Don’t Mess With Cupid

“I’M SO LONELY,” Deiondra Mitchell said, holding a sign that read “My Body, My Icks” as we stood outside the Capitol building among hundreds of other protestors. “But the last man I went on a date with, when the waiter brought the check, he couldn’t get the ink out of the pen. He just kept shaking it and looking around awkwardly for the waiter to come back, and I couldn’t take it. I just ran out and called an Uber without saying goodbye.”

It had been a whirlwind few days. I’d come to interview the protestors, who’d all flocked to the Capitol building after news broke of a sudden and surprising development. A little-known company named Tex-VaX (rumored to be affiliated with Elon Musk), in partnership with the Texas Biomedical Research Institute, had been researching and developing a purported vaccine for two controversial phenomena afflicting most single millennials: the Ick and Peter Pan Syndrome. Now, the Texas Legislature was considering a bill that would provide $25 million in additional funding and, among other provisions, enforce mandatory vaccination among unmarried Texas adults between the ages of 25 and 40, which sparked considerable outrage and confusion. 

“Yeah, this is absurd.” Karlee Adams, 31, had joined the protest with several of her friends after seeing posts about it on social media. “I’m glad we’re all banding together today because this needs to be stopped. Just because I get physically ill at the sight of a man tying his shoelaces doesn’t mean the government should try to mandate some sort of cure.” She used air quotes on the word cure. “The Ick is not a virus. I’m perfectly fine.

I pressed Karlee and her friends to explain in their own words what the Ick was and the impact it had on their lives.

“I think it’s a protective mechanism,” said Sierra Alvarez, 29. “Ok, like, here’s an example. You know when you’re at the grocery store and you go to get a cart, and it’s like, stuck to another one? Because something gets wrapped up between them—like the buckle on the front or whatever? Yeah, well I broke up with my ex-boyfriend in the parking lot of an H-E-B because he couldn’t get two carts unstuck.”

Karlee tossed her head back. “God, ewwww!” She hopped from one foot to another and shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, laughing. “I still just can’t even handle that. It’s so gross.”

“Why does that make you have such a strong reaction?” I asked.

We were interrupted as another protestor approached Selena. “Oh my God, I love your sign.”

“Oh, thank you! They’re disgusting, right?” The sign had a picture of a man’s foot wearing a flip-flop. It was covered by the red “no” symbol.

“That’s the bill they should be passing.” The woman laughed and pointed to the Capitol building. “No man should legally be allowed to wear flip-flops. Anyway, one battle at a time.” 

Selena waved as the woman walked away and then turned back to answer my question. “So, yeah—it’s like, how is a guy supposed to be a protector or a provider if he can’t even pull a cart out at the grocery store? This is my intuition as a woman telling me who’s going to be a fit partner, not some disease that needs a vaccine. Especially not from that dirtbag Elon Musk. It’s people like him who give us the ick in the first place. Naming his kid after a calculator or whatever. Sicko.”

Most of that day, I wandered through the clusters of protestors, trying to understand their beliefs and their grievances with the vaccine and the potential mandate. There were signs and posters, drum circles and guitar players singing protest songs, and various chants. Images of Elon Musk were everywhere, and one woman was even dressed in a Peter Pan costume, with an Elon Musk mask on. Capitol police in riot gear were posted at every corner, but it seemed difficult for them to understand where to enforce order. Some groups seemed to be united in opposition of the vaccine, while others were divided, even arguing amongst themselves.

“I think these icks are very real and very dangerous,” Trevor O’Neil said, holding a poster with the green nauseated emoji and text that read “Your Icks Give Me the Ick.” “I’m glad someone is finally stepping up to deal with it. But I’m sure as hell not getting vaccinated.”

“Bro, how can you even hold those two thoughts in your head?” ‘Don’t vaccinate me, I need my freedom, but let’s force someone else to get a vaccine for the same reason I’m against it.’ Like, what?”

Jermaine Andrews, Trevor’s roommate, was one of the guitar players I’d passed earlier.

“Dude, don’t even start this again,” Trevor said. He looked around. “There aren’t any girls here right now, so you can save your speech about pretending to care about women’s health.”

“Nice. Keep deflecting,” Jermaine said. “Works every time.”

Trevor slapped the back of his hand on Jermaine’s chest. “Tell me why the first two buttons of your shirt are unbuttoned. It’s fifty-five degrees out here. In fact, this is the same shirt you wore when you went to the Iran protests.”

“Oh fuck off, bro.” Jermaine picked up his guitar and started walking toward a different group.

“Cool, bro, walk away,” Trevor shouted. “I’m not giving you a ride home!”

Jermaine raised a middle finger toward us, without looking back.

When Jermaine was out of earshot, Trevor turned to me. “I swear, he’s just here to pick up women.” He shook his head. “He just won’t admit it. Look, see? Those are all girls he’s about to walk over to.”

Eventually Jermaine did glance back at us, and when he saw us looking at him, he made a sharp right down a different path.

A few moments later, a haggard, incredibly thin man wearing a crumpled brown leather jacket, tattered shorts, and thick rubber boots walked toward us. A patchy black beard hung down to his upper chest. He carried a long tree branch and beat it on the ground beside him as he yelled:

“THE VACCINE IS A NEURALINK IMPLANT! STARLINK WILL CONTROL YOUR MIND! THE VACCINE IS A NEURALINK IMPLANT! STARLINK WILL CONTROL YOUR MIND!” 

“Jesus,” Trevor said. The man marched past us with a vaguely military precision. Then, a throng of people next to us started to take up their own chant, and Trevor and I agreed to find a bench in a quieter spot to talk about his background and why he’d come out that day.

Trevor explained that despite a relatively successful modeling and acting career in New York years ago, he was frustrated by the lack of larger opportunities for projects that inspired him. He eventually moved to Austin to be closer to home, and he started working a sales job for a tech startup. There, he met his most recent partner, Carmen—the one who brought up the idea that he was suffering from Peter Pan syndrome. They’d taken a break, and it was unclear if they’d get back together.

“One night we got in a huge fight about moving in together, and when I told her I was tired of arguing and was going to work on my Millennium Falcon build, she just lost it on me. She actually ran into my room and smashed it to pieces.”

“Millennium Falcon build—oh, you mean LEGOs?”

“Yeah.”

“Got it. Why do you think Carmen was so upset?”

“I mean, I can see why she was ready to move in. We’re super compatible. We both have good jobs, and we’re overall really happy with our lives. We like each other’s families. And my mommy loves her.”

“I’m sorry—your mommy?”

“Yeah. What?”

“Nevermind. How long have you been together?”

“Three years.”

“So, what was your hesitation about moving in?”

Trevor took a deep breath before responding. “I dunno, man. She’s never really seemed to believe in my bigger ambitions, like my LEGO build Twitch streams. Or I dunno, sometimes I think I’d want to be a foley artist. You know, the people who make sound effects in movies? Like, have you seen where the Star Wars blaster noise comes from? It’s crazy. I’d get all these ideas but it was like she was always trying to steer me away from them.”

“Hmm. Do you feel like you were making enough time to spend with her?”

“Yes, of course I was.” Trevor scraped his foot on the sidewalk and folded his arms. “I mean, I dunno. Most of the time. But I did text my ex from time to time. And one time I even pretended to be sick when her sister was getting married, and I went to hang out with my ex instead of going to the wedding. That was pretty shitty of me. But I just couldn’t take the pressure sometimes, you know? She was just always on me about something, trying to make things more and more serious. ‘Let’s go stay with my family for a weekend, let’s look at these houses, let’s talk about our kids’ names.’ And I can’t deal with that, man. I just can’t. I’m still trying to get my dreams figured out, and I need someone who’s going to support that. Not to mention that she hated Star Wars. That was a big ick for her, apparently. Which was pretty much a dealbreaker for me.”

I let a few moments pass. Trevor was fidgeting and seemed somewhat uncomfortable, so I was wary of pressing him too hard.

“How old are you, Trevor?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Well, would you like to settle down someday? Kids, a house, a family, that whole thing? I mean, you have a great job. Seems like you can do whatever you want. I can see why Carmen would’ve brought that up often.”

“That’s just it, man. I feel like there’s still so much to explore. I’m so young. My boss just had his first kid, and he’s fifty. So I’m not in any rush. I’ve even thought about asking Carmen to freeze her eggs—I thought maybe that could be some kind of compromise. But I know she’d just go ballistic on me.” 

* * *

Before the protests, when news of the vaccine broke, I tried to contact Tex-VaX multiple times but received no response. Every email address I found bounced back, and the physical location listed on their website led to an abandoned Jack in the Box in Bastrop. I did, however, reach the Texas Biomedical Research Institute, and I drove out to San Antonio to speak with Eugene Miller, one of the principal researchers working on the vaccine. 

Although the Ick and Peter Pan Syndrome had different symptoms and psychological causes, Eugene’s research team found that their effects were dangerously exacerbated by the same two phenomena.

“Dating apps and social media,” Eugene said, sitting behind a desk piled with textbooks and highlighted, annotated papers. His expression was sober. “The research is very clear on this. Once we started giving young people unlimited choices and unrealistic standards, through dating apps and social media, respectively, their view of reality became completely warped. Narcissism has risen dramatically. Their life decisions are viewed through the lens of impossibly broad social status desires and incredibly remote possibilities for success. Because they’ve been fed an endless stream of content that is accessible everywhere they go, they now think their lives should play out similarly: full of novel experiences, available whenever they want, with little to no effort on their part. McLuhan was right—the medium is the message.”

I was a bit taken aback. I hadn’t expected such a detailed, definitive summation so quickly. 

“Can you show me an example of some of this research?”

Eugene leafed through a stack of papers. “Ah, yes, here. This was one of the first few studies we did. A cohort of young people in their 30s, in 2021, shortly after the pandemic restrictions were being lifted. This was prime time for socialization—we set up a singles mixer at an outdoor patio. Dogs were allowed, we served margaritas, and we even had a pickleball court. By Austin’s standards, we should have seen partners being formed from that experiment in record numbers. But in post-experiment surveys, we saw alarming numbers of women sharing harsh critiques of minor character flaws. And men, in similarly concerning numbers, expressed that they had no desire to settle down, wanting to make up for lost time after the pandemic.”

“So, hang on. Texas Biomed specializes in virology and immunology, correct? You’re focused on infectious diseases. How do the Ick and Peter Pan syndrome fit into this? Aren’t these psychological issues? Can’t this just be addressed with therapy?”

“Great question. That was one of the first things we focused on, after the more psychosocial phenomena were explored. We found that the Ick and Peter Pan syndrome, under prolonged conditions, can have neurological side effects, and in the most extreme cases, can even become communicable. This vaccine is a form of gene therapy aimed at curing and preventing that from happening any further.”

In the silence that followed, I stared at Eugene, and he held a stern expression, as if used to, at this point, being met with such disbelief.

“Eugene, I—I’m sorry, but that just sounds absurd. How does that make any sense?”

Eugene pulled up several tabs on his computer. Over the next hour, he walked me through different experiments that his team had conducted, all of which were designed to bring young single people together, foster conversation that ideally led to romantic interest, and collect follow-up data on the participants' experiences. Specialists from all different backgrounds—psychologists, neurologists, biologists, geneticists, immunologists—were involved. MRIs and PET scans were taken. Blood samples were collected. Detailed physiological measurements were recorded under a variety of mental, emotional, and physical conditions. Studies involved control groups, double-blind setups, and participants from different racial backgrounds and even different countries. Prolonged monitoring of participants over weeks and months was done. Although Eugene acknowledged there was more data needed on more diverse sexual orientations and genders, the trials so far were of enough size and scope to illustrate, with increasing and alarming frequency, the extent to which particular risk factors—from screen time to drinking behavior to family dynamics—influenced participants’ self-assessments and evaluations of others. Some of the research Eugene showed me, particularly the studies exploring neurological and perhaps even infectious implications, was unfinished and therefore not something he could go on the record about. But one thing was clear: the mental and emotional stunting that resulted from the Ick and Peter Pan syndrome was dire and profound.

Once we reached a stopping point, I stood and walked over to the window of his office. I couldn’t look at any more data. My head was throbbing.

“Eugene, how did you even get this many people to sign up for these studies? I’m surprised you have so much data to pull from. And that we would have heard more about this before now.” I turned to look back at him.

Eugene gave the first smile I’d seen from him that day. 

“Ironically, we have a pretty good marketing team that can reach these young people. That, and deep pockets, and NDAs.”

* * *

We took a break to tour the facilities, where I asked Eugene some more questions about the ongoing research. Once we were back back in his office, I had one final topic I needed to discuss with him. Despite my mind still reeling from the idea of potential neurological effects of the Ick and Peter Pan Syndrome, and even possibly infectious qualities, I had to set that aside for a moment.

“Let’s talk about Tex-VaX.” 

Eugene paused. “What about Tex-VaX?”

“Some people have claimed that Tex-VaX is a company owned by Elon Musk. I’ve searched all the available public information about them and sent emails as well as visited their physical location. I can’t reach anyone—they seemingly don’t even have a real physical location. I haven’t found any ties to Elon Musk. But it’s odd that a previously unheard-of company has the ability to fund such a major initiative, just so happens to be in Bastrop, and just so happens to have a capital X in their name. Do you know if Elon Musk is involved?”

“I’ve never spoken to Elon Musk and have no knowledge of any involvement from him with Tex-VaX.” Eugene now seemed in a hurry to leave. He slung a leather messenger bag around his shoulder and shoved his laptop inside it.

“Well, is there someone you can give me that I can reach out to at Tex-VaX? I’ve done all I can think of—”

“Listen, we should really wrap this up. I’m sorry you haven’t been able to reach anyone. I’m sure they’re just busy, as are we. You’ll have to keep trying. I can’t help you there.” Eugene pulled his car keys out of a drawer in his desk and strode toward the door, shutting off the lights. “This interview is over now.”

“Eugene, wait—can you just tell me why some people would think Elon is involved? Is it because of population decline?”

There were a few moments of silence. It was almost seven in the evening, and by that time most of the other researchers had left. A long, empty hallway stretched behind Eugene, and in the dimness of the doorway, his face was obscured and shadowy.

“Let me paint a picture for you.” He spoke in a low, even tone, and in the dim light, he was mostly a dark silhouette.

“Our birth rates are falling. Women are having fewer children. Meanwhile, our aging population is going to strain the system. Almost a quarter of the US population will be 65 or older by 2050. Millennials and Gen Z are going to be taking care of their parents as they age, and then they’ll have no one to do the same when they retire. Jobs will vanish as people age out with no one to replace them. Why do you think Elon is trying to make autonomous vehicles? Fifty years from now, there won’t be any more truck drivers.”

“Ok, but exactly, that’s why I’m asking about Elon. We all know he’s concerned about population collapse and I’m—”

“Silence! I’m not finished.” 

Eugene took a step forward so I could see his face. But his eyes were scanning the room, not making contact with me.

“We are rapidly nearing a future where the fate of our species rests upon the shoulders of man-children and entitled princesses. They have no desire to learn, and even less desire to make offspring and have anyone to teach. STEM fields will collapse because there aren’t any young people coming in to study them and make advancements in science and medicine. Jobs in the trades, like plumbers and electricians, will also fold because older millennials won’t be able to perform that kind of manual labor anymore, and no one will be here with the ability or interest to take their place. Economically, all single adults will feel the strain: they won’t have enough saved for retirement, and they won’t have anyone to pool their resources with. The economy will have shifted mostly to digital media, like podcasts, and that’s how most of our population occupy their time until they die. Engagement in politics will plummet, and infrastructure will fall apart. Without having any life experience that has forced them to be mature and deal with reality, these younger generations will essentially entertain themselves to death. Say what you want about so-called Boomers or older generations—yes, they had problems that therapy could have easily solved. But they, at least, were proactive in their lives. This generation is largely reactionary and entitled. And as the world collapses around them, millennials and Gen Z won’t know what to do, other than turn it into content.”

There was a wild energy in Eugene’s eyes. They were moving back and forth rapidly, as if he were watching this all unfold.

“And there will be no mothers anymore. Women will finally see that men are just oafish sperm banks, good for nothing but repopulation, and when repopulation is no longer a desirable outcome, four out of every five women will be lesbians: much happier, more financially stable, and more sexually fulfilled than they ever were with a man. The other twenty percent will live alone and watch murder podcasts on YouTube until they die on their sofas. Men, on the other hand, will face a mental health crisis—porn consumption will skyrocket, and then eventually, suicide rates. America, once the greatest country on earth, will die a sad, slow, self-inflicted death, all because people were too scared, too distracted, too immature to talk to each other and build healthy, functioning relationships. Millennia from now, when some future civilization tries to understand what happened to us, there will be no asteroid craters. There will be no remains preserved in volcanic ash. No, there will just be a graveyard of iPhones, millions and millions of black screens—the devices that were meant to connect us and instead killed us all. If you don’t remember anything else I’ve told you tonight, remember this: if we don’t get young people unglued from their phones and their childish sense of entitlement, this country will collapse within a hundred years. Anyone who has even a basic understanding of what's at stake with the research we’re doing would be wise not to get in our way.”

Eugene whirled around and walked at a brisk clip down the hallway. His footsteps echoed long after he’d rounded a corner and I could no longer see him. I heard a heavy metal door open, then slam shut, and I was left alone in the dark office. 

The only sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights in the hallway. Then, I noticed a small note taped beside his computer monitor. With the faint glow of the lights behind me, I could just make out the handwriting:

“Call E - Feb. 16 - 10 AM.”

* * *

Back at the protests, I found someone in the crowd who, while not outright supportive of the vaccine, acknowledged that perhaps the Ick and Peter Pan syndrome might have enough detrimental consequences to warrant some kind of intervention.

“I mean, I’m not sure if this vaccine is the right solution,” Liz Hoffman, 35, said. “I think all my icks are perfectly valid. But I would be open to some kind of treatment that could maybe help dial down my reaction. Because I am worried that I’ll never find someone I want to settle down with if I don’t get it under control. And I’ve seen how Peter Pan Syndrome can have the exact same effect, so I get it.”

Liz, who works as a recruiter in HR, explained how she’d been researching both the Ick and Peter Pan Syndrome after a five-year relationship fell through.

“I think it was a combination of both of our problems. I was really excited about him, and being 30 when we met, I told my parents that I thought he was the one I was ready to settle down with. Everything for the most part was great. But I couldn’t get over the fact that he always looked at his fingers whenever he typed, and when I tried to bring it up with him, it just blew up. He started listing off all these other ways I’d apparently wronged him or judged him, half of which we’d never even talked about. I think he was just looking for an excuse to not get close to me.”

Liz has curly brown hair and was wearing a dark wool jacket. She carried no signs and didn’t identify with any particular protest group. 

“I’m honestly just here to learn. I think some people, like me, are a little confused by all of this. But also curious. Like I said, I don’t know that this is the answer. But I don’t know if it’s totally wrong, either.”

“Why do you think the Ick and Peter Pan syndrome are so persistent right now? Is it just Austin and the culture here? Or something else, maybe?”

She looked around at the crowds before responding. “I’m not sure. I think something about millennials just makes us a uniquely nostalgic generation. We have this sense of lost innocence, I think, or always wanting to get back to that place. So, maybe we seem childish because of that. And I think in some ways that showed up as a bit of Peter Pan syndrome for me.”

“Oh? How so?” I hadn’t yet heard any of the women protesting talk about Peter Pan syndrome being something they’d felt in themselves.

“Well, one of the things my ex got on me about—in hindsight, he was right—was all my pottery. I started taking a pottery class about a year into us dating and got obsessed with it. During COVID, it was all I could talk about, and I even tried to convince him I could quit my job and just sell my pottery online. I mean, I love the work I do, most of the time, anyway. But I dunno . . . sometimes I just feel kinda . . . over having responsibilities, you know?”

“Interesting. And do you think Peter Pan syndrome could affect other women, too?”

“Oh, of course. There were like five other girls I met through my pottery class who all wanted to quit their jobs and just make cute little cups and dishes all day.”

* * *

I could have spent my entire time at the Capitol interviewing the protestors, and in some ways I felt I was just barely beginning to grasp their different stances on the vaccine issue. But I had another group of people, those inside the Capitol building, that I needed to talk with to get a more complete understanding of what was happening.

In particular, I couldn’t reconcile how the Republican-controlled Legislature could consider passing a bill that included a vaccine mandate when that was the very issue that had been a flashpoint for Texas during COVID. It was even recently addressed by Senate Bill 7, which bans private employers in Texas from mandating a COVID-19 vaccine. Even Musk himself was critical of the vaccine mandate. How could a new government-sponsored mandate of a different vaccine make any sense, especially if Musk was allegedly behind it?

“Oh, this must be your first assignment, huh?”

Republican Carter Selig, a representative of West Texas, gave me a kind, warm smile. “Don’t you get it, kid? This is all just for show. Anyway—listen, I’m in a hurry.” He gathered his things from his desk and an aide followed him as we walked out of his office. 

“Excuse me?” I said. “What do you mean, ‘This is all just for show’?”

“Who are you with again? The Bluebird?”

“The Austin Bluebonnet, sir.”

“Ok, something no one has ever heard of. Right? Have you had any national media placements?”

“Well, no sir, I—”

“That’s how this works, kid.” He continued to look at me with an almost fatherly amusement, as if patiently entertaining my questions about why grown-ups went to work every day. 

“It’s always a numbers game. Tell you what—do you know any influencers? Anyone with a big YouTube channel? Come back when you have an audience, and I’ll give you a show. I’ve already been playing the woke mind virus angle with this. You know, the Ick being a liberal disease, Peter Pan syndrome being caused by drag queens, all that stuff. Nuclear families breaking down, yada yada. But I don’t have time for print. I’ve got to go.” He shook my hand and patted me on the shoulder.

As he walked toward an exit, the aide came up to him and handed him some notes. “Is Fox out there yet?” Selig said.

I wandered through the marble hallways, looking for other members of the Legislature who might want to talk to me. In particular, I sought out Democratic representative Maria Ramirez of Houston, one of the chief sponsors of the bill, who thankfully agreed to speak with me.

“Sorry, who are you with?”

“The Austin Bluebonnet, ma’am.”

“How much traffic does your little blog get?” She wasn’t looking at me, but rather at her phone, where I could see the green, black, and yellow squares of Wordle reflected in her glasses.

“Respectfully, ma’am, I’d just like to focus on—”

“Fuck! I just lost my ten-day streak.” Ramirez tossed her phone on her desk, took off her glasses, and looked at me with piercing brown eyes. “Ok, one question. That’s all you get.” 

I cleared my throat, a little shaken still by how quickly I’d been thrown off by Selig.

“Texas was notoriously resistant to any sort of vaccine mandate when COVID-19 first hit. We’ve even passed a law banning COVID-19 vaccine mandates by private employers. How could our Legislature have changed course so quickly? Support for this new vaccine seems almost unanimous, and that is very odd now that it’s sponsored directly by our government.”

Ramirez started laughing, which continued for a full minute.

“Ma’am?”

Still chuckling, she reached for a tissue on her desk and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s funny. You’re going to have to talk to the Texas Ethics Commission if you want my financial disclosures. What are you, an amateur?”

“I’m sorry? I wasn’t asking about financial disclosures.”

Ramirez opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out a cigar. She grinned at me. “Well, why wouldn’t you? There’s a lot of money to be made on this vaccine.” She bit on the cigar, and with it clenched between her vibrantly white teeth said, “Andre, get him out of here. I’m bored with this.”

She waved her hand and a young man stood to escort me out of the office. His eyes were full of fear.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Wait—just one more question.” I angled my phone away from the aide as he pushed me toward the door, making sure it was still recording audio. “Who is lobbying for this? How is this getting Republican support?”

Ramirez simply laughed and waved at me. Andre was pushing me, but with clear hesitation.

“Is Musk lobbying Republicans on this?” It was the only thing I could think of. I had no evidence of that, but given Eugene’s grave warning about population decline, it seemed plausible. “Are there kickbacks? Is he giving them stock? What’s going on?”

Andre had pushed me out the door at that point, but I’d wedged my foot in so he couldn’t close it all the way. All I could see was a sliver of his face, and in the background, I could hear Ramirez laughing again.

“Come on, man,” I said. “Can’t you tell me something?” 

His eyes still had a stricken look to them. He opened his mouth, and held it open for several seconds. Just when it seemed like he was going to say something, Ramirez cut in.

“Andre! Shut the door, you pansy!”

Andre stared at me with that same strained expression, seemingly wanting to tell me things he never could. Then, he closed the door and shut the blinds.

* * *

Back outside, I took several minutes to organize my notes and thoughts about my conversations so far. I’d asked several more members of the Legislature about the bill, and their reactions were largely the same: some talked to me as if I were a lost child, and others only asked about the Bluebonnet website traffic before getting absorbed in something on their phone. It seemed I wouldn’t be getting any more information about Tex-VaX or Elon Musk’s involvement, or any potential lobbying for the Legislature’s support of the bill. The research Eugene had described seemed to border on the impossible (I’d made a note to do a more thorough check on his credentials and background when I was back at my computer). And on top of all that, most of the protestors I’d spoken with seemed lost in their own grievances and interpretations of each others’ shortcomings. In terms of answers and insights, I had few.

I descended the steps at the back side of the building, thinking I was done for the day. But then I spotted Liz again. She was talking with Trevor. They had their phones out. Eventually, Liz saw me and smiled. Trevor said something to Liz and put a hand on her shoulder, then walked away.

“Hey!” Liz waved me over. 

“What’s going on?”

“I dunno. He’s cute, right?”

“Oh, he’s very handsome. Did you just get his number?”

“We just talked for a few minutes, but yeah, we got each other’s number.” Liz looked back toward Trevor, brushing the ends of one side of her hair with her fingers. I could tell she was blushing.

“What do you think?” I asked.

She didn’t look at me—she was smiling as she watched Trevor walk away.

“Well, I like a man who’s passionate about something. I saw him standing over here, and something just drew me to him. We talked for a bit. He told me about his LEGOs, and he liked that I did pottery. When the wind blew and folded part of his sign over so no one could read it, and he had to fumble around to fix it, I almost threw up in my mouth. But, at the same time, it’s really sweet that he cares enough about this to come out here, right? I think maybe we could get along.”

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