How to Repair a Mechanical Heart by J.C. Lillis

be giving you complete coverage of the Tom Shandley Q&A in‌…‌t-minus forty-five minutes. Guys: Are you ready to kneel before Xaarg?”
    “Your phone keeps ringing.” I grab it off the desk and hold it up.
    “I busted out my black cashmere t-shirt specifically for this occasion, ‘cause it’s not every day you lift your question paddle before the biggest badass villain on television. Considering he only approves of ‘literary fanfic that probes the psychology of Xaarg,’ I’m preeeetttty sure he’ll be his super duper awesome self and give another fat NO to cave-scene sexitude. We might have to literally worship him then.”
    I fling the phone at his chest. “Will you answer this already?”
    “Jesus, Brandon!” He shuts off the camera, rubbing the spot where I hit him. “What’s your malfunction?”
    “Nothing wrong with me.”
    “Normal people don’t throw phones.”
    “Bitter loveless losers do, though.”
    He checks the screen. “I missed three calls from Kade.”
    “Tragic.”
    “You know‌—‌”
    “Make sure you apologize a million times and ask if he’s mad at you until he is.”
    “I don’t do that!”
    “It’s pathetic.”
    “At least I have someone.”
    “Someone with a chicken tattoo.”
    “It’s a phoenix .”
    I give him a smug chuckle, so he thinks I’m stifling a great comeback.
    “Screw you.” He shakes his head. “Seriously.”
    Bec bangs in with her laundry bag slung across her shoulder. She looks at me, then at him. I turn back to my Steamium, scrub it across my Castaway Planet shirt.
    “What’s going on?” she says.
    Abel’s dialing Kade. I shoot a toxic glare at him. “Nothing.”
    “How long are you two going to do this?”
    “I’m not doing anything.”
    “‌—‌Awwww, babe, don’t get pissy. I forgot‌…‌no, I did!” Abel’s saying. “I know, I’m tired too. I was out till two‌…‌No! God, not with him. Can you imagine?”
    I slam down the Steamium. Bec shakes her head.
    “I’m catching a Greyhound home,” she says, “if you guys don’t stop acting like infants.”
    “Thought you had fun this week.”
    She sighs a little, but she smiles. It’s been like old times with me and Bec this week‌—‌sort of, when she’s not texting Dave. A few times she’s hung out with Abel, but mostly it’s been the two of us chilling like an old married couple, eating cheese fries and chocolate cream pie in diners, fishing at crappy free campgrounds, doing weird touristy things Bec loves, like the Grave of Doctor Pepper in Virginia. I don’t really care what Abel’s been up to. He goes out at night in whatever town we’re in, and he comes back in at two in the morning with souvenirs: a thrift-store snakeskin bomber jacket, a shot glass with a skull and crossbones on it. Sometimes I’m still awake in the loft, fighting off swarms of dark thoughts or combing the Cadsim fanjournal for the next Hell Bells sighting (nothing else, so far). When the door creaks open, I always pretend I’m asleep .
    “It was fun,” Bec says, “but the two of you are‌—‌”
    “Talk to him. It’s not me.”
    “It’s both of you! I can’t stand you guys like this.”
    Abel lets out a hugely annoying look-how-much-fun-I’m-having laugh. “Nuh-uh! No you didn’t. You did not! Oh no, baby, that’s not crazy. You want crazy, let me read you something from this FJ‌…‌Um, fanjournal? I am not a nerd; you’re just culturally illiterate‌…‌”
    “This shirt. For meeting Dave today. What do you think?” Bec waggles a narrow green t-shirt with a deep v-neck.
    I swallow hard. “Nice.”
    “It’s not too boob-intensive, is it?”
    I’m just about to push out a “No” when Abel breaks in with a couple expletives that would’ve gotten me three days’ detention back in high school. He’s staring at his laptop, punching the scroll buttons up and down.
    “Babe, I gotta call you back, all right?” he says to Kade. “Something’s going down