She reached for the controls, her fingers moving with practiced ease across the dimensional scanner. The Ark's instruments had grown more sensitive over the months, or perhaps she had grown more skilled at aiming them. Either way, the search parameters she typed in now were narrower than anything she had attempted before. She wanted something specific tonight. Something with a particular texture.
The screen flickered. Static resolved into a suburban street, all pastel houses and carefully trimmed lawns. A mailbox shaped like a cartoon dog. A two-story home with a basketball hoop over the garage, and a girl on a bicycle pedaling hard down the sidewalk, her red hair streaming behind her like a flag.
Maria leaned forward, curiosity piqued. The girl looked maybe fifteen, sixteen, all awkward limbs and sun-freckled nose. She swerved into a driveway and nearly collided with a lanky boy who had just emerged from the front door, his own bike slung over his shoulder.
"Whoa—Roxanne!" The boy stumbled back, nearly dropping the bike. His voice cracked on her name, and he cleared his throat, trying again with practiced nonchalance. "I mean. Hey. Roxanne."
The girl—Roxanne—glared at him from behind her sunglasses, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth that she was clearly trying to suppress. "Max Goof. You almost ran me over."
"You almost ran *me* over. I was standing here. This is my house."
"Your house is a hazard."
Maria laughed, a soft sound in the empty monitor room. The baby kicked, a sharp flutter against her ribs, and she pressed her palm flat against the spot, feeling the movement settle. She had learned to read the pattern of it now. The dimensional energy always woke her child. Some part of her wondered if the baby could feel it too, the strange pull of other worlds, other lives.
On the screen, Max had set down his bike and was leaning against the garage door, trying very hard to look casual. He was all elbows and shoulders, his baseball cap sitting slightly crooked on his head, his sneakers scuffed at the toes. His smile was wide and a little goofy—literally, Maria thought, given the family resemblance she was beginning to piece together.
"So," Max said, and then stopped, clearly not having planned further. "So. You're, uh. You're going somewhere?"
Roxanne crossed her arms, her bike still between her legs, one foot planted on the ground. "I was going to the arcade. PJ and Bobby are there. You want to come?"
Max's face did something complicated. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and for a moment he looked like a fish gasping on dry land. "The arcade? With you? I mean—with *you*, you specifically, and also PJ and Bobby, who are also there, but—yeah. Yeah, I want to come."
Roxanne's smile finally broke through, bright and unguarded. "Okay then. Race you there."
She didn't wait for an answer. She pushed off, pedaling hard, her laughter trailing behind her like ribbon. Max scrambled for his bike, nearly tripping over his own feet, and Maria watched him pedal after her, his legs pumping, his cap flying off his head and landing in a neighbor's hedge.
He didn't stop to retrieve it.
Maria smiled. There was something sweet about it, something almost innocent. She leaned back in her chair, one hand still resting on her belly, and watched the two of them race down the suburban street, the afternoon sun painting long shadows across the pavement.
The arcade was a squat building on the corner of Main and Third, its neon sign buzzing in the daylight, its doors propped open to let in the warm air. Max caught up to Roxanne at the entrance, both of them breathless, their faces flushed with exertion and something else, something that made Maria's smile widen.
"You cheated," Max said, doubling over, his hands on his knees.
"I didn't cheat. I'm just faster."
"You had a head start."
"You had a head start. I was already moving when you got on your bike."
"That's not—that's not how head starts work—"
Roxanne laughed, and the sound cut him off. She pushed her sunglasses up into her hair, revealing eyes the color of warm honey, and looked at him with something that made Max's throat go dry. Maria saw the exact moment it happened, the way his whole body seemed to still, the way his breath caught.
"Come on," Roxanne said, softer now. "I'll buy you a soda. You look like you need it."
She turned and walked into the arcade, and Max followed, his feet moving on their own, his heart hammering against his ribs loud enough that Maria could almost hear it through the dimensional static.
Maria adjusted the focus, zooming in on the interior of the arcade. It was dark inside, lit only by the glow of screens and the occasional flicker of a malfunctioning fluorescent light. The machines lined the walls in rows, their buttons worn smooth by years of thumbs, their screens blaring with pixelated violence and bright colors. PJ and Bobby were already at the air hockey table, locked in a fierce match, and they waved when they saw Max and Roxanne approach.
"Dude!" PJ shouted, slapping the puck across the table. "You made it! And you brought Roxanne!"
"Obviously I brought Roxanne," Max said, and then immediately regretted it, his face going red. "I mean—she was—we were—"
Bobby snickered, and Roxanne rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She grabbed Max's hand and pulled him toward the change machine, and Maria watched the way Max stared down at their joined fingers, his expression somewhere between terror and bliss.
The afternoon stretched on. Maria watched them play game after game—Max losing dramatically at skee-ball, Roxanne destroying him at Street Fighter, a brief and heated game of air hockey that ended with Max declaring a rematch and Roxanne declaring him a sore loser. PJ and Bobby drifted off to the pinball machines, leaving Max and Roxanne alone in a corner of the arcade, the glow of a racing game washing over them in shifting blues and reds.
"You know," Roxanne said, her voice low, "I didn't actually come here to play games."
Max's hands froze on the steering wheel of the racing cabinet. "You didn't?"
"No." She was watching him, her head tilted, her eyes unreadable. "I came here to see you."
Maria leaned forward, her breath catching. The baby kicked again, harder this time, and she pressed her hand against her belly, feeling the movement ripple through her. On the screen, Max had turned to face Roxanne, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide.
"Me?" he said, his voice cracking on the word.
"You." She reached out and took his hand, her fingers threading through his. "I've been trying to get your attention for weeks, Max. I thought you'd never notice."
"I—I noticed," he managed. "I definitely noticed. I just—I didn't think you—I mean, you're Roxanne, and I'm—"
"You're Max." She said it simply, like it was the only explanation she needed. "And I like you, Max. I like you a lot."
Max made a sound that was probably meant to be a word but came out as a strangled squeak. Roxanne laughed, soft and warm, and leaned in, pressing her lips to his.
It was a clumsy kiss, the kind that comes from inexperience and eagerness, noses bumping, teeth clicking. But Roxanne didn't pull away, and Max didn't pull away, and when they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, their faces flushed.
"Wow," Max whispered.
Roxanne grinned. "Wow indeed."
Maria watched, her own breath shallow, her hand pressed against her belly. The baby had settled now, still and quiet, as if it too was watching. On the screen, Max and Roxanne were kissing again, deeper this time, Max's hands finding Roxanne's waist, Roxanne's fingers tangling in the back of his shirt.
The arcade had grown darker around them, the other patrons drifting away, PJ and Bobby long gone. The racing game cycled through its attract mode, bright colors flashing across the screen, illuminating the two teenagers in strobing light.
"Max," Roxanne breathed, pulling back just enough to speak. "My parents are out of town tonight."
Max's eyes went wide. "They are?"
"They are." She was looking at him with that same unreadable expression, but now Maria could see the heat beneath it, the nervousness, the wanting. "I have the house to myself."
Max swallowed hard. "And you're telling me this because…?"
"Because I want you to come over." She bit her lip, a small, uncertain gesture that made her look younger, more vulnerable. "If you want to."
Max opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "I—yes. Yes, I want to. I definitely want to. I—how fast can we get there?"
Roxanne laughed, bright and relieved, and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the exit. They burst out into the fading afternoon light, the sun low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Max's bike was still lying in the hedge where he'd abandoned it, and he retrieved it with a sheepish grin, brushing leaves off the seat.
"Race you again?" he asked.
Roxanne smiled, already on her bike, already pedaling. "You'll lose again."
"I don't care."
Maria watched them go, the dimensional feed following them down the street, past the pastel houses, past the carefully trimmed lawns, until they reached a modest two-story home with a white picket fence and a porch swing. Roxanne unlocked the front door and pulled Max inside, and the screen went dark for a moment, the house's interior too dim for the Ark's sensors to penetrate.
Maria adjusted the focus, the image resolving into a living room bathed in the soft glow of a television left on. Roxanne was leading Max up the stairs, her hand in his, their footsteps creaking on the wooden steps. The door at the top of the stairs opened into a bedroom—flowery bedspread, posters of boy bands on the walls, a vanity cluttered with bottles and brushes. It was unmistakably a teenage girl's room, and Max stood in the center of it, looking around with wide eyes, like he had stumbled into a foreign country.
Roxanne closed the door behind them. The click of the latch was loud in the quiet room.
"So," she said, and her voice was steady, but her hands were trembling. "This is my room."
"It's—it's nice," Max managed. "It's very—pink."
She laughed, a small, nervous sound, and crossed the room to stand in front of him. She was close enough that he could smell her—something floral, something sweet, something that made his head spin.
"Max," she said softly. "I've never done this before."
His throat worked. "Me neither."
"But I want to." She reached up and took off her sunglasses, setting them on the vanity. Without them, her eyes seemed larger, more open. "I want to do it with you."
Max's hands found her waist, hesitant, trembling. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." She leaned up and kissed him again, slower this time, softer. "I've been thinking about it for weeks. About you. About this."
Maria watched, her own body responding to the heat on the screen, the slow build of it. The baby kicked, a sharp flutter, and she gasped, her hand pressing against her belly. But she didn't look away. She couldn't look away.
On the screen, Max and Roxanne were shedding their clothes, piece by piece, each garment falling to the floor with a soft whisper of fabric. Max's shirt, his jeans, his boxers. Roxanne's tank top, her shorts, her bra. They stood naked in the dim light of the bedroom, the television casting shifting shadows across their skin, and they looked at each other with a mixture of wonder and terror and desperate wanting.
"You're beautiful," Max whispered, and the words came out raw, unpolished, true.
Roxanne's breath caught. "You think so?"
"I know so."
She crossed the room and pressed herself against him, her arms wrapping around his neck, her bare skin hot against his. He gasped, his hands finding her hips, her waist, her back, mapping the curves of her body like he was learning a language he had never spoken before.
They fell onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and laughter, and Maria watched as Max lowered his head between Roxanne's thighs, his movements clumsy but earnest, his tongue finding her with a tentative stroke that made her gasp and arch her back.
"Max—" she breathed, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Max, that—that feels—"
He looked up at her, his mouth slick, his eyes dark. "Good?"
"So good." She pulled him up, kissing him, tasting herself on his lips. "I want you inside me."
He fumbled for a moment, the condom wrapper crinkling in his shaking hands, and Roxanne took it from him, rolling it on with careful, deliberate movements. Then she guided him to her entrance, her legs wrapping around his waist, her eyes locked on his.
"Ready?" she whispered.
He nodded, unable to speak.
She pulled him down, and he pushed inside her, slow and trembling, and they both gasped at the sensation, at the impossible heat of it, the closeness. For a moment, neither of them moved. They just lay there, joined, breathing the same air, staring into each other's eyes.
"Okay," Roxanne whispered. "Move."
He did. Slow at first, awkward, finding a rhythm that made her gasp and arch. Then faster, harder, their bodies finding a language of their own, the bed creaking beneath them, the television still casting its shifting light across their skin.
Maria watched them, her own hand pressed against her belly, her breathing shallow. The baby was still, quiet, as if it too was transfixed by the scene unfolding on the screen. And Maria let herself be pulled into it, into the clumsy sweetness of it, the first-time fumbling, the desperate wanting. She watched Max's face contort with pleasure, watched Roxanne's nails dig into his shoulders, watched them find their release together, crying out in the dim light of the bedroom.
And when it was over, they lay tangled together, breathing hard, and Max pressed his forehead to Roxanne's, and Roxanne laughed, a soft, wondering sound.
"Wow," she said.
"Yeah," he agreed, his voice hoarse. "Wow."
Maria let out a long breath, her hand falling away from her belly. The baby had settled, still and warm, and she felt a strange ache in her chest, something between longing and satisfaction. She reached for the controls and saved the feed, labeling it with trembling fingers: *First Times*.
The monitor bank hummed around her, the other timelines still cycling, still waiting. But Maria didn't reach for another screen. She sat back in her chair, one hand resting on the swell of her belly, and watched the frozen image of Max and Roxanne, tangled together in the afterglow of their first time.
The baby kicked, a soft, insistent flutter.
"I know," Maria murmured, her voice barely a whisper in the empty room. "I know."
Maria's hand rested on the swell of her belly, the frozen image of Max and Roxanne still glowing on the monitor. But the ache between her thighs had already begun to rebuild, that familiar hunger stirring in her blood like a tide she couldn't fight. She reached for the keyboard, her fingers moving with practiced ease, and began a new search.