The Forgetting Curve (Memento Nora) by Angie Smibert Page B

and moved closer to her. Time to turn on the charm. “We’re doing a school project…”
    I heard Velvet sigh heavily behind me. She thunked my antenna with her finger. I relented.
    “Actually we’re looking for…” I held out the cantenna.
    “Big Steven,” Velvet finished for me.
    I was going to say signal, but okay, Steven. Whoever that was. I glanced back at Velvet.
    “Steve,” the lanky girl bellowed. “Company.” She tossed her head in the direction of the observatory.
    “Big Steven?” I threw Velvet a look as we crossed the courtyard.
    “He’s this guy I know.” Her face didn’t give away a thing.
    I got momentarily distracted by a pallet of old stereos, lab equipment, printers, and whatever else was stacked against the wall of junk. “We need to come back here for our next date.”
    Did I really say date ? Facepalm. I waited for an awkward silence to follow.
    “You are so related to Winter,” Velvet said without missing a beat.
    Steven met us on the steps to the mini-observatory thing. Voices and laughter, mingled with static and banging, echoed inside the dome.
    He was a tall, clean-cut guy, maybe nineteen or so. He could’ve been a former basketball player or something, but I doubt it. He was more likely an engineering student at the university. I could picture him in one of those old moon launch documentaries sitting at the mission control desk with a clipboard, a cigarette, and a cup of coffee. And a pocket protector. His barcode tattoo kind of ruined that image, though.
    “Velvet? I didn’t think this was your thing. Actually, I didn’t think anything was your thing.” He turned to me before she could respond. “And you are?”
    “Aiden.” I extended my hand but he left me hanging.
    Velvet stepped up to Big Steven. “It is not my thing , Steven Michael Ambrose III.” She stared him down, which was in itself quite impressive. “ Aiden’s looking for something. And he’s Winter’s cousin, by the way.”
    Steven looked at me with renewed interest. It seemed that Winter’s name had unlocked this door. Of course. This was her kind of place.
    A sheepish grin broke out on his face and he extended his hand. “Sorry, dude, you can’t be too careful nowadays. Welcome to the Rocket Garden.”
    Steven showed us into the dome, which probably would have been stifling hot if the canopy hadn’t been cranked open.
    “This thing is an old mobile observatory/tracking station from NASA. The museum got a few of them when the space program shut down. We gutted and cannibalized this one to set up our workshop.”
    The workshop consisted of a few folding tables, a bench loaded with power tools, some tanks for welding, buckets of circuit boards, an old vending machine, and a table saw. At one of the tables, a short-haired woman in coveralls was showing four kids how to solder. Another kid was tinkering with something across the workshop. I knew what this was.
    “It’s a hacker space!” I’d read about these places that provided workshops, equipment, classes—all informal—to show people how to hack or create things. The spaces sprang up every few decades, and there were some still in Europe. They weren’t exactly legal in the US anymore.
    “We call it a maker space. Hacker is such a touchy term.”
    Tell me about it. I shook my head in agreement.
    “So what I’ve heard about you is true?” Steven asked, amused.
    “What are they working on?” I said, changing the subject. I didn’t really want to hear what he had to say about me—in front of Velvet.
    “Becca is showing them how to make radios. Lina is packing up router kits. And over there Dune is working on a chip scanner.” Steve jerked his thumb in the direction of an Asian kid, probably Vietnamese, who looked twelve or thirteen, working at a table alone.
    I had to see the chip scanner.
    “It looks like the one the cops use for IDs,” Velvet said from across the room.
    “Yes, but simpler. We don’t want to read the ID, just