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SKYLAR99: The saddest part is, I still hope to hear from him. Like he’ll admit it was all a mistake and that he wants me back. I would give in to him too. Right away.

CAMERONX: You know what I think would help?

SKYLAR99: What?

CAMERONX: Meeting someone new.

SKYLAR99: Like who?

CAMERONX: Me.

Ricky inhaled sharply and leaned away from the keyboard. He found the prospect intimidating. They hadn’t seen each other yet. Sending a photo was nearly impossible. They would need access to a super-expensive scanner, and even then it would take ages to transmit a digital photo over a phone line. There weren’t any images on a BBS, only colored text that was sometimes arranged into patterns to create blocky illustrations. What if Cameron wasn’t attracted to him? Or if the reverse was true? And of course he had lied about his age. Cameron was a sophomore, but at least Ricky hung out with kids that age.

If he was ever going to have another chance at love, there would be risks, no matter what.

SKYLAR99: Okay. When and where?

— — —

Silvia was cracking open a roll of quarters on the edge of the cash register drawer when a customer walked in. She glanced up just long enough to welcome them before finishing her task. When the register was closed again, she hopped onto the stool that let her keep an eye on the record store while giving her line of sight on the mounted television. At the moment it was playing a trashy daytime talk show with the volume turned down so she could listen to opera over the store speakers. She wasn’t into that kind of music, but she’d thought it would be funny to watch the show this way, and she was right. Wide open mouths unleashed spittle and puffy eyes leaked tears, all accompanied by an overwhelmingly dramatic soundtrack. Stripped of their voices, the adults on the show looked more like giant babies in the throes of a tantrum.

She eyed the only customer in the store, wondering if this experiment was bothering him. He seemed to be one of their regulars, since he moved with confidence from section to sectionto check on different artists. Such people rarely needed help. Most preferred to be left to their mental checklists. She was more than happy to give them space. And yet her eyes kept moving back to him.

His hair was short on the sides, messy on top, and dyed black, judging from the blond roots that were sprouting. A long black T-shirt clung to his slender frame, which was unusual, since baggy was much more in style. As he rounded the corner of an aisle, she saw gray shorts and white tennis shoes, which made her wonder if he’d intended to dress as a gradient of monochrome colors. The black painted nails and the old ratty friendship bracelets dangling off one wrist were undeniably cool. She felt a jolt each time his green eyes lifted from the records he was flipping through to seek her out before darting back down again.

The music swelled, which made her feel embarrassed, because it was still opera. Even worse, on the television screen, two women had gotten into a catfight and were rolling around on cheap studio carpet. Silvia grabbed the remote to turn off the TV. Then she looked the stranger over again, this time assessing him in a different way. She liked to entertain herself by guessing what kind of music a customer preferred, testing her theory by playing it over the speakers to gauge their reaction. She’d sold quite a few records that way.

“Just let me know if you need any help,” Silvia said when strolling toward a particular section. After finding the artist she had in mind, she returned to the counter, placed the record on the turntable, and watched the customer closely while listening to static pops. Soon a heavy industrial beat began to play, accompanied by samples of a woman’s ghostly voice. The customer stopped in his tracks, listening for a few seconds, before he began browsing again. Damn it! She was beginning to question herself when the next song—heavy with optimistic synth—filled the silence. The customer’s hand stopped flipping through albums for a moment. Then that piercing gaze sought her out again. This time he didn’t look away after their eyes met. They remained connected as he walked over to the counter and pointed at the ceiling.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“Information Society,” she replied.

His brow furrowed up briefly. “The pure energy song?”

She needed a second to get the reference. “That was a singleon their first album. This is their follow-up.”

“I always liked that song,” he said as if chastising himself. “I can’t believe I never delved deeper into their music.”

“We have both of their records in stock,” she said helpfully.

“Cool.”

Now he was looking at her funny, and she felt the slow creep of a blush coming on. The features of his face were fine and even, and he had eyelashes that simply wouldn’t quit. They blinked at her a few times before he asked, “Do you have them on cassette? I’m a Walkman kind of guy. By necessity. My family yells at me whenever I play anything, but for some reason, my brother is allowed to blare country music all day long.”

“We might,” she said with a smile before leading him to the correct section. “Looks like we only have the first one actually.”

“That’s okay,” he replied. “I prefer listening to music chronologically.”

“So do I,” she said. “Even though it’s often the worst place to start.”

“So true! I guess because most artists are still figuring themselves out.”

“Yup. You can never be sure until around—”

“Their third album?” he guessed, laughing at the same time that she did.

“Exactly,” Silvia confirmed. “Especially if the first album is super successful, because they almost always fumble under the pressure of a follow-up.”