Hermanupartnernew roommate, James, steps out of the dressing room. “Ooohh!” she exclaims, clapping her hands appreciatively. She knew the fitted orange slacks with the metallic glint would enhance his form. Zephyr, those thighs—Jett was right. And the bias-cut black T-shirt is simple, but clings to his chest in a way that makes her want to rub against it. But the slacks . . . “Those look—”
“Ridiculous. I’m not wearing these.” James turns to the willowy shopgirl, 4Ally. “Do you have anything more understated? Looserperhaps?”
4Ally gives him a thorough sweep with her lusty yellow-gold eyes. “I think those look fine.”
“Looser and darker,” James demands, dropping manupartner the pretense. 4Ally doesn’t flinch, so K8 holds her tongue.
She can’t see why he doesn’t like them. He’d be the height of fashion, and they are minimal, like he wanted. K8 leans forward, whispering to 4Ally, “We’ll take that outfit. But see what else you can find. Maybe something with some give?”
She taps the screen a few times and the rota-closet spins. Multicolored outfits blur as they zoom behind the glass pane. When 4Ally slips behind the screen, James steps up to the tablet. He spends a few minutes tapping the screen, eventually saying, “This is more like it.”
4Ally reappears and glances around his shoulder. K8 moves to do the same. He’s found the vintage section. K8 should have guessed he’d like that.
Shaking her head, 4Ally retreats again, then comes back with the tenth stack of outfits she’s brought out. “Try these.”
James looks at what 4Ally’s brought and sighs, giving K8 aMust I?look.
A minute later, he comes out in a full moss green jumpsuit that, to K8’s taste, is very plain. But stretchy. Surely he’ll like this. K8 makes a spin gesture with her finger and James obliges. Then he sees his reflection in the mirror and runs an exasperated hand across his eyes.
Meanwhile, 4Ally is tugging on the material at the tops of his thighs. “Maybe a size smaller?”
James grumbles something K8 thinks is, “I’m in hell.”
Apparently, a mere two hours of shopping is his limit. He motions for 4Ally to join him at the shop’s tablet. “No on all of this, including the last one.” He points to the screen. “You have my measurements. This is what Iwant.”
She frowns deeply. K8 watches as he points at the screen, barking orders at 4Ally. Occasionally, she’s brave enough to give her opinion, but James is decisive. There’s no argument. He’s so direct. And firm. Bordering on unkind, as if he views the shopgirl as an object to serve him. K8 isn’t sure he is aware he’s doing it. Or that 4Ally is seconds away from bursting into tears. Does he not see the effect he’s having on her?
K8 brought him here because this particular shopgirl is excellent. K8’s favorite, and truth be told, everything she’s picked out for James works perfectly. If only he weren’t so picky and demanding. Some interpersonal skills would go a long way. People during her time may not form long-lasting romantic partnerships, but each member of society holds a valuable place. Regardless of the profession or pay bracket. Respectful and Considerate Conduct Courses are compulsory, taken yearly during primary school and when one begins their first job. Then every ten years thereafter as social customs evolve.
The courses always bring up fond memories for K8 as she excels at all things pedagogical, not to mention respectful and considerate. Well, except for one particularly tenuous period when she was around nine. A lively debate had sparked up between a few pupils and the instructor, discussing the outdated concept of sharing. On the surface, the concept seemed to fit in with the course mantra: Each Individual Experience is Important. But the instructor quickly clarified, “In modern times, there is no need to take turns when everyone deserves the right to have their experiences met with equal consideration. Always remember, your needs are important!”
The explanation felt rather contradictory to K8, so she stood to ask for clarification about a few nuances of the rule. “How does waiting in line relate to our subject?” Little nine-year-old K8 felt very proud of her pertinent question. “For example, sometimes recess ends before everyone in line at the swimming simulation tank gets a turn.”
She distinctly remembers the instructor’s frown. “Well, you see, each individual deserves a right . . . Well, you see if the tank was full . . .” The man trailed off, stalling. Retrospectively, K8 felt surprised that her nine-year-old self could dumbfound an instructor, but it showed how little people thought to question things. Still, there were many valuable lessons to learn in the courses. Many she still applied to this day.
The instructor was still sputtering when K8 saved him, offering, “I think if we determined how many students could enjoy a swim session during each recess period, we could make a sign-up. Or if everyone wanted a turn, maybe a weekly rotation—”
Mid-sentence, like she was invisible, a girl from A Quadrant—Trssh, she recalls—stood up from her desk, raising her hand.
Trssh said, “In anticipation of today’s lesson, I wrote a poem called ‘The Sharing Fallacy.’ May I read it for the class?”
This was met with eager nods and rapt attention from both students and instructors. Trssh began reciting:
“One for you, one for me, but none for you means two for me,
If two for me gives me glee, then why make two less one for you?
One plus one is so much fun—”
“I was speaking,” K8 whined. “She interrupted me.” Heat climbed higher and higher up her neck, and she gave serious thought to stomping. “How does that show respect—”
“Now, K8, don’t you want to hear Trssh’s poem? I bet she worked hard on it. Class, please show Trssh respect for her wonderful efforts.” Even though Trssh had yet to read her entire poem, the class erupted into applause, with a few students even dancing in their chairs.
Now, K8 saw that the instructor had been happy to have attention diverted away from a question he couldn’t answer, but at the time, she couldn’t understand how she had been so easily brushed aside. It had a deep impact on her nine-year-old self, and she often thought ofthat day. K8 had studied the girl, trying to figure out what made her more important. Was it because she was from A Quadrant? Was it her pretty blonde hair? Or the way all the boys wanted to sit next to her? Or was it simply something about K8 that meant she didn’t warrant the same consideration?
K8 watched the other children celebrating their classmate, but she couldn’t force herself to join in. Of course, Trssh, noting her failure to clap, started blubbering. She pointed at K8 and asked, “Why isn’t she clapping?” in a pouty voice only a child could manage.
K8 can still picture the instructor’s deep frown as he asked K8 to leave the classroom until she could demonstrate a little more consideration for her fellow students. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he told her in front of the entire class. A dozen pairs of disapproving eyes followed her out of the room.
