Picked(21)

“Just Cass is fine. I’m very pleased to meet you, too.”

Mason nodded and saw himself to the door.

“Oh, hey,” I said, taking a few quick strides toward him. “Can you not tell Becker how messy my house is? I just got back from a long vacation and haven’t had much time,” I lied, embarrassed about the condition of my house. I was for real going to clean it the next day.

Glancing to my television, I heard my favorite infomercial speaker. Guy Nelson. He had a very distinguished voice.

“It’s junk, besides, your phone will do the same thing,” Mason smiled, nodded, and left.

Looking back to Guy Nelson, demonstrating the digital magnet picture frame, I turned back to the closed door, staring after him in a daze. That’s when the fact that he knew my address hit me. My dad would be so proud of me. I was too excited about the food to think about what should have come to mind first. How did he know where I lived? Why did he know where I lived?

“Um, Becker?” I said, sitting in front of my scrumptious dinner. I would never be able to eat it all, but at least I would have something to look forward to Saturday night.

“Yeah?”

“How do you know where I live?”

“I hacked your computer. Did you know your electric bill was past due?”

“Yeah, I’ll go pay it before noon tomorrow.” Really Cass? The guy hacks your computer, and you tell him you’ll take care of your electric bill? “I mean, why? Why would you hack my computer? That’s illegal. I could have you arrested.”

“No. You’d have to have proof for that. I’m a computer genius. I’d never leave tracks.”

“But why are you so curious?” I wondered if this was the beginning of the end. Did he know who my father was? Did he know I was a private investigator? Was he just playing me now?

“Why are you so curious about me? Why are you Googling my name? Why are you searching forums about me, and how did you end up in the picked room?” he countered, firing his own questions at me like a semiautomatic. I couldn’t keep up.

“The picked room?” I remembered that part.

“Yes. That room wasn’t for you. I didn’t pick you. It was designed for a very special person.”

“Who?” Who? Oh my god, Cass. Stop talking. Who? I didn’t care who.

“I don’t know yet. You never gave me time to figure that out. Now I have a glitch in my game and no matter what I do, nobody else can get in there but you. You ruined the whole project. Do you have any idea how long that room took me to design? Who are you?”

Well, hell. This wasn’t going as planned. “Well, let me take a bite of this shrimp and if I don’t die, I’ll tell you.”

“Why would you die?”

“Oh, just in case I’m being poisoned right now or something. Oh my god. If I’m dying. I’m dying a very happy girl. This is delicious.”

“You’re stalling.”

“No. It’s really good,” I assured him. I was stalling, trying to come up with something. Wishing I knew how much he knew, I took another bite. “Look, you’re reading more into it than you should. It was nothing but curiosity. You should know by hacking my computer how boring my life is. I watched you on the morning show and I was intrigued. You know, your young age and all that you’ve accomplished. It fascinates me,” I lied my ass off, rambling on and on about shit that made no sense to me, let alone him. He knew it. He knew I was feeding him a line of shit.

What was most bothersome was he didn’t call me out on it. He moved on. We talked about movies, sports, cars, and computers, oh and Snowball. We walked along Glitter City, took a carriage around the dimly lit park, and had a cup of coffee by the bay. It was easy for me to pretend with him. As stupid as the game was, I could almost envision this perfect date, except maybe the suspense. I got off too easy on that one. Even I knew it wasn’t that simple.

“What was that?” Becker asked.

“Snowball,” I said, kicking him away again. The mention of his name triggered my responsibility button. I always fed him right before I ate. I jumped up and ran to the kitchen. Poor kitty, it was nearly three hours past his supper. As soon as I mentioned his name, I was up and running for the kitchen.

“Cass? Cass?”

“Hang on,” I yelled.

“Who are you apologizing to? Cass?”

“Hang on. Give me two minutes,” I yelled out again, quickly dumping the can of food to the dish on the floor. “Sorry, buddy,” I said, rubbing under his neck.

“Sorry. My cat. I’ve been kicking him away for two hours. He kept meowing and rubbing against my legs. I forgot to feed him,” I admitted.