Claire's radio spewed a bunch of static. She had her fingers on the dial, turning it right, left, right and right again.

It was another pleasant morning. She sat on a stool by the kitchen island, nursing a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Her parents busied themselves around her: her mother was squeezing more oranges, stopping every so often to empty the little plastic citrus juicer into a juice jar, and her father was frying bacon strips, quietly singing as he worked:

"In a cavern, In a canyon,
excavating for a mine,
dwelt a miner forty-niner,
and his daughter Clementine."

Claire longed to turn around and look at them, but she settled for watching them in her peripheral vision. She fiddled with her radio.

The little portable device was their gift to her. Or at least, she assumed it was. She had asked for it, blinked, and there it was. She was very pleased about it, too. She was beginning to get tired of playing with the television static. You couldn't walk around with a TV in your pockets for starters, and mobility was kind of a big deal.

She didn't always get the things she asked for. She figured there were some limitations, but she was still trying to scope them out. Clothes she'd almost always get when she asked for them, even though she had to be very specific about it. Otherwise, she would have ended up with the entire Summer collection from The Gap. Weapons were out of the question, of course, but for some reason so was a hair dryer.

"Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my darling Clementine."

Once, she had asked for a car, and a moment later she found keys in her pocket and a cherry red Corvette parked outside. Then she asked for a Harley-Davidson, and when she didn't get anything, she specified that she wanted a motorcycle. When she still didn't get anything, she went on a twenty-minute long tirade describing exactly the type of bike she wanted. The next morning she found a bicycle in her bedroom, complete with a helmet, knee and elbow pads, as well as a yellow reflective headband.

She asked for a horse next. It was currently hanging out in the backyard. She called it Buttercup.

"You are lost and gone forever,
dreadful sorry, Clementine."

Claire felt a lump rise in her throat. She blinked rapidly to clear the mist in her eyes, feeling stupid.

"Will you just shut up?" she snapped and immediately Jimmy fell silent.

It was another pleasant morning. Through the kitchen window, Claire could see the too blue sky, the dazzling green of suburban lawns, the perfect white of picket fences, the gleaming red of the convertible she barely touched. People waved at her when they walked by, carrying colorful shopping bags or walking their dogs, their faces obscured behind large sunglasses or wide brimmed hats.

She was in a bit of a sour mood. Last night a few new houses materialized in the neighborhood. That happened from time to time, whenever new residents made it to where-the-fuck-ever this place was. Claire wouldn't have minded so much if it wasn't also the equivalent of a great big reset button being pressed.

How was she supposed to find anything in a place that was constantly changing?

If nothing else, it was just creepy. It wasn't as though there'd been empty lots before. One day the street sort of shifted, and the next thing she knew, there was a whole new house between two previously adjacent ones. And it always happened at night.

Speak of the devil, one of the new kids was currently running around like a total psycho. He'd passed Claire's house several times already. Claire wondered when he'd realize he was basically running in circles, passing the same picket white over and over. As if hearing her thoughts, he came to a stop beside the red convertible.

She considered his poor dejected face for a few moments, ignoring her radio. The radio gave a particularly high pitched screech, rattling every window in the house. She turned it off with a huff.

"Hey, new guy," she called out. "Newbie!"

He looked at her, and she gestured for him to come on in.

She grabbed a glass of orange juice for the boy because she'd been raised with some manners. And also because, outside this crazy place was an even crazier world. Outside, hot food, clean water and a change of underwear were luxuries. Claire once watched a man beat another to death over a twinkie. The banana flavored kind. So when she could just… wish for something and get it, just like that? She could damn well spare some orange juice for her guest, make her parents proud.

Of course, both Jimmy and Amelia disappeared as soon as the boy came inside. Good manners were not taught at Pod People School, apparently.

The boy walked uncertainly into the kitchen. Up close, she could see that he was pale and skinny and taller than she was. His too long hair was windswept and a bit ridiculous. She handed him the juice and he looked surprised, although he drank it all in one gulp like… well, like anyone who ever had to fight for calories before, basically.

He also looked so rattled that, against her better judgment, she decided to take pity on him.

"I'm Claire." She grabbed a notebook and jumped back to sit on the kitchen counter. What she was about to do was a bit risky. She only tried it once before. She was still alive and kicking, though, which must have meant it was all right.

Cas didn't like it, but he could bite it.

"I'm Carl," the boy said. "Um, I was trying to catch up with my mom. She said she was going to the store. Do… Do you know where that is around here, maybe?" He looked at her hopefully.

"Don't bother," Claire told him. "Listen, since you're new around here-"

"Where's here, exactly?" he cut her off.

"Heaven," Claire replied. He didn't look very surprised so she asked, "Your mom's dead, right? Aw jeez, don't cry."

"I'm not." He glared at her through red-rimmed eyes but softened almost immediately. "I'm dead," he stated. To his credit and to Claire's everlasting relief, the tears never fell and his voice was steady.

"Well, if you're in Heaven, you must be dead, right? Condolences," she said cheerfully. "Do you want to know the ground rules?"

His eyebrows creased and he looked at her suspiciously, then nodded. He was evidently a little sharper than most of the kids who passed by her, so she gestured for him to come closer, and showed him what she wrote in her notebook:

1. DON'T LOOK AT ANYONE WHO DOESN'T WANT TO BE LOOKED AT
2. TELL WHOEVER ASKS THAT YOU'RE HAPPY

And underlined:

3. REMEMBER THIS ISN'T REAL

Out loud she said, "one: eat a full breakfast. Two: don't be an asshole to the other kids and three: don't play music too loud at night, especially if it's crap." She looked at him pointedly. "Think you can remember all of that?"

He nodded again.

"Awesome." She ripped the paper out and into itty bitty little pieces. "So, is it just you then?"

"Just me what?" He asked stiffly.

She rolled her eyes. "Did you show up here alone?"

Carl nodded. Then he froze in horror. And then he ran out the door.

"Well, you're welcome!" Claire called after him, adding a muttered, "dick." She jumped off the counter and went to sit in her stool. She turned the radio back on.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she muttered. "Language."