Free Sleeping Jenny by Aubrie Dionne

thinking?”
    â€œOnly that he’d be the mega-coolest guy in school.”
    â€œWell, they were clearly wrong.”
    Maxim stopped mid-bite. “What do you mean?”
    â€œâ€™Cuz you’re the mega-coolest guy in school.” I tsk-tsked and shook my head. “They should have named him Maxim.” Although I sounded sarcastic, I meant it. I pretended to drop my spork in my lap to hide the blush on my face. Why did I always gush like a baby when I was nervous?
    Thankfully, he didn’t freak out. Instead he waved my compliment away like he didn’t deserve it. “You won’t think so when you see me dance.”
    â€œYou can’t be that bad.”
    â€œTrust me. I am.”
    The techno bell rang too soon, mocking me with its casual tone. I could have stayed in that lunchroom for the rest of the day talking about dancing, names, and General Relativity as it applied to me and Maxim. Ironically, for a three-hundred-year-old teen, time had run out. Tomorrow Exara would be back, and I’d turn back into the third wheel.
    â€œSee ya.” I picked up my backpack as he stuffed his lunch container into his.
    He reached in the front pocket and passed a plastic card across the table. Did they allow teens to have credit cards nowadays? “Here’s my miniscreen number. Call me if you have any questions on Einstein.”
    I took the card, feeling the raised digits under my skin. “Thanks.”
    â€œLater, Jenny.” His eyes stuck on mine and I couldn’t move. Chad’s playful eyebrows appeared amongst the sharper features that made him all that much more enticing. I made a mental note to ask C-7 who Maxim’s ancestors were.
    His lips curled slightly and he spun around, leaving me in the lunchroom with the gurgling of the recycling tubes.

    When I got home, Pell was napping while C-7 folded laundry. Since I’d already asked him to investigate the other cryosleepers, I didn’t think it was the best time to ask about Maxim. Even robots had their limits.
    I dragged my feet to my room and took out Maxim’s card, flipping it over and over on my bed. The numbers shimmered in the fluorescent light like the wings of a butterfly.
    Why did he want to help me? Was I just another history experiment for him? Or was there something more? Something I’d never had with anyone at Ridgewood Prep.
    I needed to talk to Angela so badly, my heart ached. She’d know exactly what his intentions were. I reached for the closest thing to her and popped in the next video in the series I referred to as My Previous Life .
    Timmy stood in front of the camera holding Buzz Lightyear and his ratty Elmo doll. His hair had grown out into long curls around his ears. He looked like he’d grown two inches. Watching an older Timmy dance around brought a wave of melancholy.
    â€œHi, Jenny. You’re still sleeping. When are you going to wake up?”
    He held his Buzz Lightyear figure up and flew him through the air. Buzz collided with Elmo, who, of course, fell on the floor with a kaboom .
    â€œMommy says not to talk about you because it makes her sad. So I decided to turn on the camera and talk to you myself.”
    In the background, I heard my mom’s voice. “Timmy, what are you doing? Lunch is ready.”
    The sound of her voice cut to my heart, slicing out a piece. I missed her. Even if she had ranted on and on about her upcoming campaign. Now I’d sit and listen, maybe even help make signs.
    My mom came into Timmy’s room and grabbed his hand. She wore the same blouse she’d worn to a New Year’s party last year— really three hundred years ago—with black sequins in the front. I decided I missed sequins, too.
    â€œWait! I have to shut off the video.” Timmy ran back into the room and put his little arm up. He stuck his tongue out at the screen and made googly eyes before it flickered off. I laughed and cried at the same time,