‘Long Lost Last Chance’ was stuck in Cary’s head. It only got louder when Cary had to sit alone at her desk during the hour long appointment Odila predictably skipped. Even all the way to Thursday, it itched along the back of Cary’s ear, agitated in the presence of Dusty Mathis, the other half of its lost history.

“I’ve got a question about Odila,” Cary said suddenly. The slope of Dusty’s eyes were normally relaxing in their softness, but it made the sudden darting of gaze feel all the sharper. “So, you know, I’m fully prepared if you don’t want to say anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” answered Dusty. “I’m guessing you’re worried about her too? I know she didn’t show up to her appointment.”

“How do you know that?” said Cary.

“Because we were joyriding downtown during it,” said Dusty. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Cary with a dismissing wave. After all, she suspected Dusty wasn’t sorry at all. “Has she said anything to you about this job interview she’s apparently going to televise?”

“Not much, no,” said Dusty. “Don’t let my joyriding dig give you the wrong idea. She’s actually been pretty holed up for the whole week.”

“Really?”

“Mm. So I was honestly surprised she wanted to ditch,” said Dusty. “I know I shouldn’t aid and abet, but it was nice to see her act like herself for once. I couldn’t help it.”

“You don’t need to cover yourself,” said Cary. “I’m not trying to lecture you.”

“To be honest, I kind of wouldn’t care if you did,” said Dusty, bluntly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Cary said--strangely, she didn’t know whether she believed that ‘sorry’ more or less than the first. “I didn’t realize you used to be her music partner.”

“Surprised?” Dusty asked.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” said Cary. “These last two weeks have been a surprise. I heard some of your music though. It was really good.”

“Oh, Strawberry Cherry?” asked Dusty. Her cheeky grin collapsed into a more relaxed, contented smile.

“Yeah! Iona showed me ‘Long Lost Last Chance’,” said Cary. “It’s been stuck in my head.”

“Of course she would,” chuckled Dusty, almost sadly. “She’s always been such a sap about that kind of thing, bless her.”

“So you’re not mad at her?” asked Cary. “You don’t feel like she forced you to sell out or anything?”

“Not…hmm,” said Dusty, her smile sinking into the abyss. “It’s not like I felt any more artistic when I couldn’t keep rent and ate one meal a day.”

“Ouch,” Cary said. “I guess ‘selling out’ isn’t the right term when you haven’t even broken in.”

“Exactly,” said Dusty.

“I can’t help but wonder how Odila feels about the arrangement,” said Cary. “Wow, that was really roundabout. What I--”

“I have no clue whatsoever,” said Dusty. Her face didn’t change, and she looked at Cary with the same calm expression as her voice struck down with the force of an axe. “And if I did, I’d be a much better friend.”

Cary was left blinking, feeling almost stupid as Dusty lifted her copy-paste resume and gave it a slow rove with her eyes before handing it over. “So,” she said, extending it to Cary, “tell me how I did.”

---

It was still in her head as the day dragged on, ticking and tapping past client after client. Despite its soothing tune, the beats seemed to hammer a little louder in her head than she assumed they intended, driving each footstep in a steady march toward the parking lot.

Ferris City was a town that was miserably wet and cold in the winter and miserably wet and hot in the summer. Which left a brief, lovely space of bearable that sometimes lasted almost three weeks to enjoy time outside. And Cary was determined to enjoy it, carrying her cantina sandwich toward the few benches by her office, willing to snag a seat by hook or by crook. Dusty’s sudden sing-song call made Cary realize that she and Odila both were still on Cary’s mind.

“Odila! Heeey!” called Dusty, as Cary froze, a half dozen feet before turning a corner that would have put them in each other’s line of sight. Ahead of her was a circular garden surrounded like a crescent by Career Forward’s glass walls; in their reflection, Cary could make the red, twisting bounce of Dusty’s reflection rushing toward a slouch of Odila.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late,” Odila said. “Got caught up in this weird, corporate fishbowl-garden thing. Is this where Care Bear and her fellow zombies come to cry themselves to sleep on lunch?” Screw you, Cary thought--she only cried there once.

“Yeah, probably,” Dusty said, her cheery voice galloping across the grass. “Oh ho! Whatcha got there?”

“Scribbles I pulled out of my ass while I was bored,” said Odila. “Wanna see?”

“I love your ass scribbles. Gimme gimme!” Dusty’s reflection glided through the distorted glass like fish through water, plucking the piece of paper from Odila’s hand and turning to give it a better read. “Ooh this is good already! You gonna finish it?”

“Who knows?” said Odila. “Depends how much I need to take my mind of things.”

“Things?” Dusty asked.

“Eh, you know,” said Odila. “The usual garbage. Reading an online article made by bad people to cheer myself up. A few clicks later, boom. I land on a comment thread about who’s the ‘real’ monster in the DCT ‘scandal’.”

“Oh no…” said Dusty. “Really, you shouldn't worry about that. It’s just kids being stupid.”

“No, it’s not!” said Odila. “I mean Christ, it’s not like I’m better. You told me what happened, and I never put two and two together! Maybe if I did--”

“Odila, stop,” said Dusty. “I was sixteen and stupid. All of this mortifying, not...I dunno, whatever horrible soul-crushing thing these rags are making it to.”

“No! It’s his fault!” Odila yelled, loud enough for Cary to felt herself instinctively pull away from the edge of the corner. “God, and he bragged about it to his douchedick friends half a decade later! Makes me skin crawl!”

Cary could almost hear the vibrating echo of the company glass.

“Dammit...what am I doing?” said Odila. “You said you just wanted to forget that. And here I am making it about me.”

“Hey, relax,” said Dusty. “It’s not like everyone else is leaving it alone...and hey! I get an Odila song out of the mix! My life is complete. All is forgiven.”

“For crissakes,” said Odila. “It’s a draft. Be an artist and rip it apart.”

“It is perfect in every way,” said Dusty, elevating her voice to the stuffy drone of a matriarch, “ruined only by the original sins of man’s hubris.”

“You know what, give it back!” said Odila. Dusty instantly held the paper over her head, and Odila, being several inches shorter, struggled to take swipes at it. “You’re only enabling my narcissistic savior complex, or whatever that thirteen-year-old said on the thread!”

“And you’re damaging my fragile self esteem!” said Dusty as Odila managed one final jump to snatch the paper out of her hand. “And I’m dealing with the stress of the spotlight! Shame on you.”

With another drift through space, Odila’s shadow washed over and collided into Dusty’s, her head leaning against Dusty’s shoulder. Cary couldn’t quite tell, but she was certain Odila said something too quiet for her to hear. There was a moment before Dusty responded with a laugh somewhere between sad and relieved.

“And I will too,” Dusty said. “As much as someone like me taking your side would mean, anyway.” Dusty was answered with a gargled jargon of protest thought of too fast, and the words tumbled out in a mismatch of ‘no way!’ and ‘I’d rather have you than’ that made the two of them laugh at themselves, at the joy of the other’s company and mutual comfort in their own foibles shared.

It was that shared friendly laugh that made Cary suddenly realize how long she’d been stock still, spying on their intimate conversation. She left in a rush, too loud, she thought, to not be noticed--even though something in her secretly wished to be exposed.