Christina stood, dropping her bag like a fat canvas caterpillar at her feet. The top of her head was a few inches below the ceiling, which looked like a sleeping computer screen and was soft and pliable to the touch. William could stand up, but just barely. Daniel, at six four, would have to stoop like an elderly man.
Christina looked around. “I swear it’s bigger in here than it looks from out there.”
“It is,” William agreed. “I noticed that back at the Derby.”
She slid a finger along the side of her head, just above her ear. “I’m no physics genius, but I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.” She prodded the ceiling. “It’s some kind of optical illusion. Like, it sort of recedes”—the black surface seemed to shrink away at her touch—“but I can still feel it.” She poked harder. The surface responded with liquid-metal fluidity.
“Yeah, well, check this out.” William sat on the bench that encircled the interior, an elongated oval of unbroken cushion. He sighed contentedly as the RenderLux hollowed out a seat with the perfect amount of support and resistance. “It’s like it just became best friends with my ass.”
Christina shuddered. “I’m not sitting on that.”
“Friends with benefits.”
“So where do we put our bags in this thing? Melissa’s probably stuffing her entire closet into a platinum Gucci luggage set.”
Her backpack moved as the floor shifted beneath it.
“Hey!” She went to her knees and grabbed the top of the bag’s frame. “Quit it!” A miniature tidal wave of plush, undulating floor urged the bag toward the bench. “Let go!”
The bag appeared to be surfing on a sea of RenderLux. The front of the bench opened in a dilating spiral like the bridge door on a starship. Christina lost her grip, and William watched in disbelief as the bag vanished into the depths of the car.
“Nope.” She shook her head. “Dislike. Strongly dislike.”
William knelt and slid his palm along the place where the bag had been. There was no lumpy machinery, no sign of anything mechanical—the floor felt solid and immobile. His excitement ratcheted up. He grinned at Christina. “This is my car.”
“So tell it not to eat my stuff.”
William scooted back to the bench and affected a villainous nonchalance, idly examining his fingernails. “How about I tell it to eat you, Miss Hernandez?”
Christina’s eyes moved past William to the side window. “We’re rolling.”
William watched his house diminish, eclipsed by Christina’s front porch, piled high with Amazon boxes and bags of thrift-store clothing. There had been no palpable jolt as the car shifted from Park to Drive, no indication that the engine was running at all, not even the hum of a hybrid motor. The vehicle required gasoline, but its fuel economy was bolstered by two additional power sources: electricity and the sun. Autonomous could be plugged in like a Volt or a Tesla, and was the first hybrid vehicle to effectively harness solar power. SunPoint micropanels were hardwired into the silver paint, invisible to the human eye.
This is my car.
Christina gave in with a shrug and lowered herself gingerly onto the bench. Then she let herself sink down. The look on her face was hard to read, but William caught her suppressing a smile, as if she were trying to deny him a certain satisfaction. She met his eyes and then looked down at her legs, bare in black denim cutoffs frizzed with ragged strings. Before William had moved to Fremont Hills, he’d always dreamed of having a Next-Door Neighbor Friend. Her head was beautifully shaped, he decided, unlike his own. Anyway, his dirty-blond hair was his one excellent feature, so he could never shave it.
The bench swallowed his skateboard, his bags, and then the Ovation.
Autonomous left their neighborhood and joined the traffic on Route 316, Fremont Hills’ main artery.
“Did you tell it to drive this way?” Christina asked.
William shook his head. “It’s just going. But this is the way to Deer Hollow, so I assume we’re picking up Melissa.”
“Override!” Christina said.
A wave of giddiness hit him. “I feel like a dancing skeleton in an old cartoon.”
Christina’s face pinched inquisitively. “What?”
Autonomous sped through a traffic light just before it turned red. Christina and William jumped up and slapped their palms against the ceiling. As they turned off 316 past the rustic wooden sign for Deer Hollow, it occurred to him that there had been no squishy give—the surface above their heads had made itself hard and unyielding, as if the car already knew the rules of the Yellow Light Game.
William and Christina watched out the window as Dr. and Mrs. Faber lavished an escalating series of hugs upon their daughter, and then took turns imparting what appeared to be serious life lessons.
“These people have really nice teeth,” Christina said. “I can see them from here.”
“You see the license plate on the Lexus?”
Christina’s eyes shifted to the SUV parked next to Melissa’s Volkswagen. The license plate said TOOTHGUY.
“Gotta get that dentist money,” William said.
Dr. Faber pulled his daughter in for another squeeze.
“I just went to the top of the basement stairs and yelled ‘Bye,’” Christina said. “Then I left.”
“My mom was asleep.”
“Is that a balcony up there?”
“Yeah. That’s Melissa’s bedroom.” He gave her a careful sidelong glance. “Have you never seen her house?”
Sometimes Christina’s reclusiveness stunned him. He could let himself into the CB Lounge whenever he felt like hanging out, and find her huddled in the glow of her monitors. His view
