"Why are you watching me?" Stace squints at the sun, mouth full of mashed potato.
Oh, Stace. You had to ask, didn't you? I thought you were happily incurious, but of course—you are the most curious of them all. You want to acknowledge all aspects of creation. Not to understand any of it—just to see what else there is to find.
"Who are you?" she asks, "Do you want a chip?"
Stace is generous to total strangers and reserved when it comes to her friends. It's easier that way. Intimacy is a fool's game.
My name is Jack, and I don't want a chip. I'm the monster. I'm flaked out by the boardwalk, sipping on a milkshake, sand on my knees and hating each minute. Still, I feel I can be honest with Stace. She's not going to fall for any traps. She couldn't care less what I do. It's easier.
"Where are GUT, by the way?" she continues, "Did they make it?"
I smile. I was hoping she would ask. They're all failures, you see. They all wanted too much.
"Only by your reasoning," she suggests, cheekily, "There's more to me than chips, you know."
Stace knows what happens to girls who want. Gemma stepped through the door and into an industrial blender. She's only particles now. (I slurp my milkshake.) Uma entered a closet and became a stuffed toy. (I squeeze a teddy with long blue hair; it moans.) And Tillie, well, she never found the door. She got lost and starved. (I smile.) Now, Stace, it is your turn.