Chapter 5: factory settings

"He doesn't love you, Sayori. Face the reality of the situation. Every poem you write is either an obvious love letter to him, or about your 'problem.' It's starting to get uncomfortable. And the way you leave your blazer open—to show off what? He won't reciprocate your feelings; and if he did, it would be out of pity. Stop being selfish. You'll be better off not thinking about him anymore. His heart belongs to someone else."

— 10 —

The creatine goes down smoothly with the morning coffee. It makes it all the easier to push and sit until my pectorals and abdomen simply fail to function.

Give it a minute or two of rest and I can go again, but that's not the purpose.

It's cold enough that I can wear a hoodie today. Makes the morning miles to the gym all the easier. Back to the strands of comfortable routine.

Sayori texts me as I'm finishing a set of pull-ups between hanging knee raises.

Sayori (do not resuscitate): Can we talk?

You: You're up early

Sayori (do not resuscitate): How would you know that?

You: Call it a hunch

Sayori (do not resuscitate): Busy today?

I let the question hang as I finish another set.

You: Friday is just one class around 9. Foreign language.

Sayori (do not resuscitate): Cool let's get breakfast

Sayori (do not resuscitate): Yes I have money. Here, this cafe right on campus my treat not taking no for an answer.

She sends me a Google map address and a time. I consider just blowing it off, but after the week I probably put her through, well, I guess I owe her a chat. We didn't say much last night after I left the literature club.

So I shower and change and I'm ready to face the day.

The café is a privately owned establishment in the Laster Student Center, LSC for short. I don't know why Sayori thought I wouldn't know where this building is. Student government is up here somewhere on the fourth floor, not far from the gaming lounge. First floor is just various cafeteria stuff, a front desk, and a hallway leading to a wellness room where they have free massage chairs and hand out condoms. I think there's an art gallery on the second floor.

I hear Sayori call out my name. A moment later she emerges from the early morning breakfast crowd to try to tackle me with a hug.

"Are you wearing a turtleneck sweater?" I ask. "You look like someone's grandma."

"Hug back, dummy," she threatens. "Don't make me get any more clingy!"

Trying not to act reluctant, I put my arms around her. It feels forced, little more than arms around a CPR dummy fresh from the microwave. It's like I don't know this girl well enough anymore to justify exchanging body heat like that.

"Ooh!" she squeaks. "I think you just popped my entire back. Holy crap, I feel great!" Sayori sniffs the air. "Are you wearing cologne?"

"I just came from the gym showers," I say, shrugging.

She grabs me by the sleeve and pulls me into the café. "Well, it's better than cigarettes. I'll take my victories where I can get them. C'mon, what do you want?"

I look around. All of the students here look dead, drawn forwards by the promise of overpriced coffee and some kind of breakfast sandwich. "I feel like I'm in an abattoir. The only smile for miles is yours."

Sayori frowns. "That's an awful metaphor. You should put it into a poem. Now answer the question; the line is moving."

"Just a coffee please."

She sucks on her lips. "No. You have to get food. If I'm the only one eating, I'm going to feel like a pig. You can't honestly tell me that you just came from a workout and you don't want anything?"

I shake my head. "I'm good."

"So you're just going to make me starve for propriety's sake?"

"You can eat all you want. I'm not going to judge you."

She scoffs, putting a hand to her breast. "Well, I'm going to judge me. And if someone sees me, they're going to judge me. You have to eat with me or I'll starve. I'm so hungry I'm basically Natsuki. Have you seen that girl?" she clicks her tongue. "That poor thing is basically one meal away from dying. She skips one, and poof! She'll wither away. She dies!"

The line moves again. I eye the menu weirdly, looking for literally the cheapest thing. The price for processed breakfast foods is astounding. I could have literally gotten so many pounds of rice for the cost of soggy eggs on poorly baked bagels.

"The sausage bagel looks good," I say, swallowing down a frown.

We order, and then I basically follow her like a puppy to a table by the window. I try not to play with the sandwich, resisting the urges to take it apart and start to count the calories and the macronutrients via the grooves of my fingerprints. The listed nutritional information on the menus are always a lie.

Just outside the LSC building is a pond, maybe a small lake. Footpaths go all around it. On one side, they tried to make it look like a beach, complete with white sand, palm trees, and hammocks. Someone put effort into making this random pond on campus look nice.

Sayori says my name.

"Hmm?" I hum.

She pouts. "I was talking to you. I said the abattoir slaughterhouse thing is a terrible metaphor. People are here by choice. They signed up for this. You can't say the same about cattle."

I shake my head slowly, reaching for the coffee. "Are you about to go vegan on me?"

"What, no? I like tasting the suffering on my hamburger. Gives it the extra flavor I need."

"That's a relief," I say with a sigh. "I've never been rich enough to consider going vegan as an economically viable diet."

She takes a bite of her sandwich, considering something. "Is that why you don't get along with Monika? I think she's a vegetarian. Ethical reasons."

I stop trying to take apart the sandwich. It was a decent distraction, but now I have a reason not to eat it without seeming suspicious. Only a moment later it occurs to me that the excuse she's giving me is a hardball implication. But I'd rather deal with that than eat breakfast.

"She and I get along fine," I say.

Sayori sips for coffee. "See that, that right there? That's called lying."

"I'm aware," I say blankly.

She scowls at me over the lid of her cup. "Did you used to know her or something?"

"I've never seen that woman before in my life."

She sighs sufferingly. "When you just tell bad lies like that, all it does is invite further questions."

"Is it really lying if I'm not even trying?"

"Yes, you dummy! You—" She stops herself and takes another drink of coffee. "She was kind of freaking out on me. I was covering for you last night, yeah. But Monika kept giving me these weird one-word answers. I was asking for some help and feedback, but she was just giving me the boilerplate. It's not like her. Then she holds up her hand and asks me to pause, and goes to get you, then you leave, and then you both came back and it looked like you were… I don't know. But it was scary."

"How many lies do I have to tell before you give up?"

She checks her phone. "We've got a couple of hours to kill before your language class."

I say nothing.

She stares back. Even continues making eye contact as she bites into her sandwich. Keeps doing it as she feels around on the table, unwilling to take her eyes on me and she tries to find the salt.

Sayori ends up spilling it and hissing under her breath. "Dangit. Hold on." She grabs a pinch of the salt and tosses it over her shoulder.

Someone sitting in the booth behind her turns around her with this horrified expression. "Did you just throw salt at me?"

Sayori starts looking around, unsure where to put her hands. "Ah, crap. Sorry! I just spilled it and—I didn't think, I just did, I'm sorry!"

"You threw salt at me like I'm a French snail!" the guy barks, an angry yappy dog that still intends to bite.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I just—sorry!" The words stumble out of her mouth in a frantic mishmash of syllables.

The guy takes a long drink of coffee, before pointing it and a finger at Sayori. "Yeah, it was really freaking weird! I mean, who—"

"She said she was sorry," I say in a low, forceful voice.

He glances at me as if seeing me for the first time, and hesitates. "Dude, man, it was—"

I make as if to stand up. "The lady said she was sorry. It was an old tradition. Mistakes happen."

"Bro, she—"

"You wanna take this outside?"

His mouth doesn't close right, like he popped his jawbone. It's like he has to force it closed by pressing his coffee to his lips, using the time to just consider his options and where he is. With a look of disgust at me, he finishes his coffee and just leaves.

I sit back down and harumph. "Jackass."

Sayori grimaces, putting the tips of her index fingers together. She pushes them hard enough that they bend backwards slightly, turning white at the knuckle. "That was… you didn't have to do that."

"You made an honest mistake."

She makes a laughing noise, more a hiss of air, through her teeth. "No, I mean—that super macho alpha male crap, trying to be all scary. I was trying to be serious with you, but now I'm just kind of really, really embarrassed. Like, wow, topic derailed."

"Oh." I inhale sharply. "Sorry. Just saw some guy pulling up on you. That's how you get shot or…"

Sayori puts her hands up to her eyes like they're a pair of horse blinders. "Please don't do that again. I'm going to have cringe nightmares about this for weeks. Agh!"

"You don't gotta be so rude about it," I say, looking down at my dissected and uneven sandwich. If this bagel shop were a more expensive place, they could probably sell it like this and call it processed garbage, deconstructed. Forty bucks a serving.

I stare aggressively out the window. There's a goose floating on the pond outside. It ducks its head under the water as a black helicopter flies overhead.

"And where the heck are you even from where people would get shot by just yelling at someone?" she asks more forcefully. "I mean, it's weird enough that we were neighbors for a little bit, and next time I see you you have an entirely different accent."

"Sayori," I say.

"I'm not trying to be rude. But I told the girls that we were neighbors, but they didn't believe me, because you just don't sound like we're from the same place. I didn't have an answer."

"Sayori."

"Hmm?" She blinks. "Oh. Right. Tangent. I was trying to work something out with you, but then I got sidetracked by being embarrassed, and then by being confused."

I shake my head and finish my coffee. "You haven't changed much, y'know?"

Her eyelids flutter. "What?"

I smile. "You got a little bigger. You learned a few words. But you're still that same girl I met in the park one day and decided to drag me along because neither of us had anything better to do. It's like we're back to factory settings."

Sayori shifts uncomfortably. "Where's this coming from all the sudden?"

"You're talking a lot. Asking stuff. Genuinely interested. And it's been a long time since I talked with anyone like that. Sure, some of the boys say they're here for me if I need them, but this is different. It's nice. I appreciate it."

"I…" She looks around, as if trying to find inspiration from the walls. Her smile is halfway towards a grimace, cheeks so red you could slice them open and get a fountain. She does that thing with her fingertips again and laughs. "Geez. You can't just say that to somebody."

"Why not?"

"Because it's embarrassing, dummy!"

"I've already embarrassed myself by trying to act tough on some dude. It's only right I make us even." I click my tongue and shake my head. Tsk, tsk, Sayori!

She does this expression, a cross between a scowl and a pout. I give her a moment to collect her thoughts. Until she eventually says, "I know it's a bit rough. I've sort of dragged you fish out of water into my stuff because, I think, I'm selfish. Didn't really know how else to stay in touch. Just texting you felt wrong, so… I feel like it's selfish of me, but I'm glad you're trying to stick with it for me. Even if it has been rough."

Sayori fidgets with her fingers. "Glad I worked up the courage to finally say your name. You got no idea how long it took."

"Oh, I was nosedeep in a textbook," I say, waving a hand. "I probably wouldn't have noticed you just standing there in complete silence staring at me for at least five more minutes."

"No, I mean…" She sucks on her lips until her cheeks look skeletal, shaking her head. Looking more than a touch embarrassed. "That wasn't the first time I saw you, y'know? Like, I saw you walking once and got a weird feeling. You didn't say anything, but it didn't go away. Saw you in the library. Same feelings. So then…"

She looks to the side and plays with her hair. "I went to this thing with Monika. I don't know what was really going on. Some sports thing for the school. She does track or something, so me and the girls went to support her. Then I saw you again. The whole football team, really. And when I saw the name on the back of your jersey, I knew it. Who looks like that with that name?

"Took me a moment to find you again this week. And for the record, I only stood in awkward silence for, like, maybe three minutes before I said your name, and you reacted, and, well…" She aggressively sips her coffee.

I try to process all of that. "Wait, but you acted all confused when I said I did sports. You knew the whole time?"

Sayori swallows. Plays with her fingers again. Fidget, fidget, fidget. "Yeah, well, I didn't want you to think I was, like, stalking you or something. You seemed proud you were on the team, and I didn't want to say 'yes I know everything about you, you cannot surprise me,' y'know?"

I sigh, but am smiling. "You're a weird goof, ya know that?"

She pretends to gasp. "J'accuse!"

I shrug helplessly. "I calls 'em as I sees 'em."

Sayori props her head up on her elbow. "And the way I sees it, still pretty sure you and Monika have a problem."

"Oh, we're back on topic, it seems," I say, frowning. "I'll… Sayori, it's nothing."

"It stands out," she says. "Monika tends to be pretty chill. She's reliable. She somehow got the rest of us to be able to hang out together and be all dopey with books. I think it's awesome that you're trying to stick it out, but…" She sighs my name out. "I guess it'd mean a lot if you tried to work that out. That, or you could tell me about it and I could work my magic."

"There's nothing between us," I say.

"What did we say about lying?"

"Do it, and often."

She rubs the side of her face.

"If it were just Monika, that'd be that," I say. "Not sure about the rest. Feels like you're the only one who likes me there."

Sayori blinks. "What? No. Yuri likes you just fine. She kept reading that book you got her. I was texting her last night and she really hopes you're going to read her Markov book. She seems excited someone's interested in what she is. So, nothing wrong there, I'd wager."

"And the short one?"

"Natsuki's like that with everyone," Sayori says tiredly. "I'm pretty sure abuse is how she shows her affection. You'd know she didn't like you if she treated you, like, civilly. 'Ah yes, good day honourable sir,'" she says in a posh accent. "'Chim chim charoo and a screw you too, what what.'"

"That's pretty toxic."

"I know, right?" She shakes her head. "I worry about her home life sometimes. But it is what it is, and we love her, so… It's just Monika and you that got this weird vibe."

I look down into my empty coffee, weighing the pros and cons of any interaction with that girl. "I'll… I don't know. I'll try to hash it out with her tonight at the club. For you."

Sayori smiles sadly. "Appreciate that. But we're not meeting tonight."

"Come again?"

She looks out across the LSC, at the early morning crowd of zombies wandering the main floor in search of breakfast. "Figured you'd know. After we left, she said apparently the school was doing some big athletic thing this afternoon. All the athletes getting together to practice and coordinate or… something. It didn't make much sense to me, but Monika will be there. Figure you will too."

My mind boggles, trying to remember what she was talking about. My routine hadn't been that borked from Sayori that I'd forgotten something so big, right? Or maybe it's the caffeine still needing to kick it. My head feels like it's crawling with wooly caterpillars mistaking gray matter for leaves. I take out my phone, look at my calendar, and there it is.

I almost get the sense that wasn't always there. But it just means I've been mentally slacking this week.

I rub the side of my face. "Oh, yeah. That. I remember now. Coach…" I blink. Shake my head, dislodging the memories of last week as if they were stuck in the folds of my brain. "Coach said it was all the teams coming together, sort of showing up. Looking good for PR reasons and getting a field for when we all start going away to compete this season. I was going to be there."

Sayori beams. "So, perfect! You get to do your sports, won't weird out the club with your awkward mood, and you can sort things out with Monika!"

I pocket my phone. "And if we don't? If I cain't?"

"Failure isn't an option!" she sing-songs.

I don't move.

Sayori reaches out, putting her hand over mine. She's warm, palm and fingers devoid of any calluses. Nails bitten down rather than manicured. I think she uses lotion. For a brief moment, I look into her face, trying to trace the lines of her muscles, and find she has almost none. It's a feeling that if there were a path of least resistance through her life, she'd taken all of them. Smooth sailing all the way here.

Until she came across me, and decided to try to shoulder me and my bullshit.

It feels… embarrassing. I swallow and try not to avert my eyes.

"It'd mean the world to me if you tried," she says. "No, no, wait. Better phrasing! 'Do or do not, there is no try.' Waaaay more inspiring. Especially because I believe in you!"

"That's Yoda," I say. "Little green swamp goblins are not very inspiring, Sayori."

"Pfft. Yoda was living the life of any would-be teacher. Some annoying kid started asking him questions, so he just died. Total mood."

"I fear for the youth once they're in your hands," I say blankly.

Sayori giggles. It's a nice sound, reminiscent of simpler times with two parents, a real home, and without the looming threat of taxes. I let the laughter run its course and just listen.

"Hey," she says, giving my hand a squeeze before letting go, "I gotta run. Stupid morning class after this. I'm not trying to ditch, but, y'know."

I wave her off. "No, it's fine. I appreciate this, Sayori. Next time let's hang outside of school hours. Give us the whole day."

She stands, smiling. "I'd like that. I have stupid hobbies I need to share with people against their will. You'll be victim numero uno."

And with that, she's gone. I watch her leave, first from the café, then the building.

I managed to avoid eating anything this entire time. Thank Christ.

— 11 —

"Fifty-three has the Omaha. Three-nineteen."

"What, no hut hut for the crowd?"

"Can it, Kovacs."

Earlier in the day, it'd been mid-forties. The sun decided to ruin it all up. By the time we're at the end of the day, practicing and showing off and doing whatever for the university, it's nearly seventy.

I don't even know what's really going on. I go with the flow, follow what the coach says, do the play we all agree on against the other half of our team, and before I know it I'm holding the pigskin in the end zone.

Someone blows a whistle. A black helicopter flies overhead.

Coach calls out we're done with this weird practice-but-not-practice.

Keith comes over and grabs my hand. "You good, bro? You're spacing out." He turns his head and grins rakishly. "Eyeing up the cheerleaders? Ooh, I think the girls' track team is over that way."

I look at the football in my hands, then at Keith. "What are we doing?"

"You good, broski?" he asks, frowning.

I shake my head slowly. "No. What are we all doing, Keith? I feel like I just don't understand."

He wipes sweat off his brow, shaking his head. "About to go off and get some of that glacier freeze Gatorade. It's all we got today."

I snort. "You would know the names of the Gatorade colors, fucking loser."

Keith holds up his elbow for me to bump and I oblige. "C'mon. I'm ready for the weekend."

By the time it's all over, I don't feel I have the time to shower. It's getting late. All I do is talk with the rest of the team. Pose for some photos whose purpose slips me. And then, as we're all starting to pack up the event, I retreat to the bleachers.

From up here, outside the actual stadium we play the real games in, I can see so many students. So many sports teams and groups. I still can't really figure out what's going on. It reminds me of some sort of high school club advertisement thing. I don't have any other words for it. Like the school is doing a Spirit Week and showing off how cool our sports teams are to the student body, before we all start shipping off to away games to go kick ass abroad.

I heave a sigh and take out a fork and Tupperware from my bag. I knew we'd be out late enough, running into my usual dinner hours. No time to heat it up, and I'll need to figure out what to do for food tomorrow if I'm eating now without meal-prepping tomorrow, but whatever. I managed to escape having to do any cleanup, so I figure I'll take my one meal and watch the ants fight and carry on out there across campus.

Feels almost like I'm huddled up in a crunch, my cleats up on the very next line of the bleachers instead of where my feet should go. Practically holding this dinner on my knees, watching the sunlight evaporate my sweat.

"Sayori said you'd be here," Monika says, sitting down just a few feet off.

With a swallow I look at her. Clad in tight, sweat-damp, and form-fitting athletic gear. There's no white ribbon in her hair, rather it's all neatly tied up into a sporty ponytail. The clips and scrunchies holding it all up together like that are doing a Herculean task. She has what almost looks like a bento box in her lap.

"She set this all up, huh?" I ask dryly.

Monika shrugs. I examine her skin. It's hard to make out a human being with all that flesh on display. Helps dehumanize her. Until even trying to do that is too much effort and I stick my fork into some air-fried chicken breast drowning in tajin. The chili-lime seasoning helps it go down, even lukewarm as it is. Some broccoli. Some brown rice.

She doesn't try to talk again. Just opens her box, almost mockingly twirls a pair of chopsticks, and digs into her own post-workout meal.

"Still not eating meat, huh?" I ask.

Monika sideyes me with surprise, like she hadn't expected me to speak first. "You still are."

With a non-concerned grunt, I spear my chicken and fork it in.

"I thought you wanted to try to hash things out with me," Monika says. "It's what Sayori implied was going to happen."

"Girl has no OPSEC. She just tells you everything, doesn't she?"

"We're friends; we talk. And she's a little concerned about you."

I arch an eyebrow imploringly.

She shakes her head, putting a floret of broccoli into her mouth. It will never again see the sun. "I don't think she was expecting to find you. Now that you're here, I think she's trying to latch on to you. It's a little…"

"Weird?"

Monika scowls. "Imagine growing close to somebody during your formative years. And then they're gone. And the next time you're alone and vulnerable, out here in a place like this, you come across them. Someone who used to be a rock you could rely on when things were simpler. They've changed as a person, not necessarily for the better, but not necessarily in a way you hate. They're the same person you once loved, but in a new context, new skin. A few extra pounds and bones. But deep down, you're pretty sure they're still the same person you used to care for. And you're terrified you'll drive them away with your attempts to be together."

"Mm." It's just a noise I make, indicating nothing.

We go silent, just eating apart from one another in mere proximity. Too close for comfort, too far to easily disengage.

She gestures her chopsticks out at the people on the field, helping to clean up today's activities. "Do you think they know any more than us?"

I stop, mouth full of rice and chicken. "Hm?"

Monika reaches up to take out the stuff holding her ponytail together. Her hair falls down loose over her back. "This whole thing, this whole system. Do you think they're any different than us?"

"Why would we be special, Monika?"

"It's something I've been thinking about lately," she says as if this is an embarrassing reveal. "Not in an egocentric kind of way. Just the idea that there's not much that separates them from me. Have you ever heard of the word sonder?"

It rings a bell, but I shake my head.

She passively continues to eat. "It's this feeling, I suppose. The realization that every random person you pass by has their own rich inner lives just as varied and insane as your own. Maybe the nurse you're seeing for an injury just moved back in with her ex-boyfriend getting over heroin. Maybe the mechanic fixing your car is supporting two different women with whom he's had three children. Or the woman teaching your History of Film class moonlights as an amateur pornstar because her salary doesn't pay for rising cost of rent.

"It's this feeling that everything you think about you which might be unique, which might make you special, those weird things you have in your head and metaphorical voices—everyone's got them too."

I shake my head. "I don't. I try to limit myself to a maximum of two conscious thoughts per day. Anything more and I start smelling toast."

"That's kind of what I mean," Monika says quietly. "Sometimes you look at people, sometimes you talk to them, and you honestly wonder what's going on in their heads. In your case, genuinely nothing. For anyone else? What possessed them to think this way, to act this way, to come to this line of reasoning. What is the story behind that girl over there taking pictures to post to Instagram, or those boys over there trying to plan a party in between a late night with the newest Call of Duty?

"We can't really know that. I think there's a limit to how many people a single human being can reasonably know. I believe it goes up to a hundred. Any more than that, and people are just noise. The only tool we have to connect to all of that noise in our overcrowded world is empathy. Being able to look at someone and understand, even if you can't really know. For all intents and purposes, you can't know their inner lives. Only the snippets you see. Other people are merely Plato's shadows."

"Is this the part where you confess to me you've become a serial killer?" I ask.

Monika gives me a look. It takes me a moment to digest the emotion. It's this kind of suppressed scoff; a dubious, disbelieving expression that's somehow condescending.

"No. I wouldn't kill people."

I chuckle despite myself. "Right. You draw the line at animals."

She scrunches her face up with displeasure. For a moment, I feel like I've achieved some kind of victory on a level I can't quite comprehend. But it fades as her expression softens, melting away into something more distant.

Listlessly, she grabs something with her chopsticks and eats it. I'm not even sure what's in her little lunch box. Monika moves her jaw side to side, not chewing, more an approximation of how a human might want to speak. All the while, her eyes are unfocused, gazing out towards the indefinable mass of humans still finishing up their day.

"What happens when a male calf is born on a dairy farm to a dairy breed?" she asks.

I look at the chicken I'm eating and sigh. "Monika, I'm not going to stop eating meat. I'm not bougie enough to be able to do that."

The girl laughs. "No, no, I was making an abstraction. But it's a serious one. What happens when you breed dairy cattle, roll the dice, and come up with a Y chromosome?"

I blow air through my lips, shifting my position on the bleachers to avoid one of my ass cheeks getting numb. "Pff, iunno. They probably keep them around? You still need a daddy cow and a mommy cow who would love each other very much to make a new one."

"They're murdered," she says simply. Just a statement of fact. "Well, about one in five. They just shoot them. The ones they don't, some of them get turned into veal. The others are castrated and sent off to industrial meat farms. Everyone knows how horrible those are. We all just kind of accept it as the cost of doing business for affordable meat."

"And how does this abstraction get back to people having their own inner lives?" I ask.

"Because people and cattle, here, in this place: it's kind of a machine." Monika reaches up and touches her ear. "I'm not sure the people down there are any more aware of the greater goals of the system than male calves born into the wrong breed. Both of us are just here. For the university, it's churning out education at a premium when that's the only way forward for a lot of people. For cattle, it's a system that castrates, enslaves, brutalizes, and kills them. Neither of them really comprehend what's going on, not on any deep level.

"It's not that the machine is cruel, not exactly. You said it yourself. Not bourgeois enough to be able to afford any alternatives. People like you are whom the system is for. We exist in a system that isn't cruel. Nor is it really callous. Those are words and emotions that are wholly inappropriate to what it's doing. We're just part of a machine where our feelings and our concerns simply are not a factor in its doings. It has a goal. It's attempting to do something."

She pokes her tongue into her cheek. They look a little sunken. It's like she's attempting to prop her face up to a normal human width. "But from the cattle's perspective, you have to think, that's not what they see. They can't possibly comprehend that their entire lives are at the mercy of a system whose concerns are cheap hamburger meat. That their comfort and pain are entirely irrelevant to the end product. From the cattle's perspective, we're just torturing them for no reason."

I suck on my lips for a moment, thinking. "Do you reckon if the cattle could comprehend what the machine is doing, the end goal it has for them, they would just kill themselves?"

Her green eyes go to me sharply. Narrowing slightly. Discerning, as if she were trying to look directly into my liver and is optimistic about her disgusting findings. "I think if they got that smart, they might figure out a way to fight back. I don't think they'd win. I'm not sure I could win if I were stuck in a machine with every possible tool at my disposal to fight back. But I think they'd make it incredibly inconvenient for the higher human power."

I shake my head. "I think the system would account for that in the end. If they can fight back, it just presupposes they might, and puts safeguards to ensure it'll keep functioning as intended."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she whispers.

We sit together in a long silence. The sun wavers. I run out of dinner to pretend like I'm enjoying. The air feels like microwaved gelatin. I can feel my formerly empty, knotted stomach trying to wrestle for space with the rest of my chest cavity. When I look back, Monika is leaning slightly. For the distance between us, I can't shake this strange feeling she'd be leaning against me if we were any closer.

Like there's a tension with no right to exist. That both of us tried to strangle long ago. A ghost of something we used to have, no longer fit for the sunlight. I try to be offended at the thought, but I can't muster the mental effort. Her expression isn't cold or hostile. It's like she's watching a favorite pet being put down and is keeping herself together for appearances sake.

I follow her eyes and look at myself. It's hard not to crack a lopsided grin.

"What's so funny?" she asks.

"You, me, this," I say. "Girl out here dressed like that, me in all my football gear like I'm ready for war, just sitting on a bleacher on a sunny autumn day, eating dinner together as we talk about the meatpacking industry. It's just—who does that, Monika?"

She looks away, a slight flush to her cheeks. "Remember when I asked about when your normal is someone else's surreal?"

I laugh. "Yeah. Said it back then and I'm sticking to it: you're weird. You do this with anyone else?"

Monika tucks her hair behind her ears. There's only a little joy in her smile, but it's honest, more than I can say about any other use of her face bones against me. "You're my only real victim. It's why we used to get along. Do you kinda miss it, too?"

"Like a hole in the head."

"Mm, I don't know. I hear lobotomies are the in plastic surgery this season. I hear Grimes recently got one."

"Pff," I say, waving a hand. "She let Musk name they kid some weird series of symbols pronounced Kyle. If anyone needed one, it were her."

Monika laughs. I don't interrupt her. Letting the noise simply happen.

"I can never tell with you," I say eventually. "Are we getting along, or are we just being civil?"

She sighs out the last bit of laughter. "I don't know if there's really a difference when it comes to us. I'm just out here raving like a loon, and you're disspassionately listening like this isn't weird. It's… it's nice. I should thank Sayori, I suppose."

"Thank yourself," I say. "We were, apparently, going to be here together anyhow. I was content to let that dog lie. You, on the other hand? You went out of your way to find me."

"You do claim to be dragged along to places against your will a lot, huh?" she asks, smiling.

I shrug. "Sometimes I have to do stuff. Other times, I can just go with the flow and see where it leads me."

She looks at me seriously. "And where's it led you today?"

"To you, Monika."

"Will it lead here again?"

I look out across the field. "Depends. You still want me in your little literature club?"

"I thought that was your call. You almost seemed to want to stick around to spite me."

"Guilty. And because Sayori wants it."

She sucks on her lips, thinking it over. "I don't—I don't really have a problem with you. Like I said, it's a small club of friends. We relax. Unwind. Explore our interests peaceably. You at once seem reluctant to be there, but get determined to remain when it's your call. Sayori says she basically had to convince you twice. But when I asked, you almost looked ready to fight for your place there."

"Mm."

"Live for yourself," she says. "Do what you want. Whatever happened between us, whatever's in your head about it, I don't hold it against you. We promised it'd be a fresh start. Restoring ourselves to factory settings. I didn't know then if it could work, and I still don't. No matter what masks we wear, you and I are still very much who we are."

"In all our damaged glory," I say.

Monika looks at me for a very long, very thoughtful time. Before she smiles, and it's all hurt. "Yeah. That about sums us both up."

"Think we can do it, you and I?" I ask, putting my stuff back into the back. Fork in Tupperware. Plastic in the bag. I even go as far as to remove my cleats and replace them with something I can use on concrete.

"I've seen other people reset. Sometimes it works, other times?" Monika shrugs.

"We're not other people," I say.

"No. We're not." She touches the corner of her mouth as if to remind me where her lips begin. "You're you. I'm me."

I take my bag and stand. "Then I guess, for the sake of our friends, you and me—we square. I don't think I could ever really pretend I never knew you. So this is the best we're going to get."

Monika is silent.

"I'll see you Monday, or whenever the lit club meets up. You are going to read my poem and that's a threat, Lewinsky."

Her eye twitches, but her smile is real. "Hey, what's your number?"

"You want mine in your gadget?"

Monika takes out an iPhone in a cutesy case that looks like a cat. "Insurance. We have a group chat I think Sayori was too scared to add you to. And it puts you and me back in contact."

I give it to her, and she doesn't need me to repeat. Like she's that smart, or already had it memorized.

No surprise to be found, she's already in my phone. I just have her blocked. I use the excuse of putting her in there to unblock her.

"I'm glad this stupid random sports thing came up, E̷̮̳̼̓̐͐͜͝g̸̺̝̑̉͌o̴̬͚͕̳͐̏̆̊͠ͅ. It ended up being a perfect excuse for this."

My teeth suddenly feel like buzzing bees are searching the gaps between my molars for somewhere to start a new nest. I have to shake it away. "Yeah."

I turn.

"Is that all you're eating, by the way?" she asks. "It was rather small. You barely touched breakfast."

"Are you stalking me now?"

"Girls talk."

"I'm in a cutting phase. Just eating what I need to survive. Cut a few extra pounds before winter."

"Mm," she hums. "We'll work on that. You've always been a fixer-upper."

I look over my shoulder at her dubiously, and decide not to engage here. I wave over my shoulder at her and head home for the weekend.