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“Can you hear me?” A male face peers into mine. Midthirties, glasses, expressive eyebrows. Andy. Kind.

“Yes,” I say. There’s an overwhelming barrage of hot sensation, then click, it all evens out—light, sound, the air on my skin—settling like embers, then cooling.

I breathe in, feel my chest balloon, breathe out. Lift my hands to face level and flex my fingers, mapping how the smooth pale skin with its smattering of freckles shifts and ripples over my knuckle ridges.

I’m sitting. Dressed in what seems to be an evening gown. I register how tight the skirt is around my thighs. How beautifully the blue sequins catch in the ice-white light from above. Palms down, I skim the fabric, tickling the pads of my fingers as the sequins catch, lift, fall. It’s like wearing a party. I like it.

“Do you know who you are?” says Andy.

I look up and feel myself smile. He’s in baggy jeans, a gray T-shirt with a buffalo plaid shirt open over top and a pen hooked on the breast pocket. A dark five-o’clock shadow travels down his neck. His look screams sleepless nights.

“Of course,” I say. Everything is simply there, no effort, natural as breathing. “I’m Julia Walden.”

“Do you know where you are? What year it is?”

“We’re in LA. It’s January 2022 and Biden is President.” I tilt my head. “We’re in the middle of a pandemic.”

“Do you know what’s about to happen?”

I register, out of the corner of my eye, a boom mic operator to our deep left, but keep my attention on Andy.

“I’m about to compete on The Proposal.”

“God,” breathes Andy, putting a fist to his chest like my answers are slaying him. “You—you’re—” He crooks a finger at his lips.

“Here?” I suggest with a light laugh. Now I’m rubbing my arms, the rough skin at my elbows, allowing my hands to touch my own face, then wander up to my hair, long and loose. I fish it around my shoulder. It’s a fiery, sun-gleam red. I love it. I love everything about being Julia Walden.

“Real,” says Andy when he’s recovered his speech. “Working. Amazing. I kind of want to hug you?”

“You don’t have to ask.” I stand in my high heels, taller than Andy by nearly a head. His glasses collide with my shoulder as applause bursts around us. After a second, he hooks my hands in his and pulls back, eyes moist.

“Wow, Julia. Just wow.”

I scan our surroundings as flashes pop. We’re in a warehouse. To the right, large machines quietly rest. I note hydraulics, robotic arms, big sheets of pale, rubbery material. Skin, I realize, and my own skin seems to respond, tiny goose bumps racing up my arms.

It’s not a bad feeling, exactly. Just...unpleasant, like touching something wet that you thought would be dry.

To my left, a film crew makes a crescent shape. One hefty man shoulders an equally hefty camera, trained on me. I know without being told they’re here from The Proposal.

It’s a little strange to be having this intimate moment with Andy while everyone watches. Then again...that’s about to be my life. Fully on camera.

Andy claps his hands. “So. Ready to meet Josh?”

“I was born ready,” I say with a laugh. My eyes flicker up to the answering sound of laughter from the film crew. But while I did mean to be funny, I also mean it.

Andy pulls out a cell phone. “This is yours. Let’s break it in.” He leans into me and we smile for our first selfie.

“Should we post it to Insta?” he says. “Your handle just went live—we had to wait until the other contestants’ phones were taken away. Oh, and we can’t mention you’re on The Proposal yet—” But I reach for the phone.

“I got it.” My fingers navigate the screen easily. Also, wow—how does @TheRealJuliaWalden already have close to a million followers...and counting?I caption the picture the journey begins!!!, noting the tug of resistance within me as I put the phone down. I guess part of me wanted to watch the reactions roll in. Immediately I wall up this thought. I’m not here for everyone. Just one man.

Andy has pulled out a blue pen while I’ve been messing with the phone, and is nervously gnawing on the clicker end. Weirdly, I want to reassure him, It’ll be okay. You’ll see.

“Julia!” the producer calls out. “Could you introduce yourself? For our viewers?”

I look at the camera’s cold eye across the distance and imagine that I’m looking into the face of a friend who can’t wait to see me. I smile.

“Sure! My name is Julia. I’m a Synth. And I’m here to find love.”