She shot me a look that I couldn’t quite interpret, and then said, “Holmesy’s like a grandmother when it comes to the internet.”
She paused again. “Aren’t you?” she said pointedly, and then I realized at last she was trying to make room for me to talk.
“I use the internet. I just don’t feel a need to, like, contribute to it.”
“It does feel like the internet already contains plenty of information,” Davis allowed.
“Wrong,” Daisy said. “For instance, there is very little high-quality romantic Chewbacca fic on the internet,
and I am just one person, who can only write so much. The world needs Holmesy’s Wookiee love stories.”
There was a brief pause in the conversation. I felt my arms prickling with nervousness, sweat glands threatening to burst open.
And then they went back to talking, the conversation shifting this way and that, everyone telling stories, talking over one another, laughing.
I tried to smile and shake my head at the right times, but I was always a moment behind the rest of them.
They laughed because something was funny; I laughed because they had.
I didn’t feel hungry, but when our food arrived I picked at my veggie burger with a knife and fork
to make it look like I was eating more than I could actually stomach.
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