Water

They call him Dyami. It makes sense, because that's what he's told them his name is, and why would he have any reason to lie about something as simple as a name?

Maybe because he doesn't have a name. There's a lot of things he doesn't have. Things he doesn't need to have, like a real heart, or stomach or brain.

They all think he's human. That's what they're supposed to think. They're not supposed to know that he's full of wires and electrical pulses that make him go this way and that when he sings for them.

They're not supposed to know that his voice is a blend of three top forties artists off the billboard.

He has one of their noses too, not that he'll ever tell.

His creator had placed him in a home when he was made. She had said it was part of a social experiment, to see if humans could accept androids as their equals, and not some subservient slaves to do their bidding. At most he'd be in the study for a year, and then back to the lab. He wasn't told what would happen next. 

When a year passed, she didn't come back for him. He waited and triple checked his logs. April 23rd. She said she would be back April 23rd, and then he wouldn't have to pretend that he was Dyami Peterson, the most perfect person to ever be.

Except he wasn't a person.

There's a girl, Naomi. She's on the swimming team, and somehow he's fallen in love with her. His creator told him no romances during the experiment. But it's May 23rd, and she still hasn't come back for him. The study was a year, and it's been thirteen months.

Is she still his God? Or does he answer to the woman he's been calling mom for the past ten months, the one who gets the detergent that smells like lavender.

He wonders what lavender smells like. 

He wonders if Naomi smells like lavender too.

It's Saturday morning, and she wants to go to the pool. She needs to practice for her meet, because she wants to break the school record and get her name on the wall. She wants to make her mark.

She wants Dyami to come and keep her company.

They've been hanging out for a few weeks now. It's mostly been at the library, as he is tutoring her in math. He can crunch the numbers in his head, but he makes a show of using the calculator, because that's what humans do. They punch in numbers, and scribble them on papers, and blush when they bump heads when one of them bends down to grab the pencil that the other has dropped.

When she had suggested that they go to the pool, Dyami had been resistant. Water was the enemy. One dip, and he would short out.

Human beings don't short out.

"I can't swim," he had told her.

"I can teach you," she had said. 

"I'd rather watch you train."

He spent the morning coating the entirety of his body in Scotchguard. His mother uses it on her shoes, and she swears that it's supposed to waterproof anything. 

He's an anything.

To be safe, he wears a track suit and rain wellies. She tells him that he looks ridiculous, and he brushes it off. If she thinks this looks ridiculous, just wait until he's convulsing from the touch of water.

She does a dozen laps before surfacing at the edge of the pool. She motions for him to come to the edge. Hesitating, he hovers above her, keeping away from her grasp. 

"You sure you don't want to come in? Shallow end is only 4 feet." His creator made him a staggering six foot three, compared to her five foot stature. Could two thirds of his body withstand the greatest poison of all? Could he just take a nap in a bucket of rice and wake up alive?

He almost takes her up on the offer.

"The chlorine makes my skin itch," he lies. "But please, keep going. I like to watch. You're like a mermaid."

"Suit yourself, landlubber."

She spirals off the wall, sailing through the water. Of all girls, why did he have to fall for this one? Why couldn't he find one a bit more...dry? He's in the theatre club. He could have fallen for his co-star, or one of the girls from the orchestra. Instead he's stuck on the bleachers, wondering what he's going to do when she goes in for a hug.

He's a genius. How had he not calculated this risk before saying yes? 

He climbs the bleachers higher, until he's at the very top. From up here, she looks like a bug. Bugs aren't attractive, he reasons, and maybe with a clearer head he can find a way out of here.

Closing his eyes, he enters the internet. There really aren't any forums for these kinds of things. There are the classic Romeo and Juliet cases, but nothing that tells an android how to maintain an actual relationship with a real girl. One that'll notice how cold his lips are when they kiss, or how he doesn't just skip lunch because he is intermittent fasting. Can't call it intermittent if it never stops.

What was he thinking? There's no way he can be with Naomi. She deserves a real boy, one that can swim laps with her, and laugh over a picnic in the park instead of throwing crumbs at the ducks when she's not looking. 

He descends the bleachers, making his way to the edge of the pool. 

"I'm sorry, but I need to go. My mom called and wants me back home." 

"That sucks. I was really looking forward to our picnic this afternoon. I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us." He's heard about those. They're said to be delicious. The kids at school argue over crunchy and smooth peanut butter, or if they're team grape or strawberry. 

He wonders what strawberries taste like.

He wonders if she tastes like strawberries.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. He goes to leave, and she grabs for him. Her wet hand leaves droplets on his skin. 

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. He needs to leave, like yesterday.

"I'll see you Monday?"

For a boy without a heart, his sure feels like it's breaking.

"Sure."

He hates it when he lies.