Free Lexicon by Max Barry Page B

or group. Each person or group you fail to persuade is a strike. After three strikes, the test ends. You begin now.”
    Emily stared. Charlotte nodded to the far sidewalk. A girl in a track suit was jogging down it. For a moment, Emily froze. Then she yelled, “Hey! Hello!” She waved her arms. The jogger pulled earbuds out of her ears. “Can you come here? Please? It’s very important!”
    The woman looked annoyed. But she stopped, checked the traffic, and headed across the road.
    “Nonspecific anonymous verbal summons,” said Charlotte, retreating to the shade of a clothes store awning. “One.”
    The jogger reached her, blond and sweaty. “Yeah?”
    “Sorry,” said Emily. “I thought you were somebody else.” The woman gave her a dirty look and plugged her earbuds back in. Emily felt sweat on the back of her neck. “How many do I need to pass?”
    “I’m afraid I can’t divulge that. But if you’re interested, the record is thirty-six.”
    “Jesus.”
    “Eliot, actually. Attention, please. Here comes another.”
    Emily pulled off her jacket and dropped it to the sidewalk. “John!” she yelled. “John!
Hey, John!
”
    The man on the opposite sidewalk paused. When he realized she was talking to him, he looked amused and shook his head.
    “What?” She held her hand behind her ear. “Can’t hear you, John!”
    “I’m not John!”
    “
What?
”
    “I’m not . . .” He gave up and detoured toward her.
    “Verbal summons by name,” said Charlotte. “Two.”
    Three women climbed out of a car, talking and laughing. “Hey! Free outfits!” Emily said. “First three customers!” Their heads turned. Emily pointed at the clothes store. “Up to two hundred dollars per customer!”
    “Verbal promise of material reward by proxy. Three.”
    The man reached her, smiling gently. “I think you’ve confused me with somebody else.”
    “Oh, yeah.” Over his shoulder, a mother holding the hand of a young boy headed for the grocer. “Sorry about that. Ma’am! Ma’am! I need to talk to you about your son!” The woman glanced at her, then away. “Ma’am, there is something wrong with your son!”
    “Did you say free outfits?” one of the trio asked her. She had a stud in her nose and outrageous mascara.
    “Ma’am!” Emily yelled at the mother. “There is a real serious problem with your son! I’m not joking!”
    The mother turned in to the grocer. Emily could read tension in her neck: She’d heard but chosen to ignore her.
    She looked at Charlotte. “That’s only one strike, right, because they were together.”
    “Correct. One strike.”
    “I don’t see any signs,” said the mascara woman. “Do we just go in, or . . . ?”
    “Yeah. Go in.” The middle-aged man was leaving, looking disappointed. She guessed he wanted to be John. But coming down the far sidewalk was a gaggle of college-age boys in baggy pants and muscle shirts. She opened her mouth, almost reused a method, then dropped to one knee. “Ow! Shit! Ow!” The boys’ heads turned. She pretended to try to rise. “Shit! Help!”
    •   •   •
    At eight-thirty, she removed her T-shirt. Beneath it she had a plain bra; she hesitated, then unhooked it. Her skin puckered. She waved to a group of boys gaping across the street. They looked at each other, laughed, and came within two feet of being cleaned up by a sedan on their way over. Emily glanced at Charlotte. “This is allowed, right?”
    “Nonverbal sexual invitation. Nineteen.”
    She thought she heard a tone. “Are you disappointed?”
    “Actually,” said Charlotte, “I’m surprised you waited this long.”
    “Check it,” snickered one of the boys. They clustered ten feet away, at the edge of the street, as if afraid to come any closer.
    “Hey,” she said, “do me a favor. Go to that corner and don’t let anyone past you. Make everyone come over here.”
    “What for?” said one. Another said, “I want to stay and look at your titties.” This