E. G. Scribe

“Hi, Sybel!”

Sybel looked up from the mugs she was drying and re-stacking into the bin as Margo flung open the door. “Just gonna put my stuff away, be right back.” She dashed past him.

“Take your time.” She finished stacking the mugs and took a quick look around to make sure nothing else was out of order; she knew Margo wouldn’t judge her if things weren’t perfect, but she still liked it to be nice when she got here. The dish sanitizer was chugging away; the wide sink on the opposite wall was clean, used plates stacked neatly within; and fresh towels hung on all the hooks. All set for the upcoming lunch rush.

“How are you today?” Margo asked, reappearing, smoothly tying her long brown hair into a bun. Sybel tried not to fixate on how pretty she was in that moment.

“I’m alright, how about you?”

“Always just ‘alright,’” Margo chided. “When are you actually going to be okay, huh?”

She knew Margo was teasing, but the words hit a little too close to home. She refrained from saying As soon as I know I never have to take a class with Dr. Faust again and instead said “Once I graduate, I guess.”

“But you love school.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s a love-hate relationship.”

Margo laughed again. Finished with her bun, she grabbed her apron off the wall and headed towards the sink next to him.

She forced a casual expression on her face. “Anyway, you didn’t answer me. How are you today?”

“I’m breathing, I’m alive, I can’t complain.” She turned on the faucet of her sink and dumped in some dish soap. “Think we’ll get a big crowd at the buffet today?”

Sybel shrugged. “It’s Wednesday, so it’s pretty much a toss-up.”

Margo plunged her hands into the sink now filled with steaming dishwater. She’d long since become desensitized to the heat. Sybel hadn’t been here as long and was not yet. When Margo wasn’t there, she tolerated it; but when she was there, Margo insisted on doing it herself.

Sybel liked that small moment in the day before the others showed up, when it was just her and Margo. Sometimes they chatted, sometimes they sang, and sometimes they just worked in familiar silence. It was her favorite part of the day every time they had a shift together, and there was always a little dip of disappointment in her chest when their co-workers finally started to arrive.

“Hey, folks, what’s up?”

Sybel sighed.

“Hey, Martha,” Margo said, turning slightly to greet the older busser as she entered. “How goes it?”

Martha rolled up her sleeves and grabbed her apron from the wall. “Oh, you know. Same old same old.” Martha had been working here longer than either of them but somehow they seemed to know very little about her in general. “Ready for the lunch rush?”

“Buffet’s good to go,” Sybel said. “I got it set up.”

“Wow, brownie points for the overachiever,” Martha said dryly. Sybel tried not to take it personally—Martha was usually in this mood—but the little anxiety gremlin in her head screamed that Martha hated her.

Martha set to work across the sink from them, pulling out a bottle brush to start working on yesterday’s condiment bottles. She then spoke as if the previous exchange had not occurred. “By the way, Margo, how’s the Match adventure been going?”

“Match?” Sybel said. She looked at Margo, who seemed a little extra focused on scrubbing the plates. “As in, the dating app?”

Margo glanced at her. “Yeah. Martha convinced me to make a profile to, what did you say?” She looked back at Martha. “Scope out the studs?”

“Something like that.” Martha smirked.

“Oh.” Sybel wasn’t sure what to say.

“Yeah, I got a match,” Margo said. “This girl in California, but I don’t do long-distance.”

“That’s just an excuse,” Martha interrupted.

Margo rolled her eyes.

“Anyone since then?” Martha pressed, leaning over the sink towards her.

“I guess I got a ping last night.”

Martha’s smirk widened. “Oh! Who is it?”

“I don’t know, some dude.”

“Did you say hi?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. Sybel’s gremlin started making siren noises that she mentally shoved away.

“Did he say anything back?” she asked.

“I haven’t checked yet.”

“Margo!” Martha scolded. “You have to respond right away, or they lose interest.” She pointed the bottle brush at her with vigor, sending an arc of soap her way. Margo blinked and used her shoulder to wipe her face.

“Yeah, well, who takes dating app relationships seriously?” she asked, shrugging once her shoulder was unoccupied with her face. “They never amount to anything.”

“That’s how I met my last boyfriend,” Martha said.

“Oh, yeah?” Margo gave her a playful smirk. “How did that work out for you?”

Sybel tried not to gasp at her audacity; more than that, though, she tried not to laugh at the way Martha’s smug grin immediately fell into an annoyed scowl. She harumphed and dropped the bottle and bottle brush back into the sink. “I’m going to check on the buffet. Don’ll be opening the doors soon.” She flounced away.

Margo turned back to Sybel with a sheepish grin and shrug. “I feel kinda bad…but also, I don’t.”

“Honestly? She kind of deserved it.” Sybel had never really liked Martha.

“I mean, true. I should probably apologize later, though.” Margo returned to her dishes.

Sybel hesitated before speaking again. The anxiety gremlin was digging a pit in her stomach. “So, is the Match thing, like, serious?” She tried to sound casual.

Margo shrugged, letting loose a small scoff. “I mostly did it to get Martha to shut up. She brought it up to me after the last staff meeting because when we did that ‘Never have I ever’ thing I’d mentioned something about, I don’t even remember, not having dated since high school? She said I needed to ‘get back out there’. She kept pestering me about it until I set up an account right there in front of her. I honestly forgot about it until I got this notification saying I had a match. First one was that girl, then last night I got a ping from some guy who lives around here.”

“Do you know who it is?”

Margo glanced around the room. No one else had yet arrived and they were alone until Martha came back, which could be a while as she and Don liked to chat it up. Margo pulled her arms out of the sink and wiped them on her apron. She grabbed her phone from her jeans pocket and waved Sybel over. “Wanna check with me?”

Sybel shook the water off her hands and skittered to Margo’s side, peering over her shoulder as she pulled open the app on her phone.

“Oh, god,” Margo said, “his profile picture is a dog.”

“Sketchy or adorable?” Sybel asked.

“Maybe both, who knows? I honestly have no idea what I’m doing.” She looked closer. “Holy guacamole, his profile name is Devilishly Handsome. This has got to be some kind of joke.” She laughed out loud, but Sybel could only chuckle nervously. The gremlin widened its hole.

“Do you have a screen name or is it your actual name?” she asked.

“I used Daisy,” Margo said.

“Why Daisy?”

“It’s a little involved—Margo is short for Margurite, and Marguerite means Daisy.”

“Oh, that’s cute.”

She watched as Margo looked at the guy’s profile. There were more pictures of his dog (some kind of terrier, it seemed), as well as a picture of a cabin in the woods and a variety of fishing equipment.

“Apparently, he’s a mature, chill, adventurous guy looking for someone to have intellectual discussions with,” Margo read. “How can you be both chill and adventurous, that’s what I’m wondering.”

“Are you going to say anything back?” Sybel knew this question had been asked already, but she didn’t feel like she could end the conversation without knowing.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, what’s the harm?” Margo pulled up the chat the guy had started with simply “Hey.” “What should I say?”

Sybel had to bite her tongue to stop from blurting out “How about ‘shove off’?” Instead she shrugged. “Maybe just say ‘hey’ back. I mean, he’s not giving you much, so why offer any more?” Her gremlin kicked her shins.

“Fair point,” Margo said. She typed the single word and hit send. Just as she was putting her phone down, it vibrated and a message from the guy popped onto the screen. “Wow, desperate much?” She chuckled. “He’s asking if I want to meet up.”

“Do you?” Sybel asked.

Margo shrugged again. “Well, no. I don’t know who he is. Besides, I’m pretty sure by now his profile is a joke. Or even a bot.” She set the phone back down. “I’ll answer later. Looks like the gang is on their way in.”

They returned to their dishes as the rest of the afternoon crew started to arrive, grabbing their aprons and taking their various places throughout the kitchen. Once the dishes were done, Sybel and Margo went their separate ways, and the whole team shuffled and puttered around. Refill the buffet, bus the tables, sweep the floors, grab the dishes, wash the dishes, restock the dishes…it was tedious, but one of the only times of the day the gremlin quieted down. It was familiar and at times oddly satisfying. And it distracted Sybel a bit from Margo’s dating app.

Part of her wished she’d never heard them talking about it; the idea of Margo getting into it with some guy made her feel heavy. Which was totally unfair, because it’s not like she had any say in what Margo did with her life, and was also too much of a coward to admit she…

A stack of plates crashed to the floor at the buffet and someone’s unattended child ran away yelling “Not me!” Sybel tucked the broom under her arm and cleaned up the mess.

Then again, she was glad she’d been working during the time Martha had pestered Margo about the dating app. She was a little hurt Margo hadn’t mentioned it earlier, but she did say she’d basically forgotten about it until Martha brought it up. Plus, she didn’t seem to think it was a big deal, or even legit.

She hoped this Devilishly Handsome guy would turn out to be a joke like Margo seemed convinced he would. Dating apps could be sketchy, and Sybel didn’t want her getting into trouble.

She tried to convince herself that was the only reason. The gremlin ran like a cheetah in her chest.

*

The week went on. With her next paycheck Sybel bought some origami paper. She took it to class with her, keeping the sheets pressed carefully within the pages of her monstrous Philosophy 203 textbook. No one in the class seemed to notice her hands under the desk, carefully creasing the paper against her knee. It helped her focus, but she also liked making the flowers as little gifts for people. Well, specific people. Just one person. Margo.

“Sybel?” her professor asked. Sybel jumped slightly as she looked back up at the whiteboard. It wasn’t the paper folding that had distracted her from the lecture, it was thoughts of…someone.

The gremlin gnawed the back of her neck as Dr. Faust, the professor of this class—let’s face it, most of the philosophy classes after 201—staring at Sybel with his arms crossed.

Sybel didn’t like Dr. Faust. He was unnaturally thin, his skin looking like wax paper stretched over a metal sculpture that was supposed to look like a human. His voice was grating and always sounded angry. His eyes were perpetually surrounded by purple as if he never got any sleep, and this lended itself to his overall disturbing appearance. This gave him an off-putting air from the start, but it wasn’t his appearance that left a bad taste in Sybel’s mouth. It was the near-constant glower and the insane amount of readings he gave them every week; it was the way he always reeked of weed, and it was the way he looked at Sybel…as if he were trying to reach inside her and pluck out her soul. She couldn’t describe it any other way, it was just a look.

“Sorry,” Sybel said. “What?”

“I asked if you can relate Bentham’s panopticon to any situations we see in our lives today.”

“Uh. Maybe smart phones?”

“Elaborate.”

“Well, there’s this trend on social media with the rise of short form content—tiktoks and reels and stuff—where people are filming random strangers like on the bus, or in the street, or something, without their knowledge or consent, and making some post about it with their own narration. Like, someone could walk down the street with a fancy umbrella and wind up on Instagram boomeranging to ‘coffin dance’ with the caption ‘look who thinks they’re the main character.’ This is becoming very popular so when someone goes out, they never really know if someone might be filming them without their knowledge. For some, this may affect how they behave in public.”

Sybel glanced around to see if anyone had noticed her lack of attention earlier, but she just saw a few classmates nod in agreement, one person even making a note. However, Dr. Faust just gave an uninterested hum. He seemed to have this habit of downplaying anything Sybel contributed to the class.

“Anyone else?” he asked.

“Ring cameras?” Sybel’s classmate, Brandon, offered.

“Elaborate.”

“Well, we never really know if someone has them…”

Sybel’s gremlin was kicking the inside of her skull. Sybel crumpled up the paper in her hands and shoved it into her pocket.

*

Sybel usually left the flowers in Margo’s employee bucket. The buckets were stacked on a utility shelf in the back of the kitchen. Don had set it up over the summer in hopes staff would put their phones in them to prevent scrolling on the job, but most people just shoved their jackets or purses into them and kept their phones in their pockets. Sybel had taken to placing the flowers in Margo’s bucket if she’d made one the night before they had a shift together.

She had no idea if Margo knew they were from her; she was never there when Sybel brought them. But after being found the flowers would end up in her apron pocket, made into a hair clip, or stuck into her bun. One particular morning, however, as Sybel shoved her backpack into her bin, she noted that Margo’s hat was in her bin—she was already here—and so was the flower—she hadn’t taken it out today.

The gremlin pulled her hair. Sybel shook it off and grabbed her apron.

When she got into the kitchen, she was surprised Margo wasn’t already elbows-deep in the scalding water. Instead, she was leaning her elbows against the sink with her back to it chatting with Sophia, one of the bussers, who stood in front of her admiring something around Margo’s neck. When Sybel came closer, she saw what it was: a thin gold chain with a tiny, clear gem hanging off the middle.

“What is that?” she asked.

Sophia let it go so Margo could turn and show Sybel. “Isn’t it cute? My Match guy sent it here for me.”

“He knows where you work?” Sybel asked. “Isn’t that kind of creepy?”

“No, I mentioned it once in passing.”

Sybel wasn’t sure that had been the best idea, but she didn’t say that; it was too late, anyway.

“So he gave you a gift?” Sybel asked. “Does that mean it’s serious?”

“I don’t know about serious,” Margo said. “But at least I know he’s not a bot.”

“You never know,” Sophia said. “He could be a sentient delivery drone.”

Margo laughed. Sybel didn’t.

“It’s just a little fake gem,” she said. “I don’t think that’s super weird.”

Sophia snorted. “There are some pretty creepy guys in this world.”

“I don’t think this guy’s one of them. He seems kinda charming honestly. We’ve had some decent talks. We’re even considering telling each other our real names.”

Sybel’s gremlin screamed but Sybel managed to keep her mouth shut.

Margo glanced at her. “What do you think?”

What did she think? She thought she should get involved with this, but knew that she shouldn’t. She thought I really like you, Margo but the gremlin tied those words to the wall with a lead chain. She thought dating apps were stupid and dangerous and Margo should delete hers immediately. She thought, she thought—for a split second, a tiny shining moment—that the look in Margo’s eyes, the one she was giving Sybel right now, was telling her to say something, a particular something, that she had never dared dream of her wanting Sybel to say.

But of course that wasn’t it. And she could never say any of that.

“Uh,” she said ingeniously.

Margo tilted her head at her. “Yeah?”

Martha burst in through the door. “Buffet’s open!” she shouted. “Playtime’s over. Get to your stations.”

Sophia fled and the bustle began. For a second, maybe two, Margo and Sybel remained, looking at each other. Margo’s fingers went to the chain around her neck but her eyes stayed on Sybel.

She wanted to throttle the gremlin, squeeze it till its eyes popped out of its head, till the head itself popped off, till it turned to a gasping writhing puddle of goo.

She didn’t. The gremlin bit her hands off, finger by finger.

Margo turned back to the sink. They got to work.

*

The next day the flower was still in her bin and the necklace was still on her neck.

In the spare minutes between tasks, which she usually spent cracking jokes or sharing videos with the team—with Sybel—she now spent checking her phone, smiling, thumbs clicking away.

Sybel’s chest felt as heavy as the endless stacks of plates.

*

She didn’t fold any flowers in Philosophy 203 that night. She drew long curving lines in the margins of her notebook. She wondered if anyone was filming her and if she’d wind up in the undying universe of the internet. Someone thinks she’s the main character.

Not everything is about you. The gremlin carved those words into the back of her skull. She needed to get over herself. She needed to grow up.

“Sybel?”

Dr. Faust seemed to have a supervillain power which was to always call on Sybel when she was distressed or unfocused.

“Yes, sir?” she asked. A few classmates chuckled.

“Have you picked your midterm paper topic yet?” Dr. Faust’s pencil-thin eyebrows raised. Why did he always seem to be challenging Sybel?

“I was considering writing about the tiktok thing we said last week,” Sybel said. “The panopticon.”

Dr. Faust seemed disappointed—even annoyed—that Sybel had an answer so quickly.

I’m a good student, she thought, irritated.

“Fascinating.” It came out dry and unimpressed, as if Dr. Faust were trying to belittle her in front of her peers. “Anyone else?”

Sybel drew a daisy.

*

Sometimes if they worked the late shifts, Don would let them eat leftovers from the buffet.

He’d initially said a snack or two, anything that couldn’t be saved as leftovers for the next day. But given he left at 8:30 and the rest of them worked till 9, no one was there to stop them from piling their plates, pushing some tables together, and feasting.

Sometimes Martha joined them if she was working that night. She’d roll her eyes and threaten to tell Don, but she never did, and she heaped as many mashed potatoes on her plate as any of them.

That night it was her, Margo, Sophia, and Sybel. Martha and her potatoes; Sophia had piled on a salad; Margo had her plate stacked with chicken tenders; and Sybel picked at her bowl of pasta and the marinara she usually swore by but now seemed cloying and bland.

Margo was checking her phone again, and for all anyone knew she was texting a dying relative in Taiwan, but Martha just had to go and say “Are you talking to Match guy?”

“What’s it to you?” Margo asked. She’d been a little testy with Martha lately.

“Are you thanking him for the gift?” Sophia asked.

Martha’s eyes gleamed. “What gift?”

Sybel twirled her fork endlessly in her pasta and Margo gestured to the necklace. Martha leaned over the table to get a closer look. She leaned so far Sybel worried she might smash her potatoes with her chest.

“Oh, just take it,” Margo snapped, and to Sybel’s shock she pulled the necklace off without even unlatching it first. A tiny snap charged the air as the chain broke. Everyone stared at her.

Martha grabbed it and leaned away from the potatoes. She stared at the plastic gem with a smirk on her face at first, which slowly turned into a frown as she turned it over in her hands, held it up to the light, then her eye.

“Margo,” she said, “this is a real diamond.”

“Ha ha,” Margo said.

“I’m serious.” And she did look serious. Margo paused, her mouth half-full of chicken.

“Really?” she mumbled.

“I worked at a pawn shop and saw enough fake gems to know the difference. This is real. Match Guy gave you a real diamond.”

Margo grabbed a napkin and spit out her food into it.

“Holy moly,” Sophia said. “That is serious.”

Margo snatched it back from Martha. “I mean, it’s tiny. Cheap. Right? You get these so cheap at like the mall or something.”

“I mean, maybe,” Martha said. “Not that cheap. It’s still a diamond.”

Sybel realized her hands had gone to her knees, fingernails digging into her jeans. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Margo put the necklace on the table, covering it with her hands. “We’ve never even met. He’s giving me diamonds.”

“You should ask him about it,” Sophia said.

You should never talk to him again, Sybel thought.

“I guess I should,” Margot said. “But what do I even say? I don’t want a real diamond? Take it back?”

“Maybe you should meet with him,” Sophia suggested. “In person. See what he’s like in real life, and then you can talk to him about the diamond.”

For some reason Margo looked at Sybel before looking at Sophia. “Like a date?”

“It wouldn’t have to be a date, necessarily. Just say you want to meet. If it goes well, sure, it’s a date. If he’s a creep, it’s a meeting, break it off.”

Margo’s hand closed around the necklace, gripping it, knuckles pressed into the tablecloth. She stared at her fist. “I guess it’s not a bad idea.”

“You should go somewhere public,” Sybel said. “Somewhere crowded, where he can’t pull anything.”

“Not a bad idea,” Martha said. “You could even meet him here.”

“I don’t know if I want to suggest the cheap buffet I work at for our first date,” Margo said.

“But it’s not really your first date,” Sybel said, probably too quickly. Her gremlin smacked her.

“It could be,” Martha said unhelpfully.

“Meet at the park?” Sophia suggested. “There’s always people around, and then you don’t have to buy food.”

Margo nodded once, slowly. “Yeah, that might work.”

After a moment of silence and all of them staring at her, Margo pulled out her phone. Her thumbs clicked away. When she was done she set the phone on the table and looked at them.

“What?” she asked.

“Did he respond?” Martha asked.

“I literally just sent it and it’s like ten at night.”

Her phone vibrated. She waited a second to read it. Sybel wasn’t sure if it was due to nerves or her wanting to drag it out to prove her previous statement.

Finally she read it. “He says tomorrow at noon works. At the park.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Sybel blurted out. It somehow slipped past the gremlin, who proceeded to shred at her insides.

Margo looked at her. “What?”

“Not like, on the date. But like. To look out for you.” Margo’s expression didn’t change and she didn’t immediately respond. Sybel tried humor—maybe it would lighten the mood, help her say yes. “I could be undercover, sunglasses, newspaper, sitting on a bench nearby.”

“Sure, I guess,” she said. “I don’t think anything will happen, but it doesn’t hurt to have someone nearby just in case.”

Sybel’s relief was so big it washed over the gremlin and sent it sprawling. “I’m free that time tomorrow.”

“Cool. Thanks.” Her fingers clutched the necklace again. The gremlin backed into a corner, snarling.

*

The next morning Sybel had her monthly advisor meeting with Dr. Faust. Because of course Dr. Faust was her advisor.

Sybel took a deep breath outside Dr. Faust’s office door, bracing herself for the smell, the glares, the condescending remarks. She clutched the straps of her backpack as the gremlin nibbled the hair on the back of her neck. Then she reached forward and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” came the voice.

Sybel opened the door and stepped in. It was dark in the office, window shades always closed. The only light came from a salt lamp on the corner of the professor’s untidy bookshelf, and the pale, stinging light from his computer.

The thick and biting smell of the office was overwhelming. Maybe she could leave the door open this time.

“Close the door,” Dr. Faust said.

Sybel sighed and closed the door.

Dr. Faust leaned forward at his desk as Sybel sat in the plastic chair across from him. “Any questions for me about the class?” he asked, getting right to the point.

“Not really,” Sybel said. Maybe that could be the end of it. Maybe she could leave.

“Are you sure? You often seem inattentive in class.”

“I turn in all my assignments in time. My discussion posts meet the requirements, and my classmates are engaging with them, so I figured—”

Dr. Faust raised a hand, cutting her off. “Your academics are adequate. Is there anything in your personal life you are struggling with?”

Is that any of your business?

“I know a youth of your age probably faces many challenges at this stage in their life.”

“I mean,” Sybel said. “I guess.”

Dr. Faust continued to stare at her. “Home life, work life, romantic—”

“What?” Sybel blurted out.

“I assume you are familiar with the concept of romance.”

“Well, yeah, but, what does that have to do with my academics?” The gremlin gnawed at her shoulders.

Dr. Faust’s stare did not move or change. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. At your age it’s common to explore, form attachments.”

“But…” Sybel faltered. “Why are we talking about it?” It seemed wildly inappropriate.

Dr. Faust leaned back in his chair. “I’m simply trying to get to know you better, Sybel. And perhaps your general cohort as well. To a philosopher such as myself, the minds of today’s youth are fascinating. I’m only ten, twelve years apart from you in age, and yet so much has changed. The entire method of dating itself has changed. I never would have thought of myself on a dating app, yet here I am.”

Sybel felt her forehead scrunch up. “Uh…”

“And this obsession with anonymity,” Dr. Faust went on. “What do you think of that? What is the desire to conceal one’s identity online? Is it an attempt to avoid accountability? To create an environment that is the exact opposite of Bentham’s panopticon?”

Sybel felt like her mouth was drying out. Her hands clutched her knees. “I really don’t know.”

“But internet anonymity for those seeking relationships has to end eventually,” Dr. Faust went on. “I myself am revealing my true identity to one I have been communicating with for the past few weeks. Have you ever had that experience, Sybel? Being compelled to show your true self after a time of being able to display only your finest qualities?”

Sybel thought about Margo. How Sybel never really shared her whole self with her, or anyone.

“No,” she lied. “But my friend is meeting an internet friend tomorrow too.”

“So you have secondhand experience. Perhaps she, like me, feels apprehension at revealing her true self. Have you ever thought of professors as being apprehensive, Sybel? We’re often put on a pedestal of perfection.”

Sybel almost laughed, but managed to hide it in a cough.

Dr. Faust continued soliloquizing. “In less than two hours I will show my true self to a woman I’ve never met in person. In the middle of a park, for all to see—”

“Park?” Sybel interrupted. “Today?” The gremlin pulled her hair.

Dr. Faust looked at her in annoyance. “Yes. I will be meeting the young woman I’ve been connecting with online. I believe her to be a charming and intelligent person. Especially as she asked to meet in a park, which relates to her screen name—”

“Daisy?” Sybel whispered.

Dr. Faust sat up a bit. “How would you know?”

“I—” Sybel felt like she was going to throw up. “I have to go.”

“We haven’t discussed your grades yet, Sybel,” Dr. Faust said.

Sybel didn’t respond. She stood up and grabbed her backpack. The gremlin ran laps inside of her, vibrating her entire form. She thought she might have heard Dr. Faust say her name again, but she found herself running—stumbling, more like—to the door, flinging it open, escaping, out, out, out as fast as she could.

She had to get to Margo before she left for her meeting with Match Guy.

With Dr. Faust.

Somehow she made it to Don’s buffet. She crashed through the employee entrance. Margo would be finishing her shift soon, Sybel had to catch her before she left—

“Sybel, what’s wrong?”

Margo’s voice.

The gremlin was running laps inside her still, its claws digging it. A wild tornado that shredded her insides. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. It clawed her throat, her lungs, her eyes. She was vaguely aware of her backpack slipping off her arms and thudding to the floor as she staggered into the room.

“Sybel! I think you’re having a panic attack.”

The gremlin broke her knees. She wobbled, she fell.

She was on the floor, panting, gasping. Everything shook, the floor, the sinks, the ceiling—no, she was the one shaking—

Margo grabbed her.

She grabbed her elbows. Her hands clasped Sybel’s skin, hot and sticky from the dishes. Drops of soapy water drizzled down from her fingers to Sybel’s arms. The sensation of her hands, the water, slowed the gremlin down. Sybel could see a little now—Margo kneeling in front of her, the two of them alone in the kitchen—she could hear her voice, speaking calmly, slowly.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The gremlin slowed.

“Take a deep breath. Breathe, Sybel. Breathe with me. One…two…”

Sybel shakily sucked in a mouthful of air.

“Hold it. Hold it in. One…two…”

The air tried to burst out of her mouth, but she held it. The shaking stopped, just a little.

“Let it out. One. Two.”

It came out slower than it had entered. Staccato, thick, but slow.

“Again. One, two.”

Margo kept going, kept holding her, guiding her, grounding her.

The gremlin crawled into a corner. Sybel wished it would die.

Her body stopped shaking and her breath evened out. She could see clearly now. Margo was staring at her, eyes wide and concerned.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I—” She gulped and sat up. “I know who Match Guy is.”

Margo looked perplexed. “How?”

“He’s…he’s my professor.”

Margo put her hand over her mouth. She leaned back on her heels and stared up at the ceiling.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice muffled behind her hand.

“Yeah, pretty sure. We were at my advisor meeting, and for some reason he started talking about online dating, and how he’s going to meet someone named Daisy…at the park…today.”

“Is he at least, like, young and hot and stuff?”

“He’s like thirty something.” And not hot…she kept that part to herself. Margo didn’t need to know how absurdly creepy Dr. Faust was.

“I’m going to puke.”

Margo was turning twenty in a few months, so it wasn’t illegal, but she was still fresh out of high school and the idea of dating a college professor was…icky.

“I’m sorry.” This time Sybel reached for Margo, much more tentatively, touching her elbow. The gremlin nipped at Sybel’s heels…but she pushed it back. This was Margo. She needed someone more than Sybel needed to heed the gremlin.

Margo lowered her hand but kept staring at the ceiling. “I mean, I was probably going to call it off anyway.”

“Still, it’s not a fun thing to find out.” She leaned towards her, just a bit. “Are you going to cancel?”

She looked at her finally. “Why?”

“Because…he’s a creep?”

“I still have to return the necklace.”

“Sell it to Martha’s pawn shop or something. Trust me, you don’t want to meet this guy. I know him, and—” And he’s weird, he’s mean, he borders on the inappropriate—scratch that, he was inappropriate—he knew how old “Daisy” was. It was in her profile.

Margo took a breath and let it out slowly, almost a sigh. “Just ghost him? I never do that.”

“I think you’ll feel better in the long run not seeing this guy,” Sybel said.

“But if I don’t I’ll just be left wondering who he is.”

“Trust me, that’s better.”

“Is he really that bad?” Margo sounded a little exasperated.

Sybel felt herself shrinking back. She dropped her hand away. “I mean…I think so. But…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you what to do.”

Margo shook her head. “I know you’re just trying to look out for me. You’re a good friend.” She stood up, holding out her hand for Sybel to grab. She did, and Margo gently helped her to her feet. She thought Margo might have held onto her hand a split second longer than strictly necessary.

“I’ll give Martha the diamond,” Margo said. “She can enjoy it, give it to Don, pawn it, whatever.”

“As long as she doesn’t wear it here,” Sybel said, trying for a joke. Margo smiled and shook her head.

“Yeah.”

“Also, thank you,” Sybel said. “For…” She gestured to where she’d only moments before been sprawled on the ground.

“Of course, Sybel. I’m here for you, too.” She tapped her arm. “You gonna be okay?”

The gremlin gnawed her hair again. Sybel slapped it because this time it was small, like a mosquito.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m dropping that class, though.”

Margo laughed a quick, grim laugh. Then she pulled out her phone.

The gremlin ran a claw down Sybel’s spine. She shook it off. “You cancelling the meeting?”

“I’m deleting the app,” she said. She shoved the phone back into her pocket. “I’m a ghost now, whoooo.”

Sybel grinned.

Margo turned and went towards the bin shelf. She pulled out an envelope and shoved it into Martha’s bin. The necklace, Sybel guessed.

Then she pulled out the paper flower.

She twirled it in her hands, and this time, she was sure, she looked right at her, quickly, and back to the flower.

“Pretty,” she said. “They always are.”

She stuck it into her bun. “Gonna go set up the buffet before I clock out. Refill the sink for me?”

“Sure.” Sybel felt herself melting a little with relief. She went to the sink and turned on the faucet. The water came out cold at first but quickly grew steamy. She closed her eyes and put her hands in the rapidly filling sink. The water was hot, but in an oddly comforting way. It seemed she’d built up her resistance.

“Hey, Sybel?” Margo called over.

She turned to her. “Yeah?”

“Maybe you and me can go to the park. Instead. Make it a good afternoon.”

Sybel felt a smile on her face, bigger than it probably should have been. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

Margo smiled back. “It’s a date.”

The gremlin fainted. Sybel stared at Margo and the way her eye twinkled just before she ducked out the kitchen door.