“Of course,” Abby had told him. The last time she’d checked, David had gotten a job writing for an online comedy show starring a former professional wrestler. She was happy for him. He’d had a dream, and he’d made it come true. She only hoped she’d be able to do the same, someday, she thought, as she pedaled on, catching up with Lily, the second-to-last rider, keeping her company as they finished out the morning’s miles.
Sebastian
Hey, man! Slow down!”
Sebastian could hear Lincoln behind him, panting, practically gasping his way up the hill Sebastian had just finished climbing.
“Sorry,” he said. He made himself ease his grip on the handlebars and forced his legs to slow down, letting his bike coast to a stop before pulling off to the side of the trail.
“You okay?” asked Lincoln, once he’d caught his breath.
“Yeah,” Sebastian lied. It was a beautiful day, and he’d enjoyed the riding—or at least he supposed his body had enjoyed it. His mind, meanwhile, had been churning endlessly over the TikTok mess, composing screeds he’d never send to girls he’d never planned to see again. Not even screeds, really. Mostly just variations on the theme of I didn’t do anything wrong!
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lincoln gestured at the grass and trees in varied shades of green and gold, the slow-moving brown water, the blue sky, dotted with cotton-puff clouds.
Sebastian nodded, even though he’d barely noticed the scenery, or the weather, or even how long they’d been riding. “Very peaceful.”
Lincoln drank from his water bottle, wiped his mouth, recapped it, and put it back in its cage. He patted Sebastian’s shoulder. “Just don’t think about it,” he said.
Sebastian glared at him. “How am I not supposed to be thinking about it? I’m the Internet’s main character! The thing you’re never, ever supposed to be!”
“Okay,” Lincoln said. “I’m not saying this is ideal. But you know tomorrow it’ll be somebody else’s turn.”
Sebastian shook his head and stared glumly off toward the water, where a bird—a duck? a goose?—was paddling, with a trio of smaller birds swimming behind it. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture, to show Lincoln that he was still paying some attention to his job.
“Do you remember the girl?” Lincoln asked. “The one who made the video?”
Sebastian nodded reluctantly as a breeze stirred the leaves in the trees overhead. Her name had been Alyssa, and she’d come courtesy of Hinge. She’d been about his height, fine-boned and willowy, with big, blue-green eyes and long dark hair. They’d met on a Saturday night at Dos Hombres, a bar two blocks from Sebastian’s place, one of the three or four spots he kept in rotation. When he’d arrived, Alyssa had been waiting at the bar, looking just like her pictures, smiling when she saw him, her long legs crossed and body angled just so.
They’d ordered drinks—beer for him, and the inevitable Aperol spritz for her. He remembered that she’d touched him a lot, putting her hand on his forearm for emphasis every third or fourth sentence when they were on their second drink, touching his cheek when they’d move on to their third, holding his hand when they’d progressed from drinks to shots. At some point, she’d ended up more or less in his lap. She’d also said his name a lot, so much that he’d wondered if it was a technique she’d picked up from a book or a dating podcast. Tell me about yourself, Sebastian. How long have you lived in Brooklyn, Sebastian?
Maybe it was just hindsight, but Sebastian could remember thinking that there was something off about her, an impression of subtle wrongness that had only intensified after they’d gone back to his place. At first, he’d ascribed his unease to her high-pitched voice, which he couldn’t be mad about. It was not the kind of thing you could convey in photographs, and she hadn’t lied, except, he supposed, by omission And what was she supposed to do? Write “By the way, I sound like Kristin Chenoweth after a hit of helium?”
He’d done his best to ignore it as Alyssa shrilled her way to ecstasy, calling out his name, eventually moving from a squeak to a teakettle whistle and, eventually, into pitches that he hoped not even the neighborhood dogs could hear. When it was over, he’d given his usual speech about having early-morning plans, but Alyssa had said, “My apartment’s not in a great neighborhood. I’d rather go home when it’s light out.” She’d smiled, shyly apologetic, promising to be out of his hair, first thing… and what kind of cad would he have had to be to force her out into the night?