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as he wrote. That’s more entertaining to me than the movie itself, especially as Trevor keeps glancing at Jim’s writing with a grin, then rolling his eyes at me as if to indicate how ridiculous this is.
    The reason for his concentrated note-taking soon becomes clear, however.
    “Okay, here are the issues,” he announces as soon as the final credit rolls—which we must watch every letter of until the very end of every single movie. Trevor groans, Brian grins, and the others all get a fanatical gleam in their eyes—except the girls. They wander off into a corner to talk, apparently having been witness to this before. “Let’s start with the stardate used in the movie.”
    I jump a little as his comment incites a near riot, everyone talking over the others, even two of the girls. Trevor laughs at my reaction as they begin spouting numbers at one another, arguing about the possibility—and impossibility—of the dates. I am completely confused. Since when do dates have so many numbers and decimals in them? Where are the months? And, uh, it’s just a movie. Fictional, right?
    “It’s incorrect,” Jim is arguing, “unless we have some unexplained time warp here.”
    This comment sets off another explosion of insensible arguing.
    “Wanna go for a walk?” Trevor asks me unexpectedly, speaking loudly to be heard over the commotion. I look at all the others, intent on their discussion. I feel pretty sure no one will even notice our absence.
    “Sure, why not?” I say, getting up and following him out the door.
    Once we’re outside, I can still hear their arguments, and Trevor waves vaguely in that direction, looking a little mortified that I witnessed the weird scene.
    “Sorry about that.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets as we begin walking. “Once they get started, though, there’s no telling how long they might go on like that. It can get pretty heated, a little loud and—”
    “Boring?” I interject.
    “Right.” He smiles. Then he tips his head, looking at me oddly. “That’s not really your kind of movie, though, is it?”
    “Not normally, no,” I dodge. “But it was okay. I kind of liked it.”
    “Really?” He sounds disbelieving.
    “Well,” I say, sensing that we’re on the verge once again of dangerous explanation territory, “you know, the main guy . . .”
    “Kirk,” he supplies.
    “Right, Kirk. He was pretty cute. The other guy—the one who doesn’t smile . . . Spark?” I look at him, and he grins, shaking his head.
    “Spock.”
    “Oh. Spock. Whatever. He was a little odd, but I could relate to him.”
    “ You could relate to Spock?”
    “Well, yeah. I mean, here’s a guy who doesn’t really have a place in the world where he fits. Not human, and not . . .” I look at him to supply the word and find him looking at me with an unreadable expression.
    “Vulcan,” he says.
    “Yeah, that. There isn’t anyone who wants the guy. Not the humans and not his own people either. I mean, each tolerates him, right? But maybe doesn’t fully accept him. Or that’s how it seemed, anyway. Everyone considers him an oddity, right?” I indicate my own self—black skirt over blood-red tights, shiny black boots, striped corset over black mesh shirt, and pale face made more so by my heavily blackened eyes and reddened lips. “Kind of like me. Odd. But I guess I have one up on him; at least there are others like me. There aren’t any others like him, though, are there?”
    Trevor stops dead, and I stop with him.
    “What?” I ask defensively, not liking the way he’s looking at me. It’s verging dangerously close to pity, and if there is one thing I don’t tolerate, it’s pity.
    “You are odd, aren’t you?” he murmurs, and I laugh. So much for thinking he pities me.
    “You have no idea,” I say as we begin moving again.
    “So, what do your friends think of you hanging out with us instead of them on a Saturday night?”
    I heave an internal sigh. Trevor