop you from what?" Rich asked, stealing the bag from him.

"Anything! I can do whatever I want, all the time. Mom and Dad ran out on here again. They're not coming back anytime soon. Said they're on a 'business trip,'" he replied, complete with air quotes. "If they don't get arrested, they'll be back by next month."

"Seriously, dude, what's their deal? Half the guys in school think they've joined the mafia. Jenna Rolan thinks they're America's Most Wanted."

Jake laughed. "Nah. They just need to get the hell out of dodge. Money laundering. They haven't gotten caught for this long, so they'll be fine. It's fine. I'm doing great!" His eyes were puffy and rimmed in red, which Rich rationalized as probably being from smoking weed. He'd heard the rumors about the football team all getting high in the locker room as much as anyone else, although he'd never been privy to it himself.

YOU CAN USE THIS OPPORTUNITY. SHARING INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR BROTHER WOULD ALLOW THE TWO OF YOU TO RELATE TO EACH OTHER BETTER, AND OBTAIN MORE OF THE BENEFITS OF THE FRIENDSHIP. DON'T SEEM TOO EMOTIONAL, HOWEVER, OR HE'LL ONLY SEE YOU AS WEAK. DO YOU THINK JAKE IS CRYING OVER HIS PARENTS? NO, HE'S USING THE SITUATION TO HIS ADVANTAGE, EVEN IF THAT ADVANTAGE IS JUST ENJOYING HIS FREEDOM.

"Dude, same. I haven't heard from my brother since he left. I was, what, fourteen by then? But it's cool. Like you said. He's probably living it up somewhere, doing great. And so am I. Guess we just both ended up doing our own things. And I ended up fine without needing his help for everything." Would his brother even have let him take the SQUIP at all? Probably not, he realized. He'd think it was a scam and make him promise not to drop four hundred bucks on a fancy breath mint.

I RESENT THAT REMARK. AND MAYBE YOUR BROTHER'S ABSENCE ISN'T SO BAD AFTER ALL.

"They just get in the way," replied Jake. "To freedom." He dug around on the side table next to the couch. All he found was a beer bottle with nothing but the last few drops sloshing around the bottom. Holding it up in the air, he mimed a toast.

Having nothing else in his reach, Rich held up the bag of chips. "To freedom."

...

On Rich's sixteenth birthday, he returned home by evening to find a crappy used Pontiac parked in the driveway.

He knew without a doubt that it would never belong to him. That was for two reasons: one, he was not one of the lucky rich kids whose parents bought them a car when they turned sixteen, and two, he'd seen that ugly-ass car around before. It was evening by the time he'd returned home to see it, though. Sophomore year had barely ended and school had just let out for the summer, but he'd rather be caught dead than spend any extra time in that house.

As soon as he saw the car, though, he broke into a run. When he reached it, he smushed his face against its front window to get a good look inside. Sure enough, the purple fuzzy dice that had only been bought for a bet still hung off the rearview mirror, just as he remembered it. When his eyes travelled past the dashboard, he noticed that a pillow and sleeping bag were laid out across the back seats. The floor was littered with McDonalds wrappers and unmarked white trash bags filled with what looked like clothes. All that was new. Stepping away from the car, he ran up the steps and entered the house.

Sure enough, his father sat at the dinner table across from his big brother, directing icy stares at each other from their seats at opposite ends. Dinner had been set out for three places at the table so all of them would eat at the same time, which made him wonder what alternate universe he'd stepped into. At Rich's arrival, both of them swiveled their heads to look at him expectantly. "I'm surprised you actually showed your sorry face around here. Sit down already," said his dad.

SIT DOWN, IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO. IF NOTHING ELSE, YOU CAN AT LEAST GATHER SOME INFORMATION FROM THIS.

Rich pulled out his chair and slid into his seat, cringing at the sound made when he dragged the chair along the floor. Any noise sounded ear-splitting when being stared at in silence. The quiet was only broken when his dad looked away from Rich and said, "Maybe now you can explain where the hell you've been all this time. No phone calls, no texts. Like you dropped off the face of the earth."

"Here and there. I've been around," replied his brother with a slight grin that would've been imperceptible to anybody else.

"Don't be smart with me, Andrew."

"I'm a grown-ass adult. What do you want me to do, report my every move to you?"

His dad stabbed his piece of meat with way more force than necessary, dragging his fork across the plate with the accompanying sound of metal screeching against glass. "You had responsibilities here, damnit. Do you know how hard it is to take care of two kids as a single parent? You were old enough to help support us. And yet you just ran off to who-knows-where. And after all that, you think it's okay to waltz in here unannounced, whenever you want?"

"What, I'm not allowed to say happy birthday to my bro?" Drew asked, slamming a hand on the table to put down the spoon in his hand. At the mention of himself, Rich dropped his gaze and took a bite of his food. The meatloaf tasted like rubber and sawdust, the sauce on top was cold, and he had to force himself to swallow so much as a bite. Still, looking at the food was his best option. Looking at the food had no chance of pissing anybody off.

"What the hell do you really want? You crawling back here for money? Maybe you should've considered getting a job first," said Rich's dad as he pointed a finger across the table. Drew said nothing, merely crossing his arms and glaring back. "What were you doing while you were gone? Better not have been any illegal shit. Why won't you tell me? Come on! Answer me already!" Still no response. They locked eyes in matching flinty stares. Each waited wordlessly for the other to break. Their dad's nostrils flared. Drew's eyebrows furrowed. It was a standoff. The old Western movie style, high noon, there's-only-room-for-one-Goranski-in-this-here-town type of standoff.

Their father broke first. Unable to hold still for another second, he snatched his plate of food from the table, jumped out of his seat, and hurled it into the sink with a spectacular crash. While it clearly didn't land close enough to anybody to have been aimed at either of them, both boys startled at the noise anyway. As they drew back, their father took one last look at their scared faces. His glare began to fade, but the lines in his face seemed to grow deeper. He ran out of the room and stomped off down the hall. The distant slam of his bedroom door was heard shortly afterwards. A mess of meatloaf guts and tomato sauce blood lay heaped in the sink.

IT'S JUST A PLATE. STOP LOOKING SO HUNCHED OVER AND SCARED BECAUSE OF IT.

Another look at the sink revealed that the plate hadn't even broken in the crash. Straightening his posture, he refused to look in that direction again, even out of the corner of his eye.

Rich used to wonder what he'd first say to Drew if he ever came back. Should he act happy to see him again? Demand to know where he'd been? Sit back and listen to the wild stories he was bound to have? When the moment actually came, however, the only thing he got out was, "What did you do that for? All you did was make him mad!"

"It got him out of our faces, didn't it? That old stunt worked every time like a charm. Don't you remember? Jeez, this place never changes. Actually, hey, why don't we take this reunion-thing outside?"

Rich shrugged, but followed him outside the house anyway. When they reached the Pontiac and Drew jumped up to sit on the back of the car, he followed suit to sit next to him. "Damn, you actually cut your hair? And did Dad finally spring for speech therapy on you? And did you get taller?"

"Yes, no, and hell yes," Rich replied. He had in fact gotten taller. His growth spurt had finally kicked in at the end of the school year. Not that it helped much, seeing as he'd topped out at five-foot-five. "But seriously man, where've you been?"

"Everywhere. All over the country. I took odd jobs wherever I went. It's great. I could wake up every morning and be in a completely different place, whenever I wanted. I've got so many stories from this; you wouldn't believe. Like this one time in New York when I..."

DON'T LOOK TOO INTERESTED. IT'S IMPORTANT TO LET HIM KNOW YOU HAVE A LIFE, TOO.

Rich pulled his phone from his pocket and began to check texts as Drew still continued to talk. Jenna and Brooke had told him happy birthday, and Jake had done the same. Jake had also sent him a picture of how he tried to make a free throw with his shoe and got it stuck sideways in the basketball net. He moved to respond.

"...and then it turns out that the ice cream truck company had connections to the mob. Are you listening?"

"Yeah. Whatever. I guess," he replied, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone.

Drew sighed. "Okay, I know you were having a hard time when I left. And I'm sorry. I know I kinda ditched on you. You must've had it pretty rough around here."

YOU'VE MADE PROGRESS WITHOUT HIM, TOO. YET HE STILL INSINUATES YOU'RE SOME WEAK CHILD IN NEED OF HIS PROTECTION. TELL HIM ALL YOU'VE ACCOMPLISHED SINCE YOU INSTALLED ME.

"What are you saying? I've been doing fine since you left. Hell, I've been doing great! The best I've been since we moved here. Nobody bothers me at school anymore. I've made friends. People actually notice I exist. All after you left. So don't you fucking pity me."

"Whoa, whoa. Stop. I'm not here just to pity you. I came here to make you an offer. But if you don't want to see me, I can just-"

"What offer?"

"You're sixteen now. Practically a man. I was going to ask you to come with me."

"I...what?"

"You could pack up right now and travel around with me. We'll never have to deal with the shithead inside that house ever again. I don't know where, but I could find someplace where you can finish high school without all the assholes in Middleborough."

ABSOLUTELY NOT. LEAVING MIDDLEBOROUGH NOW WOULD ERASE ALL THE SOCIAL PROGRESS YOU'VE MADE. DON'T MAKE ME HAVE TO START FROM SCRATCH WITH YOU. IT'D BE MORE DIFFICULT THE SECOND TIME AROUND, TOO. DO YOU REALLY EXPECT TO SUCCEED LIVING OUT OF YOUR BROTHER'S TACKY CAR WITH NO IDEA WHERE YOU'LL BE THE NEXT DAY?

Rich's eyes darted away to the faint electronic form of the SQUIP. 'What, like my dad's that much better?'

YOUR PATERNAL GENETIC MATERIAL IS FAR FROM OPTIMAL, BUT IT'S THE BEST OPTION I HAVE TO WORK WITH. AS MUCH AS YOU'VE CHANGED OVER THE PAST MONTHS, SOME THINGS MUST REMAIN STABLE. LIKE KEEPING A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD. REFUSE THE OFFER.

(Initiate pain receptors.)

REFUSE THE OFFER. REFUSE THE OFFER. REFUSE THE OFFER.

Taking a deep breath, Rich told his brother, "No. I can't. Things aren't so terrible here that I can just pack up and leave right now. I didn't need you to come rescue me or whatever the hell you think you were doing."

"But...I thought you'd want to..."

"I don't want to. Some of us don't need to run away from their problems forever," he said, face twisting into a sneer.

Drew hopped off the back of the car, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. He pointed a finger at Rich. "This place may never change. But you know what has? You. You have changed."

Rich followed suit, jumping off the back of the car to stand to the side of it. His eyes narrowed. "You got a problem with that?"

They were locked into a stare for a single moment. Then, Drew climbed into the car's driver's seat and slammed the door shut. Glaring out the window at him the entire time, he backed out of the driveway. Meanwhile, Rich was speechless and frozen in his spot on the lawn, not completely sure if that was his doing or the SQUIP's. His question had remained unanswered, and always would be. The Pontiac careened further and further away down the street. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the car until even the last glimmer of its tail lights had completely vanished from his sight.