I'm ashamed as I look at the pain etched on Mother's face, and yet angry, too, because of a missing scar on my chin and two lost inches and a perspective I will never see from again. The angry me overrides the shamed one. I am entitled, after all, the entitled Jenna. I mix in some sarcasm, too, so I get the full value I have coming to me. "And where are their new-and-202 improved bodies?"

"There are none," Father says. "Right after I scanned them, the police report on the accident came back and their parents wouldn't even talk to us, much less let us get close to Kara and Locke. Locke died a few days later, and we couldn't even get something as simple as a skin sample. They cremated his body. Same thing with Kara. She was moved to another facility, and we weren't allowed access. We don't even have any original DNA. Nothing to build from. They will never have new bodies."

I feel sharpness, like a razor is slicing through me, cutting one part away from another, a part that can never be stitched or put back together. Kara and Locke, forever not here or gone. "How long do you plan on keeping them?"

"We don't know."

"As long as we can."

"As long as charges — "

"Indefinitely."

"At least until — "

"There may come a time when we can use their scans."

"For the accident. Something they know might help. We have to keep them as long as there is a possibility — "

"Witnesses?" I say. "You're keeping them as witnesses?"

"Not them, Jenna. It's only uploaded information."

Is that all I was? All those months, my thoughts crammed into a formless world? Only bits of information? And if that's all I was then, am I any more than that now? I just have better packaging. Does the ten percent of original brain really matter? My whole brain was scanned and uploaded. The fleshy human handful seems more like a sentimental token. Or does it really communicate my humanity to the neural chips in mysterious ways even Father doesn't understand?

Only uploaded information. Kara and Locke in that dark world forever. Can I live with that?

"Something they know might hurt me, too," I say. No one comments. We all know that opportunity would never transpire. Anything bad Kara and Locke might have to say about Jenna would never be heard. They are being saved only in case they could help me. I reach out to refill my glass, and Lily stops me.

"You've had enough," she says.

And I suppose I have.

I look at Mother. Her eyes dart from Father to me and back again, jumping, caught like a hooked fish. Caught between two worlds again. "It's for you, Jenna." And now we've come full circle. As we always do.

"Everyone has to die eventually," I say.

Father lifts the bottle of wine. He holds it in front of the candle to judge its remaining contents. He empties half into Mother's glass and half into his own. He takes a leisurely sip.

"No more," he says.

Tossing

I don't sleep.

I hold on to my bed.

The backups must go.

My fingers dig into my sheets.

I want sleep. Forget. Melt into night.

But.

What if something goes wrong?

I may need them.

It is only information.

Limbo.

Dreamland.

That's all.

And if I try hard enough maybe I can forget the dark place where they — we are.

Viewpoint

It is a rare day. Rae is teaching a lesson.

In her own way.

I am tired. But fidgety. My lack of sleep did not merit my staying home from school. Mother and Father have a distorted sense of normalcy. "You wanted to go. You will go. It will be good for you."

We watch Net News covering a session of Congress. A senator talks. And talks. It is the longest filibuster in history. Senator Harris is breaking the record of Senator Strom Thurmond set back in 1957. No one has been so long-winded — or driven— until now. He has been droning on now for twenty-five hours and thirty-two minutes, one hour and fourteen minutes past Thurmond's record. For this, Rae has commandeered the floor. For this, even Mitch has joined us in the classroom. Mitch mimics Rae's nods and sighs so there is no doubt. This is historic.

I sit between Ethan and Allys, focused on their presence beside me. I want to lean over and whisper in Ethan's ear in one breath and weave my fingers into Allys's hand in the next, and I don't want to listen to the senator at all. I want to define my place in their worlds and not try to understand the definitions the senator spews forth about his own. Right now I feel the overload — like I could burst in two with needing friendship on one side of me and love on the other. These are the definitions I need to refine.

Dane sits behind me. I feel his tap on my chair. Tap. Tap. I am here. I am here. I am everything. Pay attention. And the senator drones on. And Rae beams. Glows. Historic. Pay atten-tion. Tap. Tap. Allys. Ethan. I do.

My world is too complicated. People. Politics. Self. The rules of it all. And trying to understand. It feels like a fugue and my drunken fingers are tangled trying to play it. Play, Jenna. Listen. The senator glistens. I notice his beads of sweat and handkerchief more than his words. Now, my fellow citizens. Now. Before it is too late. I watch Allys more than the senator. She leans forward in her seat. Her head nods. Yes. I turn my head to the right. To Ethan. He slinks back. No. No.

And Dane taps.

Taps

Does she like me? Would she if she knew?

The senator swipes his forehead. "For God's sake," he cries. Do we dare go down that path? My fellow lawmakers. My esteemed senators. Can we take that chance?"