Page 11

Ricky only managed a few sips, his dark eyes lingering on Omar, before he bounced back up again. “I got something today!” he said while rushing back to the kitchen.

“Was it a gold star on your spelling test?” Omar said quietly to amuse himself. “Or maybe a new stuffed animal?”

“Huh?” Ricky asked on his way back.

“Nothing,” Omar said easily. “What’s that?”

Ricky set down a small stack of magazines. “I went by the library during lunch, like we talked about, and found these. I think they’ll help with the paper.”

Omar leaned forward and saw that they were all issues ofPopular Science. The topmost featured a hokey looking robot on the cover, the kind sold in Sears catalogs that carried a tray and didn’t do much else, aside from being a useless remote-controlled vehicle. He shook his head in response. “Let’s go to Blockbuster Video and rent some movies about evil robots. Have you ever seenWestworld? Or how aboutBlade Runner? Or hell, evenChopping Mallwould do.”

Ricky’s eyes glittered at him curiously from beneath a mop of dark hair, his mouth opening and closing a few times. “I don’t think Mr. Finnegan would accept those movies as valid sources. And besides, the replicants inBlade Runneraren’t robots.”

“Sure they are!”

Ricky shook his head. “They’re not made of metal parts. They’re organic.”

Omar made a face. “Why should that matter? They’re still built or whatever, right?”

Ricky shrugged. “I think that’s the point of the movie. We hate anything that’s different, even when we can’t tell it apart from us.”

Omar blinked in surprise. “Hey, that’s not bad! Think we can use it in our paper?”

After a bashful smile, Ricky said, “Maybe. I did find an article that talks about why people get freaked out by them, even going way back. It had an image from an old black and white movie with a female robot.”

Omar snorted. “How could you tell it was a girl?”

“It had boobs,” Ricky said with a titter.

Omar snapped his fingers. “That’s gotta beMetropolis. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“I think it was in this issue,” Ricky said, holding the magazine at arm’s-length while squinting. He only brought it close to turn the page. Then he held it out again. “No, maybe it was in the other one.”

Omar watched him struggle, remembering how in journalism class Ricky practically had his forehead against the table when taking notes. It was the same when he struggled to write hisnumber down. “Don’t shoot the messenger, my man, but you need glasses.”

Ricky went rigid. “Why do you say that?”

“Uh, because you’re holding the magazine like you’re scared it’ll bite you. I think you’re far-sighted.”

His face flushed in response. “I’m fine.”

“You’re really not. Believe me. My dad owns Jafari Eyes.”

Ricky shook his head. “What’s that?”

“Jafari Eyes? The eyewear place. You’ve never heard of it?”

Ricky shook his head in somber ignorance.

Omar sighed and reached for his backpack. “Okay, look, don’t tell anyone I gave this to you. My dad makes me carry them around. He seriously expects me to give my friends a sales pitch. That’s not what I’m doing though. I think you really need this.” He took out a business card and handed it over.

Ricky brought it close to his face, clearly pretending to read. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Is that the card with the right address? What’s it say?”

“Uh…”

Omar snorted. “It’s on the corner of Main Street and Henderson.”