Day 1

The important thing was that I knew him - a lanky boy with greasy hair and bad acne. I put his books (calculus, general computing, and advanced programming) into a bag and cleared my throat.

”One-sixty-four eighty-five.”

He sighed. “You know, Steven, I don’t even need these books.”

I nodded. “Of course not.”

He pulled a card from the satchel strapped to his waist - a tassled black leather fanny pack that hung all the way past the crotch of his jeans.

“I could have written these books, Steven. Heck, I could have written books that would have taught the writers of these books to write them better than they’re written.”

I nodded and scanned the card. It beeped, and began the authorization process.

”Debit or credit?”

”Sheesh, you know I have like zero funds - credit.”

The credit card slip printed. I pushed it across to him, along with a pen. I knew he wouldn’t have a pen.

”Thanks. You know, I think I’m almost there, Steven. I’m almost ready for the title.”

He pushed the slip back - there, on the signature line, was what looked like a drop of ink that had been smeared across with a fingertip. I watched him put my pen in his fanny pack. He licked his lips. I decided to humor him.

”The title, huh? What do you think it’s going to be?”

I threw his receipt in the bag and pushed the whole thing across the counter. He scooped it up and gave me a look before he began to walk away.

“I’ve explained this to you before, Stephen. There’s no point in wondering what it’s going to be - she’ll tell us when she knows. And I think she’s going to be ready for her title performance very soon...I can almost feel it.”

At that point he was around the counter and throwing open the door, sucking the flakes of snow that had been swirling just outside into the store and sending them into kamikaze dives toward the muddy carpet, melting as they went.

”I’ll see you at home, Stephen. When do you get off work?”
”Seven. Later Owen.”

And he was gone. I turned to the next girl in line. She gave me a peculiar smile.

”You live with Owen Sinclair? Wow. Is he really a genius like they say? My sister had a class with him and she said he basically ended up teaching it, and the TA just sat there with his mouth open the whole time. Why did he get those books if he didn’t need them?”

”He’s...really big on adhering to the required course material. And yeah, he’s smart. Did you want all of those?”

She ignored me, and stared out into the blustery cold beyond the plate glass windows.

”I wonder if he has a girlfriend.”

I pulled the books from her arms and started scanning. I tried not to clench my teeth.

”Of course he does. And besides, you wouldn’t be a good match for him.”

“No?”

“Not enough circuitry.”