Page 32 of Garbage

Quincy’s eyes lit up. “I can text him!”

Was Evan jealous? No. Of course not. He wanted Quincy to have friends. “Yep. Send him a text. Maybe just ask what your options are, and he can talk you through them when we see him again.”

Quincy was jittering with excitement again. “I can have feet, Evan! And… do I have to choose a gender?”

“Nope. Or you can choose one when you’re ready, and then choose something else later. You might want to ask Ben about that, too.”

Chapter 8

Quincy

The packages started to arrive in ones and twos. First was the baseball cap, with a shiny appliqué sloth on the front. Quincy wore it every day to work because Evan told him he should. He was the only CNS unit with a cap, and he already had a plan to get another one for his driving partner, Mo.

Then came the fuzzy sweater which wasn’t quite the same as the one he’d first picked out, but it was pink and soft and he had rolled around in it for three evenings in a row, rubbing his limbs all over his chest the moment he wasn’t doing something else. Evan had watched him, his eyes crinkled up into smiles. Ben had complimented him on it, too, when he came over for dinner, so it must have been a good choice.

One night, Evan handed him a little bag, which definitely hadn’t come in the mail, and Quincy peeked inside. The flat boxes and shiny cylinders meant nothing to him—more hardware, maybe?—until Evan had explained makeup.

Quincy had stayed up all night painting and re-painting his face. There were thousands of video tutorials, and he wanted to try all of them. Evan woke up the next morning, ruffled his hair, and reminded him that he would have to stop at some point to go to work.

He’d been a little nervous that Evan wouldn’t like him with his eyelids painted in glowing greens and golds, after that conversation about male attire, but he shouldn’t have worried. Evan had cupped his cheek and told him he was beautiful.

Then he’d told Quincy that he should make his own makeup tutorial videos, which Quincy had spent the whole day researching while he mindlessly collected the garbage. As soon as Evan went to bed, he’d started filming. And filming. The sun was just rising when he’d edited his first tutorial to perfection.

When Evan woke up, he’d watched it avidly, laughing at Quincy’s jokes (he’d made jokes!) and letting out little ooohs at all the right places. When it was over, he’d swept Quincy into a hug—the best kind with all of their limbs wrapped together, that made Quincy feel the happy bubbles in his chest. Evan had turned pink, so maybe he was feeling the same way.

Quincy felt like he was soaring when he’d created an account and, with trembling fingers, stumbling subroutines, and a lot of coaching from Evan, posted the video.

He didn’t get any viewers all morning. But just after noon, he’d gotten a like. And then another. Soon, they were flooding in. Not just likes, but comments! He read them over and over again. People thought he was cute! He got compliments on his technique, his look, and even his voice. It left him whirling through the day, barely noticing his surroundings as he swung bags into the truck.

Then he’d gotten the first nasty one and called Evan in a panic.

Evan had warned him about trolling and harassment, but it still left him gasping when it happened. Some stranger said that he should be ashamed of himself. That he wasn’t a real person, and that if he wanted to be one, he should at least try to act like a man.

Evan had soothed him, calling him gorgeous and talented, but they’d both agreed that Quincy wouldn’t look at any of his comments until Evan could screen them all and report the hate speech.

Quincy hated to put another burden on Evan, but just that one message had left him feeling scared and vulnerable. It was like the attack all over again. Like the security guard. How could people who didn’t know him have so much hate?

There were people who liked him, though. Evan, Ben, and even internet strangers who liked his video. Evan reminded him over and over again while they held hands in the car.

To take his mind off everything, Evan arranged for them to go to a restaurant with Ben and some new friends. Quincy had worried a little bit about what it would look like if he didn’t eat or drink… but when he got to the crowded table already overflowing with appetizers, all he could do was stare.

One of Evan’s friends was a spark—and not one like Quincy who could easily hide his ancillary limbs, but a man with a smooth white oval face and mechanical limbs. Two of his metal arms ended in black glove-like hands with all the dexterity of human digits, while two more terminated in spider-like pincers, similar to Quincy’s but more delicate.

His expressions were what fascinated Evan the most—tiny white squares that lit up in endless configurations to form the likeness of eyes, a nose, and a mouth. He was smiling at Quincy right now.

Quincy squeezed Evan’s arm while he bounced on his toes.

Evan squeezed back. “That’s CC,” he introduced, “and that’s his boyfriend Yue.”

Quincy shook hands, but he could barely speak, he was so excited. CC was just like him. Only even more, well, robotic-looking. And he was sitting in a restaurant! With his boyfriend! And more friends!

“And that’s Zia and her girlfriend, Sam.”

Zia waved, dozens of thin bracelets jingling on her dusky arm. “Hi, Quincy. I saw your video today! Really cute. We’re so glad you could join us.”

Sam stood and leaned over the table, mountains of copper-colored ringlets bouncing around her freckled face. She was petite, with a slender frame and barely enough height to reach his hand. She shook his hand more formally. “Nice to meet you, Quincy. If Evan didn’t tell you, I’m a spark, too.”

Quincy’s eyebrows seemed to be stretching his face out of shape. Sam was a spark?