* * *

 

Myla bribes August with a bag of Zapp’s from a bodega four blocks over to introduce her to Jane.

After Niko, she’s held off on introducing anyone. It’s not like Jane doesn’t have enough to deal with, recently being informed that she’s a scientific anomaly trapped forty-five years in the future with no memory of how she got there and all. She’s still getting used to the idea that she’s not going to get arrested for being gay in public, which was a whole three-day emotional roller coaster. August is trying to take it easy on her.

“You could just take the Q yourself,” August tells Myla, tucking the chips onto her shelf in the pantry. After a moment of consideration, she attaches a Post-it note that says TOUCH THESE AND DIE. “She’s always on it.”

“I tried,” Myla says. “I didn’t see her.”

August frowns, sliding a packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts out of the pantry. No time for a bagel. “Really? That’s weird.”

“Yeah, guess I don’t have the whole magical soul mate bond you have with her,” she says. It’s a rainy Friday afternoon, and she’s got a bright yellow rain jacket on like the Morton Salt girl with 4A hair.

“We do not have a magical soul mate bond. Why are you so invested in our relationship anyway?”

“August, I love you very much, and I want you to be happy, and I’m very confident that you and this girl are, like, fated by the universe to fingerblast each other until you both die,” she says. “But honestly? I am in this for the sci-fi of it all. I’m living a real life episode of The X-Files, okay? This is the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to me, and my life has not been boring. So, can we go, Scully?”

On the watery platform, Myla launches herself at the train so fast, she nearly shoves August into an old woman tottering out.

“Bye, Mrs. Caldera!” Jane calls after her. “Tell Paco I said hi and that he better study for his algebra test!” She sees August, and her smile shifts from friendly into something August still can’t name. “Oh, hey, August!”

Myla nudges ahead, extending a hand to Jane. “Hi, wow, I’m Myla, huge fan. Love your work.”

Jane bemusedly takes her hand, and August can see Myla making a whole catalog of scientific observations as they shake. She really should have pushed her onto the tracks when she had the chance.

“Can you please sit down?” August hisses, nudging her toward a seat. She pulls the Pop-Tarts out of her pocket and hands them over, and Jane immediately rips into them. “Um, Jane, this is one of my roommates I told you about.”

“I’ve been dying to meet you,” Myla says. “I had to bribe August with chips. Zapp’s. Sweet Creole Onion.”

Jane looks up from the Pop-Tarts wrapper she’s brutalizing. “Zapp’s?”

“It’s a Louisiana chip brand,” August tells her. “They’re amazing. I’ll bring you some.”

“Whoa,” Myla interjects, “you can eat?”

“Myla!”

“What? It’s a fair question!”

Jane laughs. “It’s okay. Yeah, I can eat. And drink, though I don’t think I can get drunk. I found a flask of whiskey once, and it didn’t really do anything.”

“Maybe your first mistake was drinking out of a flask you found on the subway,” August suggests.

Jane rolls her eyes, still grinning.

“Look,” she says through a mouthful, “if I turned my nose up at everything that’s left on the subway, I would have nothing to do.”

“Wait, so,” Myla says, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, “do you get hungry?”

“No,” Jane says. She thinks for a second. “I can eat, but I don’t think I have to.”

“And … digestion?”

“Myla, I swear to God—”

“Nothing happens,” Jane says with a shrug. “It’s like…”

“Suspended animation,” Myla supplies.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Wow, that is fascinating!” Myla says, and August is mortified, but she can’t pretend she’s not taking mental notes to be recorded later. “And you really don’t remember anything?”

Jane frowns thoughtfully around another bite. “I remember more now. It’s sort of like … muscle memory? Pop culture stuff is easier than personal stuff for some reason. And for a lot of stuff, I have a sense that I’ve done it before, even if I can’t remember it specifically. Like, I know how to speak Cantonese and English, even though I can’t remember learning either. More stuff comes back every day.”

“Wow. And—”

“Myla,” August says, “can we maybe not treat her like a creature of the week?”

“Ah, sorry,” Myla says with a wince. “Sorry! I’m just—this is so cool. I mean, obviously, it’s not cool for you, but it’s fascinating. I’ve never heard of anything like you.”

“Is that a compliment?” Jane asks.

“It can be.”

“Anyway,” August says. “Myla’s a genius and very into science fiction and multiverse theory and, like, smart-people stuff, so she’s gonna help figure out what exactly happened to you and how we can fix it.”

Jane, who has moved on to the second Pop-Tart and is plowing through it like she’s trying to beat a land speed record, squints at August and says, “Are you assembling a task force, Landry?”

“Not a task force,” August says, heart skipping at the sound of her last name in Jane’s mouth. “Just a … ragtag band of misfits.”

The corners of Jane’s mouth press in a sly grin. “Love it.”

“Very Goonies,” Myla chimes in.

“What’re goonies?” Jane asks.

“Only one of the greatest adventure movies of 1985,” Myla says. “Wait, oh man, you missed Spielberg completely, didn’t you?”

“She would have caught Jaws in ’75,” August automatically supplies.

“Thank you, Encyclopedia Brown,” Myla says. She leans in and tells Jane, “August knows everything about everything. It’s her superpower. She should be teaching you all the ’80s movies.”

“I do not know everything.”

“That’s true, you didn’t know about ’70s punk. I had to teach you that.”

Jane looks at her, smirking slightly. August swallows.

“You’re the one who taught her that?”

“Oh yeah,” Myla chirps happily, “I think she wanted something to talk to y—”

“Anyway!” August interrupts. They’re pulling into a station, and she yanks Myla up by her sleeve. “Billy’s isn’t far from this stop, and I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry? Let’s go, bye, Jane!”

Myla and Jane both seem visibly put out, but August is one embarrassing non sequitur away from throwing herself out the emergency exit. Those two are a dangerous combination.

“Wait, what’s your sign?” Myla shouts over August’s shoulder.

Jane scrunches her face up like she’s trying to remember where she left her keys, not her own birthday. “Don’t remember. Summer, though? I’m pretty sure I was born in the summer.”