Boy Robot Read online

  “Felt what?”

  “Robots are composed of electrically charged synthetic cells, right?” Erica says, jumping in over Brooke. “Well, about every two to three months, a buildup of excess energy causes us to get . . . aggressive. If we don’t exert the energy—expend it completely—it can cause serious problems.”

  “Think of it like a static shock, but on a much larger scale,” Brooke says. “Everything in the universe maintains a balance of protons and electrons. When a human body stores more of one than the other, the balance gets thrown off. Then, when they touch something holding an opposite charge, they get shocked—a physical reaction to the electrical charge rapidly balancing itself out. It’s called the Triboelectric Effect. Electricity generated from contact.”

  “It’s much more complicated than that, obviously,” Erica says, chiming in over Brooke once again, “but basically what it means is that—”

  “We need to touch,” Ivan, the quiet boy with the black hair and olive skin, says from the end of the table. Everyone makes a surprised smile at his unexpected interruption. Brooke and Erica shrug and nod in agreement.

  I look at them for further explanation.

  “It’s like a big mosh pit—dancing, for the most part,” Jessica says. “Some of the super-aggro ones like to fight—”

  “And others like to do other things,” Brooke says with a grin.

  Erica raises her eyebrows exaggeratedly and takes a bite of the blueberry bagel she’s been holding the entire conversation.

  “So it’s just a dance?”

  Erica swallows her bite. “It’s a lot more than that. If we don’t engage in vigorous physical contact with humans or other Robots—in one way or another—our bodies start to malfunction and our minds go . . . crazy.”

  Yet another piece of the puzzle my own body has become falls into place.

  “Don’t look so terrified,” Erica says. “It’s fun.” She leans over the table with a sarcastic grin and whispers loud enough for everyone to hear, “You might even get laid.”

  I look down to the plate of food in front of me as everyone laughs. I’m definitely not eating it now.

  • • •

  Everything they said to me in the basement echoes around in my head for hours as I hide away and wait for Tribo to start—and end—without me. I’m not going down there. Dancing with and touching other Robots is the very last thing I want to do tonight. My touch leads to nightmares—visions that no one understands. That I myself don’t understand. I lie on the bed in my room and stare at the ceiling while their words play over and over again.

  The Assembly has much to discuss regarding your role in our society in the coming days. . . .

  My role in this society, chosen for me. No choices. No options. No true friends.

  Azure: She’s more machine than human.

  Kamea: She could’ve been a real friend, but after what happened last night with the Gate, how will she treat me?

  JB: I don’t even want to think about him right now.

  The tiny room suddenly feels less like a sanctuary and more like a prison cell.

  How do I have so little control over my own life?

  No.

  I do have control. I only need to let go of my fear and assert it.

  I get up off the bed and head out into the hallway barefoot. This is my life. I will not be afraid. I will do whatever I want, be whomever I choose, and not give a damn about what anyone else has to say about it.

  Bass pulses and thumps in the walls as I make my way closer to the main lobby. When I finally leave the hall and step out onto the landing in front of the elevators, I finally hear it. Music blasts from the main hall below, muddling the sound of hundreds of voices, massed together in the midst of it. I take the stairs and descend, step by step, into the fray.

  I reach the very bottom and step out onto the floor. The room is lit only by the glow of orange service lights, but I can make out everything, and everyone, perfectly clearly. The entire hall is a writhing mass of bodies—dancing, jumping, bouncing wildly to the music. A circle is formed off to my right near the rec room where people are fighting. I hear the small crowd cheer over the song as a small girl with bright red hair lands a gruesome kick to the throat of a tall guy with long, wild dreadlocks. The guy recovers from the impact, dodges another blow by bending into an impossible backflip, and finally lands a roundhouse kick so powerfully into the girl’s face that I can see her nose crack from where I stand near the stairs. The crowd gasps as the girl goes still. She looks back to the guy, grasps her bloody, crooked nose between her fingers, snaps it back into place, and gives a wide, scarlet grin. The crowd erupts with cheers.

  My eyes drift back toward the dancing as I breathe in the crackling, electric energy in the air. Everyone appears to be shirtless—guys, girls, all of them. I guess the whole point is to establish body contact.

  I take a deep breath, peel off my shirt, and toss it to the side.

  A group of Robots I’ve yet to meet beckons me over toward a cluster they’ve formed near the elevator to my right. I take another breath and walk over.

  Moving through this crowd is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. My exposed skin begins to prickle at the energy emanating from the bodies around me. Everyone here is so beautiful, so full of exuberance and life. The fear tries to sneak back in as I wonder if I will ever fit in. Not only here, but anywhere. If I will ever find anyone who knows me and accepts me. If I will ever find someone who loves me.

  No more fear.

  I can choose to let this be exhilarating, liberating, or I can allow it to make me feel terrified and ashamed. I’m done with having my choices made for me.

  I choose liberation.

  I walk right into the center of the group and begin dancing. A hand slides onto the small of my back as another rests on my shoulder. A guy and a girl take turns dancing with me, touching me, and I let them. Flickers of memories—other people’s memories—crest up in my mind, but I force them away. I am in control now. I am in this moment, and I will connect with these people on my own terms.

  The chorus of the song kicks in and everyone throws their hands toward the sky. In the orange glow, it reminds me of the fresco in Richard’s hotel—humans, reaching toward heaven, reaching to God.

  Human.

  That word. I think it will haunt me for the rest of my life.

  “My boy, you are anything but a mere human.”

  Richard’s words resound in my head, and I laugh at the memory of his ridiculous teeth.

  My eyes come back down to look around me, and I smile. For the first time in weeks, my adrenaline is pumping over something that has nothing to do with my imminent death.

  I close my eyes and bounce to the music as I move away from the group. The air is thick and steamy with sweat and an intangible electric pulse. I feel primal, like a beast. I inhale the animal scent and open my eyes.

  JB, Malek, and a group of guys are together, just a few feet in front of me. JB stands, leaning back into Malek’s arms while the other guys dance around them. JB and Malek’s bodies are both magnificent—JB, a marble statue, and Malek, an ebony god. Their muscles glisten with perspiration as they flex and grind into each other. The other guys with them are just as tall and broad and defined.

  I avert my eyes and try to pass by as though I don’t see them, but one of the other guys pulls me over. He’s dark and lean, with a thick layer of scruff on his face and deeply intense, dark brown eyes. At any other time I would’ve died to have a guy who looked like him grab me and dance with me like this, but all I can see is JB behind him.

  JB’s eyes catch mine and I go numb inside. A cold wave of paralysis washes over me, fighting away the heat and electricity in a single glance. I don’t know what to say or do.

  The guy holding my waist sees what I’m looking at and turns aside, grinning, as Malek looks back over his shoulder. His eyes land on me.

  I brace myself for a punch, or a verbal assault, or some other form
of well-deserved aggression, but it never comes. Instead, something else entirely blossoms in his eyes. I can’t tell if it’s acceptance, sadness, curiosity, arousal, or an inexplicable mix of it all, but before I can take another moment to think, he grabs my hand.

  In a single fluid motion, Malek guides me toward him. The paralysis clamps down on my neck. I have no idea what’s happening. The music is drowned out completely by the blood rushing in my head as Malek looks to JB, then back to me, and for the first time, he actually smiles at me. Before I can register what’s happening, he leans in and begins to kiss me.

  And not just any kiss—a deep, hungry, passionate kiss that sends fire through my veins and sucks the air from my lungs. His lips press into mine further, and then I feel it—the desperation of someone losing the one he loves. This isn’t an act of passion, or even a cheap thrill—this is him throwing a life jacket out to something he cannot bear to let drown. The fire in my lips shifts to gentleness before I pull away.

  He looks to JB expectantly, shrouding his pain in a mask of lust and appeasement, and pushes me toward him. I don’t know what to do. I can’t deny my desire for JB, but something in my brief moment with Malek is telling me to step aside and let whatever is running its course here play out before I act upon it. I open my mouth to speak over the music—

  But JB kisses me instead.

  This kiss is nothing like the one I just shared with Malek. No hunger, no desperation, just release. A dam bursting under the pressure of a burden it can no longer bear. It feels unfair at how perfect, how right, it is.

  Flashes of another kind fill my head: a guy who doesn’t look like me, but feels like me, holding JB’s hand, kissing him, drying his tears after his family abandoned him, making him feel like he was worth more than the shame and loathing he felt inside. JB looked at this boy and discovered hope. A hope he thought he’d never feel again, until—

  Malek grabs me from behind as I pull away from JB, reeling in my head over what just happened. Those weren’t like the other visions. They were muddy, foggy, and felt more like feelings than images. Shells of emotion and fossilized dreams. But JB is a human, not a Robot. I shouldn’t feel anything like that when I touch him.

  Before I can process it further, Malek turns me toward him and begins to dance with me once again. We lock eyes and begin to laugh. I can still feel his denial and his pain, but I can also feel his need to forget about all of it in this moment. Everything about this is ridiculous, but if I’ve learned anything over the past week, it’s that life is short, bizarre, rarely takes you where you want to go, and hardly ever gives you the answers you think you deserve. Every single person in the room around me has been told he doesn’t have the right to live, that he isn’t human.

  That word again.

  I look to everyone around me, dancing wildly, shedding their pain, releasing their need to define themselves, and simply celebrating life.

  Human.

  This. This is humanity. This is acceptance and love and hope and everything I’ve been searching for my whole entire life. This is family.

  I reach out and hold on to Malek’s hand as a new song begins. I close my eyes and lose myself in it as energy ripples and crackles over my skin. My body feels connected to every single being around me. A spider, in the center of a web, acutely aware of every vibration sent down every string around her. This same energy has taken control of me several times before, but not now, not ever again. I test the boundaries of the energetic connection while my body is intertwined between Malek and JB. I push my consciousness into everyone around me and allow them all into me in return. I feel a glowing thread of light blooming between us all, even ones not here in the main hall. Several Robots are up in their rooms, on the dormitory floor. I push out farther still and feel others—others outside of this building, out on the streets, in different cities, different states. Visions flash of others even farther still—countries, lands, and peoples I’ve never seen, I now see for myself through their eyes. I feel their feelings, know their experiences. All I have to do is reach out and touch them. I can speak through them, control them, be them.

  Right on the precipice, I open my eyes and take in the room around me—tendrils of electric energy pulsate from everybody. Radiant beams of light pour from their eyes. My eyes. Our eyes.

  The energy builds to the breaking point. Pleasure, pain, ecstasy, sorrow, every shade of every color of the entire spectrum of the human experience boils toward an explosion—an explosion so big, so powerful, it could shake the very foundation of the Earth.

  Human.

  My body braces itself. It’s almost here. The light swells and everything is about to burst—

  Then the whizzing sound of Taserifle shots ring out above the music and someone starts to scream.

  THE CREATOR

  I am so sorry.

  He held his daughter’s tiny hand as she slept. A golden halo encircled her head as it rested against the window and light streamed in. She wouldn’t let him close the shutter, not even to sleep. She’d never been on a plane before and was so excited. She’d never seen the ocean either, but that would change once they got to the island. She would see plenty of it at her new home.

  Her new home.

  He let his thumb trace the back of her hand. It was soft, fleshy, cherubic. He tried to burn as much of it as he could manage into his memory. A permanent image of his baby before he lost her to yet another cruel twist of fate that life had presented him with.

  She was the only thing that mattered. His everything. The last little bit of his heart that existed in this world. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and remembered her mother.

  He could still smell the air in the room from the first time he saw her—books, paper, the chlorinated lemon of the freshly mopped tile surrounding the professor’s desk. Everything felt foreign and terrifying. The weight of a path he didn’t choose for himself pressed down so heavily he couldn’t breathe. Just as he got up to run from the lecture room, she came in. He took one look at her and sat back down.

  Her long black hair fell down around her shoulders in waves—wild and perfectly untamed. Her skin was the color of roasted caramel, and her smile radiated like the sun. She looked like the ocean. From that moment on, she was both the ebb and flow of his entire world.

  “I’m Mili.”

  She held out her hand after handing him the last of his books. He’d forced his way through the crowd of students after their third lecture together and had finally decided that it was going to be the day. He would finally introduce himself.

  He’d tripped on the first stair and practically threw his books at the back of her ankles in the process.

  She stopped and leaned down and picked them up for him as he stood and forced himself not to run and hide in horror. He took his books back and tried not to stare as the sun crept out from behind her smile and filled him with her warm, glowing light.

  He told her things he’d never told anyone before, lying with his head in her lap on the lumpy old brown leather couch that he always apologized for but she loved and forbade him from getting rid of. The thick, white layers of Boston snow piled up and silenced the outside world as he told her of his childhood. About the little store his parents owned back home. How he was forbidden from having friends, from participating in things that made him happy, in order to focus all of his energy on his studies. They scraped together everything they could, toiled endlessly until they were nothing more than husks of people who once had the will to live for themselves, all to give him a life he never would’ve been able to have, a life they never would’ve been able to give him back in India.

  The guilt kept him in line, kept him obedient, but now here he was, getting a graduate degree that he had no interest in. He resented his parents, yet strove to make them proud. He felt broken and his life, wasted. He wasn’t even twenty-five.

  She brushed his hair from his forehead and talked about other ways to look at things. Showed him different perspectives he never wo
uld’ve thought to take. Life seemed easier when he was with her. The world was finally a place he actually wanted to be. He’d found love.

  They married while they were still in school. Their families met—a union of two peoples hailing from opposite ends of the globe. He could still close his eyes and remember the sand under his toes and the way she glowed—dressed in white—in the pink and orange and purple brilliance of the sunset. They said their vows, and in that moment, nothing had ever felt more sacred.

  The day she came home with the news almost destroyed him. Little did he know back then how much the future held in store for him, and what life crumbling away from under him truly felt like. But that day was his first glimpse. He still woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, reliving it.

  They were at the town house in Boston. He had a rare day off and was taking the opportunity to read a book by the kitchen window. The sky was gray and the air was getting its first salty chill of autumn. He had to shake himself from a daze and look back to the page—he’d been distracted by the simple gold wedding band on his finger and lost himself in thought, as he often did.

  He heard the front door open and close softly and looked up, waiting for her to enter. She finally came into the living room and hung her coat up in the closet. Her eyes were downturned and she avoided making eye contact.

  “Mili? Are you okay?”

  She sat down and held his hand and told him she’d just come from the doctor. That something had been wrong for weeks now, but that she wanted to get it checked before she said anything. She hadn’t wanted to alarm him. Her hand trembled and tears filled her eyes.

  “Leukemia.”

  The word shot through his heart like a barbed bullet, tearing every fiber, every ounce of flesh right out from his chest along with it. They held each other and cried for a time, but it felt like she was consoling him more than he was consoling her. She was always so strong. So much stronger than he was, or ever could hope to be.

  • • •

  She was hairless on the night of her remission party. Her oncologist had confirmed it only that afternoon, and although she could barely stand, and left the room to vomit at alarming intervals, she had insisted on throwing a party. He wasn’t going to stop her. No one could. Throughout the chemo and radiation, her spirit had soared more than he ever could have imagined. Her resilience and determination were a marvel to him, and even with a bald head and a face almost unrecognizably puffy from the chemicals coursing through her, she was more beautiful than anything he could have dreamed.