Chapter 7

After wolfing down our pie, Mandy and Chloe invite me to hang out with them at the cantina. I agree, and soon I’m drowning my disappointment over Zelda’s disappearing act in a delicious root beer float. Mandy and Chloe act like we’re lifelong pals, and it surprises me how effortless it feels to hang out with them. I’m not at all worried about impressing them, like I am with Zelda. I can be myself. I haven’t had this sort of companionship since Finn disappeared. I’ve missed it.

The Administration District’s sole cheap eating establishment, the cantina fills a large and drafty space reminiscent of an aircraft hangar. Maybe it used to be one, though we don’t need airplanes in TropeTown. Food stations line all four walls and white, round Formica tables dot the rest of the room.

The drinks station queue moves quickly. I grab a tray, fill up three chilled mugs with root beer, add in a scoop of ice cream to each, and pay for it all by selecting my items on the screen and inserting my chip card into the reader. Neither Mandy nor Chloe objects to my grand act of chivalry. Chloe even thanks me.

The cantina echoes with conversation and clinking cutlery. At this time of day, free seats are scarce. Mandy tap dances in front of a Mysterious Loner Dude who takes up a whole table. He’s been writing brooding poems in a leather-bound journal with a fountain pen, but her manic energy drives him to pick up his inkpot and slink away, leaving the table to us.

Once we spread out, I distribute our floats. Mandy digs in her purse and pulls out some pink bendy straws in the shape of hearts. “Do everything you do with passion!” she exclaims.

I impale the ice cream foam with the straw. “Did you learn that in therapy?”

“Hmmm . . .” She squeezes her earlobe. “No. I think I came preprogrammed with positive, life-affirming aphorisms. Didn’t you?”

“I did.” Chloe burps out a full sentence: “Don’t just do it, do it better!” She giggles. Obviously she’s so cute, she has internalized that she can get away with such questionable manners.

“I never really thought about it,” I admit. But now that I do think about it, I realize I couldn’t tell you how or when I learned certain facts—I just seem to know them. In fact, I make obscure references to philosophy or geography as a party trick. “What’s the capital of Mali?”

Chloe raises her hand, as if to answer a question in class. “Um, Riley. Non sequitur.”

I pretend that’s really her answer. “Nope.”

“Fine.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Timbuktu.”

“Actually, it’s Bamako.”

“Timbuktu is the ancient scholarly capital of the trans-Saharan route, though,” Chloe says. “And a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Doesn’t that count for something?”

I laugh. “You’re such a nerd. I love it.” Again, I’m gobsmacked by how well we all click. Maybe it’s by design? Are Manic Pixies just meant to get along with one another because we’re so fun loving and chill at heart? But then, why do I feel mere camaraderie with Mandy and Chloe, whereas I’m crushing on Zelda?

Chloe sticks her tongue out at me. “Well, I’ve always wanted to go. The photos I’ve seen are gorgeous.”

We nurse our root beer floats in silence for a moment. No need to ask why she hasn’t gone. We all know there’s not much call for the Manic Pixie Trope in books set in that region of the world.

“Nebraska never showed up today,” Mandy says.

“Shocking,” Chloe says dryly.

Mandy finishes off her float, leaving red lipstick stains all over her pink bendy straw. “Do you think we should check up on her?”

“Looking for Nebraska is a waste of time,” Chloe declares. “You won’t find her until she wants to be found.”

“Do you know Nebraska?” Mandy asks me.

“I don’t think so.” Perhaps one of the biggest misconceptions about Manic Pixies is that we are these super social creatures with giant extrovert personalities. We’re actually introverts at heart, and we tend to latch on to one or two people. I spent most of my free time hanging out one-on-one with Finn, up until he boarded the Termination Train.

“Don’t feel bad,” Chloe says. “Nebraska overbooks herself so that she never has time for anything but work and sleep and the occasional therapy session. And that’s the way she likes it. She’s been in TropeTown for decades, longer than any other Manic Pixie. She’s Legacy.”

“Whoa!” I say. “That’s swanky.” Legacy Tropes live in TropeTown Heights, a gated community with mansions and limos and a yellow-brick road. They get all sorts of other perks, too—for instance, unlike the rest of us, Legacies get to pick and choose which projects they take on. Why is she in therapy when she has it so good?

“It is,” Mandy confirms. “Nebraska invited me over once. She has the most amazing blue diamond chandelier.”

Chloe sighs. “My blue ceramic lamp can’t compete with that. And if an Author doesn’t hire me soon, I’ll be evicted and end up on the Wrong Side of the Tracks. Then I’ll be smashing cockroaches with a blue plastic flashlight.”

Mandy pats Chloe on the head. “I know what will cheer you up! Fortune cookie roulette!” She pulls out a few handfuls of wrapped fortune cookies from her bag and arranges them in a peace sign in front of Chloe.

Chloe grabs one from the center and cracks it open. “Prepare yourself for a new adventure,” she reads aloud.

“See?” Mandy claps her hands together in delight. “A new job is definitely on its way.”

“Moving to a hovel could also count as a new adventure,” Chloe points out, her shoulders slumping.

“But you’d train those pesky cockroaches and sell them to a circus in no time,” I joke.

Chloe smiles. “Thanks, Riley. You’re a good guy.” She pushes one of the cookies in my direction. “Your turn.”

I open it and read: “Love is close, but only claimed through courage.” Even my fortune thinks I should ask Zelda out. Maybe Crazy Cat Lady Cathy has a side job writing fortunes.

“Ooooh. Who’s the lucky girl, Riley?” Mandy extracts a tiny ukulele from her bag and starts strumming the traditional wedding song. “Maybe someone in our therapy circle?”

“Stop that,” Chloe chastises. “Manic Pixies are not meant to fall for each other.”

“I just think star-crossed lovers are so romantic!”

My heart struggles to beat, sensing a crushing blow. “Why star-crossed?”

Chloe taps the therapy rules folder in my lap. “Gotta read the rules, Riley. It’s a termination-worthy transgression to date anyone while you’re both active in the group.”