I smile after him, feeling some of the tension I’ve been carrying ease. That’s one of the reasons I like teaching the enrichment course at the college. It brings a levity I don’t see in my job in the emerging technologies department at DynaTech, and I love how the students don’t hesitate to call me out when they think I’m pullingtypical adult shit, as they like to say.
It reminds me a bit of how things used to be with my old team, the ODA5211, or A-Team. What we were dealing with was a lot more serious—often enough, life or death—but we always found the time to make each other laugh.
As I turn my attention to reorganizing the battery packs, my old teammates come to mind. They’re never far from it, really, though I don’t always allow myself to think about them.
I should text Saint,I tell myself.And Kai and Ford.It’s been how long since I checked in? A couple months? More? And with the holidays coming up, I should be more on top of things.
Tapping my smartwatch, I tell it, “Remind me tomorrow at six PM to text the old team.”
Or,a silent voice reminds me sadly,the team members who are still around.
The memories that have come more and more frequently ever since Tacoma close in.
Wells’ face flashes before me, covered in blood and the life already fading from his eyes.
And then Malik. Badly beaten but still so brave, shouting to me as he was dragged away, “Stay strong, Tink. It’s going to be okay.”
But it wasn’t okay, was it?
That stupid lump lodges in my throat again.
No,I tell myself.Not now.Not when a student could come back at any moment, searching for a lost phone or with a near-forgotten question. Not when I can hear the rattle of the mop bucket in the hallway, signaling the arrival of the evening cleaning crew.
Forcing my thoughts back to the present, I busy myself cleaning up the rest of the equipment we used for the drones the students are building for their final project. The process of re-organizing all the small parts and tools is soothing in its repetition, and after a couple of minutes of it, I’ve managed to corral the memories and lock them away again.
Once I have everything cleaned up, I give the classroom a final once-over to make sure there’s nothing I forgot. Satisfied that it all looks good, I grab my bag from the counter and sling it over my arm, then head for the door.
As I walk down the hallway, one of the custodians—Hank, who used to serve in the Army and works the night shift two times a week to help pay for his son’s college expenses—gives me a friendly wave. “Have a great night, Yara,” he calls. “Don’t work too hard.”
“Same to you,” I reply with a smile. “And enjoy your weekend.”
Hank lifts his chin as I pass. “You, too.”
Seeing Hank reminds me that I want to do something for the cleaning staff for the holidays, so once I’m out of hearing range, I tap my smartwatch to leave another note for myself. “Remind me on Saturday at noon to get gift cards for Hank, Ellis, Francis, and Dominique,” I say. “And regular cards, too.”
Granted, it’s only the beginning of November, so I have time to spare. But I prefer to get all my shopping done early, so I don’t have to think about it closer to the holidays, when I’m feeling down and missing all the people I used to spend them with.
Maybe I should take Annaliese up on her invitation to spend Christmas with her in Boston instead of staying home alone like I did last year and the one before. Or I could visit Ford and his family for the holiday, like he suggested. “You’re always welcome, Tink,” he told me the last time we spoke. “Christmas, Thanksgiving, any time.” I even have an open invitation to join the Shadow team for their celebrations—potluck Thanksgiving and their Christmas Eve Secret Santa gift exchange.
IknowI’m welcome to any of them. It’s just…
It’s not the same.
It’s not celebrating Christmas with my parents.
It’s not celebrating with my old team.
And if I’m really honest with myself, I haven’t accepted my friends’ offers to spend the holidays with them because I’m afraid it’ll make the loss hurt even more.
As I push through the doors to outside, the biting cold makes my eyes sting. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself it is.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out in a heavy puff as I order myself to get it together. Focus on the positive, rather than depressing thoughts and reminders of memories I’d rather stay forgotten.
Like Jack, for example—headed off to be a shining star in robotics. The rest of my students, who have bright futures ahead of them, as well. My current project, which is coming along even better than I’d hoped it would. And?—
A soft ding from my coat pocket signals an incoming text. Pausing at the top of the steps, still well-lit by the halogen bulbs glowing above, I pull my phone out to look at it.
It’s Ace.
