January 22
“Baloney,” Kyle says. “That’s definitely ‘three’.”
I look under my finger again. I will be damned. It’s three, all right. It was four a second ago. The kanji don’t look at all alike. That’s the second time this has happened today, and it is starting to freak me out. “Huh, guess you’re right. Sorry.”
“No big deal,” she says, “you might have seen this ‘four’ over here.” The full date reads March 4th, 2000. Or is it April 8th? It’s changed again. “See? ‘Four’, ‘month’, ‘eight’, and ‘day’. Perfect numbers.”
Wait. Dates aren’t written in kanji. “Are you playing with me, Kyle?” I ask.
“Playing?” She gives me a weird look from between her long bangs. “I don’t get it. I wasn’t even worried about the date, but it definitely is out now.”
And now it’s a properly-formatted March 4th. Something isn’t right here.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you can tell me if I need to buy a new memory card,” she says, shrugging. “Are you feeling all right, Frannie?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Guess that car crash this morning shook me up.”
She’s clutching me now; her skin is cold, likely because she’s been out here in the living room half-dressed for a couple of hours now. “Oh my God, Frannie, are you all right? A car crash? You’re not hurt, are you?”
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