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“Back in a second,” he said with a grin, and then he was out
of the booth, fording his way through the masses of people.

He didn’t see the woman who’d been watching them turn around
and walk back to the table.

: : :
: : : : : :

“Where’s your man?” Shireese asked dryly.

She was staring down at Indigo, smiling, a beer in hand.
Indigo shrugged, not answering.

“Didn’t think you were coming down,” Shireese continued.
“Too bad you missed Tanis. The set was good.”

“Just came to have a little fun,” Indigo muttered, her gaze
skittering away. This was the story she didn’t want to tell.

“By yourself?”

“Wasn’t alone a minute ago.”

Shireese smothered a laugh under her hand, but Indigo didn’t
notice. She was staring down at the sticky surface of the table, chest tight.

“Right,” Shireese chuckled. “Well, everyone’s enjoying the
show you’re puttin’ on, but you might wanna tone it down a bit.”

Indigo’s head jerked up like it was on a string.

“We broke up. Okay?”

Her words were dashed away in the roar of the bar, but the
message made it through without a doubt. Shireese’s expression back-flipped
from laughter to sudden concern.

“You and…?”

“Yes,” Indigo cried. “It’s over. A year together just…
gone.”

“Oh my God,” Shireese breathed. “What happened?” Indigo
shook her head. She didn’t want to explain. “Is that why?”

Shireese gestured to the distant bar where Jude waited
patiently amidst the other drinkers. Indigo had the random thought that she
hoped he’d moved his wallet to his front pocket. There were pickpockets in the
crowd. She knew some of them.

“I just wanna drink,” Indigo said morosely. “Drink and
forget.”

“Then why’re you looking for trouble?” Shireese asked.

“What?”

“Trouble,” Shireese repeated, “with that guy.”

Both women turned to watch Jude as he stood at the bar, his
clothing as well as his demeanour separating him from the rest of O’Reilly’s
patrons. He was more than passingly handsome and the gaze of a group of
giggling women perched on barstools lingered on him. He had the kind of
physique achieved and honed by effort and repetition. His face was smoothly
shaven, the hard line of his jaw preventing the high planes and delicate features
from being pretty. None of that intrigued Indigo; for her it was his
expression. Jude was
different
than the other men of the bar… the curve
of his lips and guileless look in his eyes.
The innocence.

“He seemed nice,” Indigo said wistfully.

She wished she’d agreed when he’d asked her to leave. She
didn’t feel like dealing with her best friend tonight. Shireese wasn’t the
fuck-up, she was. She wanted to forget
that
too.

“What’s your problem with him, anyhow?” Indigo sneered, her
anger quick and easy. “Is he too good for me too?”

As expected, Shireese’s hands went to her hips, her brows
beetling together.

“I
never
said that,” she retorted. “But a white boy
dressed like that in a place like this? You
know
he’d want something in
return.”

“I just want to have fun! What’s wrong with that?”

 “Fun
isn’t
gonna make this any easier, honey.”

“You’re not my mother, alright?” Indigo snarled, crawling
out from the crowded booth and staggering under a wave of vertigo. She might
not
feel
drunk, but gravity was no longer reliable.

Shireese reached out, catching hold of her arm.

“I’m not your mom,” she said tiredly. “But I
am
your
friend.” Her arm slid around Indigo’s waist, as she guided her through the
crowd. “You bring a purse or anything?” she asked.

“No,” Indigo muttered, glancing back over her shoulder one
last time.

Jude still waited at the bar, a folded twenty in one hand,
reaching out to the bartender. She had the sudden, irrational hope that he’d
turn around and look at her.

He didn’t.

“Then let’s get you home,” Shireese said, nudging open the
door with her boot and dragging Indigo along with her. “Otherwise you’re gonna
hate yourself in the morning.”

“Already do,” Indigo whispered.

If Shireese heard, she didn’t answer.

Outside the rain fell in heavy sheets, the entire world dead
or drowning. A car drove by, water hissing out on either side like two shining
wings. As they walked to the subway, Indigo slumped against her friend’s
shoulder. Hidden by the rain, her face in shadow, she finally let the tears
come.

No one would see them now.

Indigo sat at the computer, fighting down the urge to smash
the stubborn machine to bits. She’d copied all of the files over to a second
jump drive minutes ago, re-saved the entire project, and meticulously re-linked
all the files to the original footage. Now all she needed the program to do was
to export the damned scene, but the computer just wasn’t behaving the way it
should.

Indigo closed her eyes, counting slowly backwards from ten,
the claw of her hand loosening on the mouse. She opened one eyelid a crack.

Unknown error: Export failed.

“Motherfucker!” she barked.

All eyes in the class jumped to where she sat in the back
row.

“Ms. Sykes!” Professor Sakamoto yelped, his bald head
appearing from behind one of the distant screens. “Please remember your
audience.”

A titter of nervous laughter trickled through the lab and
Indigo winced. She might be starting her second year of classes here, but she still
wasn’t used to the expectations of a university program. It’d taken her less
than six months to get her GED at the community college, but classes like this
– filled with spoiled little rich kids who’d never had to struggle for anything
– were an altogether different experience. The scholarship for the Design
Program had seemed like a gift at the time, but there were moments – like now –
when Indigo wished she’d turned it down. Stuck with what she knew. Stayed where
she belonged.

“Sorry,” she grumbled, slouching lower in her chair. “It
just slipped out.”

The girl next her giggled. Indigo glared at the freckled
co-ed until she turned away. Professor Sakamoto stood up from his computer,
walking down the aisle toward the two of them.

“Anything I can help with?” he offered.

Indigo nodded to the flashing box on the monitor.

 “The stupid scene won’t export.”

The professor’s eyebrows rose above his thick glasses,
blurry eyes confused.

“It crashed
again
?”

“Didn’t even get halfway through this time,” she answered.
“Just hit ‘start queue’ and got an error.”

Professor Sakamoto shooed her away from her computer, taking
her chair and clicking through a variety of screens. Indigo waited in silence,
hoping desperately that he’d have the magic touch as he so often did. This
project worried her. Each student had to create a documentary on his or her
life. The problem was, Indigo didn’t have
any pictures of her childhood,
and given the makeup of the class, she really didn’t feel like explaining
why
.
Struggling with that revelation, she’d tackled the final scene – her life as a
university student – first, using every image and video she had on her cell
phone.

With that single scene fighting her too, the urge to quit
was overwhelming.

“Hmm…” the prof muttered, closing the last of the pop-up
boxes. “I’m not sure what it is.” He stood, walking briskly to his desk. “Give
me a moment and I’ll get someone down here to look at it.”

Indigo glanced at the clock. Break was in fifteen minutes.
Unless this tech guy was faster than the last one had been, she was going to
miss her coffee break.

“Just fucking great,” she muttered. This time she made sure
her words were low enough that only she heard them.

: : : : : : : : :

The call to the Tech Center came in just before one. Jude
was at one station while Marq sat with his feet tossed up on the main call
desk. Onscreen, images of soldiers staggered past. Marq’s face flickered blue
and orange under the light of virtual explosions as the troops surrounded him.

“Kinda busy here,” Marq grunted, “can you…” he paused, keys
tapping in rapid staccato as he took out another two enemy fighters, “…get that
call, man?”

Jude grabbed the handset and lifted it to his ear.

“Tech Department, Jude Alden speaking.”

“Yes, hello,” came the reply. “This is Professor Sakamoto in
the New Media Department.”

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Well, one of my students is having some trouble with a
video export.”

“Did the error have a number?” Jude asked dryly. He always
found it funny how much of his job could be Googled for an answer.

“No,” Sakamoto answered, “no error number. Just a failed
export.” The voice faded for a moment and Jude heard the muffled sound of him
calling out to someone in the room. “I have the student right here,” Professor
Sakamoto continued. “If you could just talk her through the issue, I’ll give
her the phone.”

“Professor, just wait a—” Jude began, but he was too late.
He grimaced, his eyes going to the poster on the wall:
Bad planning on your
part does not constitute an emergency on my part.

Students were the
worst
to deal with. Everything was
drama with them, and they
never
followed his directions. He sighed as
the phone changed hands, the sound of the classroom rising and then falling
like rushing water.

“Hey,” a woman’s terse voice announced. “So can you fix it?”

“Maybe,” he said blandly. “Have you tried ‘saving as?’”

“Already did.”

“Have you tried saving the project to a new location?”

“Yup.” Her reply came too fast.

“No,” Jude said sharply. “I don’t mean just save the project
somewhere else, I mean—”

“Yes, I did!” she snapped.

Jude frowned, then started up again.

“No, listen. What I actually mean is, did you delete the
render folder and then—”

“Moved all the individual files to the new folder, copied
all the original videos there, relinked all the files and videos to the project
again,” she rattled off. “Yes, I told you I already
did
that!”

Jude smothered a laugh. It appeared this wasn’t one of the
helpless ones.

“Um, okay. So how about the cache files?”

“The what?” Her voice seethed with annoyance.

“The cache files,” he repeated. “If you still have them in
there, they might be causing the export fail.”

“I um…” The voice was less sure. “I’m not sure how to find
those.”

“Just click on Edit, and then Preferences.”

“Hold on,” the woman answered, “I’m looking.” There was a
pause. “Okay, got to Preferences. Now what?”

“Now clear the cache,” Jude repeated.

“How?”

“Click Cache and clear it.”

There was a pause.

“There
is
no cache!” she growled.

Jude eyebrows pulled together as he struggled to remember
which video editing program the university used in that particular lab.

“You’re sure you’re in your Preferences?”

“Yes! But I’ve looked and there’s no goddamned
cache
,
okay?”

“Huh,” he muttered. “It’s gotta be there somewhere.”

“Well, maybe it’s
supposed
to be,” she answered
tartly. “But it’s not.”

Jude chuckled; she was right. Sometimes things
weren’t
where
they were supposed to be. He glanced at the clock. Break was starting in five
minutes.

“Hold on,” Jude said. “I’ll be right down.”

: : :
: : : : :

The Tech Department was only two floors away from the
computer labs, but students were already filing out for break when Jude
arrived. He hadn’t rushed downstairs, there wasn’t any reason to. It wasn’t
like it was the Dean’s office or a campus security breach. Jude waved at
Professor Sakamoto as he strolled into the room, his mind already on his break.

There was only one student left at the computers: a tall
young woman with sandy brown hair that hung to the middle of her back. A long
swath of it hid her face where she leaned in toward the screen. She wore
scuffed cowboy boots and a leather jacket, one jeans-clad knee bouncing in a
furious pace. Jude frowned as he neared; he knew her from somewhere. Like a
word trapped on the edge of memory, there was
something
familiar about
her narrow limbs and nervous energy. His mind flickered through his Facebook
friends and acquaintances, struggling to make the connection. Sensing him, the
woman suddenly looked up, eyes widening.

It was her.

“Indigo, hey. Hi!” Jude stammered. “I didn’t realize…”

He stopped, staring at her. His memory from last spring
hadn’t
lied.

“Hi,” she said. Her face was pale, and she pushed back from
the computer, standing up so that they faced each other. With her boots on,
Jude saw in surprise, they were almost the same height.

“It’s Jude,” he said, offering his hand.

She glanced at his fingers, and then back up to his face,
but didn’t move.

“I remember,” she answered tightly.

She was watching him the way a mouse might watch a cat, and
he couldn’t for the life of him figure out
why
. The uncomfortable moment
stretched out for a heartbeat longer. Not knowing how to break the silence,
Jude smiled, dropping his outstretched hand onto the back of the computer
chair.

“Let me find that cache file for you,” he said. “And I’ll
get out of your way.”

“Right,” she said, voice relieved. “That’d be great.”

He sat down, clicking open the Preferences and scanning the
choices:
General, Appearance, Audio, Audio Hardware, Audio Output Mapping,
Auto Save, Capture, Device Control, Label Colours, Label Default.